Feedback: [email protected] Sharpe's Saviour: A Story of Flanders. By Minerva Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Not done for profit, just for fun. They are not mine, I'm just playing. Rating: MA m/f and m/m sex scenes, violence and rape, some of which involve an under aged character AND they eat the horses! If any of these things may offend you, please don't read this! Notes: History has been bent here, well maybe beaten into shape with a mallet might be a better description. But I am not the first, I fear. In my research I came across a reference to the fact that the Light and Grenadier Companies of the 33rd Regiment were NOT sent to Flanders but kept at Cork on standby for the West Indies. If this is the case then Sharpe was never in Flanders. BC tells us that Captain Hughes chose Sharpe for the Light Company and also that Hughes saw the Light Company fight on a small island off Flanders. I could find NO reference to ANY fighting on an island.  I admit this is all speculation although I have tried to keep historical accuracy as best as I could. Place names and dates are fairly accurate however most details of the battles are fictional. I have no experience with frost or fog or snow, so I am really stabbing in the dark with the weather conditions that prevailed in what was know then as 'The Great Frost' Acknowledgments: Many thanks as always to Sarah, Helen, Heather and our fearless leader Jen [too crude? No way, I had to read it twice to find the quote you meant!] Riddler Bibliography: 'The Iron Duke' by James Lawrence 'Wellington.' By Lady Elizabeth Longford 'A Soldier of the Seventy-first.' Edited by Christopher Hibbert. Sharpe's Saviour: A Story of Flanders Part One: Flanders, November 1794 "Not again!" murmured Tom Garrard from beneath the bundle of his greatcoat and blanket as he watched the small figure of Dick Sharpe weave his way drunkenly back towards the campfires. Garrard shook his head. There wasn't a man in the 33rd, that didn't know what Sharpe did most evenings and hated him for it. "Pathetic little bastard!" replied Harry Whyte as he poked his nose out and looked over toward three shadowy figures who could be seen just beyond the glow of the campfires, waiting for Sharpe. "He's in for it tonight." he added. "Bastards!" muttered Garrard as he watched the three Infantrymen waylaid Sharpe and took him unresisting further into the darkness at the tree line. "Why don't they leave him be." "Christ Tom, he's nothing but a whore, Captain Hughes' whore, what do you care. Want a bit for yourself eh?" Whyte laughed, "Well you'll have to get in line tonight." "There's plenty of others whores around Harry, but you don't see them being treated like that. None of the lads would stand for it if anyone tried to do that to one of the women." Whyte ignored the remark and Garrard glanced back into the darkness for a moment only to look away again. He knew what was happening. It was the same almost every night now. After Hughes finished with Sharpe he'd send him back to camp more drunk than sober and there would always be someone waiting for him, happy to have a share once the Captain had finished. Sharpe had only joined the Regiment a scarce two weeks before they left Cork in June, for Flanders. He had arrived with the rest of the new recruits, a young lad, almost 17. But two things had set him apart from the others. He was striking to look at in a wild sort of way. Not that tall yet, but Garrard could tell that Sharpe would eventually be taller than his own 5' 10" frame. You could see it in the breadth of his shoulders and the length of his arms and legs. But at the moment he was a scrawny, half starved street urchin, all skinny, like a young colt, who had made the mistake of running afoul of the recruiting Sergeant. It was that Sergeant, a man by the name of Hakeswill belonging to the Regiment's second Company who had made sure that every man in the ranks knew what Sharpe had been doing to survive on the streets. Sharpe had been a street whore. Word must have finally reached Captain Hughes because Sharpe had barely been there two days before the Captain claimed him first for the Light Company and then for his bed. At least in the barracks the others had left him alone, thought Garrard as he listened to the muffled grunts and groans that sounded so loud in the cold stillness of the night. Once they had reached Flanders however things had changed. The Regiment was acting as a rear guard as the British army desperately marched across Flanders for the last five months, hoping to find a secure place to hold up for the winter. It was becoming colder and food was short and deprivations like this often brought out the worst in men. Of course it couldn't all be blamed on the bitter conditions. The army attracted all kinds of men from murderers to rapists, but normally the Sergeants would look after the younger lads, making sure that they were safe from any unwanted attention. This wasn't the case with Sharpe. He was resented because of the favouritism that Hughes showed him and he was too cocky with far too much to say. He had made no friends, and no one was much concerned with what went on outside the campfires warm light. No one cared except for Tom Garrard. Garrard looked back and saw the last of the figures move away. He could see Sharpe lying there, moving slightly but making no attempt to get up. It was cold, the ground was wet and muddy and a fine rain was falling. "Christ he'll freeze if he lays there too long." whispered Garrard. Whyte beside him just snorted and rolled over towards the fire. Tom stood up and wrapped his blanket around his shoulders. Blankets were known to go missing very easily and it didn't do well to let them out of your sight. As he walked closer to the trees he could see Sharpe clearly, laying face down with his trousers still around his ankles. "Dick, Dick get up or you'll freeze." he said a little hesitantly. Sharpe rolled over when he heard his name. He looked up at Garrard with eyes that wouldn't quite focus and said "Tom Garrard? Tom?" Sharpe smiled then " Yer wanna go too Tom?" Garrard sighed. Whyte was right, Sharpe was a pathetic little bastard. "Yer drunk Dick. Yer lying in mud and yer'll freeze yer sorry arse off if you don't get up." Sharpe nodded then and the smiled slipped from his face as he tried to get up. Garrard moved closer to help him and as he did he could see that Sharpe's face was bruised and dirty and his lip was bleeding. He looked at the rest of him and was shocked when he realized that Sharpe's thighs and buttocks were smeared with blood. "Christ! Are you all right, yer bleeding!" he exclaimed. "It's not that bad," Sharpe said with a bit of a laugh as he tried to get up again "I'll be all right, it happens sometimes." But Garrard shook his head "I think yer should go tell Captain Hughes what they did. Yer might need to see the surgeon." He bent and wrapped the blanket around Sharpe's shoulders. He could feel Sharpe shivering from the cold. His jacket was soaked from lying on the ground and suddenly Garrard realized that Dick Sharpe may very well have died that night from exposure if he hadn't come to help. "It's nothing Tom. Captain Hughes has done it himself when he's been too rushed. Don't worry about it, I know what to look out for. I've seen lads die and I'm nowhere near as bad as what they were." Tom Garrard was twenty-one years old. He had spent the last three years in the army learning to do what he was told and to stay out of trouble. Before that he had been born and grew up on a small farm in Ripon until the landlord had thrown his family out for falling behind with the rent. All his experiences in life had never prepared him for something like this. From his time in the army he had heard something of what went on between men, what mates might do beneath a blanket that they shared at night but he had never connected it with violence and injury. "Bloody hell." he muttered under his breath as from his greatcoat pocket he pulled one of the rags that he kept for keeping his musket dry. He used it first to wipe Sharpe's face clean then gave it to Sharpe saying, "Clean yerself up with it." Sharpe took the rag and wiped away the blood and filth. Garrard could see him shaking now, and wondered if it was from the cold or something else. He put his arm around Sharpe and helped him to stand. Sharpe leaned against him as he pulled up his trousers, then slipped his arm around Garrard and whispered, "So what do yer want Tom? I know lots, I do. What do yer like?" Garrard untangled Sharpe from himself and pushed him away slightly. "Bloody little bastard! I'm just trying to help you. I don't want anything from the likes of you!" Sharpe stood there swaying slightly with a puzzled look on his thin face. "Why?" was all he said. Why indeed, thought Garrard to himself. Well he had never been one to stand by when someone was kicking a dog, he never turned away a hungry cat, or refused to help an injured bird so why should it be any different now. Garrard shook his head at Sharpe "Cause I'm a bloody soft fool that's why!" and he took a hold of Sharpe's arm and led him back to the campfire. "Get that wet jacket off and spread it out near the fire to dry. Where's yer blanket and coat and pack?" Garrard watched as Sharpe obeyed him before shrugging his shoulders "Don't know, somewhere round." was all he said. His teeth were starting to chatter and Garrard put the blanket back around his shoulders. "Sit there while I find some tea." he said and rummaged through his pack for leaves and his mug. As he made the tea, Garrard watched Sharpe. He didn't look half so cocky now with his face bruised and his lip cut. Sharpe's hands were shaking too, Tom noticed, as he handed over the mug of tea. Garrard was starting to feel the cold himself with out his blanket. He moved closer to the fire and lay down. When Sharpe finished the tea Garrard called him over and told him to lie down too. He saw the look on Sharpe's face and explained "I'm bloody cold cause yer got my blanket. I can see you shivering too so unless yer want to give me back my blanket and go and find yer own stuff come over here and we can keep warm together. Nothing more all right?" Sharpe nodded and lay down. He moved closer, until they were touching, but Garrard could feel how cold Sharpe's skin felt through the thin cotton shirt and realized he was just seeking warmth. He could feel Sharpe shivering still and he put his arm around him pulling him closer. Sharpe responded by curling into Garrard. He's like a bloody cat, thought Garrard to himself. "Just keep yer bloody hands to yerself, all right?" Tom said suddenly feeling very uncomfortable with the whole situation. "Yes Tom" was the muffled reply from where Sharpe had his head buried into Garrard's chest "And thanks." It was more like a whisper, and Garrard could hear the uncertainty in Sharpe's voice. Poor little bastard, was his last thought as Tom drifted off to sleep. End of Part One Jenny Jones 1998 ~ Part Two: Tom Garrard awoke warm the next morning. He smiled to himself as he hovered on the very edge of wakefulness. There was something warm in his arms and he tried to remember if he had found a woman to sleep with last night. Christ, it was Dick Sharpe he suddenly realized and pushed Sharpe away harder than he intended. He heard Sharpe's groan of pain as he scrambled up, jolted from sleep. "I never touched yer, I didn't" Sharpe said desperately, his arms wrapped protectively around his ribs. Garrard looked at the bruised face, the swollen lip, dark smudges under Sharpe's eyes and felt remorseful. "Sorry lad, I was dreaming that's all. Did I hurt yer?" he said gently. Sharpe shook his head warily "No, it's just where Crocker and the others hurt my ribs last night." he lifted his shirt then and Garrard could see dark bruises covering his thin ribcage. "Rough bastards they are." muttered Sharpe as he felt along his ribs feeling for damage. "You shouldn't put up with it." said Garrard simply and Sharpe laughed "Yeah and who's gonna stop them? They're bigger than me and if I try to fight 'em I'll just get hurt worse." he looked at Garrard, his green eyes hard and cold. "I learned long ago it was best just to lay down and take it. Don't get hurt half as much that way. They'll always get yer in the end anyway." "There yer are, you little bastard! I was waiting for yer last night. I didn't mind yer stuff for nothing yer know." Frank Hawkins was a big man and a troublemaker. He strode up to Sharpe and gripped him by the arm, shaking him. In his other hand he had Sharpe's pack and greatcoat. "Captain Hughes kept me late Frank, then Crocker, Wardell and Curtis got me, and I was real drunk Frank. I passed out on the ground. I only woke up a while ago." Sharpe said wincing from the tight hold on his arm. Hawkins looked Sharpe over, taking in the bruises on his face. He apparently accepted the excuse because he said, "So yer gonna come pay me what yer owe me now before we start marching." "Tonight Frank, I'll do it tonight, after I'm through with Hughes." said Sharpe smiling up at his tormentor. Hawkins released him with a shove and threw the pack and coat down. "Just make sure that yer do, yer little whore." he said and walked away. Garrard had looked away wanting to distance himself from Sharpe. Hawkins was a man feared by most of the others. It was common knowledge that he had joined the army to escape the hangman's noose. He boasted openly of the men he had killed for a few coins. "Christ Dick," he said picking up Sharpe's jacket, which was stiff but dry from the fire. "You don't want to get mixed up with Hawkins." "Well who else can I leave m'pack with when Captain Hughes wants me. Can't take it with me. Hawkins minds it and I know no one will try to steal it from him." said Sharpe wearily as he put on his jacket and great coat. "But how do you pay him?" asked Garrard not sure what the arrangement could be. "Christ Tom, how do yer think." replied Sharpe with a smile. Garrard shook his head again. "Yer going to come to a bad end if you keep going like this Dick. I'll mind yer bloody stuff and you don't have to pay me." Garrard knew he would regret this offer, but it seemed the right thing to do. Dick Sharpe would stand no chance if he got mixed up with the likes of Hawkins. Sharpe smiled at Garrard, "Thanks Tom, but are yer sure yer don't want anything? I don't mind, really." he said in that smart way that he had and reached out to run his fingers up Garrard's thigh. "You just stop that now. I don't want yer doing that." Garrard said and Sharpe pulled his hand away. "All right Tom, I won't do that." he replied, still grinning. After a breakfast of meager rations, the 33rd Regiment once more began its retreat towards the Waal River. The day proved to be bleak, with heavy clouds and light rain. As Garrard trudged along he noticed that young Sharpe had changed his position in the ranks so that he now marched just behind. When they rested, Sharpe kept close by him, never directly next to him, but always somewhere around. Garrard couldn't help smiling to himself and he wondered if Sharpe somehow felt safer near him. "You're going to get yourself into trouble if you pay him too much attention." said Harry Whyte when he too noticed Sharpe. "He's not worth it, Tom. He's a lost cause." "No one that young is a lost cause, Harry. He just needs a bit of help from a mate that's all. Someone to give him a chance. Don't worry about me. I can look after myself." It was true enough. Tom Garrard may have been a quiet man who stayed out of trouble, but he was also a man you would think twice about before fighting. Years of hard labour on his father's farm had given him a strength that was obvious. He was quick and had a natural agility. He may not have been the tallest of men but he was seldom underestimated. At the midday break, Garrard watched as Sharpe lay down wearily and curled up on his side. He looked pale beneath the bruising that showed quite clearly in the daylight. "You all right?" Garrard inquired quietly as he strolled close to Sharpe. Sharpe opened his eyes and looked up "Just tired." he said but made no move to eat any rations. Garrard looked up the column to see if he could see Captain Hughes. He was worried about Sharpe and wondered if the Captain would be worried too when he saw him. But Captain Hughes was with the other Officers and probably wouldn't be looking for Sharpe until later. They marched on and by mid afternoon the Regiment had reached the banks of the Waal River. Across the flowing water they could see the camps of the other Regiments. It was here that the Duke of York had decided to maintain a defensive position on the northern bank of the Waal. Winter was fast approaching and the troops needed secure quarters for the winter. As they stood gazing over the smooth flowing water Captain Hughes rode up looking for Sharpe. "What happened to you Sharpe." Hughes asked when he saw the bruising on the young rifleman's face. "Nothing Sir, I slipped in the mud Sir." said Sharpe with a grin. "Later." was all that the Captain replied and Garrard guessed that this was the summons that Sharpe was waiting for when he saw the young infantryman nod and smile even more. As they made their camp that evening there was talk of the comforts that awaited the men tomorrow night when they would be billeted in one of the nearby villages. Warm dry beds, fresh food and with a little luck warm, fresh women. Tom Garrard listened to the talk as he cooked his simple supper in the camp-kettle he shared with his four messmates, Whyte, Peters, Avery and Dodds. He watched Dick Sharpe skulking around the edge of the camp and wondered which mess he belonged to and why he wasn't with them cooking his supper. Tom rose and carried his plate over to where Sharpe now sat at the very edge of the circle of firelight chewing on a piece of dried beef. "You going to cook something? Whose kettle do you share?" Tom asked. Sharpe shook his head. "Frank Hawkins" he said wryly "Don't worry, Captain Hughes sometimes has something there for me. I'll wait." "Well what if he doesn't? It'll be too late when you get back." No wonder Sharpe was so thin, he had hardly eaten since breakfast, Garrard thought to himself. "You still mind m'stuff Tom? Like yer said yer would?" Sharpe asked ignoring Tom's question and smiling that cocky smile. "I said I would, and don't get drunk this time. " Garrard scowled then asked in a quieter voice "Will you be all right though? I mean they hurt you last night and...." he trailed off not quite knowing how to put his concerns into words. Sharpe looked straight into Garrard's eyes and said "I know how to take care of Captain Hughes, there's more than one way to skin a cat." and he licked his lips and grinned again. Garrard felt his face flame and looked away. It was about an hour later when Sharpe slipped away. Garrard moved his and Sharpe's things in closer to the fire and next to Harry Whyte. Whyte shot him a look and shook his head. "You're a fool Tom, it'll lead to trouble." But Garrard ignored his remark and said "Watch the packs, I'm going to wait for him, make sure he gets back all right." End of Part Two 1998 ~ Part Three: Garrard made his way through the camp towards where the officer's tents were erected. Most of the men were still awake, sitting around the fires, talking, smoking and drinking. But the night was turning cold again and Tom knew that it wouldn't be long before they were rolling themselves in their blankets and greatcoats and going to sleep. Finding a place in the darkness where he could watch for Sharpe, Garrard sat down and waited. He had no idea how long this would take, he suddenly realized. Sharpe seemed to stagger back at the oddest hours, and God only knew what he did on the way. Garrard looked up into the sky so heavy with clouds, thankful that they would finally be billeted out of the weather. The winter was here and Tom guessed it wouldn't be long before it snowed. