Warning: Rated [MA] Mature Adults only. Contains strong m/m sexual scenes, violence, coarse language and adult themes.
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This story was a long time in the planning stages plus even longer in the editing stages and it STILL isn't what I had originally planned. I wanted to do a story to coincide with our Millenium celebrations involving Sharpe and his friends and New Years Eve 1799.
I had intended it to be far less serious, far more uplifting, but it hasn't turned out that way. I tried several times to lighten the mood, tried to give it a happier ending and it just refuses to co-operate. I
As always comments are most welcome.
Happy New Millennium everyone....
JJ
Centenary: The Change
31st December 1799, Seringapatam, India.
"More Oil! You have to use more oil!" Richard Sharpe shouted at the man leaning over the table in front of him. "You'll never do it if you don't use enough oil! Christ!"
Sharpe turned away from the frowning faces and ignored the whispered comment that Private Jones made to the man next to him, "Well he'd know, wouldn't he!"
He walked to the window and stood looking west towards the setting sun. Not much longer and Major Stokes would tell them to pack up for the day and they could put away the crate of rusted muskets, spoiled by seawater and salt air that they had been trying to clean for the last week. Well, the privates had been trying to clean them and Sergeant Richard Sharpe had been overseeing the procedure, but it seemed like a bloody waste of time. A bloody waste of time and a bloody waste of musket oil. All that musket oil and no one to share it with, Sharpe thought ruefully as he tapped his foot impatiently waiting for the day to end.
He knew the privates working away behind him were even more impatient, counting down the minutes until they were dismissed for every last one of them had plans for the evening.
"Don't know what all the bloody fuss is about anyway," Sharpe muttered to himself for the hundredth time. Just another bloody day going passed, another month, another year.
But they called this the dawn of a new century and made it sound like something important. Sharpe didn't think it was important for what bloody difference was it going to make to his life? Come tomorrow he'd still be here in the armoury rusting away with a crate of old muskets. It hardly seemed fair.
No one ever told me a Sergeant's life was so dull, Sharpe thought as listened to the approaching footsteps of Major Stokes.
"All right lads, that's enough for today. Sergeant?" the major held out a sheet of paper and flapped it at Sharpe. "Here's a list of requisitions from Colonel Warren. He wants them packed and ready in three days. There's a wagon being delivered tomorrow. See to it will you, Sharpe"
Lists! Sharpe thought he'd scream if he saw another list! "Yes, Sir," he said with little enthusiasm.
William Lawford had spent hours teaching him to read and write and all for what? To read bloody lists and sign his name on the bottom of them. Sharpe turned back to the group of privates who were hurriedly throwing bits of the muskets back into a wooden crate. There was a time when Sharpe had thought that learning to read and write might actually lead to some fun. He had daydreamed about writing tales of some of the exploits that he and Tom Garrard had got up to over the years. But that seemed far away now.
Far away, like William Lawford and Tom Garrard. Sharpe didn't know which one he missed the most. Yes Lieutenant William Lawford and Private Tom Garrard were up north with the rest of the 33rd's Light Company chasing native rebels in the Deccan while he read lists in Sergingapatum.
"Richard?"
The voice spun him around and for a moment Sharpe thought he was dreaming. He rubbed at his eyes and stared at the tall, slim, blonde haired figure standing in the doorway.
"Sir?" he stammered out, aware that the privates were watching but finding it hard to keep from running to Lawford, grabbing him fiercely and pulling him down to the floor.
Lawford moved aside to allow the men to leave then waited a few moments before crossing to stand in front of Sharpe. They stood like that, staring into each other's eyes until Lawford's lips parted ever so slightly and Sharpe took it as the signal to pounce. They came together in a fury of passion, lips and tongues and teeth.
"Not here Richard!" With a strength that surprised Sharpe, Lawford tore himself away. He licked at his bruised lips and smiled lazily. "I take it that you've missed me?"
"Bloody right I have." Sharpe whispered his voice low with barely suppressed lust. "Didn't know you were due back?"
"We ran into a bit of trouble a week or so ago. Took a few casualties. Captain Morris thought it best that we return."
"The whole Light Company with yer then?" Belatedly Sharpe thought of Tom Garrard with a pang of guilt.
"Yes, no doubt you will be wanting to catch up with your friends Richard." Lawford looked away as he spoke, an air of indifference on his face.
