missile served to distract Hakeswill who turned to watch as the ball rolled to a stop. ‘Poor bloody shooting, ‘ Hakeswill said scathingly. ‘Heathens can’t lay guns, I dare say. Or maybe they’re toying with us. Toying!’ The thought made him laugh. It was not, Sharpe suspected, the anticipation of excitement that had brought Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill to this state of near joviality, but rather the thought that a battle would cause casualties and misery, and misery was the Sergeant’s delight. He liked to see men cowed and frightened, for that made them biddable, and Sergeant Hakeswill was always at his happiest when he was in control of unhappy men.
The three officers had stopped their horses at the head of the column and now used telescopes to inspect the distant ridge which was clouded by a ragged fringe of smoke left from the last discharge of the enemy cannon. ‘That’s our Colonel, boys, ‘ Hakeswill announced to the 33rd’s Light Company, ‘Colonel Arthur Wellesley himself, God bless him for a gentleman, which he is and you ain’t. He’s come to see you fight, so make sure you do. Fight like the Englishmen you are. ‘
‘I’m a Scot, ‘ a sour voice spoke from the rear rank.
‘I heard that! Who said that?’ Hakeswill glared at the company, his face twitching uncontrollably. In a less blithe mood the Sergeant would have ferreted out the speaker and punished him, but the excitement of pending battle persuaded him to let the offence pass. ‘A Scot!’ he said derisively instead. ‘What is the finest thing a Scotsman ever saw? Answer me that!’ No one did. ‘The high road to England, that’s what. Says so in the scriptures, so it must be true. ‘ He hefted Sharpe’s musket as he looked down the waiting ranks. I shall be watching you, ‘ he snarled. ‘You ain’t none of you been in a proper fight before, not a proper fight, but on the other side of that bleeding hill there’s a horde of black-faced heathens what can’t wait to lay their filthy hands on your
womenfolk, so if so much as one of you turns his back I’ll have the skin off the lot of you! Bare bones and blood, that’s what you’ll be. But you does your duty and obeys your orders and you can’t go wrong. And who gives the orders?’
The Sergeant waited for an answer and eventually Private Mallinson offered one. ‘The officers, Sergeant. ‘
‘The officers! The officers!’ Hakeswill spat his disgust at the answer. ‘Officers are here to show us what we are fighting for. Gentlemen, they are. Proper gentlemen! Men of property and breeding, not broken potboys and scarlet-coated pickpockets like what you are. Sergeants give the orders. Sergeants is what the army is. Remember that, lads! You’re about to go into battle against heathens and if you ignore me then you’ll be dead men!’ The face twitched grotesquely, its jaw wrenched suddenly sideways, and Sharpe, watching the Sergeant’s face, wondered if it was nervousness that had made Hakeswill so voluble. ‘But keeps your eyes on me, lads, ‘ Hakeswill went on, ‘and you’ll be right as trivets. And you know why?’ He cried the last word out in a high dramatic tone as he stalked down the Light Company’s front rank. ‘You know why?’ he asked again, now sounding like some dissenting preacher ranting in a hedgerow. ‘Because I cannot die, boys, I cannot die!’ He was suddenly intense, his voice hoarse and full of fervour as he spoke. It was a speech that all the Light Company had heard many times before, but it was remarkable for all that, though Sergeant Green, who was outranked by Hakeswill, turned away in disgust. Hakeswill jeered at Green, then tugged at the tight constriction of the leather stock that circled his neck, pulling it down so that an old dark scar was visible at his throat. ‘The hangman’s noose, boys!’ he cried. ‘That’s what marked me there, the hangman’s noose! See it? See it? But I am alive, boys, alive and on two feet instead of being buried under the sod, proof as never was that you needs not die!’ His face twitched again as he released the stock. ‘Marked by God, ‘ he finished, his voice