‘Of course, my lord.’
‘Of course,’ the Duke said, and gazed at Sharpe for a few silent seconds. ‘So you don’t know who fired the shot that almost killed His Royal Highness?’
‘There were scores of Voltigeurs there, my lord. Could have been any one of them.’
‘It could indeed,’ the Duke said, ‘and I think we’re done here, Rebecque. Your men will march mid-morning.’
‘Of course, Your Grace.’ Rebecque stood and collected some papers, presumably the marching orders. ‘It’s good to see you, Sharpe,’ Rebecque said, then left the library.
‘A bullet in the shoulder,’ the Duke said, ‘which takes the young fool off the battlefield and stops him from committing more idiocies, but doesn’t kill him. I would call that a very fine shot indeed.’
‘Pure bad luck for the Prince, my lord. There were a lot of Voltigeurs firing up that slope.’
‘As I said, a very fine shot.’ Was there a trace of a smile on the Duke’s face? If so it vanished quickly. ‘How’s your battalion?’
‘As good as can be expected, my lord.’
‘Casualties?’
‘Too many, my lord. We buried a hundred and eighty-six men.’
The Duke flinched at the figure. ‘And officers?’
‘Five killed, my lord, eight are still in the surgeons’ hands.’
The Duke grunted. ‘You lost a Major at Quatre Bras.’
‘Major Micklewhite, my lord.’
‘Because of that young fool’s incompetence,’ the Duke said bitterly, talking of William, Prince of Orange. ‘Who’s the other Major?’
‘We don’t have one, my lord. Major Vine died yesterday.’
‘You have adequate replacements?’
‘No, my lord. Peter d’Alembord is our best man, but he was wounded.’ Sharpe needed a good Major to be his second in command, but both the battalion’s Majors were dead and he doubted any of the surviving company commanders were ready for the higher rank. He had taken Captain Jefferson from the Light Company and put him in charge of the Grenadiers, hoping that would give him more experience, and put Harry Price in charge of the Light Company, but he doubted that either man would know how to fight the battalion as a single unit. ‘Peter d’Alembord is my best Captain, my lord.’
‘But you say he’s wounded? He’s hors de combat? Pity. Then I’d better find you someone,’ the Duke said. ‘Probably not by tomorrow, Sharpe, and you march at dawn tomorrow. Yours will be the first battalion in the line of march.’
‘An honour, my lord.’
Again the Duke grunted. ‘Don’t count on it, Sharpe. Look at this map.’ He unfolded a vast map that he spread on the table and half turned towards Sharpe, who moved to the Duke’s side.
‘The Prussians are marching south as well,’ the Duke said, sounding disgruntled. ‘They’ll take the easternmost route, while we march to the west. Here.’ He put a finger on a town called Mons. ‘We cross the border just south of Mons. Next town is Valenciennes, garrisoned, but if they don’t trouble us, we won’t trouble them. Then Péronne, another fortress, and note this road, Sharpe,’ the finger moved south and east from Péronne, ‘to a town called Ham.’
‘Ham, sir?’
‘As in eggs. You’re going there with your battalion.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Sharpe said, for want of anything else to say.
‘There’s a citadel in Ham, Sharpe. You capture it.’ The Duke rapped out the last three words, then fell silent.
‘What do we know of the citadel, my lord?’
‘Damn all. It’s ancient, I do know that, and it’s almost certainly garrisoned, and Bonaparte has been using it as a prison. That’s why you’re going. To free the prisoners.’
Sharpe peered at the map and saw that the direct route to Paris from Péronne went well to the west of Ham. ‘I assume, my lord, that the rest of the army doesn’t go to Ham?’
‘It does not. From Péronne we march straight on for Paris. But there might be Prussians in Ham. The place is close to their line of march, but the prisoners come to me, Sharpe.’
‘Of course, my lord.’ Sharpe hesitated. ‘And the prisoners? Do we know who they are?’
‘They’re whoever irritated Bonaparte enough to shut them away,’ the Duke said unhelpfully, ‘but we know of at least one Englishman there, and he’s the fellow you bring back.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’m sending an officer with you, Sharpe, Major Vincent. He speaks German and French, and he knows the prisoner we want. Listen to him, he’s capable. He’s one of my best exploring officers. You’re familiar with them?’
‘I am, my lord,’ Sharpe said. Exploring officers were men who rode fast, well-bred horses far behind the enemy lines to scout their positions and strength.
‘Vincent has been to Ham before,’ the Duke went on, ‘so he’ll be valuable to you. But he won’t interfere with your conduct of the battle, and you make that battle fast! Understand me, Sharpe? Fast! The French are more than capable of executing their captives, so you have to be in there quicker than they can line them up against a wall.’
‘I will, my lord,’ Sharpe said, wondering how in hell he was supposed to capture a fortress. He had no cannon so could not batter it down, and from all the Duke had just said there would not be enough time to make ladders and escalade the citadel’s walls.
‘Where and when shall Major Vincent meet you tomorrow?’ the Duke demanded.
‘Four thirty a.m.,’ Sharpe said, ‘at the Hotel Vlezenbeek.’
‘You’re staying in the city overnight?’ The question was a reprimand, suggesting Sharpe was choosing comfort over duty.
‘I am, my lord, but the battalion will be ready.’
‘Make sure it is. You’ll inform Major Vincent?’ the Duke enquired of Captain Burrell who had been listening.
‘Of course, Your Grace.’
‘March hard and fight fast, Sharpe. Don’t let me down.’
‘Of course not, my lord.’
‘Show Colonel Sharpe out, Burrell.’
The Captain escorted Sharpe to the front door where Harper waited and where he offered to shake hands. ‘I wish I were going with you, Colonel.’
‘It’s a fool’s errand,’ Sharpe said, but shook Burrell’s offered hand. ‘Hotel Vlezenbeek, four thirty.’
‘I’ll tell Major Vincent, sir.’
Burrell watched the Rifleman mount his captured horse, then returned to the library where the Duke was standing at the street window, evidently watching Sharpe.
‘He’s a remarkable looking fellow, don’t you think, Burrell?’
‘To quote you, Your Grace, I don’t know what he does to the enemy, but by God he frightens me.’
‘Ha!’ the Duke said without a trace of amusement. ‘Did he make any comment?’
‘He said it was a fool’s errand, Your Grace.’
‘And so it is, Burrell, so it is. But Sharpe’s no fool. He’s a rogue, a damned rogue, but he’s my rogue. He also has the devil’s own luck and he wins his fights. And pray God he wins this one, otherwise …’ The Duke’s voice trailed away, because the alternative was unthinkable.
Captain Burrell hesitated, then dared offer the Duke advice. ‘You could send another battalion, Your Grace?’
‘You mean send a gentleman instead of a scoundrel?’