SHARPE’S REGIMENT

‘I believe you owe Regimental Sergeant Major Harper one crucifix. Do you have it?’

Brightwell said nothing. His face, red and broken veined anyway, was scarlet now.

Sharpe stared at him. ‘I asked you a question!’

‘No, sir.’

‘No what?’

‘Don’t have it, sir.’

‘Then you will pay him for it.’ Sharpe looked for Lynch, and found him at the back of the room. ‘Lynch!’

Lynch stood. ‘Sir.’

Sharpe paced towards him, stopping half way down the long, bare hut. ‘I watched you commit murder, Lynch.’

Lynch was white. ‘Colonel’s orders, sir.’

‘Go and lick out a latrine, now!’

‘Sir?’ Lynch looked horrified.

‘Move!’

‘But, sir!’

Sharpe waited till the Sergeant reluctantly moved, then told him to stay where he was. ‘You see, Lynch. There are some orders you choose to obey and some you do not. Sit down, you bastard. Your punishment for that murder is delayed.’

Sharpe’s feet echoed on the bare boards as he walked back to the front of the room. One of the sergeants was nervously fingering dominoes left on a table, and his fidgeting pushed a tile over the edge. The clatter of its fall seemed unbearably loud, making some of the sergeants jump as if it had been the sound of Sharpe cocking a rifle.

Sharpe turned. ‘I have taken over command of this Battalion as of this evening. The senior captain is now Mr d’Alembord. The head of this Mess is Regimental Sergeant Major Harper. As you are aware, the Sergeant Major and I had to use unusual methods to find you. Whatever happened to myself and the RSM in this place is now forgotten. It is over. There will be no recriminations for anything that happened to us, no punishments, nothing.’

They stared at him, surprised by the leniency. ‘So listen to me. I know what has been happening here. The army knows. Every one of you, every single one of you has earned a prison sentence or worse.’ He was making it up as he went along, but their submission told him that he was on target. ‘But the army, in its wisdom, is not going to pursue charges, not if you bastards now do as you are told and do it well!’ Not one of them moved. The last rays of the sun slashed through the drifting dust in the air.

‘There will be no more selling of recruits. We’re marching to Chelmsford tomorrow. We’re going, eventually, to Spain. I’m leaving you miserable bastards in your present ranks, and I expect you to earn that trust! You are accountable to the Regimental Sergeant Major and if any of you do not like that, then I suggest you take it up with Sergeant Major Harper personally. I can tell you from personal experience that he has no objections to settling quarrels in private.’

Harper kept his rigid pose, but slowly, very slowly, a smile appeared on his face. No one smiled back.

Sharpe was nearly through with them. ‘I assume that all of you remember how real sergeants behave? That is how you will behave. There will be no punishments except those sanctioned by your Company officer, or the officer of the day, or by myself, and all such punishments will be recorded in the Battalion book. And if I discover any one of you trying to get round that order, I will punish that man myself, in private, and alone, and without entering it into the book. Two last things.’ He did not raise his voice, and only Harper knew how desperately Sharpe meant these final words. ‘If any man out of any of your Companies deserts on tomorrow’s march, I will punish you for that desertion. There will be march orders in three hours; be ready for them. And one last thing.’ There was a small stir as they looked up at him. So far, beyond insults that they deserved, he had not been harsh.

His face was full of disdain. ‘If any of you are frightened of going to Spain and wish to stay with a properly constituted Second Battalion, give your name to the RSM. On your feet!’ He waited till they were standing. ‘Good evening.’

He left, stopping only to mutter a question to Harper. ‘Any sign of Charlie?’