Sharpe's Assassin (Sharpe #21)

‘Spry, Colonel, spry! Tight discipline!’

‘They’ve always had discipline,’ Sharpe said, ‘as you’d have seen at Waterloo.’

‘I shall always regret missing that,’ Morris said. His eyes flicked right to see Lucille, who had left the carriage and was now watching just out of earshot.

‘Look at me, Major!’ Sharpe snapped, and waited for Morris to obey. ‘Strange, isn’t it,’ he went on, ‘that I was with them through the Spanish war and they never lacked discipline. Never lost a battle either, and I never flogged one of them.’

‘Ah.’ Morris shifted uncomfortably.

‘Tell me, Major,’ Sharpe said, ‘after you had me flogged, did you find I was more disciplined?’

‘It was a lesson to the company,’ Morris muttered.

‘So I was the last man you flogged?’

‘No,’ Morris admitted.

‘Then the company didn’t learn your lesson that day, did they?’ Sharpe lowered his voice. ‘I promise you, Major, that if one of my men gets flogged then you follow them. As a lesson. And I’ll flog you myself. Do you understand?’

‘Discipline must be maintained!’ Morris managed to find some courage. ‘There has to be punishment!’

‘Your choice, Major, but I warn you that a flogging hurts. Hurts like hell. You won’t like it.’

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ Morris said.

‘Sergeant Harper!’ Sharpe called. ‘Would you say I was daring?’

‘You’re a mad bugger, sir, so you are.’

Sharpe looked back to Morris. ‘There is a convention in this army, Major, that men who perform well in battle are forgiven punishment. The Duke does it, we all do it. I watched O’Neill and Flaherty in battle. They stood, Major, against the worst the enemy could throw against us, and they carried their bayonets against the Imperial Guard. I think they deserve forgiveness for that, don’t you? How many lashes did you order?’

Morris looked uncomfortable again. ‘Just a hundred.’

‘And if they receive even one lash,’ Sharpe said, ‘I will personally give you two hundred.’

‘And I shall watch,’ Lucille put in. She had come closer. ‘Good morning, Major.’

‘Your ladyship.’ Morris bobbed his head towards her.

‘And I’m taking the Light Company from you,’ Sharpe said.

‘Taking the Light Company!’ Morris sounded alarmed.

‘If you don’t like it, Morris, talk to the Duke.’

‘Come, Richard, we must take the Dowager home.’ Lucille held out her arm and led Sharpe away. ‘Will you really flog him?’

‘I bloody well will.’

‘He’s a frightened man,’ Lucille went on, ‘frightened of his own soldiers. But he’s even more frightened of you.’ She stopped walking and turned towards him. ‘You are a frightening man, Richard, but you know what is strange? You are also a kind man, a good man.’ She stood on her toes and gave his cheek a lingering kiss, which provoked a cheer from some of the watching men. ‘That annoyed him,’ Lucille went on, amused. ‘Now we shall take the Dowager home.’

Sharpe ordered Harry Price to muster what was left of his company. The decision to detach the Light Company had been a sudden one, but Sharpe needed another officer, and the extra men would be useful. He now led forty-three men, all of whom would have to sleep in the Dowager’s stables and coach house. ‘Make sure they know the rules, Pat,’ Sharpe said when they reached the house. ‘No one goes into the main house, no one leaves the grounds without permission, and no fires in the stables. I’ll be back later.’

‘You’re taking time with Lucille, sir?’

‘I’m taking Captain Price to the Delaunay estate.’

‘Shall I come, sir?’ Harper asked eagerly.

‘Just the Captain and me,’ Sharpe said. He slung his rifle, made sure the sword was loose in its scabbard, and walked with Price towards the city centre. Now that the allies had entered Paris he no longer needed to cover his uniform with a long coat and could wear the sword openly.

‘Doesn’t seem possible, does it, sir?’

‘What’s that, Harry?’

‘We’re in bloody Paris! Think how long we’ve fought them, and here it is! Bloody marvellous!’

‘Just be glad it isn’t the Crapauds in London.’

‘Christ, no!’ Price was gazing at everything, unable to take it all in. ‘Beautiful buildings, sir. And the women! Oh my God.’

‘You’ve been away from women too long, Harry.’

‘That’s true, sir. Christ, but there’s money here.’

‘This is the smart part of the city.’

‘And I’m allowed here?’ Price laughed. He was notoriously careless about his uniform and appearance. ‘That bloody man kept telling me to smarten up! I told him, sir, I’ve worn this uniform ever since the battle of Salamanca, and it ain’t my fault it got dirty.’

‘You have a servant?’

‘He’s tried brushing it, sir, but I like this uniform. It’s kept me alive. It was blessed.’

Sharpe smiled. ‘Blessed? You, Harry?’

‘It was a village priest in Spain, sir. Sprinkled it with holy water and said I’d never die wearing it.’

‘You went to church? You!’

‘Best place to find women, sir, and they liked it if they saw you saying a quick prayer.’

‘And were your prayers answered?’

‘Couple of times, sir.’ Price grinned.

‘And did you explain to Major Morris that you have a holy uniform?’

‘He told me to stop being stupid, sir, and have it properly scrubbed, but I don’t want to wash the holy water off it.’

‘Keep wearing it, Harry. I like you alive.’

‘Me too, sir.’ Price brushed down the front of his red coat that bore the yellow facings of the Prince of Wales’s Own Volunteers. The red coat was attracting glances, far more than Sharpe’s green jacket, which could have been mistaken for a French Dragoon’s coat. There were plenty of other uniforms in the streets, some of them Prussian, many British, and a surprising number of French officers. ‘I thought they’d been told to piss off, sir?’ Price remarked.

‘I suppose some live here, Harry.’

‘They don’t much like us, do they?’

‘Can you blame them?’

‘I suppose not. Oh my God!’ Price stopped abruptly, staring at a young woman. ‘God in his heaven, sir, but you can see clear through that skirt!’

‘It’s a fashion, Harry.’

‘It’s a bleeding miracle!’

Sharpe pulled him onwards. ‘The French army is supposed to be on the other side of the Loire,’ he said, ‘but I’m worried a battalion might have stayed in the city. We have to keep an eye on it, and you’ll be commanding a picquet to do that.’

‘A picquet against a battalion, sir?’

‘Think of it as an opportunity, Harry.’

He showed Price the massive elephant which, in the daylight, looked even more dilapidated and sad, with chunks of plaster fallen away and streaks of dirt down its pale flanks. ‘Why did they make it?’ Price asked.

‘The Emperor ordered it.’

‘But why a bloody elephant?’

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