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to dose slightly, but not to sleep. Behind him he heard the camp slowly quieten and eventually he heard Dick Sharpe leaving Captain Hughes' tent. Sharpe kept to the shadows skirting around the perimeter of the camp. Garrard stood up when Sharpe approached causing him to jump slightly. "It's just me." said Garrard quietly "I wanted to make sure that you got back without anyone bothering you." Sharpe looked at him and for once there was no cheeky smile on his face. "Yer shouldn't Tom. I'll be all right. You go on back." "We'll go together." said Tom and starting walking. The two men were almost back when Garrard heard Sharpe's quick intake of breath. He looked right and saw Crocker and Wardell heading towards them. "What's this Garrard? Didn't think you liked boys? Getting desperate?" said Crocker leering at Sharpe. "Leave him alone Crocker." Garrard said wondering how far these men were prepared to go to get what they wanted. "Don't worry, we'll wait our turn. You can go first, or should I say second. I'm sure the Captain's loosened him up for us." "Yer not touching him Crocker. It stops now. No more do yer hear me." Garrard stood up to his full height and stared Crocker and Wardell down. They looked at each other clearly unsure of their next move. The light of the campfires were only yards away and Garrard knew he need only raise his voice and call out and the sentries would come running. Crocker and Wardell knew it too. They may have been able to bluff a drunken seventeen-year-old into silence, but stood little chance against Tom Garrard and a fight was the last thing either of them wanted. "Fair enough Garrard, he's yours but if you get tired of him let me know." said Crocker. He turned to go only to see another figure loom up out of the darkness. "Been waiting for you Sharpie, you still owe me." said Hawkins as he grabbed Sharpe by the arm and started to drag him away further into the darkness. Crocker and Wardell took two steps backwards wanting to flee but also interested in seeing what would happen between Garrard and Hawkins. "Let him go Hawkins." said Garrard. He was desperately aware that the odds were beginning to mount against him, but he wouldn't back down know. "It's all right Tom, don't worry. I'll be all right." said Sharpe and Garrard could hear desperation in his voice. He ran after Hawkins and grabbed him by the shoulder. 'I said leave him be...." began Garrard but Hawkins let go of Sharpe and swung around slamming his big fist into the side of Garrard's heard. Tom Fell to the ground and with his ears ringing and his head pounding and he waited for the next blow to fall. He could hear Sharpe's voice but it sounded so far away. "Don't worry about him Frank, come on. What do yer want Frank, I'll do whatever yer want Frank, leave him now. Come on over here." Garrard opened his eyes and he could see two blurred figures, the smaller one entwining itself around the larger one, holding him back desperately. He blinked and opened his eyes again to see Hawkins grab Sharpe by his hair and haul him out of sight into the bushes. Where were the sentries, Garrard wondered, they must have heard all of the commotion. He turned his head back towards the camp and saw Crocker and Wardell still standing there, waiting. From somewhere in the darkness he heard Sharpe cry out in pain and Garrard lurched to his feet. "Bastards." he shouted at the two men who still stood there doing nothing. This has got to stop, he told himself as he bent down and pulled a small knife from his boot. With unsteady feet he walked towards the bushes. Garrard could hear Sharpe's sobs clearly now, low and harsh in the stillness. He burst through the bushes and grabbed Hawkins by the shoulder, pulling him off Sharpe. Hawkins struggled up with his fist raised, but Garrard was faster. He raised his small knife and thrust it up into the big mans chest at the exact spot he had been trained to aim for with a bayonet. Hawkins eyes showed one brief moment of surprise and then they glazed over and he fell to the ground dead. Garrard stood there, shocked by his own actions, the small bloody knife still clutched in his hand. It was Richard Sharpe's voice that finally roused him. "Oh Christ Tom, yer shouldn't have done it. They'll hang yer," he said in a small voice. Tom looked over to where Sharpe was huddled on the ground. "Are you all right?" he asked in an unsteady voice. But Sharpe didn't answer, he stared past Garrard who swung around to see the surprised faces of Crocker and Wardell. "Who's next." Tom said raising the knife and Crocker put up his hands in a sign of submission. "Yer'll get no trouble from us Tom. We didn't see a thing," he said backing away. "Good riddance, I say." said Wardell. "Throw the body into the Waal. No one will know, they'll think he's deserted." Garrard looked at the two men weighing them up. They were nothing but cowards who preyed on the defenseless, and they were now clearly afraid of Tom Garrard. "Get out of here." he said with a scowl and the two men hurried away. Garrard walked over to Sharpe and sat down beside him. "Are yer hurt?" he asked again softly and Sharpe nodded "Just a bit, Tom, but I'll be all right." His face was bloodied where his nose had bled and as Garrard raised his hand to wipe it away he saw the blood that covered his own hands. He looked over at the body of Hawkins and groaned. "Wait here while I get rid if him." he told Sharpe and set about the grisly task. Hawkins body was heavy and it took some time for Tom to drag it to a secluded spot and push it into the river without being seen. He knelt there then and washed his hands again and again. Tom Garrard had killed before today, but only in battle. What he had done tonight was murder. He knew he was justified but it still sat heavy on his conscience. Well he was going to make sure that it was worthwhile, he told himself. He had murdered to save Dick Sharpe and now save Dick Sharpe he would. With this thought in mind he went back. Sharpe was dressed again and waiting when Garrard returned. His face said nothing of what had taken place but as Garrard led him back to the campfire he could tell that Sharpe was in pain. Garrard found their packs and lay down. He was surprised when Sharpe joined him, rolling close and saying, "Do you mind Tom?" in an uncertain voice that trembled slightly. Garrard pulled him closer, glad to have someone to hold. "Yer all right now." He whispered and heard his own voice shake. "You ever killed a man before Tom?" Sharpe asked as he made himself comfortable. Garrard put his arm around the younger man and pulled the blanket over them both. "Not like that." he whispered his mouth close to Sharpe's ears. "I killed a man once, that's how I came to join up. I was on the run." Tom could feel Sharpe's heart beating a little too quickly under his arm and the trembles that once again wracked his thin frame. "Why'd yer kill him," Garrard asked "Did he try to ...." He stopped not wanting to put a name to what had happened earlier. "He was after my girl. I killed him cause he was gonna hurt her." Sharpe said simply. He was quiet then and Garrard wondered if he had fallen asleep but he moved a little and asked, "Why'd yer kill Hawkins, Tom?" Garrard opened his hand and placed the palm on Sharpe's chest where he could feel his heart beating. "I killed him cause he was hurting me mate." replied Garrard softly. End of Part Three. 1998 ~ Part Four: The 33rd Foot Regiment crossed the Waal River the following morning and by noon they were billeted in a small village not far from Tiel. Tom Garrard had spent the morning worrying. He worried that the sentries would arrive at any moment and arrest him for Hawkins' murder. He worried about who would look after Dick Sharpe if he was hung. And he worried about the way Sharpe was acting this morning as if nothing had happened the night before. Garrard could tell by the way he moved, that Sharpe was hurt, but he laughed and joked as if nothing was wrong. It finally wore on Garrard's nerves and he told Sharpe to shut up which the young infantryman did and Sharpe had not spoken to him since. Now Sergeant Walker was directing the men to their billets and Sharpe was still standing beside Garrard, looking like a stray cat but saying nothing. "Garrard, you want to take the barn again?" asked Walker, and Garrard nodded. He often opted to sleep in the stables or barns as they reminded him of home. He usually got a bit of privacy there too as most of the men preferred to sleep in houses when they could. But Garrard liked the smell of the hay, the company of the livestock. It was comforting and he could pretend for a while that he was somewhere else. "Me too Sarge." piped up Sharpe suddenly and Sergeant Walker raised an eyebrow at Garrard who nodded again prompting an even stranger look from Walker who pointed towards a small barn beside one of the houses. It was warm and quiet inside, the usual inhabitants being outdoors enjoying the brief break in the rain. There was plenty of straw and hay put up for the winter and in one corner Garrard could see there was a chicken roost. Might be able to get a few eggs if the villagers were feeling charitable, he thought. Stealing was against regulations of course but Garrard knew that it seldom stopped many of the men. The two men made themselves comfortable and rested while they could. There would be drill later, but for now they could enjoy their first real rest in days. Sharpe had curled up on his side in a corner without saying anything, his back turned to Garrard. "I'm sorry I yelled at yer before Dick, I'm just worried they'll find Hawkins," Garrard began. Word had spread through the ranks before they started marching that Hawkins was gone. Deserted was the popular speculation, but Tom had worried that Crocker and Wardell might talk. "Don't do no good to worry Tom. What's done is done. Worrying won't change it," said Sharpe without turning over. Sharpe was right of course, but it made Garrard feel uneasy that someone as young as Sharpe would accept that so easily. It was the prerogative of youth to rage against the world and the blows that it dealt them, not lie down beneath the onslaught. "How are yer Dick." Tom asked again trying to make it sound casual. "I'm all right Tom, don't worry about me," was all Sharpe replied, his voice making it clear that the conversation was over. Garrard was happy when the call finally came for drill. It gave him something to take his mind off Dick Sharpe. By evening he had just about managed to do that. Sharpe himself seemed better and was chattering away again as they stood around one of the campfires which had been built to allow the men to cook their rations. Tom had invited Sharpe to join their mess group as they were short one man, six being the usual number. Harry Whyte had frowned and rolled his eyes but no one had openly objected and Tom was able to make sure that Sharpe had a decent meal. They returned to the barn to eat and Tom lit a small lantern, which he had found earlier. It gave off a friendly glow as the two men ate their supper. The barn was a little more crowed now, with several chickens, two sheep, a horse and a large milk cow housed there for the night. "I haven't seen Captain Hughes, Tom. Maybe he can't find me." Sharpe said as he gulped down the watery stew. "He can't wander around the town looking for me yer know. It wouldn't look right." Tom guessed that this was so. It was one thing for an Officer to stroll through camp smoking a cigar after supper or inspecting the men. But to go searching through the billets for one in particular would certainly raise comments. "I'd better take a walk down to his rooms and see if he wants me. Wouldn't do to get him off side." Sharpe said casually. "Why don't you just not go. Stay here. He can't make yer do it Dick." said Garrard wondering if he could make Sharpe see a bit of sense. "But he looks after me Tom. I would have been in real strife when I arrived if he hadn't picked me up," said Sharpe defensively. "Looks to me like you were in real strife anyway. Didn't stop the likes of Hawkins and Crocker," said Tom, trying to keep his voice steady. He didn't want to start an argument with Sharpe, just make him see the truth. Sharpe looked away and stared out the door into the darkness. "Well he looks after me, he does. Saves a bit of his dinner sometimes. Real fancy stuff. And he always lets me drink his wine and brandy and rum. It's real good stuff Tom, not like the rot we get. He doesn't mind how much of it I drink." "Christ Dick, of course he doesn't." said Garrard raising his voice without meaning to. "Oh no Tom he's not like that. He doesn't make me do anything I don't want to. If I say no, he doesn't push me. He was real good about it last night. He never hurts me on purpose." Sharpe insisted. Garrard shook his head and decided that it was useless to try and change Sharpe's ideas in one night. The best thing he could do now was look out for him and show that he cared. He could work on the other slowly. "Well if yer going to find Captain Hughes I'll walk down with you and wait." Garrard announced. The Officers were billeted in a large house on the edge of the village. Tom guessed it was something like a manor. He watched as Sharpe walked up to the door and spoke to the sentry who disappeared inside and returned with Lieutenant Morris. When the sentry had moved away Tom could see Morris, talking to Sharpe. The sandy haired Lieutenant put his hand on Sharpe's shoulder and then moved it up to stroke his face and hair. Sharpe stood there scuffing his boot back and forward in the mud, not looking at Morris. Christ, thought Garrard and resisted the temptation to walk over and drag Sharpe away. But it was Sharpe, who turned and walked away, without any help from Garrard. Lieutenant Morris watched him go, then turned and went back inside slamming the door shut. "What happened." asked Garrard as Sharpe approached. "Captain Hughes is with the Colonel tonight. There was a meeting." he paused and looked back over his shoulder towards the house. "Lieutenant Morris offered to take his place if I was lonely. He said he'd had his eye on me for a while." Sharpe turned and looked back at Garrard's shocked face, a smile breaking out. "I told him no though. I'm too sore after Hawkins and I don't think Morris would have settled for anything less." "Christ!" muttered Garrard, angry that Sharpe could make him blush like a child. But it was the easy way that Sharpe talked about what he did as if it were commonplace, his casual attitude to it all, that shocked Garrard. Sharpe rolled his eyes at Tom and tried his hardest to look hurt. "I thought yer'd be pleased Tom." he said with a grin as they walked back to their billet. Tom Garrard was happy to be back inside and out of the cold. He lit the lantern again and looked around. His eyes fell on the cow. "We'll be woken early when they come to milk the cow, but if we're lucky they might give us a mug of the milk. You ever tasted milk straight from the cow Dick?" Sharpe wrinkled his nose and said, "No, is it safe Tom?" "Course it's safe, better than if yer let it stand a while." Tom had milked many a cow at home. "Not the milk, the cow! It's so big and it's not fenced in like the horse. It might walk on us in the night." Sharpe looked at the cow and moved his things a little further into the corner away from it. Standing, Garrard walked over and gave the cow a friendly pat. She swung her head around and lowed. "See, quite safe. Nothing to worry about. Now get some rest, I'll turn out the lantern." The barn was cosy, but Garrard took a long time to get comfortable. He felt cold even though he was inside out of the weather. It finally occurred to him that he was missing the warm feel of Dick Sharpe in his arms and decided that it was definitely time to find a woman. Christ, I must be getting desperate, he thought as he dosed of to sleep. End of Part 4 ~ Part Five: It was very late, Tom realised, when he was woken by a whimpering sound. Not the animals, he thought at once, although he could hear them stirring too, made nervous by the noise. "Please don't," he heard Sharpe whimper quietly and Tom crawled over to where he lay curled up still asleep. "Please don't, you're hurting me." came the quiet plea again and Tom gently put his hand on Sharpe's shoulder trying not to frighten him. "Wake up Dick yer dreaming." he said softly giving him a shake. "No, no, please don't." Sharpe moaned again and Garrard shook him harder "Wake up Dick it's just a dream." Sharpe sat bolt upright then and stared around him. "Are yer all right? You were dreaming." said Tom, still with his hand on the thin shoulder. "Yes, It was nothing, it was nothing." Sharpe said quickly. Garrard could hear him breathing hard and feel him trembling under his hand. "Wait there and I'll light the lantern." he said. Bringing it over to Sharpe he sat down beside him "What was the dream about?" he asked. "Oh nothing, it was nothing, nothing happened. It was nothing" Sharpe said again quickly his green eyes darting around the barn as if looking for something. "It was the cow" he said at last turning to Tom "It must have been the cow, it has big feet. I must have been dreaming about the cow." Tom looked closely at Sharpe and saw a strange shadow sweep across his eyes but it was gone too quickly for Tom to recognise it. "I don't like animals Tom, and that cow is so big." said Sharpe again this time trying to smile. "Didn't you have any animals at home?" asked Garrard. He was concerned that Sharpe was so upset and thought that talking might help to settle his nerves a little. Sharpe gave a little strangled laugh. "I didn't have any home Tom." he began softly. "I was raised in a foundling home." Sharpe frowned a little, thinking. "We didn't have any animals there, except cats. Aye, there were always cats cause they used to keep the rats away. I like cats, they'd come into my bed at night." Sharpe froze when he said that and Tom saw that look dart across Sharpe eyes again as he once again looked around the barn. "I like cats too Dick. They're real soft. Make good pets." Garrard said "I used to take little chicks into my bed at night when I was a lad, but I'd roll on them and crush them. My Ma would get angry and say to leave 'em be, but I liked the way they cheeped." Tom was talking too quickly, but the way Dick was sitting there staring around was frightening him. Sharpe suddenly looked back at Tom as if just realising he was there. "I like tabby cats Tom, those stripy ones. I used to pretend they were tigers when I was a lad. Have you ever seen a tiger Tom? I have, well a tiger skin it was really, but I seen it. Once, we had a visit from a patron, Mr. Burton. He'd been to India with the East India Company. We all got to miss out work that morning and sit and listen to his stories. He showed us the skin of a tiger that he had shot. It was bigger than a cat Tom, not as big as the cow mind, but it was big. All gold and black stripes, it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I told myself that I'd shoot a tiger one day and I'd keep the skin. I will too Tom. But back then I used to pretend that the cats were tigers, my tigers. That Mr. Burton told us that he had given the home money for new blankets, but we never saw any new blankets and it used to get real cold at night. That's why I'd take the cats into my bed at night. They kept me warm and safe." Sharpe finally stopped talking and looked away towards the cow. His breathing had slowed and Tom thought that his eyes looked normal again no longer haunted. Sharpe turned those green eyes back to Tom, and said with a pleading look "It's a shame there's no cats in the barn, cause it's nice to hold something warm while yer sleep. It stops bad dreams." Tom Garrard smiled at his friend and said, "I'll hold yer Dick. I'll make sure that the cow doesn't get you." He turned out the lantern and lay down beside Sharpe wrapping his arms around him. As he hovered on the edge of sleep once more he thought he heard Sharpe whisper "Thank you Tom." The owner of the cow did indeed wake the two sleeping infantrymen the next morning from the warm corner where they lay wrapped in each other's arms. Tom took their tin mugs over and introduced himself, then using gestures, asked for two cups of milk. After looking them up and down the villager, Josef, counted the roosting hens before he finally agreed. The milk was warm and filling, much better than the usual dry rations that made up their breakfast, Sharpe declared. Tom Garrard simply grinned as Sharpe sat there with a white ring around his mouth and resisted the urge to reach over and wipe it for him as he would a small child. He watched instead as Sharpe's