bcornwell.sharpstiger-第23节

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　'You　have　a　man…in　mind？'　Wellesley　had　asked　coldly。
　'His　name　is　Sharpe；　sir；'　Lawford　said。　'They're　probably　about　to　flog　him。'
　'Then　he'll　be　no　damned　use　to　you；'　Wellesley　said　in　a　tone　which　suggested　the　matter　was　now　closed。
　'I'll　go　with　no　one　else；　sir；'　Lawford　retorted　stubbornly；　addressing　himself　to　General　Harris　rather　than　to　his　Colonel；　and　Harris　was　pleased　to　see　this　evidence　of　backbone。　The　Lieutenant；　it　seemed；　was　not　quite　so　diffident　as　he　appeared。
　'How　many　lashes　is　this　fellow　getting？'　Harris　asked。
　'Don't　know；　sir。　He's　standing　trial　now；　sir；　and　if　I　wasn't　here　I'd　be　giving　evidence　on　his　behalf。　I　doubt　his　guilt。'
　The　argument　over　whether　to　employ　Sharpe　had　continued　over　a　midday　meal　of　rice　and　stewed　goat。　Wellesley　was　refusing　to　intervene　in　the　court　martial　or　its　subsequent　punishment；　declaring　that　such　an　act　would　be　prejudicial　to　discipline；　but　William　Lawford　stubbornly　and　respectfully　refused　to　take　any　other　man。　It　had；　he　said；　to　be　a　man　he　could　trust。　'We　could　send　another　officer；'　Wellesley　had　suggested；　but　that　idea　had　faltered　when　the　difficulties　of　finding　a　reliable　volunteer　were　explored。　There　were　plenty　of　men　who　might　go；　but　few　were　steady；　and　the　steady　ones　would　be　too　sensible　to　risk　their　precious　missions　on　what　Wellesley　scathingly　called　a　fool's　errand。　'So　why　are　you　willing　to　go？'　Harris　had　asked　Lawford。　'You　don't　look　like　a　fool。'
　'I　trust　I'm　not；　sir。　But　my　uncle　gave　me　the　money　to　purchase　my　mission。'
　'Did　he；　by　God！　That's　damned　generous。'
　'And　I　hope　I'm　damned　grateful；　sir。'
　'Grateful　enough　to　die　for　him？'　Wellesley　put　in　sourly。
　Lawford　had　coloured；　but　stuck　to　his　guns。　'I　suspectPrivate　Sharpe　is　resourceful　enough　for　both　of　us；　sir。'
　The　decision　whether　or　not　to　employ　Sharpe　belonged；　in　the　end；　to　General　Harris　who　privately　agreed　with　Wellesley　that　to　spare　a　man　his　well…earned　punishment　was　to　display　a　dangerous　laxity；　but　at　last；　persuaded　that　extraordinary　measures　were　needed　to　save　McCandless；　the　General　surrendered　to　Baird's　enthusiasm　and　so；　with　a　heavy　heart；　Harris　had　ordered　the　unfortunate　Sharpe　fetched　to　the　tent。　Which　was　why；　at　long　last；　Private　Richard　Sharpe　limped　into　the　wan；　yellow　light　cast　through　the　tent's　high　canvas。　He　was　dressed　in　a　clean　uniform；　but　everyone　in　the　tent　could　see　that　he　was　still　in　dreadful　pain。　He　moved　stiffly；　and　the　stifihess　was　not　just　caused　by　the　yards　of　bandage　that　circled　his　torso；　but　by　the　agony　of　every　movement　of　his　body。　He　had　tried　to　wash　the　blood　out　of　his　hair　and　had　succeeded　in　taking　out　most　of　the　powder　as　well　so　that　when　Colonel　Wellesley　told　him　to　take　off　his　shako　he　appeared　with　curiously　mottled　hair。
　'I　think　you'd　better　sit；　man；'　General　Baird　suggested；　with　a　glance　at　Harris　for　his　permission。
　'Fetch　that　stool；'　Harris　ordered　Sharpe；　then　saw　that　the　private　could　not　bend　down　to　pick　it　up。