"They can wait till tomorrow. What say you and me go back to my rooms and have the night to ourselves?" Sharpe tried to slip his arm around Lawford again, but the Lieutenant moved agilely away.
"I'm sorry Richard, I'm expected at a reception at Governor Wellesley's in about an hours time. A New Years Eve celebration. It's to be quite a lavish affair. Everyone who is anyone will be there."
"Can't you get out of it?" Sharpe sulked.
"Richard? You DO know what tonight is, don't you? It's not just any old New Years Eve, it marks the change from one century to the next. I couldn't possibly miss something like that!"
"Well I guess I'll just have to find Tom then," Sharpe answered and watched with delight as a spark of jealousy flashed in the clear blue eyes.
"Of course I suppose I could leave early," Lawford purred moving closer so that Sharpe's head spun and his groin ached. "Wait for me at your rooms Richard, I'll be there before midnight!" And with that William Lawford left.
Richard Sharpe took a deep breath and waited for his blood to cool. There was no denying the effect that Lawford had on him. Not even Tom Garrard could make him feel the same way. Tom was like an old pair of shoes, comfortable and familiar, just the thing to slip into after a long hard day. But never in his life had Richard Sharpe experienced the raw savage lust that Lawford could inspire. It was something he didn't understand, but it liked the effect!
The sun was low in the west casting long shadows as he left the armoury. So deep in contemplation was he that he almost missed the figure sitting patiently on the stone wall, waiting.
"Dick?" The voice wavered and Sharpe looked up, startled.
"Shit Tom, you look dreadful!" Tom Garrard stood up slowly and smiled, but the gesture didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's good to see you too Dick." The attempted joke fell flat as Sharpe took in the pale complexion, the hollowed cheeks, the dark smudges under his friend's eyes. Tom's arm was in a sling and his shoulder was heavily bandaged under his shirt.
"Christ, what happened Tom? What have you been doing to yerself?" He moved closer to Garrard who looked unsteady on his feet.
"Just watching out for Lawford like you asked. He got in the way of a bastard heathen's musket. Pushed him out of the way but I was too slow. The bastard got me instead. The ball shattered my shoulder bone. It's on the mend now."
Sharpe reached out and gently brushed Tom's cheek with his fingers in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture. The skin felt hot and dry. "Yer fevered Tom." In the hot humid Indian climate wounds could fester very easily and there were numerous fevers and fluxes just waiting to take a man's life.
"It's almost passed now Dick. I was much worse five days ago, off my head I was. I had to be carried on a wagon. All I could do was call out for you." Tom smiled weakly again. "The lads had a right good old laugh about it!"
"Shouldn't yer be in the infirmary then?" Sharpe queried. He thought of Lawford and their plans for the night and was thrown into a quandary.
"I've been to the infirmary and the surgeons opened the wound and removed some more bits of bone. They wanted me to stay, but I had to see you Dick." Tom's voice took on a desperate note that Sharpe had never heard before. "You see Dick, when I was out there in the wagon, I really thought I was dying and I prayed that I would be spared so I could see you one more time. There are things I have to tell you Dick. Important things, they can't wait."
Sharpe carefully slipped his arm around Tom's shoulders noticing how much thinner his friend felt. Weaker too, and suddenly he understood that Tom's fears had been very real.
"Come on back to my rooms Tom. I'll get yer something to eat and drink. You'll feel better then."
Garrard leaned against the solid shoulder. "It's fitting somehow Dick, that I'm back here with you tonight. They say it's an important time and seeing as how we've been through so much together, it's only right that we spend it together."
Bloody Hell! Lawford would be turning up with just the same thing in mind. What was he going to do?
Back at his rooms near the Mysore gate, Dick Sharpe set about making Tom Garrard comfortable. "You'd best get into bed Tom, because you look like you might fall down at any moment."
"That's the best line I've heard yet, Dick," Tom said, trying to struggle out of his clothes. "This is just like old times, isn't it?"
"Yes," Sharpe answered although he knew it was far from the truth. "Here, let me give you a hand." He knelt to pull of Toms worn boots and when he looked up again Tom was slipping off his sling.
"Leave that sling on. The bloody surgeon put it there for a reason!" He exclaimed, but Tom had already eased it off and was now laying down his one good arm held out in invitation.
"I just want to hold you for a while Dick, please? I know you won't hurt me."
The voice was so plaintive, the look so pleading that against his better judgment, Sharpe lay down on the narrow bed beside his friend.