tongue made lazy circles around his lips savouring the last traces of the milk. As the men of the 33rd arrived in the large field outside of the village for morning parade they were greeted by the sight of a cart, holding a large bulk, covered by a blanket. Tom Garrard stopped and looked at Sharpe, both men knew what the cart held. It was the body of Frank Hawkins. ~ Part Six: Tom's heart was beating rapidly as he stood in line for inspection, awaiting Captain Hughes. He could see Lieutenant Morris talking with Sergeant Walker looking back and forth through the ranks of men who stood whispering among themselves. Tom craned his head looking around for Crocker or Wardell, but couldn't see them. Not surprising really as they liked to stand at the back of the ranks, but it made him uneasy. When Captain Hughes rode up on his bay gelding he frowned at the body on the cart. Dismounting he walked to meet Morris and the two men turned their backs and spoke together for several minutes. Hughes walked over to where the men of the 33rd waited and performed a hurried inspection almost absentmindedly until he reached Dick Sharpe. He stopped for a moment and looked at Sharpe, taking in his appearance, noting the bruises that still covered his face and the healing cut on his lip. Sharpe looked straight head not meeting the Captain's eye. Hughes moved on to stand in front of Garrard, and Tom felt a chill rush through him. "Sentries, arrest this man and find a place to lock him up. He's under arrest for the murder of Private Hawkins." Garrard opened his mouth to protest his innocence but Sharpe was quicker. "It weren't him Sir, it weren't." he said in a quiet desperate voice to Hughes but the Captain silenced him with a piercing look of anger and Sharpe dropped his gaze. Garrard was taken away and locked in a cellar that was attached to one of the houses. The sentries shackled his hands and feet and left him in the dark and cold without a light or a blanket. There will have to be a trial, Tom told himself, they couldn't hang him without a trial. Probably Major Shee would hear the case, or maybe even the Colonel but there was a rumour that Wellesley was returning home for the winter and Tom suddenly felt sick realising that he may never see his home and family again. Sitting down on the damp floor Tom cursed himself for ever trying to help Dick Sharpe. This was all his fault. Christ, what had possessed him to think he could help a little bastard like that, Garrard chided, he should have listened to Harry Whyte. Putting his head in his hands Tom Garrard prayed. That evening, one of the sentries brought in a plate of gruel and a cup of water. Tom looked at the man with pleading eyes and asked, "Do yer know what's happening? Do yer know why they think I did it?" the sentry stared back for a moment before saying, "I heard that two of your mates put you in. Said they saw you do it. I think the Captain's still asking around though. He hasn't spoken to the Major yet. You may as well get comfortable because you could be here for a few days." "Well what about a blanket or my greatcoat? It's freezing down here?" Tom asked, but the sentry shrugged. "I think I'd rather freeze to death than get hanged." he said with a laugh and climbed out of the cellar. Garrard was nearly asleep when the cellar clanged open again and a lantern shone in. "Come out Private Garrard, the charges have been dropped." came the voice of Lieutenant Morris. Tom climbed out of the cellar and stood in the chilly night with his arms wrapped around him shivering. "How come Sir?" he asked not sure if he should say anything. Morris smirked at him and said "How indeed? I'd like to know the same thing. Enough to say that Captains Hughes' little pet had something to do with it. The Captain believes everything he says. That Dick Sharpe is a handy little friend to have Garrard, I dare say. Keep you busy does he?" Garrard said nothing but looked away and waited for Morris to finish. "If you can get him to come to my rooms when he's through with Hughes I'll make it worth your while. What do you say, a couple of bottles of brandy eh?" Garrard gripped his fists at his sides and looked back at Morris. "He's not a whore Sir," he said defiantly. "If he's not a whore, then I'm a bloody Methodist." laughed Morris and walked away. Garrard made his way back to the barn only to find it empty. Shivering now, he pulled on his greatcoat, wrapped himself in his blanket and lit the small lantern. He contemplated walking down to the Officer's billets to wait for Sharpe, that being the obvious place where Dick would be, but he was too cold. As he sat and waited he wondered how Sharpe had arranged for the charges to be dropped. What services had he performed for Hughes this time? Had he lied and blamed Crocker and Wardell for the murder? Perhaps he had gone as far as Major Shee? Garrard groaned at the thought. Perhaps he would be better off if he forgot all about Sharpe and trying to save him, at this rate he was going to find it hard enough saving himself. It was late when Sharpe came back. Garrard was dosing and roused himself. He looked at Sharpe who looked back with a big smile. "It's all right now Tom. I got yer off. There'll be no more trouble about Hawkins now." he said happily. But Garrard wasn't smiling. "And who did yer blame it on, Crocker and Wardell? They might be bastards but they don't deserve to dance on the end of a hangman's noose for something that they didn't do." Tom said angrily. The smile fell from Sharpe's face as he stood there in the doorway of the barn. "Do you think I'd do a thing like that Tom?" he asked sadly "I told Hughes that I killed Hawkins. Told him that he raped me and when he finished I stabbed him. He didn't believe me at first until I showed him what he did." He looked down wearily and just stood there as if waiting for Garrard to invite him in or turn him away. Garrard shook his head. It would be a far better idea to tell Dick Sharpe to pick up his pack and find another billet, but he couldn't. There was something in the dejected way that Sharpe stood there that tugged at his heart. He no longer saw Sharpe as the cocky, smart mouthed street whore who was disliked by the rest of the regiment. Dick Sharpe had let Tom Garrard peep under that rough, hard exterior and see what lay beneath. Garrard suddenly wondered how many others had ever shared that privilege, certainly not the Hughes and Morris's or the Hawkins and Crockers of this world. "Come on in and get warm Dick." said Tom "I'm sorry I thought that, but I was scared in that cellar. I thought they were going to hang me." Sharpe smiled and wandered over to where Garrard sat, giving the cow a wide berth on the way. He sat down close to Garrard and Tom could smell brandy on his breath. "You been drinking again?" he asked trying to keep his voice light. "Only one glass Tom, Captain Hughes felt real bad about what Hawkins did. He said he wouldn't let it happen again. He wanted to make it up to me in some way, so the least I could do was to drink his glass of brandy." Sharpe said with a sly smile. "Well thank you for saving my neck Dick, but you took an awful risk. What if Hughes had decided to have yer arrested and hung. You confessed to a murder!" Sharpe smiled that cheeky smile again and winked "Captain Hughes wouldn't do that Tom, he's sweet on me, he is. I told yer he was good to me." "Well I think we should both go down and see him in the morning and tell him the real truth." said Tom, but Sharpe laughed at him and said "Don't be daft Tom, he'd never let you get away with it. You're not his type!" He lay back in the straw and laughed some more until Tom told him to shut up and go to sleep. "Can I share yer blanket again Tom, it's cold tonight." Sharpe said, turning serious. "Well have you thought about asking the Captain for another blanket? It would be a damn sight better for you than brandy." Garrard grumbled. Sharpe stared at him for a moment then grinned, making a joke of the comment. "I'll try that next time but God knows what he'll expect me to do for a blanket!" Sharpe moved over closer to Garrard and smiled at him. "But I'd do anything for you Tom." he said in a teasing voice. Tom Garrard frowned and looked away. "Yer shouldn't have lied for me Dick." he replied. "Of course I should have" said Sharpe, serious again. "Yer me mate Tom." ~ Part Seven: The 33rd regiment was set to patrolling the area surrounding the village and keeping watch across the river for any sign of the advancing French troop. Tom Garrard was greeted with silent stares when he once again joined his comrades the following morning. He heard their whispers behind his back and even Harry Whyte seemed to avoid him. Sergeant Walker directed him to a spot at one end of the village where several small boats were moored and sent Dick Sharpe in the opposite direction. Tom didn't mind, as he was happy to have some time to himself to collect his thoughts. Garrard had woken that morning not only pleased to find Dick's warm body in his arms again but also excited and aroused by the closeness. As he lay on the edge of wakefulness he found himself imagining what it would be like to run his hands over Sharpe, to rub against his body, to feel Sharpe's answering caresses. Such thoughts were foreign to Tom. He had never looked at, never thought about a man in that way and it troubled him. Tom had risen quickly and quietly and left the barn to stand outside in the chill morning air until the cold brought control back to his body in a way that his mind could not. I need too find a woman, he had told himself. That was all it was, his body's way of telling him that he had gone too long without female companionship. Since the regiment had arrived in Flanders there had scarcely been time to think about concerns other than immediate survival and fighting the cold, hunger and the French. Now, as he stood at his picquet point he tried to put all thoughts of Dick Sharpe from his mind by thinking about women. He wondered where he could find one. There were whores that followed the Regiment but Tom had never felt comfortable with them. His father had warned him of the dangers of catching the pox and the stories of madness had stayed with him. Besides, there was something so impersonal about it, so cold, and Tom only used them as a last resort. There were bound to be women in the village who would oblige a man if he could find one, Tom thought to himself. Perhaps he would ask around later and see if any of the lads knew. It was mid morning when Garrard saw Captain Hughes on his big bay gelding making his way down to the jetty. He stood to attention and waited for the Captain to address him. Hughes wasn't a tall man. He was five foot eight, not much taller than Dick Sharpe, his black hair, already streaked with grey, made him appear older than his thirty years. There was a hardness about his thin face that caused him to stand out from many other officers who saw their commissions as a nothing more than an excuse to wear a fancy uniform. John Hughes was a man who took his position seriously. "At ease Private" said Hughes as he dismounted. Garrard absentmindedly held up his hand to allow the bay to sniff it as he waited for his Captain to speak. Hughes stood directly in front of Garrard and looked him in the eye. "I want you to tell me what happened with Frank Hawkins." "I killed him Sir. I killed him because he was hurting Dick," said Garrard. He held his breath, waiting to see what Hughes would do. Somehow he doubted his Captain would call the guards. Hughes nodded "I thought as much, I knew Dick couldn't have done it. Silly little fool doesn't even own a knife. Don't worry Tom, I'm not going to follow this up. Frank Hawkins would have been hung for what he did to Dick so I think justice has been served, don't you?" He paused and looked out across the slowly flowing water. Turning back he lowered his voice a little and said, "I want you to know Tom, that I didn't know what was going on with the other men. I thought what Dick was doing with the others was consensual. Dick never told me, if he had I would have stopped it at once." he smiled absently "But you know Dick, he always had some excuse for his bruises. I don't think he would know the truth if he was staring at it." Hughes paused again and Garrard became aware the Captain was waiting for him to say something. "Yes Sir." was all he managed to get out. This sudden familiarity that Hughes was showing made Tom uneasy. "You don't like me, do you Tom?" Hughes asked suddenly. "I don't like what you are doing to Dick, Sir" replied Garrard quietly. "When you've been in the army as long as I have, you may feel differently. The army is my life. I have no home, no wife, no family other than this Regiment. A man gets lonely for a bit of companionship, a bit of comfort. There's nothing wrong with that. However if you visit whores for long enough you'll end up with the pox. My solution is to find a companion and keep him until one of us tires of the arrangement." Hughes glanced at Garrard to gauge his reaction, but the infantryman gave nothing away with in his clear brown eyes. "I used to choose the Ensigns, but they never seem to last. The enlisted men are tougher, don't seem to get shot as easily. It's hard when they die you know, when you send them to their deaths." Hughes stopped and the two men stood there in silence for a while. "So are you saying that if Dick wants to end this ...." Garrard struggled to find a word to describe what existed between Sharpe and Hughes "arrangement, yer wouldn't stop him?" "Are you trying to save his soul Garrard? Are you a Methodist?" asked Hughes a faint smile touching his lips. "I'm trying to save his bloody neck Sir," said Garrard trying to keep the anger out of his voice. "So am I Tom. I had thought that my patronage would dissuade the others, but I was wrong. Hopefully that will be remedied now. There's a lot Dick needs to learn about life, he doesn't have a lot of common sense when it comes to keeping out of trouble and did you know he can't even read. I was hoping to teach him a few things that might help him in life." Tom Garrard looked down, suddenly realising that perhaps Captain Hughes did have Dick Sharpe's interests at heart. "Well he's lost his blanket and he needs a new one with winter coming on. Can yer fix that for him?" Garrard asked and was surprised when Hughes laughed. "That's the third one he's lost since he joined the Regiment. I think he trades them for rum. You'll have to keep him warm Tom, that's what you've been doing isn't it?" Hughes raised his eyebrow and Tom blushed. "Not like that, Sir. I wouldn't do that." Hughes gave a small laugh "No need to sound so shocked Tom, surely the idea isn't that repulsive." Tom Garrard looked away "That's not what he needs from me Sir. Dick needs to see that yer can be friends without having to do that." he finally said. Hughes considered that for a moment. "Perhaps what Dick really needs to see is that it is better to 'do that' with a friend who cares about him than with someone who doesn't give a damn." Hughes looked at Tom again "Think about it Tom," he said and turned back to his horse, mounted and rode away. ~ Part Eight: Sergeant Walker came by checking the picquet line just before noon. He leaned against the jetty post and asked "So what's the story Tom?" Garrard looked at the cloudy blue eyes of his Sergeant, carefully weighing up what he would say. Never a man given to lying, Tom found that falsehoods didn't come easily to his lips. Unlike someone, he thought to himself. "What do yer mean Sarge." he asked slowly. "Frank Hawkins! Can't say I'm sorry to see him gone, the man was a troublemaker. What I want to know is if the stories are true. Did yer kill him? And if yer did then how did young Sharpe get yer off?" Tom could tell that Walker was trying to show that he was on Garrard's side, but thought it best to proceed with caution. "If I did kill Hawkins it was because he deserved it. I guess if the Captain let me off, then he must have thought Hawkins deserved it too. It might be a good idea to let the rest of the lads know that the Captain won't stand for anyone messing with Dick anymore. He knows what's been going on and he's putting a stop to it." Garrard turned his brown eyes to Walker and said in a cold voice "Someone should have stopped it when it first started!" Walker looked away uneasily and nodded "Aye, yer right Tom. I'll make sure the word is spread." He looked back at Garrard and cocked his head "So what's between you and Sharpe now?" Tom Garrard scowled. "Nothing, he's just a mate," he replied angrily. "Fair enough" said Walker and he wandered off. Tom Garrard had enough of standing guard on the riverbank by noon and was pleased to see young Percy Peters ambling his way down to relieve him of his position. Peters, one of Tom's messmates, was a lad of about eighteen with the same gangly frame as Sharpe, but not the gracefulness to go with it. "I want to thank yer Tom" began Peters "I hear it was you who did in Frank Hawkins" Garrard shook his head, amazed at how quickly rumour and gossip spread through the ranks. "I wouldn't listen to tales Percy, they're not always true." he replied. Peters looked at him seriously "But this one is true, cause I know what Hawkins was like. I know what he did to Dick Sharpe cause he tried it with me too. I used to sleep with my bayonet in my hand in case he crept up in the night. I'm not the only one either. Hawkins had a go at little Josh Smith when he arrived until Bill Hanson stepped in to stop him. Frank Hawkins was a real bastard and it was about time that he got what he deserved. I hear Captain Hughes is going to make you a Sergeant Tom." Garrard laughed. "Now I know yer been listening to gossip. If I was going to be a bloody Sergeant then I wouldn't have to patrol this bloody river bank." Tom winked at the lad "Keep yer eyes open for the French now and don't go watching the local women." Peters blushed and pointed up the road a little to a small cluster of houses. "See that cottage with the green shutters? Well Abraham was telling me a widow lives there. Young she is and if you cut her firewood or do some chores she'll lift her skirts for yer." he grinned at Tom and winked back. "I might pay her a visit later. I haven't chopped any firewood for ages." Both men laughed and Tom bid the younger man farewell, and headed back towards the barn. As he passed the cottage with the green shutters Tom thought to himself that he might pay a visit there also. As the men stood around that evening cooking there supper, Sergeant Walker came by and announced that the rations would be cut as from tomorrow. This statement was met with howls of disapproval, but the Sergeant went on to say that the men could hunt or fish when they were off duty as long as they kept their hands off property belonging to the local inhabitants. Tom Garrard was worried. With the winter almost here, game would be scare and Tom also guessed that the Waal River would freeze eventually. There had been a rumour circulating for some time that there was increasing difficulty with the supply of provisions to the Regiments and the cutting of rations only seemed to support this. As Tom stood by the large fire, Dick Sharpe joined him. "Captain Hughes said to come down early tonight. He's got something to do later." Sharpe said as casually as if he were discussing the weather. "I'll walk you down and I'll wait, if yer like." Garrard offered. Sharpe smiled at him, but it wasn't the cheeky roguish grin he usually had. This one was softer, more genuine. "Yer don't have to Tom, I'll be all right. Really I will." Tom hesitated, thinking of the widow in the house with the green shutters. He nodded at Sharpe "I'll see what I'm doing later. If I'm not busy I'll wait." ~ Part Nine: After seeing Sharpe into the Officers billet, Tom made his way to the small cottage with the green shutters. He knocked tentatively and the door was answer by a young woman, not that much older than Garrard. Now that he was here, Tom suddenly felt shy. "Do you need any firewood cut?" he asked nervously, not sure how to broach the subject. The woman smiled and said something in a language that Tom didn't recognise. Bloody hell! Tom thought, of course she wouldn't speak English. He tried again, this time miming the motion of chopping wood. A small smile showed