Lord Pumphrey took the news surprisingly calmly. He said nothing for a while, but just listened to the heavy sound of the artillery to the north. “Gunboats,” he said bleakly. “I am forever astonished by the military. Their budgets are raised each year, yet the weapons are never suitable. It turns out that the Danish gunboats are rather better than ours. They draw less water and carry heavier ordnance and the results are not at all pretty.” He watched as the fusiliers at last wrestled the wounded Dane to the ground, then he walked a few delicate steps northward to escape the man’s moaning. “So Captain Lavisser is still in the city?” he asked Sharpe.
“He was here in these gardens a minute ago,” Sharpe said bitterly. “The bastard was telling me that Bonaparte will want a new ruler for Denmark. Someone like him, but the last I saw of the bastard he was running like a deer.”
“Of course we shall deny that any of this happened,” Gordon said.
“Deny it!” Sharpe spoke too loudly.
“My dear Sharpe,” Gordon remonstrated, “we cannot possibly have it known that the Duke of York had an aide who was on the French payroll. It would be a disastrous revelation.”
“Calamitous,” Lord Pumphrey agreed.
“So I trust we can depend on your discretion?” Gordon asked.
Sharpe sipped the tea and watched the smoke trails in the northern sky. They were too thick to be the fuses of shells so he decided they had to be rockets. He had not seen any rockets since India. “If I’m still a Rifle officer,” he said, “then I’ll be discreet. You can order me to be discreet.” It was an attempt at blackmail. Sharpe had abandoned his place at the the Shornecliffe barracks and could expect little mercy from Colonel Beckwith unless Sir David Barid spoke for him, but Baird had only promised him support if he succeeded in Copenhagen. And he had failed, but it was clear no one wanted that failure known.
“Of course you’re still a Rifle officer,” Gordon said forcefully, “and Sir David will be happy to explain the circumstances to your Colonel.”
“So long, of course, as you keep quiet,” Pumphrey said.
“I’ll keep silent,” Sharpe promised.
“But tell me about Skovgaard,” Lord Pumphrey said. “You think he’s in danger?”
“Bloody hell, yes, my lord,” Sharpe said vigorously, “but he wouldn’t let me stay because he’s not happy with Britain at the moment. He’s got half a dozen old men with even older muskets guarding him, but they won’t last two minutes against Lavisser and Barker.”
“I do hope you’re wrong,” Lord Pumphrey said quietly.
“I wanted to stay,” Sharpe said, “but he wouldn’t let me. Said he’d trust in God.”
“But your part’s over now,” Gordon declared. “Lavisser’s a renegade, the gold is gone and we’ve been thoroughly humbugged. But it’s not your fault, Sharpe, not your fault at all. You behaved creditably and I shall so inform your Colonel. You know your regiment’s here?”
“I guessed as much, sir.”
“They’re down south, near a place called Koge, I think. You’d best take yourself off there.”
“And what of Lavisser?” Sharpe asked.
“I suspect we shall never see him again,” Gordon said bleakly. “Oh, we’ll capture the city, but I’ve no doubt the Honorable John will conceal himself from us and we’re hardly likely to search every attic and cellar for him. And I suspect His Majesty’s Treasury can afford the loss of forty-three thousand guineas, don’t you? Is there much food in the city?”
“Food?” Sharpe was momentarily thrown by the change of subject.
“Well stocked up on victuals, are they?”
“Yes, sir. Carts and ships were arriving all the time I was there. Packed with grain.”
“Tragic,” Gordon murmured.
Sharpe frowned when he realized why Gordon had asked the question. If the city had plenty of food then it could hold out against a prolonged blockade, or, indeed, a siege and Sharpe shuddered. “You can’t bombard the place, sir.”
“No?” It was Lord Pumphrey who made the inquiry. “And why not?”
“Women and children, my lord.”
Lord Pumphrey sighed. “Women, children and ships, Sharpe. Pray do not forget the ships. That is why we are here.”