Tom wasted no time. He turned and kissed Sharpe with a fervour that surprised him. "Tom," he began, but Garrard silenced him again with more kisses. It didn't take long for Sharpe to find himself responding. He was still half-aroused from his earlier encounter with Lawford which Tom's eagerness did nothing to dispel.
"Oh Dick, I've missed you, I've missed this."
Perhaps it was purely reflex or that they had for so long assumed these roles; whatever the reason, Dick Sharpe soon found Tom Garrard on his side, his damaged shoulder uppermost, waiting. "Tom, I don't think yer up to this." Sharpe whispered trying to reign in a passion that threatened to overwhelm him.
"When has it ever stopped us before Dick?" There was a dangerous edge to Tom's voice, an unfamiliar roughness, as if having faced his own death he was now convinced of his immortality.
"Tom," Sharpe tried again, knowing this was the wrong thing to do and wondering at Tom's desperation.
"Please Dick, I want you and I know you want me. Go on, fuck me!" It sounded strange coming from Garrard who usually used gentler words. Strange but exciting and Sharpe felt his lust rise.
It was the appeal to his baser nature that won out in the end for Dick Sharpe had long ago learned the thrill of the darker side. It was something he had rarely shared with Tom, something that he had rediscovered with Lawford.
So he did as Tom asked, trying hard to be gentle, but knowing that he fell far short of that mark and afterwards as he lay against Tom's back, he wondered what it was that Tom had wanted so badly to tell him.
"Tom? he whispered but Tom Garrard had fallen into an exhausted sleep.
It was right on the stroke of eleven when a faint tap sounded on Sharpe's door. Sharpe was waiting, dressed again but he wasn't prepared for the look on Lawford's face.
"Garrard's supposed to be in the infirmary!" Lawford almost spat out, "What is he doing here?"
Sharpe was taken aback by the Lieutenant's vehemence.
"Tom wanted to see me. He didn't look too good on his feet so I put him to bed. He's been asleep for hours."
Lawford raised one fair eyebrow and blinked his lashes; Sharpe could smell the brandy on his breath. "Well where does that leave me, Richard? I left Bloody Wellesely's party to be with you!"
"I have an idea, " Sharpe picked up the small pack of things he had prepared and led Lawford outside before locking the door. "I've got something special planned for us, just you and me!" Lawford smiled, a slightly feline gesture, and proceeded to follow Sharpe through the streets.
There were people everywhere, infantrymen, sepoys, women and whores drinking and dancing while they waited. Waited for this thing to happen that would herald the new century. Sharpe shook his head at the silliness for he couldn't understand it.
He felt Lawford's hand steal down to fondle his arse as they walked side by side, but no one paid them any notice. No one stopped them at the gate, no sentry barred their way as they wandered towards the riverbank. It was as if everyone was focused on the coming turn of the century.
It was quiet down by the river away from the noise of celebration. Sharpe opened his pack and spread a blanket out for them.
"Quaint! Is this your idea of fun Richard? A bit on the rough side." In the darkness Lawford's eyes were unreadable.
"This is what us common soldiers have to put up with. No fancy cots like you Officers have. No little rooms with beds. It's either this or a bunk in the barracks. But at least a blanket on the grounds affords a bit of privacy. It's hard to get it up with half the bloody barracks watching!"
Lawford sat down and pulled off his boots. "I can't imagine you every having trouble getting it up Richard! I somehow think you'd find the thought of other men watching you rather erotic."
Why did Lawford always have to use such bloody big words! Christ next he'd ask him to write it down! Well he wasn't going to ask him what it meant, he could guess. It had that sound to it anyway, a hard sound like 'Fuck' but with a softer ending.
A bottle of arrack was pulled from the pack and the two men spent several minutes passing it back and forth as they savoured the rough liquor.
"So what's next Richard?" Lawford asked lying down on his back and looking up at the heavens.
"We could look at the stars, I suppose?" Sharpe teased, lying down also. The arrack had made him feel warm and slightly giddy.
Lawford moved closer, his pale eyes seeming to steal the very light from the heavens above, blinding Sharpe to all else. "I have a better idea, Richard, if you don't," he whispered, his breath warm and sweet in Sharpe's face. "Show me how you do it on a blanket on the ground. Show me just how rough it is."