on her lips and she nodded taking Tom by the arm. With a lantern in her other hand she led his around the back, but instead of going to the wood pile, she picked up a hammer and a tin of nails and showed Tom to one of the green shutters which was hanging loose. She put the hammer into his hands and held up the lantern to give him enough light by which to work. Tom nodded his understanding and set about the task, all the while wondering just what sort of payment he would be getting. After all, he wasn't really sure that the woman knew what he was expecting and Tom wasn't one to use crude gestures in front of women. With the shutter firmly back in place Tom put away the hammer and nails and followed the woman inside. A warm fire was burning in the little kitchen and the woman lifted a large kettle and poured some hot water into a basin gesturing for Tom to wash. She then set about making a pot of coffee. With a shake of his head, Tom washed his face and hands, unsure of how much more to wash. Perhaps she's only going to give me the coffee, he thought desperately. As she stood at the table waiting the woman gestured to herself smiling and said "Anna." Tom smiled back and sat down to drink his coffee, "Tom." he replied with a nod of his head. The coffee tasted bitter and strange but at least it was warm and he was grateful. When he finished Anna once more took his arm and led him into a smaller room that held a bed. Briefly Tom wonder what Dick was doing at this moment. Was he still with Hughes, in the Captains bed or was he already back in the barn wondering about Tom. The bedroom was in shadows, the only light coming from the small lantern still burning in the kitchen. Tom Garrard was glad of the darkness as he shed his clothes. He had been with women before, but was always unnerved by cold calculated exchanges such as this. As he climbed into the bed, keeping only his shirt on for warmth, he tried to think about the girl he had known at home. Sally Barrett had been his first love, a pretty girl who had lived on the next farm and who had grown up with Tom. The widow slid into the bed next to him, clad only in her undershift and lay there waiting. Tom reached over, his hands roaming over her body through the shift. Her skin felt cold and Tom realised that his hands were probably cold too. He reached down and lifted the hem of her shift, dragging it up then he rolled on top of her. She looked into his eyes and Tom closed his own, not wanting that intimacy with her, ashamed to be using her like this. As he entered her, he thought of Sally, smiling and kissing him, Sally lying in the hay tickling him, her hands on his skin. Burying his face in the crook of Anna's neck, Tom let his lips touch her, light soft kisses that caused her to catch her breath. She brought her hands up under his shirt and held him tightly, stroking his back as their bodies moved together. Tom finally raised his head and looked at her, head pushed back in the pillows, eyes closed. He thought again of Sally, lying back in the hay as they made love, eyes watching him, so warm in his arms, Dick Sharpe warm in his arms, Dick laying back in the hay laughing at him. "Oh God," Tom groaned, trying desperately to stop his thoughts and his body's betrayal, but it was too late. He slumped down, aware that he was probably too heavy on her, but unable to move for a moment. "I'm sorry" he whispered as he listened to the woman's breathing, lulling him to sleep. The widow brushed his hair gently and said something that Tom didn't understand. He rolled over onto his back not wanting sleep to claim him. He wanted to leave now, to run away from what he had done but no amount of running would separate him from his thoughts of Dick Sharpe or the confusion that they left in Tom's mind. Feeling more alone than ever, Tom climbed out of the bed and dressed quickly. He dug in his pocket for the few coins he carried and held them out towards Anna. She sat up and looked at them but made no effort to take them. Finally she reached out and took two but closed his hand over the rest. Tom Garrard turned and left. Lantern light could be seen shining through the cracks in the walls as Tom neared the barn. Dick must be back, he thought, and suddenly felt afraid to face the young infantryman. How had things become so mixed up between them in such a short space of time, Tom wondered, as he slipped in through the door. Inside was warm, and Tom could see Sharpe lying in the straw on his back smiling, just as he had imagined. "Where have you been Tom," Sharpe asked "I was worried about you." Tom Garrard took off his greatcoat and made much of folding it and checking his pack so that he didn't have to look at Sharpe. "I was with a woman," he finally said. "Was she good?" Sharpe asked but Garrard shot him such a look of anger that Sharpe dropped his eyes and said he was sorry. "I got something here to cheer yer up Tom." Sharpe tried again. He held up an almost full bottle of brandy. "We can share it if yer like." he said looking at Garrard hopefully. Garrard crossed the barn and took the bottle from Sharpe "Bloody Hell! Where did yer get this." "From Captain Hughes, I stole it so we could share it." Sharpe said suddenly sounding unsure of himself. This wasn't the reception he had expected from Garrard. "Yer drunk again," said Tom angrily, looking at the bottle. But Sharpe shook his head "Not much Tom, I only had a few glasses afterwards, just to get the taste out of my mouth. Honest." "I don't want yer bloody brandy Dick." Tom said and threw the bottle back at Sharpe who caught it and sat there with a hurt look on his face. "I'm sorry Tom" he said quietly, "I don't know why yer mad, but I'm sorry." Tom Garrard checked his anger then. He knew he was angry with himself and no one else. He was ashamed that he had given in to weakness, ashamed that he had used the widow for his own pleasure. But most of all he was ashamed that he couldn't control his thought's about Dick Sharpe. How was he ever going to save Sharpe when Garrard felt himself becoming just as lost. Running his hand over his face, Tom went over and sat down next to Sharpe. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it Dick," he took the bottle back, opened it and took a drink of the brandy, feeling it burn his throat. "It's just that yer shouldn't steal and yer shouldn't drink so much and I don't want to hear about yer whoring." Sharpe took the bottle and drank more, then put it away in his pack. "All right Tom." he said quietly and lay down in the straw again looking up at Tom wistfully. Garrard felt uncomfortable. There was something in Sharpe's eyes tonight that burned into him. "Don't look at me like that." Tom said. But Sharpe held him trapped in his gaze as he asked, "Will yer still let me sleep next to yer Tom?" Trouble, Tom told himself, but he gathered the blanket, extinguished the lantern and lay down next to Sharpe, who wasted no time in rolling close and wrapping his arms around his friend. Then before Tom could react, Sharpe brought his face up and kissed him slowly on the lips. Tom gasped, and Sharpe took the opportunity to slip his tongue quickly around Garrard's mouth, leaving behind a stale, sour taste, tinged with brandy. Garrard pulled away, startled. "Christ, keep your filthy mouth off me! God only knows what yer been doing with it tonight." Sharpe let go and rolled away slightly. "I'm sorry Tom," he said sadly and for the second time that night Garrard was grateful for the darkness so that he didn't have to see the hurt in those green eyes. "Didn't yer get enough of that with Captain Hughes?" Garrard said, trying to sound more reasonable. "Captain Hughes didn't have much time, so I told him not to bother about me." Sharpe rolled over to face Garrard again in the darkness. He was close and Tom could feel his warm breath lightly brushing his face. "I though that you and I could..... I thought that maybe yer might .....After all yer said we were mates." Unable to stand the hurt in Sharpe's voice any longer, Garrard reached out and pulled him closer. He could feel Sharpe hard against his leg and for the first time he realised that Sharpe wanted him too. This wasn't something he was doing as payment for Garrard's protection. Sharpe was squirming in his arms now rubbing himself against Garrard's leg and he reached down and caressed Sharpe's erection through his breeches. He heard Sharpe's gasp and felt him arch his back pushing hard against Tom's hand. "Just this Dick, I'll do this but nothing more," he said as he rolled Sharpe onto his back, unbuttoned his trousers quickly and slid his hand inside. "You keep yer hands and yer mouth to yerself, all right?" Tom added as he ran his fingers up and down "Aye!" Sharpe managed to gasp out and Tom moved his hand faster wanting it to be over quickly. One part of Tom's mind told him that by doing this he could put an end to his curiosity and get Sharpe out of his thoughts. But the other part, the traitorous part that sent fire rushing through his body as he watched Sharpe gasping and moaning in the straw, told him it was a lie. Wrapping his arms around Tom's neck, Sharpe pulled him down until he could close his mouth over Garrard's neck and sucked hard. Tom groaned aloud, no longer able to deny his own urges and he pressed himself hard against the writhing body beneath him. Suddenly Sharpe convulsed, biting hard into his neck and Tom held him tighter, cradling him until his body relaxed before moving away. "What about you Tom?" asked Sharpe's voice from out of the darkness and Garrard cursed himself for being fool, for thinking he could do this and not feel anything. But he would not admit to Sharpe that he had changed his mind "I'm fine Dick," he said as he rolled onto his side putting his back to Sharpe. Safest that way, he told himself. Sharpe crawled over and placed his hand on Tom's shoulder, bending close to his ear, "Yer can fuck me if that's what yer want Tom, I don't mind, truly, I'm much better now." he whispered, his voice sounding desperate. Garrard rolled back, angry again. "Christ Dick! You're bloody disgusting! I don't want to do that. I told yer before. Now pull the blanket over here and go to sleep." Sharpe did as he asked and in no time Tom heard his breathing fall into a quiet slow rhythm that signaled sleep. But sleep didn't come easily to Tom Garrard that night. He lay awake a long time, unable to get thoughts of Dick Sharpe out of his head. Finally Tom rolled onto his side away from Sharpe's sleeping form and gave in to his body's need. He pictured Sharpe as he had been earlier, lying in the hay beneath him. He heard again Sharpe's moans and sighs. He told himself it was Sharpe's arms that held him, Sharpe's hands that touched him, caressed him and brought him to completion. And as Tom drifted off to sleep, it was Sharpe's eyes green eyes that smiled at him, full of friendship, full of trust, full of hope. ~ Part 10 Both men were awoken the next morning when Josef came to milk the cow. Sharpe grunted and snuggled down deeper into the straw, but Tom Garrard rose and walked outside into the biting cold. He broke the ice that had formed on the top of the water trough and hurriedly washed his hands and face. He refused to think what had happened last night. What's done is done, no use thinking about it now, he told himself as he stood in the cold, trying to see through the mist that shrouded everything in grey. It certainly wouldn't help to talk about it either, he decided. No, the best thing to do was ignore it, pretend it never happened. Returning to the barn he gratefully accepted two mugs of milk from Josef and took them back to the hay where Sharpe was still asleep. "Wake up Dick." he said nudging the younger man with his foot. Sharpe sat up blinking and looking around, his eyes screwed up and Tom couldn't help but smile. Sharpe really did look like a lost child sometimes, he thought, then suddenly understood that in many ways Dick Sharpe was just that, a lost child looking for someone to take him in and care for him. "Here's yer milk." said Garrard as he held out the mug. Sharpe took it and drank it down quickly, before looking back at Tom with his eyes wide. He blushed suddenly and put his hand over his mouth. "What's wrong Dick," he asked as Sharpe started shaking "Are yer sick?" Dick Sharpe looked up at Tom Garrard, and started laughing out loud, desperately trying to stop his mug of milk from spilling. "Oh I'm sorry, Tom, I'm real sorry, but yer should see yer neck." Garrard felt himself blush bright red, any hope of avoiding last nights incident swept away by Sharpe's laughter. "Bloody Hell!" Tom muttered to himself and he looked at Sharpe sitting there in the straw, laughing, milk all around his mouth like a white moustache, and he burst out laughing also, unable to resist Sharpe's infectious good humour. "How bad does it look?" he asked Sharpe as he wiped the milk away with gently with his fingers. Sharpe frowned trying to be serious and inspected Tom's neck closely. "Bad, real bad Tom, but yer could always say that woman did it!" he replied and burst out laughing again. Tom Garrard did just that when Percy Peters asked who had he been brawling with last night. The young man stared at Tom in awe "Yer mean she bites Tom?" he asked sounding slightly worried "Bloody hell, I didn't think they were supposed to bite you. Did yer bite her back?" Peters asked. "No lad, and don't you go doing it either. Never bite a woman unless she bites yer first." Tom warned, thinking that it sounded like good advice. As Tom stood at his post that day, he noticed that the river was beginning to freeze. He knew that once that happened it would be easy for the French to slip across. The 33rd along with the other regiments was stretched out along the Waal keeping watch in the areas that offered the best places to cross the river and Tom realised there would be a battle soon. So far they hadn't been involved in any real fighting. They had repelled a French Cavalry pursuit just outside oxtel, but that had been ordered engagement, each company standing in rows, firing in unison when their commanding Officer gave the order. It had been simple methodical work. The next time, Garrard knew, they would not be so lucky. December arrived amid dense mist and frosts and even lower temperatures. The villages were saying that this was one of the harshest winters for many a year. The Waal River was frozen solid now and the men of the 33rd waited nervously for the French to appear. Food became scarce and rations were cut even further. Tom took to hunting in the small wood to the south of the village, returning sometimes with a rabbit, which was added to the days rations to be shared amongst the rest of the Light Company. Sometimes when Sharpe returned from Hughes billet, he would bring some food with him to share with his friend explaining that the Captain had sent it for Tom, but Garrard didn't always believe him. At night they were glad to lie close together and keep warm, but that was all. Tom was reluctant to initiate anything with Sharpe, not sure he would be able to control the outcome and not wanting their friendship to get any further entangled. He suspected that Sharpe sensed this reluctance and kept his distance although Tom would sometimes catch Sharpe looking at him and see a fleeting glimpse of longing in his green eyes. There had been no further incidents with the other men since Tom Garrard had told his Sergeant to pass the word that Dick Sharpe was to be left alone. Two weeks had passed, and Dick still visited Captain Hughes' billet each night, but always returned safely after about an hour. Tom had stopped escorting him when the weather became harsher and was therefore concerned one night when Sharpe did not return. After what he judged to be two hours, Tom put on his greatcoat and walked to the Officers billets at the end of town. Once there, he was unsure of what to do. He could hardly walk up to the door and ask if Dick Sharpe was still inside. He could see a faint light coming from Hughes window. It was late and Tom suspected that the only reason the Captain would be awake was if Sharpe was still there. So finding a place sheltered from the wind, Tom Garrard waited. It was a least another half an hour before the front door opened and Sharpe came out. "Christ Tom, what are yer doing out here in the cold." said Sharpe when he saw Garrard. "I was worried Dick, you were gone so long." Sharpe turned to face Garrard as they walked back to the barn. There was a full moon that night and it's light lit up Sharpe's smile as he said "Captain Hughes let me have a bath, Tom. He had one himself then let me use the water. He even washed my hair for me, with soap!" Garrard looked closer at Sharpe and saw the way his hair hung loose and soft around his shoulders, golden in the moonlight. "He gave me dinner too Tom and then he let me lie in his bed. He was real nice to me Tom, real gentle. Took his time, said he didn't want to hurt me after what Hawkins did back then. You know he waited all this time cause, he was worried about me." Sharpe yawned and slid his arm around Tom trying to keep warm. It was real good Tom," he said with another smile. "I guess I fell asleep and when I woke up Captain Hughes said I could stay there if I wanted, said I could sleep in his bed, but I said no because I knew you'd be worried if I didn't come back." As they walked Tom became aware of something that felt strangely like jealousy building inside of him. He pushed it to the back of his mind, telling himself that he knew all along what Sharpe did with Hughes and it had never bother him like this before. But maybe it was the way Sharpe was talking, the soft smile on his lips, the sleepy look in his eyes. Once inside the barn, Tom wasted no time in climbing into the straw to try and get warm again. He was cold and was grateful when Sharpe lay down next to him. Tom rested his nose in Sharpe's hair, feeling the softness, smelling the freshness. He lowered his head a little so that he was closer to Sharpe's neck and inhaled the fresh scent of soap, suddenly conscious of the stale odour of his own body. Sharpe sighed against him, sleepy in his arms. "Feels nice Tom." he murmured half asleep as Garrard ran his hands over the warm body that he held, breathing in the scents. Suddenly Tom became aware of another scent that lingered on Sharpe. He smells of Captain Hughes, he thought, Hughes and sex, and Tom found himself angry again, unable to forget what Sharpe had been doing only hours before. "Shame Hughes didn't let you have the bath afterwards, I can smell him all over you." Tom said, surprised at how angry his words sounded. "Yeah but my mouths clean, I only kissed him tonight." said Sharpe "Maggie always told me that if it's been in yer arse then don't put it in yer mouth. You want to kiss me Tom?" he asked lifting his face to Garrard's. Tom rolled away, once again upset by the way Sharpe spoke. "Yer disgusting Dick, how can yer talk like that! Yer make me sick!" he said angrily. "But it's the truth Tom." Sharpe said softly "Maggie always gave me good advice, she looked out for me, like you do." Tom Garrard stood up, grabbing his greatcoat and blanket that had been covering Sharpe. "No Dick, if she was really looking after you she would have told you to stop being a whore!" Garrard shouted and he stormed out of the barn slamming the door behind him. It was cold outside and Tom stood there, cursing himself for being a fool, for letting himself get so angry with Sharpe. No, it wasn't only Sharpe he was angry with, Tom realised, he was also angry with himself. He was angry for feeling jealous of Hughes, he was angry because Sharpe's words could shock him so, but mainly he was angry because he wanted Dick Sharpe in a way that he felt was wrong. Tom had never wanted a man before. He had always imagined himself one day with a wife and family. But he could no longer make up excuses for the feelings he had for Sharpe. How could he have let this happen? Yet Dick was his friend now, his mate. If Tom could accept his feelings of friendship with Sharpe would it be that much different to accept these other feeling? It's not as if I'm in love with him, Tom told himself. They were mates and it was common enough in the ranks for mates to offer a little comfort to each other, a little pleasure when they were alone. If