　Baird　fetched　the　stool。　'Is　it　hurting？'　he　asked　sympathetically。
　'Yes；　sir。'
　'It's　supposed　to　hurt；'　Wellesley　said　curdy。　'Pain　is　the　point　of　punishment。'　He　kept　his　back　to　Sharpe；　pointedly　demonstrating　his　disapproval。　'I　do　not　like　cancelling　a　flogging；'　Wellesley　went　on　to　no　one　in　particular。　'It　erodes　good　order。　Once　men　think　their　sentences　can　be　curtailed；　then　God　only　knows　what　roguery　they'll　be　up　to。'　He　suddenly　twisted　in　his　chair　and　gave　Sharpe　an　icy　glare。　'If　I　had　my　way；　Private　Sharpe；　I'd　march　you　back　to　the　triangle　and　finish　the　job。''I　doubt　Private　Sharpe　even　deserved　the　punishment；'　Lawford　dared　to　intervene；　blushing　as　he　did。
　'The　time　for　that　sentiment；　Lieutenant；　was　during　the　court　martial！'　Wellesley　snapped；　his　tone　suggesting　that　it　would　have　been　a　wasted　sentiment　anyway。　'You've　been　lucky；　Private　Sharpe；'　Wellesley　said　with　distaste。　'I　shall　announce　that　you've　been　spared　the　rest　of　your　punishment　as　a　reward　for　fighting　well　the　other　day。　Did　you　fight　well？'
　Sharpe　nodded。　'Killed　my　share　of　the　enemy；　sir。'
　'So　I'm　muting　your　sentence。　And　tonight；　damn　your　eyes；　you'll　reward　me　by　deserting。'
　Sharpe　wondered　if　he　had　heard　right；　decided　it　was　best　not　to　ask；　and　so　he　looked　away　from　the　Colonel；　posed　his　face；　and　stared　fixedly　at　the　wall　of　the　tent。
　'Have　you　ever　thought　about　deserting；　Sharpe？'　General　Baird　asked　him。
　'Me；　sir？'　Sharpe　managed　to　look　surprised。　'Not　me；　sir；　no；　sir。　Never　crossed　my　mind；　sir。'
　Baird　smiled。　〃We　need　a　good　liar　for　this　particular　service。　So　maybe　you're　an　excellent　choice；　Sharpe。　Besides；　anyone　who　looks　at　your　back　will　know　why　you　wanted　to　desert。'　Baird　liked　that　idea　and　his　face　betrayed　a　sudden　enthusiasm。　'In　fact　if　you　hadn't　already　conveniently　had　yourself　flogged；　man；　we　might　have　had　to　give　you　a　few　lashes　anyway！'　He　smiled。
　Sharpe　did　not　smile　back。　Instead　he　looked　warily　from　one　officer　to　the　other。　He　could　see　that　Mister　Lawford　was　nervous；　Baird　was　doing　his　best　to　be　friendly；　General　Harris's　face　was　unreadable；　while　Colonel　Wellesley　had　turned　away　in　disgust。　But　Wellesley　had　always　been　a　cold　fish；　so　there　was　no　point　in　trying　to　gain　his　approval。　Baird　was　the　man　who　had　saved　him；　Sharpe　guessed；　and　that　fitted　with　Baird's　reputation　in　the　army。　The　Scotsman　was　a　soldier's　general；　a　brave　man　and　well　liked　by　the　troops。Baird　smiled　again；　trying　to　put　Sharpe　at　his　ease。　'Let　me　explain　why　you're　running；　Sharpe。　Three　days　ago　we　lost　a　good　man；　a　Colonel　McCandless。　The　Tippoo's　forces　captured　him　and；　so　far　as　we　know；　they　took　him　back　to　Seringapatam。　We　want　you　to　go　to　that　city　and　be　captured　by　the　Tippoo's　forces。　Are　you　understanding　me　this　far？'
　'Yes；　sir；'　Sharpe　said　obediently。
　'Good　man。　Now；　when　you　reach　Seringapatam　the　Tippoo　will　want　you　to　join　his　army。　He　likes　to　have　white　men　in　his　ranks；　so　you　won't　have　any　trouble　taking　his　shilling。　And　once　you're　trusted　your　job　is　to　find　Colonel　McCandless　and　bring　him　out　alive。　Are　you　still　following　me；　now？'
