Ahmed made of the slaughter that had been inflicted on his countrymen
in the ravine, but the boy seemed blessedly unaffected.
“Go and help the Sergeant,” he told Ahmed.
Ahmed led the cavalrymen uphill.
“What are you doing, Richard?”
Stokes asked.
“We can climb up to the wall,” Sharpe said, pointing to where the trail
of weeds and bushes snaked up the other side of the ravine.
“Not you, sir, but a light company can do it. Go up the ravine, send a
ladder up and cross the wall.”
Stokes trained the telescope and stared at the opposing cliff for a
long while.
“You might get up,” he said dubiously, ‘but then what?”
Sharpe grinned.
“We attack the gatehouse from the back, sir.”
“One company?”
“Where one company can go, sir, another can follow. Once they see
we’re up there, other men will come.” He still held the great claymore
which was too big to fit into the scabbard of his borrowed sword, but
now he discarded that scabbard and shoved the claymore into his belt.
He liked the sword. It was heavy, straight-bladed and brutal, not a
weapon for delicate work, but a killer. Something to give a man
confidence.
“You stay here, sir,” he told Stokes, ‘and look after Ahmed for me. The
little bugger would love to get in a fight, but he ain’t got the sense
of a louse when it comes to a scrap and he’s bound to get killed. Tom!”
he called to Garrard, then beckoned that he and the rest of the 33rd’s
Light Company should follow him down to where Morris sheltered among
the rocks.
“When Eli gets here with the ladder, sir,” he added to Stokes, ‘send
him down.”
Sharpe ran down the ravine’s steep side into the smoke-reeking shadows
where Morris was seated under a tree making a meal out of bread, salt
beef and whatever liquor was left in his canteen.
“Don’t have enough food for you, Sharpe,” he said.
“Not hungry,” Sharpe lied.
“You’re sweating, man,” Morris complained.
“Why don’t you find yourself some shade? There’s nothing we can do
until the gunners knock that bloody gatehouse flat.”
“There is,” Sharpe said.
Morris cocked a sceptical eye up at Sharpe.
“I’ve had no orders, Ensign,” he said.
“I want you and the Light Company, sir,” Sharpe said respectfully.
“There’s a way up the side of the ravine, sir, and if we can get a
ladder to the top then we can cross the wall and go at the bastards
from the back.”
Morris tipped the canteen to his mouth, drank, then wiped his lips.
“If you, twenty like you and the Archangel Gabriel and all the bloody
saints asked me to climb the ravine, Sharpe, I would still say no. Now
for Christ’s sake, man, stop trying to be a bloody hero. Leave it to
the poor bastards who are under orders, and go away.” He waved a
hand.
“Sir,” Sharpe pleaded, ‘we can do it! I’ve sent for a ladder.”
“No!” Morris interrupted loudly, attracting the attention of the rest
of the company.
“I am not giving you my company, Sharpe. For God’s sake, you’re not
even a proper officer! You’re just a bumped-up sergeant! A bloody
ensign too big for your boots and, allow me to remind you, Mister
Sharpe, forbidden by army regulations to serve in this regiment. Now
go away and leave me in peace.”
“I thought you’d say that, Charles,” Sharpe said ruefully.
“And stop calling me Charles!” Morris exploded.
“We are not friends, you and I. And kindly obey my order to leave me in
peace, or had you not noticed that I outrank you?”
“I had noticed. Sorry, sir,” Sharpe said humbly and he started to turn
away, but suddenly whipped back and seized Morris’s coat. He dragged
the Captain back into the rocks, going so fast that Morris was
momentarily incapable of resistance. Once among the rocks, Sharpe let
go of the patched coat and thumped Morris in the belly.
“That’s for the flogging you gave me, you bastard,” he said.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sharpe?” Morris asked,
scrambling away on his bottom.
Sharpe kicked him in the chest, leaned down, hauled him up and thumped