Dick hadn't been a whore would Garrard have felt differently about this desire? Well, Tom decided, he could certainly do something about that. He had befriended Sharpe to save him and the best way to do that was to stop him whoring. He would worry about the rest of it later. Tom Garrard took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and went back inside. ~ Part 11 There was grumbling in the ranks the next morning when Lieutenant Morris announced that the rations were to be cut again. Tom was grateful for the mug of milk that he and Sharpe received each morning as most of the men were forced to start the day with empty stomachs. It wasn't surprising therefore, that by the afternoon one of the villagers had accused two of the infantrymen Rendall and Simpson of shooting his pig. The two privates insisted that the pig had been loose in the woods and they had assumed that it was wild. Captain Hughes finally came down and settled the matter by paying the villager compensation for the pig out of his own purse. He then gave orders for the pig to be roasted so that the whole of the Light Company could eat well. Spirits were high that evening as Tom and Dick sat near the fire licking the last of the bacon fat from their plates. Captain Hughes had ridden Regimental Headquarters that evening to find out more about the rationing and so Dick had the evening to himself. Many of the infantry men had brought out their hidden supply of liquor knowing that Captain was away and that Lieutenant Morris couldn't care less. Even Sergeant Walker was sharing a flask of cheap rum with Sergeant Hawthorne. "Wish we had some of that brandy left Tom," said Dick wistfully. The bottle of Hughes good brandy had been finished days ago and Tom had told Sharpe not to steal anymore. "Yer better off without it Dick." Tom said frowning at the other men around him. "They're a lot of bloody fools if yer ask me. The French could attack at anytime and the lot of them are sitting here like drunk ducks just waiting to be shot. Come on, let's go back to the barn." There was a figure waiting by the barn as the two men approached. Lieutenant Charles Morris looked up and smiled. "I've been waiting for you Dick Sharpe. I fancy a bit of your company tonight. I had to lay awake for hours listening to you and Hughes last night and now I want some for myself. " He held out a bottle of brandy towards Sharpe "So come on, we can do it here in the barn if you like. That's where you and Garrard do it isn't it?" Morris was drunk Tom realised and he was suddenly alarmed by the look on Sharpe's face, almost as if the younger man was weighing up the Lieutenant's offer. "Don't do it Dick. You're not a whore." Garrard said in a clear voice hoping Morris would dare to say different. Sharpe tilted his head and looked at Garrard then back to Morris and the brandy. "It's good brandy Tom, it'd only take me ten minutes." Sharpe explained. Tom shook his head, "You're not a bloody whore Dick, and you don't need the brandy." Morris was tired of waiting and walked towards the two men, his steps unsteady. "You and Hughes want to keep him all to yourselves don't you. What do you do, take turns? Well it's my turn now." He reached out and grabbed a hold of Sharpe's arm. Sharpe tried to pull away and as Morris tried to hold him tighter he dropped the bottle of brandy which smashed on the ground. Morris swore under his breath and struck Sharpe across the face. "I'll want more than ten bloody minutes now! Get in the barn Sharpe that's an order," he shouted as he dragged Sharpe in that direction. The ground outside the barn was a patchwork of ice and snow, slippery in parts and Morris, his eyes only on the young infantryman was not prepared when his foot slid out from under him. The Lieutenant fell heavily, releasing Sharpe in his attempt to brake his fall. "Go get Sergeant Walker Dick." Said Tom quickly but Morris raised his head "Both of you stay right here, it's an offense to strike an Officer and one of you pushed me." The back door of the cottage was suddenly flung open and Josef came running out in his nightshirt, armed with an old musket and shouting. Garrard and Sharpe stared at Morris who lay still on the ground. Morris stood up only to have Josef hold the musket in front of him and start shouting again. Several other villages were now peering out of their doors or walking over. "Josef says you were stealing." one man explained in accented English to Morris who laughed at the accusation. "Christ! What would I want of his." he spat. There was much discussion amongst the villagers, their voices getting louder and angrier. Finally the man who spoke English said "The Cow, you were trying to steal the cow." Tom Garrard was beginning to get worried. He knew that many of the villagers resented the English troops who had been staying in their village. With the cuts in rations, many of the men had begun stealing but as yet no one had been caught or punished. Tom was loathed to speak up for Morris, but was afraid that the villagers might take the matter into their own hands. "The Lieutenant was only sharing his brandy with us that's all. Josef knows us, he knows we wouldn't steal the cow." Tom said. As the English speaker translated, Tom looked at Morris but there was no sign of thanks in the Lieutenant's eyes. "I'll get both of you, just you wait. And I'll have that little whore." Morris said under his breath. Josef lowered the gun and gestured that Morris should go. The Lieutenant glared at the assembled villagers and with as much dignity as he could muster, walked away. Tom and Dick waited until everyone had returned to their cottages before going into the barn. As the settled down into the straw, side by side in the darkness Sharpe asked "Did yer really mean what you said Tom?" Garrard leant on his side and looked at Sharpe. "Mean what Dick?" he asked. "When yer said I wasn't a whore. Did yer mean it Tom?" Sharpe's voice sounded small in the darkness. Reaching out his hand, Tom gently brushed the side of Sharpe's face where Morris had hit him. "Yes I meant it. But 'you' have to believe it Dick. 'You' have to want it to be true." Sharpe turned his head away, breaking the contact with Tom's hand. "I thought you didn't want me because I was a whore Tom, but if yer say I'm not a whore, then why don't you want me?" Garrard hesitated, aware that his answer mattered a great deal to Sharpe. His own thoughts were so confused that he wasn't really sure himself why he was reluctant to get involved any further with his friend. "I never said I didn't want you Dick, I do want you, but not the same way you want me. If it was just about fucking I could go down the road and do that with any whore. But you're my friend, my mate, it's got to be more than that with you, and I'm not sure that it 'would' mean more to you. I think that yer just do it with anyone and that it means nothing to you. You would have gone with Morris tonight for a goddamned bottle of brandy!" Tom held his breath, trying to control his anger. "It's got to mean more than that Dick!" Sharpe was quiet for a long time and Garrard began to think that their conversation had ended. But finally Sharpe turned back to him. "I know what you mean Tom, I do. I know it can mean something, sometimes. The other night with Captain Hughes, well he was good to me and I.......I know he likes me Tom. He made me feel good too, good about what we were doing. What we did meant something to him and I think it meant something to me too that time, honest." Garrard smiled into the darkness "I'm glad Dick, because that's how it should be. But you and me are friends Dick, you and Hughes aren't. What do you call him when you're in his bed?" "Nothing, I just call him Sir," said Sharpe quietly. "You see Dick, whatever you have with him would be different to what you and me would have." Tom continued "I just don't want to risk our friendship. I need to know that it would mean something that's all. Now go to sleep. It's too late to think about it all now. We don't have to rush it." Tom Garrard wrapped his arms around Dick Sharpe and went to sleep. ~ Part 12 The following morning, Lieutenant Morris sent both Garrard and Sharpe to the far side of the Waal to stand watch. They were part of the outer lying Picquet, the most dangerous post, and Tom suspected it was the first part of Morris' scheme to get even. If the French attacked they would be alone, the first line of defense, cut off from the rest of the Light Company who were on the other side of the bridge. Garrard looked away to his right towards the bridge, which was obscured for the moment by the mist that swirled around in its own mysterious way that morning. Tom knew it was the likeliest target for any French attack, the easiest way for them to cross the river that was now frozen but still dangerous. He hitched his pack up a little, making it more comfortable on his back and smiled as he remembered the story that had been spread around camp yesterday. It was said that Colonel Wellesley slept in his boots and greatcoat just like the rest of the men, not because of the cold weather but because the French were expected to attack at any time. As he stood stamping his feet and moving his fingers to stop them freezing Tom looked along the river to his left to where Dick Sharpe was standing. He looks so small thought Garrard and then cursed his own silliness. But suddenly Tom wondered how Dick would react in battle. He had never asked how Sharpe had gone at Boxtel, had never watched as he performed his drills. Garrard had just accepted that Sharpe would know what to do, he was a soldier after all. But Sharpe had only arrived in the Regiment in May, and by late June they had landed in Flanders. How confident was the younger man when it came to loading and firing his musket. At least he has the sense to move around to stay warm, thought Tom, and then he reminded himself that Dick probably had far more experience keeping warm in harsh conditions than he himself did. No Dick Sharpe would be able to look after himself, Garrard thought and smiled once more at his silliness. A twig snapped somewhere near and Tom immediately turned to face it. It was impossible to see much through the swirling mist. All was silent again and Tom put the noise down to the weight of snow becoming too great. But suddenly a blue shape was revealed in a momentary clearing of mist and Tom pulled the cloth from his musket and quickly loaded. As he fired into the greyness he yelled "French, French!" and heard other Picquets along the river fire and the answering French reply. Loading again quickly Tom fixed his bayonet, then fired once more at another blue shape that materialized from the fog. He dropped back a little to seek shelter behind a fallen log and as he loaded a third time he looked left again to find Sharpe. For a moment the mist hid his companion, then it parted briefly to show Sharpe on his knees fumbling to pick up his ramrod. "Bloody hell!" muttered Garrard and leapt up just as a Frenchman came out of the fog to his right. Garrard fired and the man fell down dead, only to be replaced by another. Tom lunged with his bayonet, twisted it and pulled it free then quickly leapt down the riverbank onto the ice hopping the bank would give him cover as he and ran towards Dick. Somewhere across the river Garrard heard the call to retreat and wondered if it was Morris' doing as Captain Hughes had not yet returned. Best get back across to the rest of the Light Company on the double, Tom decided. The bank fell away slightly giving Tom another view of Sharpe who was still fumbling his musket. "Fix your bayonet!" shouted Garrard desperately and then stopped to fire as he saw a figure emerging from the fog near Sharpe. The figure dropped and as Garrard watched Sharpe looked up and finally fired into the mist, before turning and leaping down the bank onto the river to join Garrard. "Load yer bloody musket again!" Garrard shouted. He had reloaded his as he watched Sharpe fire and was now looking for the best place to cross the river. But Sharpe hesitated again, spilling the powder as he tried to pour it into his musket, his hands shaking and Tom suddenly realised that Sharpe was terrified. "Steady now Dick, it'll be all right. Think about what you are doing and don't forget to prime it." he said in a quieter voice as he scanned the bank for more French, all the while wondering whether to try to run all the way back to the bridge or to simply cross where they stood. They were at a wide bend in the river, and Tom knew that the ice in the middle was still thin but as he saw more blue figures appearing on the bank he knew this was their only option. He fired one more shot then grabbed Sharpe by the arm and started running. The mist chose that moment to swirl up again hiding them from the French and Tom slowed slightly, listening to the sounds of the French behind them and the ice creaking below them. He could hear Sharpe sobbing beside him and reached out to pat him reassuringly on the back. "Steady now, we're almost safe." he whispered. As they neared the centre, Tom could hear the ice crack as it moved beneath them and he prayed that it was strong enough to carry them across. The grey mist was all about them and for one moment Tom felt as if he were somewhere else entirely, that he would step out of the mist and find himself at home in Ripon. But another sound intruded into the greyness, the sound of muskets being readied for firing, directly ahead of them and Tom had no time to call out but threw himself onto Sharpe pushing them both down. Garrard heard Sharpe's chin smack against the ice followed by the sound of musket balls flying overhead, one or two dropping beside them. "Sergeant Walker, Lieutenant Morris, its Tom Garrard. Don't fire." Tom called out, hoping that the French weren't behind them and would focus in on his voice. But there was no reply from forward or back. The only sound Tom heard was Dick moaning a little and Tom quickly rolled his friend over. "Christ Dick." Tom muttered as he looked at Sharpe's bloodied chin, split open where it had struck the ice. He drew a rag from his pocket and handed it to Sharpe who looked slightly dazed. "Come on now, we've got to find the lads. Are yer all right." Sharpe nodded and picked himself up and the two men crossed the ice again, a little slower, listening out for friend or foe. They pulled themselves up the embankment and ran towards the centre of the village. It was strangely quiet and Tom suddenly wondered where the rest of the Light Company had gone. Bloody Hell, he thought, has Morris retreated already? Suddenly a group of French soldiers rounded one of the cottages. Garrard and Sharpe raised their rifles and fired and Tom prayed that Dick had loaded correctly. One of the Frenchmen fell, but the other two returned their fire and Tom once again heard musket balls sing by as he loaded and fired again. Dick fumbled again, his hand shaking, almost dropping the ramrod and Tom yelled at him as the French fired again. The French came running at them, and Tom raised his bayonet to meet the first Frenchman. By sheer strength, Tom forced the man's musket aside and stabbed him in the chest. A musket sounded, loud beside him, and Tom saw that Sharpe had finally fired, taking the remaining Frenchman through the chest at pointblank range. "Load again as we run, and do it properly." Garrard yelled as he scrambled up and ran back the way they had come. If the French were already in the village, it would mean that the 33rd were retreating along the road going north. Christ, what would Captain Hughes say when they met up with him. As they left the village, Tom spared a fleeting thought for the widow Anna and Josef and hoped that the French treated them well. The road north showed signs of recent traffic and it was not long before the two men caught up with the tail end of the British troops. Dick had been silent the whole time and Tom hadn't spoken except to give orders. Now that they were out of danger, Tom took the time to look at Sharpe's chin. The cloth had started to freeze onto the wound, and Tom pulled it off, starting the gash bleeding again. "Probably better to leave the cloth off Dick, it'll stop bleeding with the cold quickly enough. Does it hurt?" Tom asked trying hard to make up for his harsher words earlier. But Sharpe just shook his head and said nothing. "I'll show yer how to load yer musket properly, Dick. Yer lucky you didn't get yerself killed." Dick looked at him "It was hard to load and watch out for the French at the same time. I didn't think it would be like that. My shoulder is so sore! I did my best Tom," he said sulkily. "Well that's not good enough. Yer going to have to do better or you'll be killed. If you're in the Light Company, you're expected to load a musket 'and' think! You can't even do the first. Did yer join the Regiment to be a whore or a soldier?" Garrard was angry now upset by Sharpe's attitude as he thought about how close they had both come to dying. "I'm not a whore Tom, I'm a soldier!" Sharpe spat "Or have you changed your mind?" Tom gave a wry smile "No, I haven't changed my mind, but I think you have. You want to be a soldier Dick? Well I'll show you how." ~ Part 13 They made camp that evening in a frozen field. The men were fed a stew made from a horse which had been wounded and they were more than grateful to have something warm in their bellies to carry them through a night in the open. It was nearly noon the next day before Captain Hughes met up with his company. After riding beside Lieutenant Morris for fifteen minutes in which the two Officers could clearly be seen to be arguing, Hughes rode back down the column. He stopped every now and again and spoke to the men, smiling and encouraging. When he spied Sharpe he reined over and walked his big bay alongside the infantryman. "What happened, are you hurt badly?" he asked, concern clear in his voice. Sharpe smiled at him, but stopped suddenly as his chin pulled. "I fell on the ice Sir, that's all. Tom looked after me." Hughes looked at Garrard and nodded "You went all right in the fight Dick?" Hughes asked warily and Tom watched as Sharpe coloured and dropped his face. "He did just fine Sir." Garrard answered "Where are we headed?" "We're heading to Tiel, the other companies are on this road too. All of the Regiments are pulling back to Tiel. I don't think the French will follow for the moment. They will be more interested in securing the villages along the river." Captain Hughes stretched in his saddle and looked around. "We'll be in for a few nights in the open, I'm afraid." and with that he rode off. Sharpe watched the retreating figure of his Captain for a few moments then turned to Garrard. "Why didn't you tell him what happened Tom?" he asked. Tom Garrard put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Because he doesn't need to know. I said I'd teach you to load properly and I will. Captain Hughes prides himself on having the best men, and that's what he'll have." When they made camp that afternoon Tom was true to his word. He took Dick away from the camp and made him practice loading again and again. Not content with Sharpe merely doing the actions, Tom then made Sharpe talk himself through the loading process. Captain Hughes wandered over to watch them at one point, but made no move to interrupt the two men. After a while he returned to the camp. Rations were scarce that evening, and later as he lay next to Sharpe on the frozen ground it occurred to Tom that tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Feelings of homesickness washed over Tom as he imagined his family preparing for Christmas. He wondered if his mother would be making fruit mince pies, if there would be enough money for a special Christmas dinner. Tom sent most of his money home to his family. It was no sacrifice to him. He knew that without it they would not survive but would be turned out onto the streets. Like Dick Sharpe, Tom thought, and he began to wonder how Dick had come to leave the foundling home and end up on the streets. Ran away probably, Tom imagined, but he didn't want to ask his friend about it as it was plain that there were many bad memories associated with his time there. Perhaps one day Dick would tell him, Garrard decided as he drifted off to sleep. By mid morning on Christmas Eve, the Light Company was once again