　'Yes；　sir；'　Sharpe　said　stoically；　and　wondered　why　they　did　not　first　ask　him　to　hop　over　to　London　and　steal　the　crown　jewels。　Bloody　idiots！　Put　a　bit　of　gold　lace　on　a　man's　coat　and　his　brain　turned　to　mush！　Still；　they　were　doing　what　he　wanted　them　to　do；　which　was　kicking　him　out　of　the　army　and　so　he　sat　very　still；　very　quiet　and　very　straight；　not　so　much　out　of　respect；　but　because　his　back　hurt　like　the　very　devil　every　time　he　moved。
　'You　won't　be　going　alone；'　Baird　told　Sharpe。　'Lieutenant　Lawford　volunteered　your　services　and　he's　going　as　well。　He'll　pretend　to　be　a　private　and　a　deserter；　and　your　job　is　to　look　after　him。'
　'Yes；　sir；'　Sharpe　said；　and　hid　his　dismay　that　perhaps　things　were　not　going　to　be　quite　so　easy　after　all。　He　could　not　just　run　now；　not　with　Lawford　tied　to　his　apron　strings。　He　glanced　at　the　Lieutenant；　who　gave　him　a　reassuring　smile。
　'The　thing　is；　Sharpe；'　Lawford　said；　still　smiling；　T'm　not　too　certain　I　can　pass　myself　off　as　a　private。　But　they'll　believe　you；　and　you　can　say　I'm　a　new　recruit。'
　A　new　recruit！　Sharpe　almost　laughed。　You　could　no　more　pass　the　Lieutenant　off　as　a　new　recruit　than　you　could　passSharpe　off　as　an　officer！　He　had　an　idea　then；　and　the　idea　surprised　him；　not　because　it　was　a　good　idea；　but　because　it　implied　he　was　suddenly　trying　to　make　this　idiotic　scheme　work。　'Better　if　you　said　you　was　a　pany　clerk；　sir。'　He　muttered　the　words　too　softly；　made　shy　by　the　presence　of　so　many　senior　officers。
　'Speak　up；　man！'　Wellesley　snarled。
　'It　would　be　better；　sir；'　Sharpe　said　so　loudly　that　he　was　verging　on　insolence；　'if　the　Lieutenant　said　he　was　a　pany　clerk；　sir。'
　'A　clerk？'　Baird　asked。　'Why？'
　'He's　got　soft　hands；　sir。　Clean　hands；　sir。　Clerks　don't　muck　about　in　the　dirt　like　the　rest　of　us。　And　recruits；　sir；　they're　usually　just　as　filthy…handed　as　the　rest　of　us。　But　not　clerks；　sir。'　Harris；　who　had　been　writing；　looked　up　with　a　faint　expression　of　admiration。　'Put　some　ink　on　his　hands；　sir；'　Sharpe　still　spoke　to　Baird；　'and　he　won't　look　wrong。'
　'I　like　it；　Sharpe；　indeed　I　do！'　Baird　said。　'Well　done。'
　Wellesley　sneered；　then　pointedly　stared　through　one　of　the　tent　openings　as　though　he　found　the　proceedings　tiresome。　General　Harris　looked　at　Lawford。　'You　could　manage　to　play　the　part　of　a　disgruntled　clerk；　Lieutenant？'　he　asked。
　'Oh；　indeed；　sir。　I'm　sure；　sir。'　Lawford　at　last　sounded　confident。
　'Good；'　Harris　said；　laying　down　his　pen。　The　General　wore　a　wig　to　hide　the　scar　where　an　American　bullet　had　torn　away　a　scrap　of　his　skull　on　Bunker　Hill。　Now；　unconsciously；　he　lifted　a　corner　of　the　wig　and　scratched　at　that　old　scar。　'And　I　suppose；　once　you　reach　the　city；　you　contact　this　merchant。　Remind　me　of　his　name；　Baird？'
　'Ravi　Shekhar；　sir。'
　'And　what　if　this　fellow　Shekhar　ain't　there？'　Harris　asked。　'Or　won't　help？'　There　was　silence　after　the　question。　The　sentries　outside　the　tent；　moved　far　enough　away　so　they　could　not　overhear　the