Richard Sharpe needed no further invitation. What pursued was more like a struggle than a seduction as each man strove for dominance. They were evenly matched for what Lawford lacked in physical strength he made up for by the subtle psychological advantage of being Sharpe's superior in rank and station. In the end Lawford won by his own submission for Sharpe was so overcome by the sudden rush of power that he forgot his usual inhibitions and cried out his own undying love in response to Lawford's similar declarations.
And as the cannons boomed out in the darkness, heralding the start of 1800, two voices screamed their way to ecstasy on the river bank, oblivious to anything but their own pleasure.
They finally lay there, side by side, their sweat drying in the night air and looked up at the blanket of stars above.
"Did you feel it?" Lawford asked quietly.
"Bloody hell yes!" Sharpe smirked wondering when Lawford would be ready for more.
"Not that Richard, the change! The change from one century to the next." The playfulness was gone as Lawford leaned up on one elbow, his face serious.
"Change brings opportunity and this century will bring great things Richard. You can be a part of that if you want. You have the ability to go far and to do things that other men only dream of."
"Like fucking you?" Sharpe asked reaching for Lawford again.
The blues eyes smiled, but Lawford stayed out of reach for the moment. "Like reaching for those stars Richard," he continued looking up at the vast panorama above them. "Nothing is out of reach if you want it badly enough. You've proved that already. You just have to make the right choices."
In a strange way Sharpe knew that Lawford was somehow right, a fact confirmed moments later as he rolled the young Lieutenant under him again and proceeded to take what he wanted.
For if he could aspire to have Lawford as his own, Lawford who was so far above him that he almost walked with the angles, then what else could he achieve?
As he lay on his back again on the verge of sleep, Sharpe allowed himself to dream.
It was almost daylight as Sharpe and Lawford made their way through the streets, now empty but for discarded bottles and sleeping forms huddled here and there in doorways.
It was with reluctance that Sharpe gave Lawford a swift kiss and let him go, for the young Lieutenant had been correct. Sharpe could feel the change now, it wasn't in the air, it was in himself. He knew now that he could do more, that he could go far. He just had to wait for the right moment and make the right choice. Lawford understood this, but would Tom?
The small room was like a tomb when Sharpe opened the door and he tiptoed across to the bed thinking Tom was still asleep. But the brown eyes looked up at him, eyes that reminded him of a dog that someone had just kicked and Sharpe had to look away.
"Been awake long Tom? Do you need anything?" He looked back and saw the stain of fresh blood that had soaked through the bandage sometime in the night and wondered if he was responsible.
"I got up to get a drink a while ago. I was thirsty. Did you go out to get some rations?"
It would be easy to lie and Sharpe half expected that Tom would be happy if he did, but somehow he couldn't.
"Lawford came by late last night. You were asleep so we went out for a while."
Tom nodded, the sad look never leaving his face. Sharpe attempted a smile.
"So what was it that you had to tell me last night Tom? You fell asleep before you got the chance."
The brown eyes blinked and Tom paused. "I don't remember Dick," he said very slowly, "It's gone right out of my mind. It must have been the fever talking again."
Garrard looked away suddenly and rubbed at his eyes as if trying to remember something else. "I had a dream though, that's what woke me up. It seemed so real, so frightening."
"Must be the fever then." Sharpe declared, touching Tom's forehead but finding it cool.
"We were in a city Dick, big place it was, but it wasn't Seringapatam. Suddenly there was this almighty explosion, like a thousand cannons going off at once. The place started burning. People were running everywhere, screaming."
"The celebrations must have woken you up, Tom, that's all." Sharpe patted Tom's knee beneath the thin blanket. "They fired off the cannons over at the Tippoo's palace. Some silly buggers were even were firing muskets in the streets and someone let off some of them rocket things from the armoury." He and Lawford had lain together in the aftermath of their lovemaking watching the rockets streak into the sky.
Garrard shook his head, a far away look in his eyes. "You were with me Dick and then you left me there and I was alone. It was like being in Hell!"
"I'd never leave you Tom, you know that." Yet Sharpe knew he had done just that only hours before.
"There's more Dick." Garrard continued shakily, his eyes looking wet. "Suddenly we were somewhere else, a ruined place, the gate was gone and there were wolves outside, waiting to come in. And I was crying because you'd left me before to the fire and I knew you'd leave me again, but it was the only way I could save you..." Garrard's voice trailed away and he looked at Sharpe, waiting.