billeted in a small village just outside of Tiel. Most of Brigadier-General Sir William Cathcart's brigade were now situated around Tiel and Wardenburg, with the French still advancing despite the harsh weather conditions. The village was only small and this time Tom and Dick were not alone in the barn. Bill Hanson and young Josh Smith were also billeted with them. Tom knew Hanson, knew him to be a quiet steady man a few years older than himself who had a wife and family back home. Garrard was therefore surprised when Hanson announced that he and Smith would take the loft. The loft was small but it did offer the only privacy in the barn. Hanson winked at Tom, "We can all have a bit of privacy that way." he said smiling. Tom was worried for a moment, unsure of what was going on with Hanson and Smith but the younger man smiled too and looked up at Hanson with such shining admiration, that Tom smiled back and nodded, knowing that whatever their relationship, it was based on friendship and not threats. Tom remembered then what Percy Peters had told him about Hanson protecting Smith from Hawkins. Perhaps he had something in common with Hanson, Tom thought, and decided to find a moment to talk to the older man. The villagers were resentful of the army's presence, the strain that it placed on their food stores, firewood and fodder. Rations were dangerously low and once more Captain Hughes bought food for his men from his own pocket. As a special surprise because it was Christmas, he also bought rum for the men, but only enough make them warm and happy and rather than drunk. Garrard was surprised when Sharpe returned to the barn with him that evening instead of going to Captain Hughes billet. "Captain not want you tonight Dick," he asked trying to make the question sound light. "I told him 'no' earlier." said Sharpe quietly as he lay down beside Tom. "Is your chin hurting? Have to be careful that you don't get frostbite. You better come closer so you can keep warm." Tom felt Sharpe roll against him, pleased to feel the familiar warmth of his friend. "Chins fine, I'd just rather be here with you," Sharpe said in a low voice. At that moment the barn door opened letting in a blast of cold air. Hanson and Smith hurried in, clad in their greatcoats. "We're for bed. Do you want me to turn the lantern out?" Hanson asked as he watched Smith scramble up to the hayloft. Tom nodded and the barn was plunged into darkness. Tom felt Sharpe slide his arms around him and push closer. He could feel Sharpe's breath warm on his face. "Dick..." he began but was interrupted by a faint laugh from the hayloft above quickly followed by a 'ssshhhh'. Tom groaned inwardly, bloody hell that was all he needed tonight. Sharpe moved closer until his mouth was next to Garrard's ear. "I wanted to be with you tonight Tom. I haven't been with Captain Hughes since that night when he gave me the bath. I thought yer might want me if I hadn't been with him. I thought that because it was Christmas, this could be yer present. Nobody's touched me for days now, I've kept myself clean Tom." Sharpe finished his whisper and lightly brushed his lips over Tom's ear causing the older man to shiver suddenly. Garrard couldn't speak for a moment. Had Dick Sharpe just made him a Christmas gift of his body? And if he had, was it right for Tom to refuse it. Tom let his hands creep around Sharpe's back, holding him tighter, his mind telling him to refuse but his body thinking different thoughts entirely. "Dick, we're not alone in the barn now. We can't do anything here. Thank you for the offer, but .." he trailed off hoping he hadn't hurt Sharpe's feelings. "I don't think Bill and Josh are going to mind too much, cause they're doing the very same thing up there." said Sharpe in that seductive voice again and Tom became aware of the soft sounds of heavy breathing and the faintest of sighs coming down from the hayloft. Sharpe bent his head and nuzzled Tom's neck then lifted his face suddenly and kissed him roughly on the lips. Tom broke away, confusion suddenly taking a hold of his thoughts. "Christ Dick, men don't kiss each other!" he almost pleaded. But Sharpe just held his face gently "Yes they do Tom, it's all right. There's nothing wrong with doing this. It can be just like that other night if you want. Just that and nothing more, if that's all you want Tom. Nothing complicated, just something that mates do for each other because they care." Sharpe brushed a light kiss across Tom's lips again and waited. Tom Garrard felt engulfed by loneliness. He was far from his home, his family, the only people who had ever really cared about him. All alone except for Dick Sharpe who had become his friend and who was now offering something more. But Tom still hesitated, unsure once again of Sharpe's motives. He wanted to believe that Sharpe did this out of friendship, out of caring. Certainly Sharpe's manner tonight was different. Gone were the smart, course comments, replaced by soft seduction. Tom groaned inwardly. Of course Sharpe would be good at that also, just another trick in his repertoire, learnt from masters who plied their trade on the streets. Sharpe had made no further move, just lay there waiting in the dark. Tom wished that there was enough light to look into those green eyes and read what lay there. But it was too dark and in the end Tom knew that it all came down to trust. He had told Dick how he felt and why he held back and now it was up to Garrard to take Sharpe at his word, that this would mean something to him. Leaning over Tom kissed Sharpe hesitantly, feeling the soft warm lips open under his own. Sharpe made no move to take control, allowing Garrard to set the pace, and somewhere in the back of his mind Tom realised that Dick Sharpe knew his every fear, uncertainty and hesitancy. Not only knew them, but knew how to use them, knew when to lead and when to stay passive, knew what words to use, what moves to make. I'm lost, thought Tom suddenly, I never stood a chance in this game, if that's all this is to him. Almost as if Sharpe had read his mind, the younger man broke their kiss and whispered "See, it's all right Tom, I won't do anything you don't want, I promise." Tom reached around and loosened Sharpe's hair from it's queue, letting it fall so he could run his fingers through it. Sharpe did the same to Garrard who blushed in the darkness when his friend whispered, "I've been waiting to do that Tom, waiting to see you with your hair all about. I wish there was more light." Pulling Sharpe's mouth back to his own, Tom kissed him again, letting the fire build within. He wanted to touch Sharpe, feel his skin beneath his hands, and Tom wished that it wasn't so cold, wished that they were alone and that they could strip off their uniforms. Once again it seemed as if Sharpe had read his mind, because Tom felt swift fingers unbutton his jacket and pull his shirt up out of his trousers. Then warm hands began caressing his chest and Tom groaned out loud. "Shhhh, not too loud Tom" Sharpe said, laughter in his voice "Don't forget we're not alone. I hope yer don't scream Tom?" Tom smiled as he commenced on Sharpe's jacket and whispered "No! I don't scream!" trying to sound indignant. Tom finally managed to unbutton Sharpe's jacket and slid his hands up under his shirt. Dick felt so thin his bones clearly evident under skin. But there was a sinewy strength about him, nothing like the softness of a woman, different but not unpleasant. Tom to kiss his way down Sharpe's neck. He nipped him gently, remembering what Sharpe had done, wondering if Sharpe liked that too, and was rewarded by a little moan. Tom bit him harder and Sharpe arched up, hard underneath him, leaving Garrard in no doubt. Slowly Sharpe began to unbutton Garrard's trousers and Tom realised that the younger man was giving him time to object, to stop him if this was more than he wanted. But Tom didn't want to stop. More than anything else he wanted to feel Dick Sharpe's hands on him and so in reply he quickly began to unbutton Sharpe's trousers too. Control was slipping away from Tom and he felt an answering desperation in Sharpe. Suddenly hands couldn't work quickly enough and mouths tried to be in all places at once, not sure whether to kiss or bite or gasp. Finally their clothing parted and their hands were on each other's erections and Tom thought he really would scream for a moment as he felt Sharpe's skillful fingers caressing him. He fought down the tide that threatened overthrow him and with one hand pulled Sharpe's hand away. With his other hand Tom dragged Sharpe's head up from where it was chewing on his neck to kiss him hard as he ground their erections together. Sharpe gasped into his mouth and Tom hesitated, thinking perhaps he had hurt Sharpe or done the wrong thing. But Sharpe took his hand and guided it back downwards "It's all right Tom. Feels good, doesn't it. I'll do whatever you want Tom, but it might be best to keep it simple this time." Tom nodded into the darkness, aware that Sharpe couldn't really see him but unable to speak for a moment. "Yes, but I...don't really know...what..." he stammered out eventually, but Sharpe hushed him with another kiss. "Don't worry Tom, there's no right or wrong way. I had no complaints the other night." Tom gave up all pretense of control then and soon their bodies were moving against each other in rhythm, hands and fingers stroking together, lips and tongues caressing each other. Then it started, like a spark to a trail of gunpowder, and Tom felt a flame rush through him, unable to stop it, waiting for the explosion that he knew was inevitable. He knew Sharpe felt it too when the younger man clamped his mouth down onto Tom's shoulder to stifle his scream. He felt Sharpe's body tremble as his own did, felt the sudden surges and shivers, felt the sticky warmth that spread over his hand. Tom closed his eyes and rested his face in Sharpe's hair, listening to their breathing. "Wasn't so bad was it Tom?' asked Sharpe quietly and Tom sighed, not knowing what to say. There was so much that he could say, wanted to say if he was truthful with himself, but Dick had laid down the rules before they started tonight. 'Nothing complicated, just something that mates do for each other because they care.' was what Sharpe had said. But Tom knew it was far more than that, Dick was far more than just a mate, it was useless to pretend to himself any longer. Dick Sharpe had sneaked his way into Tom Garrard's heart like a stray cat into a warm cottage and once inside it was impossible to get out. Tom wanted to say how much this had meant to him, how much Dick meant to him, but he knew Sharpe wouldn't want that, would be scared away by such words just like that stray cat if you tried to pet it too much. So instead Tom brushed the top of his head with a kiss, "No Dick, it was good, but how are we supposed to clean up the bloody mess!" Dick put his mouth up to Tom's ear again, giving it another kiss before saying in that teasing voice of his, "I'd tell you only I think yer'd get mad Tom, so it might be best if you used the blanket." Tom Garrard just laughed and followed Sharpe's advice. ~ Part 14 Tom Garrard woke to warm hands caressing him. He lay still pretending to be asleep for the moment, content to let Dick Sharpe do what ever he wanted because it certainly felt good. But Tom was unprepared for Sharpe's next move and couldn't stifle the scream that erupted from his mouth as Sharpe swallowed his erection in one smooth movement. Garrard gasped "Oh Christ Dick" as he came, vaguely aware that Hanson and Smith were up in the hayloft laughing because they had heard him. As he lay there with his eyes closed trying to pull his thought's back to reality he felt Sharpe settle onto his shoulder and whisper "Morning Tom, Merry Christmas." in a voice that sounded far too smug. The only duties that day were the picquets and even they were changed more regularly than was usual so that everyone could enjoy Christmas. The Regimental Parson rode by in the early afternoon to give his Christmas service amid the biting cold and drifting snow. Afterwards some of the younger infantrymen started a snowball fight, which Tom Garrard had the good sense to avoid. He was cold enough after standing still for so long listening to the sermon and didn't want to add to his discomfit by getting snow down the back of his jacket. As Tom stood and watched Dick Sharpe whooping and playing with the other younger men, Bill Hanson came over to stand beside him. Garrard blushed, remembering the morning. He had been too embarrassed to speak to either Hanson or Smith that morning and had left the barn before they climbed down from the loft. Now as Hanson stood beside him, Tom wondered if he should perhaps apologise for his noisy awakening. "About this morning Bill.." he began hesitantly, but Hanson turned to him smiling and shook his head. "Don't worry about it Tom. I bet young Sharpe did it on purpose, he's a cheeky little bugger, he is. Must say I was surprised when you took up with him." "He needed a mate Bill, he was getting mixed up with the wrong sort. I just wanted to help him that was all. Never intended for it to go this far." Tom blushed again wanting to talk to Hanson about the situation but not knowing how to start. Hanson looked down at his boots "You've done a good thing for Dick Sharpe. If he'd got too caught up with Hawkins he would have come to a bad end. Hawkins was a bastard. I'm glad he's dead, I was considering doing it myself. Thought I might have a chance at him next time we met the French but you saved me the trouble. He was after young Josh before I stepped in and put a stop to it. Poor lad didn't stand a chance on his own against Hawkins." Hanson paused and looked over to where Sharpe and Smith and the others were still chasing each other with snowballs. Turning back to Tom he continued. "I know yer a quiet sort Tom, but there's nothing wrong with having a mate to share a blanket with. It's cold and we're away from our families. No one wants to be alone, it's not good for a man. We all need a bit of company, a bit of comfort, and who better than a mate who cares. I like to think that if I should be shot tomorrow, there is someone here who will give a damn if I live or die. Someone who'll stop for me and drag me to the wagons rather than leave me on the road to die," Tom nodded. Bill Hanson had just voiced every infantrymans fear. "Thanks Bill." he said and the older man smiled at him and they stood in companionable silence until the game finished. That afternoon the Light Company was ordered once again to form ranks and prepare for a night march. The French were closer and the British troops were falling back again. They marched through of the night, tired and hungry. Somewhere along the road the order was given to stop and rest, and Garrard and Sharpe sat back to back not wanting to lay on the frozen ground for fear of succumbing to the cold. In the pale light of morning it was discovered that some men had not been so fortunate. Two infantrymen had died over night, there bodies frozen to the ground. They were left where they lay, the ground being too hard to dig graves. The only food the men had that morning was what they carried in their packs and by noon, Tom felt hungry and very cold as he walked wearily along beside Dick, neither man speaking. Shots rang out behind them and Captain Hughes spurred his bay gelding to the rear of the column. The Sergeants began forming the men into rows and Tom realised that the French had caught up. Hughes galloped back giving orders to the Sergeants to advance the men as the Company behind was being fired upon. "Say close Dick and think about what yer doing. I'm right beside you." Said Tom hurriedly as he wiped the moisture from his musket thinking they'd be damned lucky to even get off a shot in this dampness. Dick nodded and Tom gave him a quick smile noticing that the younger mans hands looked steady enough for the moment. Suddenly Tom could see the red coats of the other company retreating backwards, one step at a time. "Load Muskets" came the order from Sergeant Hawthorne who was nearest them and Tom loaded, one eye on Sharpe to see that he did not make a mistake. The infantrymen from the other company were now forming rank around them, steadying to repel the French advance. "Fix Bayonets" came the order and Tom listened as eighty bayonets were put in place. "Make Ready" Hawthorne shouted again and now Tom could see the first blue coats of the French troops advancing in ordered rows. Christ, they look better fed and rested then we do, Tom thought to himself. "Wait for it lads" Sergeant Hawthorne said quietly, his eyes turned to Captain Hughes, the most senior Officer present. "First row, fire!" Captain Hughes ordered and the boom of muskets sounded. Tom watched through the dissipating smoke to see the French still advancing. "Second row, fire!" yelled Hughes and Tom fired, his musket kicking back into his shoulder. He began loading again at once, glancing at Sharpe pleased to see his hands moving capably. The French were still coming and Tom could see that they were hopelessly outnumbered. Surely Hughes wasn't going to try to hold this point in the road. The order to fire came again and the man beside Tom fell down dead, shot in the head. "Oh Shit" he heard Sharpe mutter beside him, but the younger man went on loading. "Fall back." came the order from their Captain and the Light Company slowly began to inch it way backwards. The French fired again and Sergeant Hawthorne fell, his chest hit by a French musket ball, a rib sticking out. Someone bent to help him up, but he coughed up blood and died. "Fall back. Fall Back" came the order again and Tom went on loading and firing. And then the French charged. The Light Company were forced to stop and fight, hand to hand, bayonet to bayonet. It was unordered and brutal, a surge of bodies, white breath clear in the cold air, warm blood slowly covering the frozen ground. There was no time, no room to load and fire, just thrust with your bayonet, hit with the handle of your musket, or kick at whatever part of your opponent you could reach. Tom could see Hughes on his horse slashing away with his sword, slowly making his way through the melee towards the enemy officers. From somewhere orders were sounded for the French to fall back and Tom found himself once again alone, Dick Sharpe panting beside him. "Retreat, retreat" came the order from Hughes, echoed by the remaining Sergeants. The two men began running but suddenly Dick stumbled and Tom turned, afraid for one dreadful moment that his friend had been shot. Sharpe had slipped in a patch of icy blood and lay sprawled on the road, his musket out of reach. Tom hurried back to help him up, one eye on the French Infantry who were just out of musket range. Just stay there, Tom prayed to himself as he and Sharpe once more began running back to the safety of the retreating column. A noise from behind made Tom turn. Three French Cavalry Officers were riding towards them, sabres held out in front, laughing to themselves as they anticipated an easy kill. Tom loaded, steadied, aimed and fired, knowing he couldn't afford to waste this shot. The first horse screamed as it stumbled sending its rider crashing onto the hard ground. The other two kept coming and Tom saw Sharpe beside him, musket aimed then firing, hitting the second French rider who clutched at his shoulder but kept coming. "Aim for the bloody horses!" said Tom desperately as he reloaded. Hooves sounded on the road behind them and suddenly Captain Hughes was there, riding towards the horseman, his own sword held at the ready. Tom fired one more shot hitting another horse and then watched as Hughes engaged the final Frenchman, their swords clanging together, horses circling each other. He watched as the Frenchman, clearly the better swordsman slowly began to wear Hughes down. "Shit" Tom muttered as he loaded and aimed his musket at the Frenchman's horse, knowing there was no honour in what he did, but desperate to save his Captain. He fired and the horse reared, the Frenchman's sword cutting deeply into the withers of Hughes bay gelding, before the Captain spurred away, leaving his adversary lying on the ground. Hughes horse limped up the road towards Garrard and Sharpe. "Are you all right Sir?" asked Tom. "Yes, thank