of dishonourable behaviour or because he had betrayed his true rank, Sharpe could not tell.
‘And you, Caporal Sharpe?’ Gudin asked sadly.
‘I ain’t an officer, Colonel.’
‘No,’ Gudin said, ‘I did not think you were. But are you a true deserter?’
‘Of course I am, sir!’ Sharpe lied.
Gudin smiled at Sharpe’s confident tone. ‘And you, Lieutenant,’ he asked Lawford, ‘are you truly a deserter?’ Lawford made no reply and Gudin sighed. ‘Answer me on your honour, Lieutenant, if you would be so kind.’
‘No, sir,’ Lawford admitted. ‘Nor is Private Sharpe, sir.’
Gudin nodded. ‘That is what the Sergeant said.’
‘The Sergeant, sir?’ Lawford asked.
Gudin grimaced. ‘I fear the Tippoo executed the prisoners taken the other night. He spared just one, because that man told him of you.’
‘The bastard!’ Sharpe said, throwing the musket down in disgust. Bloody Hakeswill! He swore again, far more viciously.
‘Sir?’ Lawford said to Gudin, ignoring Sharpe’s anger.
‘Lieutenant?’ Gudin responded courteously.
‘We were captured by the Tippoo’s men while wearing our red coats, sir. That means we should be protected as legitimate prisoners of war.’
Gudin shook his head. ‘It means nothing of the sort, Lieutenant, for you lied about your rank and your intentions.’ He sounded disapproving. ‘But I shall still plead for your lives.’ Gudin sat on the water trough’s edge and flapped a hand at a persistent fly. ‘Will you tell me why you came here?’
‘No, sir,’ Lawford said.
‘I suppose not, but I warn you that the Tippoo will want to know.’ Gudin smiled at Sharpe. ‘I had come to the conclusion, Sharpe, that you are one of the best soldiers I have ever had the pleasure to command. But only one thing worried me about you, and that was why a good soldier would desert from his allegiance, even if he had been flogged, but now I see you are a better man than I thought.’ He frowned because Sharpe, while this elegant compliment was being paid, had lifted the back of his tunic and seemed to be scratching his bottom.
‘Sorry, sir,’ Sharpe said, noticing the Colonel’s distaste and dropping his tunic’s hem.
‘I’m sorry to be losing you, Sharpe,’ Gudin went on. ‘I’m afraid there is an escort waiting for you outside the barracks. You’re to be taken to the palace.’ Gudin paused, but must have decided there was nothing he could add that might ameliorate the implied threat of his words. Instead he turned and snapped his fingers to bring a disapproving Sergeant Rothière into the courtyard. Rothière carried their red coats and Sharpe’s white trousers. ‘They may help a little,’ Gudin said, though without any real hope in his voice. The Colonel watched as they discarded their newly cleaned tunics and pulled on their red coats. ‘About your woman,’ he said to Sharpe, then hesitated.
‘She had nothing to do with this, sir,’ Sharpe said hurriedly as he pulled on the trousers. He buttoned his old jacket and the red coat felt strangely confining after the looser tunic. ‘On my honour, sir. And besides,’ he added, ‘she gave me the push.’
‘Twice unlucky, Sharpe. Bad in a soldier, that.’ Gudin smiled and reached out a hand. ‘Your muskets, gentlemen, if you please.’
Sharpe handed over both guns. ‘Sir?’
‘Private Sharpe?’
Sharpe reddened and became awkward. ‘It was an honour to serve you, sir. I mean that. I wish we had more like you in our army.’
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