Before Sharpe could reply there was a knocking at the door and Sharpe cursed under his breath, hoping it wouldn't be Lawford. Tom's words had disturbed him and he knew they needed to talk further. But there was a stranger at the door, a young sandy haired infantryman standing there with a frown on his face.
"Who are you?" Sharpe asked gruffly.
"Love!"
Sharpe blinked at the answer remembering the words that had flowed so easily from his mouth last night with Lawford. "Martin Love, I'm with the 33rd Light Company. Is Tom Garrard here?"
"Martin?" They both turned to look at Garrard who was struggling to prop himself up in Sharpe's small bed.
Love frowned. "What have you been doing Tom?" He looked at Sharpe and frowned even more. "You know the surgeon only let you go on the condition that you rest." Without waiting for an invitation Love barged past Sharpe and sat himself down next to Tom. "Let me have a look at that shoulder."
Up close, Love must have seen Tom's distress or perhaps be could smell the evidence of what had happened last night because he turned back and scowled at Sharpe again. "He was supposed to be resting! He's been very ill you know!" Sharpe felt guilty.
"The surgeon probably didn't stitch it right, that's all, Martin. " Tom explained as Love set about gently unwrapping the bandage in a manner that was just a little too familiar for Sharpe's liking.
"Here, what are yer doing, leave that alone!" Sharpe declared as he crossed the room deciding he didn't like this man.
"Shh, Dick, Martin knows what he's about. He often helps the surgeons out. Why I doubt I'd be here is he hadn't nursed me." Sharpe bristled with jealousy as he saw the way Tom looked into the hazel eyes. He moved away, not knowing how to deal with his feelings and began fussing with the small brazier. Might as well make some bloody tea!
"Will yer stay for a cup?" Sharpe asked reluctantly when Love had finished his inspection of the wound and declared it satisfactory. He was wishing the man would leave.
"No I just dropped by to see how Tom was. I've been minding his pack so I'll bring it by later." Love wandered back to the door. "I'll let Lieutenant Lawford know where he is."
"Lawford knows!" The two words hung in the air like a challenge. Sharpe's green eyes met Love's hazel ones and they stared at each other like two stags.
"Well I'll be off then," Love turned away and smiled back at Tom. "I'll call around again to see how you are going Tom. Just remember to rest!"
When Love had gone, Sharpe spent several long minutes fussing with the tea before carrying over the two mugs and sitting down beside Tom. His thoughts were in turmoil.
"Martin's a good lad, Dick. You'll like him." Tom said quietly as he sipped at his tea.
"Have yer been fucking him?" Even as he said it, Sharpe wished he could take it back.
"No Dick." The answer was quiet, too quiet. "That's all you think of isn't it. You really don't understand what true friendship is, do you? You have to somehow get it all mixed up together, lust and sex and friendship and obligation....you can't sort one from the other!"
Sharpe sat silently, thinking over Tom's words. He couldn't understand what Tom was trying to say for in his eyes they WERE all connected, all a part of the way he had grown up, a part of the way he lived his life. Why try to sort them out?
"It's just the way I am Tom, I doubt I'll ever be any different." Why couldn't Tom accept it after all this time?
"Would it really make any difference then if I had taken up with Martin, Dick?" Tom asked quietly.
Sharpe looked into the sad brown eyes that he knew so well and smiled. "No, I'd be happy for you Tom. I don't like to think of you all alone, it's not right." Sharpe sat back and sipped at his tea before he tried to put his newfound knowledge into words.
"Things change Tom, times, places, people. We just have to live with the changes as best we can." Lawford's words from earlier came drifting back. "Lawford says change brings opportunity and that we have to be ready to make the right choices."
Tom sat silently, staring down into his tea as if the answer to everything lay in the murky depths. "So will we change Dick? Will our friendship change?"
"Tom we're best mates, we'll always be best mates. Nothing can change that." He believed the words as he spoke them, believed with a passion that things would never change between them.
But Tom raised those sad brown eyes again and asked, "Are you sure Dick?" and Sharpe felt again the strange foreshadowing he had felt earlier, that changes were indeed coming. But now he understood more. He knew that for every thing gained there was a price to be paid and nothing in life was ever certain. He knew he stood on the verge of changes that would carry him far from where he had started in the foundling home, far from his humble position as Sergeant in the armoury. Far from Tom Garrard.
And as their eyes met once again Richard Sharpe realised that Tom Garrard had felt the change too.
The End
31st December 1999
JJ [Minerva]