you. Good shooting Garrard." Hughes said breathing heavily "We'd best get out of here, before the French decide to attack again. The rest of the Regiment if forming just up ahead." Hughes turned in the saddle, trying to inspect his horse's injury. "Thank you for coming back for us. We were goners otherwise," said Tom knowing that Hughes had probably only come back because of Dick. "I don't abandon my men Tom, least of all to dishonourable French Cav....." before Hughes could stop, his bay gelding stumbled, back legs giving so that it slid on the icy road, pitching the Captain from the saddle to land heavily on his side. The horse lay down, kicking, unable to regain its feet. Tom went to it, taking a hold of the bridle to stop it struggling, whispering soothing words. He could see the snow turning red where it lay. Hughes limped over, rubbing his right leg. He said nothing as he examined the horses' wound and legs, then walked to where Tom held its head. "Good boy." he whispered softly to it, rubbing its nose, looking into its eyes. "It's the end of the road for you, old friend." he whispered again as the horse whinnied at him pitifully. He unhooked his saddlebags and dragged them clear, his saddle would have to stay. Taking his pistol Hughes slowly and deliberately loaded it. "I'll do it if you like Sir," offered Tom, knowing how close Hughes was to his horse, but the Captain shook his head. "My place to do it Tom, my fault." he said and Tom let go of the bridle while Hughes took aim. The horse jerked as Hughes fired then silence descended. Hughes stood there not moving and the two infantrymen looked at each other. "Do yer think he'll let us have some of the meat Tom." asked Dick and Tom shot him such a look that the younger man dropped his eyes and walked away. Tom waited until Hughes finally limped over to him and they started back along the road. "I know the men are starving, we'll send some back to get the meat." Hughes said quietly as they reached the spot where Sharpe waited for them. ~ Part 15 Mercifully the French did not attack again that day and the men camped in a snow covered field that evening with only a huge bonfire of smoking wood and a stew made from Captain Hughes' horse to keep them warm. "Captain's not eating tonight." remarked Dick as he sat with Tom in the warm firelight. The Officers were reduced to eating the same rations as the men now, although it was rumoured that some Officers from other Regiments still bought food for themselves while their men starved. Tom looked over to where he Captain Hughes sat in front of his tent sipping at something in mug. "He's upset Dick." replied Tom quietly. "Don't know what all the fuss was about, it was just a horse!" said Dick gruffly. Tom shook his head thinking how strange it was that Sharpe couldn't understand the simplest of emotions. "It was his friend Dick, just like you made friends with those cats." Tom remembered the tears he had seen in Hughes eyes as he pulled the trigger. "Probably his best friend too. I don't think he's got many." Sharpe looked across to his Captain and said nothing for a few minutes "He sure looks sad sitting there." he said softly at last, turning back to Tom. "Yeah, I guess he could use a friend tonight." replied Tom looking into Dick's eyes, knowing what he would find there. There was sadness now in Sharpe's green eyes, "I'm his friend Tom." he said, his voice little more than a whisper and Tom knew that Dick was waiting for his permission, that he wouldn't go to Hughes if Tom said no. Tom Garrard ran his hands over his face. He knew he'd never 'own' Sharpe, hell, he didn't want to. But he knew also that although Dick might say he wasn't a whore any more, he was always going to be free with his affections. Faithfulness was not something he could ever expect from Dick Sharpe. "Aye, he's been a good friend to you Dick and tonight he needs a good friend himself. Go on." Dick Sharpe smiled at Tom Garrard, not his usual cocky grin, but a special smile, a smile that spoke of deep friendship and understanding. He stood and walked to where the Captain sat in front of his small tent. Sharpe knelt down beside him and spoke, his hand resting on Hughes knee. Tom watched as his Captain smiled at Sharpe and nodded then both men stood and went inside the tent. Tom felt a pang of jealousy but pushed it away. Hughes had saved their lives today and was probably responsible for keeping a few others alive, thanks to the horse stew in their bellies. No he didn't deserve Tom's jealously tonight. But Tom was cold and all alone. He had watched men die today and had seen his own death riding towards him in the form of a French Cavalry Officer. He shivered, not from the cold but from the sense of his own mortality. Now he understood what Bill Hanson had meant when he spoke about having some one who cared and he realised that tonight he would have given anything to hold Dick in his arms and forget about what he had faced today and would probably face again tomorrow. It was war that brought men together like this. In the midst of death and injury where men lived with the thought that each moment could be their last, it was only natural to reach out to one another, to seek comfort and to reaffirm life. Sighing Tom Garrard wrapped his arms around himself and propped himself up against his pack. Perhaps Dick Sharpe would just spend a while with Hughes, returning to Tom when he was done but Tom doubted that. The night was bitterly cold and Dick would be far better off in Hughes' warm tent, sharing the Captain's bunk rather than out here in the cold. Closing his eyes Tom Garrard tried to sleep. In the days that followed the French kept up a relentless pursuit, harrying the retreating British further into Holland. Such tactics were against the old rules of warfare where each side was expected to stop hostilities and seek shelter and safe quarters for the winter months. It was clear that the French General Pichegru wanted the British out of Belgium but never pressed home his advantage, content just to drive them harder and further into Holland. The New Year came around amid another cold night in the open, light snow drifting down. Tom and Dick lay curled together trying to stay warm. "Why don't you go to Captain Hughes tonight Dick?" Tom whispered softly "You'd be warmer in his tent." Garrard was worried about the younger man. They'd had a hard march and little to eat that day and Sharpe was already thin to begin with, he would be much more susceptible to illness or exposure. Many of the men were weakening from a fever and cough that seemd to be slowly spreading trough the Regiment. Dick slid his hands up under Tom's jacket trying to keep them warm. "Who'll keep you warm tonight if I go to Captain Hughes?" Dick asked "I wouldn't want to come out and find you frozen in the morning." Tom smiled and buried his nose into Sharpe's hair. "Just thought you'd be warmer there that's all." he replied closing his eyes. "I'm comfortable here with you Tom." replied Sharpe. The following day the 33rd was divided up and five companies including the Light Company were sent as picquets to Meteren. The rest of the Regiment along with two other Regiments, were stationed two miles away at Geldermaisen. There was fresh food in the town and warm places to sleep. Tom and Dick once again found themselves in a small barn but it afforded them little privacy as they shared it with six others. Two of the men were unwell suffering hacking coughs and a fever and as Tom settled down into the straw he wondered how much longer the army could survive on so little food and in such harsh conditions. In the darkness Dick slipped his arms around Tom and quietly kissed him. "Not here Dick, someone will hear us." Tom whispered more than a little disappointed. The nights spent on the road had allowed no chance for intimacy and Tom had been hoping that tonight they would be alone and he could explore more of this new found relationship with Sharpe. "We can be real quiet Tom," Sharpe breathed into his ear, sending little shivers up Tom's back "I know how to be quiet, I'm good at it." "Yeah, I bet yer are." Tom replied and allowing himself to kiss Sharpe briefly, knowing he shouldn't encourage the younger man, but desperately needing the comfort that he offered. Dick tangled his legs around Tom, his agile fingers seeking buttons, opening, caressing. "Real quiet and real quick." came Sharpe's whisper in the darkness and Tom felt his body respond to his friend's touches and the memory of their night together and gave in. He reached down and unbuttoned Sharpe's breeches saying a final prayer that no one would hear them and the French wouldn't choose now to attack. Sharpe reached up and locked his mouth over Tom's in something like a kiss, but as the two men became caught up in their passion it also served to stifle any sound they made. Tom felt, rather than heard Sharpe breathing, his breath hot in his mouth. He felt the slight moan from Sharpe's throat reverberate in his own. Felt Sharpe nip at his lips and tasted blood in his mouth and finally felt their teeth clash together as both men lost control, mouths pressed even closer together, stealing each others breath until Tom thought he would faint. Tom closed his eyes and waited for the roar in his ears to fade away. He listened to the sounds around him but could detect no break in the steady breathing of the others interspersed only by coughing. Sharpe's lips touched his throat gently causing Tom to shiver "'Night Tom." whispered Dick Sharpe as he drifted off to sleep. ~ Part 16 Tom Garrard was awoken by musket fire. "Bloody Hell! Wake up Dick." he shouted as he frantically buttoned his trousers. The barn was a scene of confusion as men rudely awoken from sleep tried desperately to gather their few possessions and load their muskets in the darkness. Outside British soldiers were running past. "The French are attacking, we're outnumbered." someone shouted, then Tom spied Sergeant Walker "We're retreating to Geldermaison, no use trying to hold on here." He waved his hand towards the road north "That way lads, we form up ranks outside of town. I'm still trying to wake half the bastards up!" Sharpe and Garrard followed their Sergeant's directions and met up with the main body of British troops outside the town. There were men from several Regiments here, some sick, some wounded in the French attack, all milling around in the darkness waiting for someone to tell them what to do. Sergeants and Officers began gathering their Companies, forming ranks and Tom breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Captain Hughes limp up and begin organising the Light Company. "We'll march straight through to Geldermaison, we don't have enough men to hold the French here." Hughes looked at his assembled men, wondering how much to tell them. He always believed it was best to be honest with the ranks. If you trusted them, then they would trust you. "There are another two Regiments there with artillery, but we'll have to hope luck is on our side, we are hopelessly outnumbered. All right then, let's move out." Hughes spared a quick smile at Dick as he limped past to the head of the Light Company and Dick turned to Tom and whispered "His leg must still be bad, it was black and blue last time I saw it. Don't know how he has kept marching all this time." Tom watched Hughes take his place at the front of the column "There's no more horses to spare Dick and you wouldn't see Lieutenant Morris giving his up in a hurry." Although they had but two miles to go, the march was relentless, the British troops having to turn and fight the French again and again. As they neared Geldermaison their retreat had become little more than a disorderly scramble. Tom could see clearly that discipline was a problem in the other Regiments where troops were left to fend for themselves after several Officers had ridden ahead to safety. Despite the French threat so close behind, Tom was amazed to see several infantrymen break ranks to loot a farmhouse. But in the Light Company, order was maintained. Captain Hughes, Sergeant Walker, and even Lieutenant Morris keeping the men together as they marched and fought. They were within sight of Geldermaison when the last French attack came on their right flank. There was no time to form ranks for an orderly exchange of musket fire. Men took whatever cover they could find or dropped flat onto the road behind abandoned baggage. Tom loaded and fired and loaded again almost without thinking. Sharpe was doing the same, gone was the fumbling and uncertainty. If Dick could fight like this after such a night then he would do just fine, Tom thought to himself. Suddenly Tom felt a searing pain across his ribs. I've been hit he realised and waited for his breath to go or his vision to fade but nothing happened. The pain stayed, hot and sickening and he reached down and drew back his fingers covered in blood. Hit but not fatal, he thought, not yet at any rate. He glanced at Dick still loading and firing beside him. Oh God, he prayed, don't let me die here. His hands were shaking as he loaded his musket again, suddenly not sure of what to do. "Fall in, fall in" came the call and Tom realised the French had stopped firing. He stood slowly, his head feeling light, he heard Sharpe tell him to hurry and saw the rest of the men retreating up the road. Keep going he told himself, you can do it. It was still dark and Tom hoped Sharpe wouldn't see his injury. They were nearly to Geldermaison, no need to cause a fuss yet. As Tom caught up to Sharpe he saw the younger man peer at him. "You all right Tom?" he asked. Tom nodded but Sharpe looked closer. "Christ yer hit Tom." there was something close to panic in his voice. "I'm all right, just keep going. It can't be too bad cause I'm still on my feet." They trudged on in the darkness, into the town and safety where hopefully the British could stop the French advance. "Yer need a doctor, Tom. Yer should go to the hospital," said Sharpe. Tom shook his head. "Can't be too bad. I feel all right. I've heard about those hospitals, full of sick and dying men. All the lads that came down with the fever are there too. Probably be worse off there. No I'll stay with you, I can bandage it when we get a billet." The town was full of British soldiers, and this latest influx only added to the strain on resources. "We'll have to camp out while we're here lads" said Sergeant Walker and proceeded to show the men of the Light Company where they could rest for what remained of the night. Sharpe looked at Tom and shook his head "Yer can't lay out here Tom, it's too cold and yer got to get someone to look at your wound. What if we can't hold this town and we have to march again tomorrow?" Tom nodded, he was starting to feel light-headed and wasn't sure how much longer he could stand. "But no hospital Dick!" he said. Sergeant Walker came over wondering why the two infantrymen still standing there rather than making camp. After listening to Tom objections about the hospital, Walker asked around and finally found them a stall in the one of the stables where the Officers horses were being housed. "Yer should have told me straight away Tom." grumbled the Sergeant as he lit a lantern and fussed about. "Mates look out for mates, now get yer jacket and shirt off and let me have a look." There was a nice round hole in Tom's jacket where the musket ball had entered. His shirt was covered in blood but surprisingly the musket ball itself was just sitting there, imbedded in Tom's skin against one rib. "Looks like it must have been nearly spent," said Walker as he held it up to show Tom. "I'd say it scraped along your side, hit on yer rib and just stopped. Yer a lucky man!" The rib itself was cracked, but the bleeding had stopped and Sergeant Walker wrapped a bandage around Tom's chest and told him to rest. He looked at Sharpe and frowned. "You should come back and stay with the rest of the lads, Sharpe. Tom's only allowed in here cause he's wounded." Dick looked up with that pleading look that Tom recognised and he had to hide his smile. Sergeant Walker would stand no chance against that! "But Sarge who'll look after him, it could be worse than it looks. I think I should stay here just for while." Walker sighed, "Well just for a while then lad." and he left. Sharpe covered up Tom and made him comfortable. Tom felt his eyes closing. "You go to sleep Tom, I'm right here if you need me," said Dick as he lay down beside him. Tom did sleep a strange restless sleep where he kept feeling the musket shot hit his ribs. He awoke and saw Dick looking at him, concern in his eyes. "Drink this Tom, yer feeling hot" and Tom swallowed but his throat felt sore. "Are you hungry?" Dick asked but Tom just shook his head, which only served to make him aware that his head ached too. He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep. ~ Part17 Voices came to him through the darkness, Dick's voice, talking to someone, Dick was worried, Tom could tell by the tone of his voice. "But what if he's not well enough when we have to pull out?" Dick was saying "He can travel on the medical wagons, but keep that as a last resort. Once he goes with them we may not get him back." It was Captain Hughes voice Tom recognised "Let him sleep as much as possible and keep giving him water or whatever he can drink. It's not the wound, it's the fever that's causing this. Here, put a bit of this brandy into his water and splash a bit onto his wound and the bandage to help stop infection. When we leave, if he can manage it at all, get him to march with us. You can look after him, you seem to be doing a good job, better care than he would get in one of the hospitals." Hughes voice had softened as he said that and Tom tried to open him eyes. Soft light from a lantern lit up the stall and he could make out the figures of Dick and Captain Hughes sitting in the straw, leaning against the wall. Hughes raised his hand and brushed a stray strand of hair from Dick's face. "You care about him don't you." he said softly. "He's my mate, he's been good to me, he's looked after me," said Dick sadly. "Shhh, he'll be all right." said Hughes as if he was speaking to a child. He slipped his arm around Sharpe and the younger man settled against the Captains chest. Tom Garrard closed his eyes, drifting back into sleep, still aware of the voices but unable to stay awake. "You should have some sort of ambition Dick, it's important. It'll be hard, but you can do it if you want to. You'll never be really accepted, but that doesn't matter." Hughes was talking again and Tom wandered how long he had been asleep, was it just minutes or had another night passed. "Is that why the other Officers don't like you?" Dick asked and Hughes laughed. "I wouldn't say they don't like me, they just don't know how to take me. My father was in trade, a furniture maker. I am not what they consider to be a Gentleman, yet they can see that I am a better soldier than most of them. The sad thing about it is that they seem to take their Commissions for granted. I don't. I had to struggle to save enough to buy my Lieutenancy and I know I will never get any further than this Captaincy unless I win promotion on the battlefield, so I can't afford to be complacent." Hughes paused and Sharpe said, "It must be tough for yer Sir, always having to do yer best." "No, I like being a soldier, I like what I do. And you could do as well as I if you would just learn to read and write." Dick laughed and Tom could hear the straw rustling where he moved around. "It's too hard, Sir, I told yer before." Tom opened his eyes a little to watch the two men again. "It's not Dick and I told you I would teach you. I could show you a little each night, it wouldn't take long." Tom watched as Sharpe squirmed his way onto Hughes lap, like a cat. "I'd rather show you a few things each night Sir." said Sharpe and he kissed the Captain hard on the lips. Hughes arms came around Sharpe's back and they lay down in the straw together. Fascinated Tom watched, feeling a strange detachment as if this were all a dream. Perhaps it was all just his in fevered mind. Why would Captain Hughes be sitting in a stable with Dick Sharpe in the middle of the night? "You know this isn't the answer to everything Dick," said Hughes raising his head to look down at the younger man in the straw beneath him. "You're