‘Kill the bugger, Mister Sharpe!’ a voice called from the redcoated ranks and was greeted by a cheer.
Sharpe turned his back on Lanier so he could face his men. He turned slowly so that the growing flames from the burning house lit his back that he knew was soaked with blood, though he was not sure whether that would show clearly against the dark green of his uniform. ‘Quiet, lads!’ he called. ‘Load your muskets! And rifles!’
‘You wish the fight to go on?’ Lanier asked mockingly.
‘I don’t trust you,’ Sharpe said. ‘You win and you could still massacre my men. I’m making sure they’re not defenceless.’
Lanier came a few paces closer. ‘I give you my word that your men are safe. Whoever wins, Colonel, your men will live. Can you say the same about mine?’
‘Your men will live,’ Sharpe said, and knew that with those words he was accepting Lanier’s challenge. He did not want to, he had wanted to destroy the French battalion, but Lanier appeared to have control, and now Sharpe must fight despite the stabbing pain in his shoulder and back.
‘Let me speak to my men,’ Lanier said and, without waiting for an answer, turned and addressed his battalion. He told them what he had told Sharpe’s men, that too many had already died in the war, that no more needed to die, and therefore this fight would be between the two Colonels. That provoked a cheer from the blue-coated ranks, some of whom were edging away from the heat of the burning house. Lanier let the cheer die, then ordered his men to ground their muskets. ‘You might do the same?’ he suggested to Sharpe.
‘Sergeant Major Harper!’ Sharpe called.
‘Sir?’
‘Once the men are loaded they can lay their muskets on the ground.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Harper sounded dubious. He walked to Sharpe, the volley gun low in his right hand. ‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked.
‘I’m not, but if I beat the bastard we’ll keep our word.’
‘And your back is fair messy with blood.’
‘I’ll live,’ Sharpe said.
‘Let me fight him, sir.’
‘I doubt he’d agree to that, Pat. Besides it’s my fight.’
‘You’re a mad bugger, sir, so you are.’
‘Tell Lucille …’ Sharpe began, but could not finish.
‘Oh, I think she knows.’ Harper clapped a hand on Sharpe’s left shoulder. ‘And I’ll have no need to say a word to her. Just kill the bastard, sir.’
Some of Lanier’s men had gone into the house, using windows to get access, and were evidently trying to extinguish the flames which must have started when the rocket hit the broken furniture in the big hallway. Sharpe wondered what had happened to the men he had left in the cellar, and hoped they had had the sense to escape back through the tunnel, then he turned to face Lanier who was standing five paces away. ‘So, Colonel,’ he said, ‘you and I fight the last battle of the war?’
‘And only my second against the English,’ Lanier said.
‘The first?’
‘A small fight in Italy,’ Lanier said, ‘at a place called Maida. My battalion came late to that fight, but I remember the carnage caused by your volleys, and I trained my men to fight with equal speed.’
‘And you lost at Maida,’ Sharpe said.
‘You have never been in a losing battle?’ Lanier asked, amused. Sharpe said nothing and Lanier smiled. ‘Until tonight, perhaps?’
‘And tonight,’ Sharpe said, ‘when I kill you. Who commands your battalion?’
Lanier shrugged. ‘My Major en second is called de Brosse. I assure you he will keep our agreement. And who do I look for in your battalion?’
‘Major Morris,’ Sharpe said, and looked along the South Essex to see Morris standing close to the Grenadier Company. ‘Morris! Come here!’ Morris hesitated. ‘Here, Charlie! Quick now!’
Morris came slowly, ignoring the sniggering from the ranks. He stopped short of Lanier and Sharpe. ‘Colonel?’ he said to Sharpe.
‘The word you want, Morris, is “sir”,’ Sharpe snarled, ‘and let me introduce you to Colonel Lanier, a famous French killer.’
‘The word you want, Colonel Sharpe, is “soldat”,’ Lanier said, still amused.
‘A famous French soldier, Morris, the hero of Marengo. His men call him the Monster. He’s good, very good. He had you skulking in the vineyard.’
‘He …’ Morris began, then decided courtesy would be better. ‘I am honoured to meet you, Colonel,’ he said to Lanier.
‘The honour is entirely mine, Major.’ Lanier had looked from Sharpe to Morris and back again, and his amusement was plain. He sensed their hatred. ‘You summoned Major Morris to instruct him in his duty if I kill you, Sharpe?’
‘No, Lanier. I summoned him because he’s my deputy. Are you my deputy, Charlie?’
‘I am,’ Morris said stiffly.
‘And the thing is,’ Sharpe said, turning around, ‘that I’m wounded. That’s blood on my back, Charlie, in case you’ve never seen it except at a flogging. Won’t be a fair fight, will it? A wounded man against a monster, so why don’t you fight Lanier for the honour of Britain?’
‘Why don’t I …’ Morris stammered and looked appalled.
‘Colonel Lanier won’t mind, will you?’
Lanier understood precisely what Sharpe was doing and smiled affably at Morris. ‘It will be a pleasure to fight you, Major, and an honour. I have killed sixteen men in single combat, but no Englishmen,’ he paused, ‘yet.’
God damn it, Sharpe thought, but I like this man. ‘So, Charlie, want to use my sword? It’s heavier than yours.’ He held the cavalry sword hilt first towards Morris. ‘It’s a right butcher’s blade, but you need something like this to slaughter a monster.’
‘Monsieur?’ Lanier sheathed his sword as if to encourage Morris, and gestured for the Major to come and take Sharpe’s blade.
‘This is ridiculous, Sharpe,’ Morris protested.
‘So what do you suggest we do?’ Sharpe asked. ‘Come on, now, tell me! You’re a proper officer, Charlie, not some jumped-up guttersnipe from the ranks. Tell me what a proper officer should do?’
‘Do?’ Morris asked faintly.
‘That’s a Crapaud battalion, and that’s a British battalion. It’s a fight, Charlie. Maybe the last fight of the whole war, and Colonel Lanier and I have seen enough slaughter to last a lifetime. So we’ve agreed to settle it man to man, only I’m wounded. I’m weak, Charlie. So what do we do?’
‘You …’ Morris began, then fell silent.
‘I? I what? I picked the fight? Aye, I did. Because I’ve never backed down from a fight, Charlie, and you’ve never fought properly. Are you refusing to fight Colonel Lanier?’
‘It’s a preposterous idea,’ Morris said, taking a backward step.
‘You’re refusing?’ Sharpe demanded.
‘I’m …’ Morris began, then fell silent again. Jeers sounded from the battalion.
‘Captain Jefferson!’ Sharpe bellowed to stop the noise.
‘Sir?’ Jefferson ran along the ranks.
‘If Colonel Lanier kills me,’ Sharpe said, ‘you will command the battalion and you will obey Colonel Lanier’s orders, which will be to take the battalion back to the Louvre. You will also take Major Morris under guard.’