very good at changing the subject when you don't want to talk about something. If you want to make something of your life you have to be prepared to do a bit of hard work. Learning to read and write won't be easy, but it will be worth it. Think about this, if Tom hadn't taught you to load your rifle properly do you think you would be here tonight?" Sharpe was silent, not answering and Tom watched as Hughes caressed the younger mans face again. "Come on, I'm not angry with you, but we can't do this here." Hughes tried to sit up but Sharpe pulled him down again "But yer want to do it, I can feel yer." said Sharpe in that teasing seductive voice and Tom heard them kiss again, heard their breathing turn desperate, almost felt the passion building between them. "Behave yourself Dick, you little.." Hughes began only to be cut off by Sharpe's lips. The Captain broke away then, pulling Sharpe's hand from where it had been caressing him "That's enough Dick. How would you feel if Tom woke up and caught us? Do you want him to see that?" said Hughes harshly "Try to think before you act Dick." Tom closed his eyes as the two men turned towards him. He heard someone cross he straw and a cool hand touch his forehead. "He still feels hot. Should I wake him and give him more water?" he heard Sharpe ask. "No let him sleep. If he seems restless then wake him and give him a drink and put a bit of that brandy into it but don't drink it yourself, do you hear me Dick?" Hughes voice sounded serious and Sharpe replied "Yes Sir, I hear you." "I'd better go back, you look after Tom and I'll check on you in the morning. I'll tell Sergeant Walker that it's all right for you to stay here," said Hughes as he stood up and brushed his uniform "Thanks Sir, and thanks for the food." said Dick and Tom heard Hughes leave. Sharpe turned the lantern down lower and came over to lie beside Garrard. Tom opened his eyes and moved a little causing Sharpe to jump. "Christ Tom, I thought yer were asleep. How do you feel." Sharpe bent down to look into Tom's eyes and Garrard could see the faint blush that highlighted his face. Sharpe looked away from Tom's searching look. "How long have you been awake?" he asked nervously as he poured some water. "Just woke then when you lay down." Tom lied and he drank down the water laced with brandy that Sharpe gave him. It was no use getting angry with Sharpe about his behaviour Tom thought. Nothing he could say or do was going to make Sharpe change his ways over night. Hell, he was just thankful that Sharpe had enough grace to feel a little guilty about it. Perhaps that was a small concession in itself. "How long have I been here?" Tom asked in a scratchy voice, giving Sharpe a little smile to try and calm his fears. "You've been asleep since just before dawn this morning. Around noon you felt hot and became restless. I got worried, thinking that it might have been yer wound going bad, but Sergeant Walker said it didn't work that quick, said it was more likely the fever that's been spreading through the Regiment. So I just kept you comfortable and gave you water. It's about midnight now, they should be changing the picquets soon." Sharpe paused and looked into Tom's eyes "Captain Hughes was here before. He came to see how you were." Sharpe waited uneasily for Garrard to speak. "That was nice of him, did he give you the brandy?" Tom asked, letting nothing show in his voice. Sharpe nodded "Yes. He said we won't be able to hold the French here for long, that you've got to be able to march when we leave or they'll take you on the wagons and we won't see you again. Sharpe lay down next to Garrard and touched his face lightly. "Yer gotta be well enough to march, I don't know what I'd do with out yer Tom." he said softly and Tom couldn't help smiling, "I won't leave yer Dick. Don't worry." he said wearily as he closed his eyes again. ~ Part 18 Tom woke again in the pale light of morning. He could hear movement in the stable, horses being led outside, stalls being cleaned. Dick Sharpe sat up beside him, rubbing his eyes. "How do you feel Tom?" he asked, his hand reaching out to feel Tom's forehead. "All right." replied Tom, not willing to say anymore. In truth he felt far from all right. His throat felt sore and parched, his head ached and he couldn't breath properly through his nose. The pain in his ribs where he had been shot seemed almost minor compared to the rest of his aches and pains. Sharpe opened Tom's jacket and inspected the bandage. "I'm going to have to unwrap it and have a look Tom, Sergeant Walker told me to check that it doesn't go bad." he explained as he carefully unwound the discoloured piece of cloth. When he got to the final layer, the cloth was stuck to the scab that had formed along his rib. Tom inspected the wound. There was no redness and it looked dry. Even the hole where the musket ball had been sitting had scabbed over nicely. "Just leave the cloth on and wrap it up again." Tom directed, thinking that it was best to leave it alone rather than open it up to bleeding again. Sharpe splashed some of the brandy onto the bandage and Tom winced as it soaked through. Sharpe retrieved Tom's shirt, which had been rinsed of blood but could hardly be called clean and helped him dress. The cracked rib gave off jabs of pain as Garrard moved and he lay down again when he was dressed, feeling exhausted from the small amount of movement. "I've got a bit of cheese here Tom, Captain Hughes brought it last night. You should try to eat it." Sharpe brought it over together with another mug of water and brandy and sat watching Tom. "I'd better go find out what's happening, see if we are moving out and if they have any rations for us. We didn't get any last night. You eat that cheese Tom!" he said with a smile and left. Garrard rested in the straw as he drank the water and nibbled at the cheese. He doubted he would have enough strength to march today and he would be useless in a fight. He would slow Dick down and they would both end up getting shot. Tom knew he had little chance of recovery. He had seen many men get sick and die from the smallest of injuries after infection set into a wound. The fever he was suffering from had also killed many infantrymen but it was a slower way to go. Tom knew that once he developed the persistent cough, which could be heard throughout the ranks, he would stand little chance of recovering. It was too cold and there was not enough to eat and no time to rest. Sadly Tom wiped his nose with his sleeve and wondered if it would be better to just shoot himself now rather than have to face the days to come as death stalked closer. But Dick Sharpe bounced back in, smiling wildly, bringing a bucket of water. "We'll be here another day at least Tom. You can keep resting, Sergeant Walker said you should just stay here. I have to do drill and picquet duty but I can come back here tonight." Sharpe put the bucket down close by Garrard and slipped the brandy into the straw beside it. "We haven't been given any rations Tom, but I'll bring something tonight, I promise." The younger man fussed around, heaping the straw up to keep Garrard warm covering him with the blanket and greatcoat. "Be careful Dick and thanks." said Tom quietly as Sharpe slung on his pack and picked up his musket. Sharpe smiled at him again. "You just rest Tom, I'll look after you." Tom dosed throughout the day, woken from time to time by the noise of the British howitzers firing, knowing that the French were attacking and wondering each time if the French would be successful in their attempts to drive the British out of Geldermaison. In his fevered state he fretted over Dick Sharpe, worried that he may be involved in the fighting. Tom dreamed of finding Dick laying dead beside the road, his uniform soaked with blood. He awoke at one time in a sweat, having dreamed that the French had captured the stable where he lay and Dick had been bayoneted as he fought to protect his friend. When evening came, Tom awoke again, his mind a little clearer but Dick had not returned and he began to worry that his dreams were somehow true and that Dick had been shot or wounded. Just on dark, Percy Peters arrived and lit the small lantern that Dick had left hanging on the wall. "How are you doing Tom, you don't look real good?" he asked as he squatted down beside Garrard. "I'm not too bad Percy, just hungry. What's been happening, I keep hearing gun fire?" asked Tom. Percy cracked a slight smile. "Bloody Frogs keep attacking, but we've held them off so far. This town seems secure for the moment. You know Tom today was a bit warmer. No snow and no one froze last night so maybe the worst of it is over. If only we had more bloody rations." He held out two chunks of bread and two pieces of dried bacon. "Here's yours Tom." "Is that all?" asked Tom "How do they think a man can survive on so little food." Peters shrugged. "That's meant for both of you, you and Dick Sharpe. He asked me to bring it here to you. Said he had something to do. There's no food to be bought in town and Colonel Wellesley has given strict instructions that there's to be no looting. Hardly fair I reckon as the men from the 44th have been looting all day. I saw them myself! Their Officers don't care. And there's half a dozen dead horses out there on the road in front of the town but we can't get to them because of the French." Percy sighed and stood to leave "You take care now Tom, make sure yer ready to march again." Tom nodded then lay back to eat his rations. The bread was stale and the bacon rancid, but he was so hungry that he forced the food down past his sore throat, sipping water and drinking the brandy. He knew he was still fevered, his head ached when he moved and the stable seemed to move about him. He felt very weak and knew that he wouldn't be able to stand. Where was Dick, he wondered again. Perhaps he was with Captain Hughes, but Tom felt uneasy, surely Dick would have come by first before going to Hughes. He turned the lantern down to conserve the oil and lay down again to sleep. "Tom, Tom, wake up." came the soft familiar voice of Dick Sharpe and Tom woke, relieved to see his friend smiling. "I've got some more food Tom," said Dick and began pulling an array of foodstuffs out of the pockets of his greatcoat, a carrot, some dried biscuits, a piece of fresh bread, two mushrooms, some green leafy thing that Tom didn't recognise, dried beef and finally a flask of brandy. Tom looked at the food spread out before him and then back to Sharpe. "Where did you get all of this Dick?" he asked weakly. "Were you looting? You'll be shot if they catch you looting." but Sharpe looked away, shaking his head. "All the other Regiments are looting. They all have food. I just got it off them." Sharpe glanced back at Tom, his eyes guarded. "Don't ask me to tell you how, Tom. I did it for you because you won't get better unless you have something more to eat. You've got food now, so please eat it." Oh Christ, thought Tom, had Sharpe been whoring again? Tom closed his eyes. He didn't want to know. He felt a great sadness that it was his fault Dick had felt compelled to do whatever he had done. He reached out to touch Sharpe's hand "It's all right, I understand. Thank you Dick. Come and have some with me." Sharpe looked back at Tom but he didn't smile. "I'll get more water first. You eat what you can. I've still got those rations to get through." Sharpe was quiet while they ate, hardly speaking and leaving most of the food for Tom. When they were done Sharpe carefully wrapped the little bit that remained and slipped it into Tom's pack. Finally they lay down together in the darkness and Tom moved closer to Dick but the younger man turned his head and rolled away. "Yer don't want to be near me tonight Tom." he said and put his back to Garrard. Tom persisted, wrapping his arms around Sharpe, lying close against his back. He brought his hand around to brush Sharpe's face and then reached down to take Sharpe's hand where it lay on the straw. Tom Garrard wanted to tell Sharpe that he was not worth the sacrifice that the younger man had made tonight. That he would rather go hungry than have Dick resort to whoring again but he knew if he spoke these thoughts he would hurt his friend deeply. Dick Sharpe thought Tom Garrard was worth the sacrifice and so Tom would accept it graciously and not turn him away or show his repulsion. "Dick?" Tom whispered softly waiting for him to turn "Dick?" Sharpe rolled back to face his friend. "What Tom? Are you all right?" he asked quietly. Tom Garrard kissed him on the lips lightly. "Thank you Dick." he whispered. ~ Part 19 The news the following morning was hopeful. The French had withdrawn, leaving the British troops to rest, regroup and tend their wounded. Tom realised that this small British victory would mean he could rest and recuperate a while longer, not only from his wound but from the fever that was afflicting more and more of the men. Bill Hanson stopped by to tell him how the hospital was now overcrowded with men suffering from what the doctors called a distemper and it was being spread to the wounded already there. "No chance for the poor buggers." murmured Hanson as he idly rubbed at the bandage on his arm where he had taken a bayonet wound on the retreat from Meteran. "There's no one to care for them there and the place is filthy. You're lucky you didn't let them take you there, Tom!" By the afternoon, Tom felt a little better. The fever seemed to have broken but it left him feeling very weak and lightheaded. Surprisingly the hacking cough, which seemed to herald the next stage of the illness, had not developed and Tom began to feel hopeful. Dick arrived on dusk with another small horde of foodstuffs, along with a bowl of horse stew courtesy of the French. They sat together in companionable silence eating and drinking a little of the brandy. Afterwards Dick made Tom take off his shirt so that the bandage on his wound could be removed. They soaked it well in the last of the brandy and then Dick pulled quickly. Tom gasped as the cloth came away, opening the wound again, but it looked clean and bled only slightly. "I'll leave it uncovered while I'm lying here. We don't have any more bandages anyway." Said Garrard as he put his shirt around his shoulders, suddenly aware of how much he smelt of sweat and fever and sickness. He would have liked to wash the smell away, but it was still too cold and Tom was reluctant to risk exposing himself to the chills he knew could be caught from too much washing. When Tom lay down again Sharpe rose and looked towards the door not meeting Garrard's inquiring eyes. "I'm going out for a while Tom. Do you need anything before I leave?" "Are you going to see Captain Hughes?" Tom asked quietly, hoping that the answer would be 'yes'. Dick just shook his head. "I won't be long." was all he said. It troubled Tom that Sharpe had slipped so easily back into his old ways, that he had gone prowling the camp again to find extra food and probably brandy or rum. Tom's thought's were interrupted by someone coming into the stall and was surprised to see Captain Hughes. "How are you Tom?" he asked smiling. "Feeling better Sir, much better, thank you. Dick's been looking after me." Hughes nodded, "I've brought you both a bit of extra food. It will help you get back on your feet Tom. We'll be marching in a day or two. They want the 33rd to man an outpost as the army heads towards the Emms River. It seems General Fox is impressed with the 33rds efforts as rearguard. The Colonel's more than pleased with the compliment of course." The Captain looked around the stall "Where's Dick?" he asked, a slight edge to his voice. "Don't know Sir." replied Tom slowly. His head spun a little as he sat up, wondering what he should tell the older man. "He told me he was spending the nights here with you. That is what he's been doing isn't it Tom?" Hughes asked, his voice strained. "Sometimes he goes out to find extra food Sir. He's been doing it because he's worried about me. Don't be too hard on him." Tom replied. "The stupid little bastard! He'll end up getting his throat cut. Doesn't he know that men have been killing each other for food! Why just last night someone got a knife in the back because of a chicken." Hughes looked down and ran his hand through his hair. "Christ! He should have come to me! I don't know why he won't trust me!" Tom sat there, not knowing what to say, watching as Hughes walked back and forth across the stall before finally asking in a bitter voice "Has he been stealing or whoring?" "You'd best ask him that Sir," said Tom beginning to feel worried. He had never seen his Captain so angry before and he could see how much Hughes was hurt by Sharpe's apparent mistrust. Hughes bid Tom goodnight then and left. Tom turned out the lantern before falling back to sleep only to be woken some time later by Sharpe and Hughes arguing outside the stall. "What have you been doing Dick! If you wanted more food why didn't you come and ask me." Hughes sounded angry. "I didn't want to get you into trouble Sir, I know you always share yer food with me anyway. I didn't want to ask for more," said Dick, his voice pitched low to pacify and appease. Tom could imagine the look on his face. "So how did you get the food Dick?" asked Hughes, still angry. "I stole it. I stole it from a private in the Black Watch while he playing cards." Sharpe replied, his voice trembling. "Are you sure about that? Are you sure you haven't been up to your old games Dick, whoring about the camp?" Tom was worried. He sat up and crawled closer to the doorway. "I stole it Sir, that's all," said Sharpe defiantly. "I'll be able to tell you know," said Hughes, his voice suddenly low and Tom Garrard stuck his head around the corner, ready to leap out and protect Dick if needed. What he saw made him catch his breath. Hughes held Sharpe tightly in his arms, kissing him hard. Sharpe was not struggling but clung just as tightly to Hughes, returning the kiss with equal passion. They broke apart. "Are we going back to your billet?" asked Sharpe as he nipped his way up Hughes neck to his chin. "No, I'm sharing with Morris, it will have to be here. Do you think Tom will hear?" Tom pulled his head back quickly, scuttled back to the straw and lay down. His heart was pounding and his ribs hurting from the sudden movement. Oh God, he thought, suddenly confused. He heard Sharpe walk in and bend close. Tom kept his eyes closed and his breathing slow. Sharpe left quietly, taking the lantern with him. "He's asleep." Tom heard him say and from the rustling of the straw he could tell that the two men were now in the stall next door. Minute sounds intruded through the stillness, small and indefinable at first but slowly becoming louder until Tom began to recognise what he was hearing. Unable to prevent the sounds of passion that drifted through the darkness, Tom lay listening. At first Tom was worried that Hughes might be angry enough to hurt Sharpe, but he could soon tell from the gentle way the Captain whispered Dick's name over and over again that violence was the furthest thing from Hughes' mind. The sounds he was hearing certainly indicated that Sharpe was enjoying whatever it was as much as Hughes, but how could that be, Tom wondered. Once more Tom crawled to the doorway and peered around the wall dividing the two stalls. He knew it was wrong, but he wanted to know what the two men were doing. The lantern was turned down very low, but it gave off just enough light for Tom to see clothes strewn around and two naked figures lying together in the straw. He watched as Sharpe rolled onto his back gazing up at Hughes who moved to kneel between his legs and grip his narrow hips. "Liar." Hughes whispered as he pushed himself into Sharpe's body and Tom held his breath, wondering what would happen. But Sharpe smiled up at Hughes, his eyes alight "They weren't as good as you." he replied and Hughes murmured "Who were they?" as he bent to kiss him roughly. "I told you, a private from the Black Watch and another from the 2nd company." confessed Sharpe with another smile and Tom was surprised that rather than make Hughes angry this only served to inflame his passion. Tom watched the two pale bodies move together in rhythm, slowly at first then with increasing in tempo. Sharpe raised his legs and wrapped them around Hughes pulling him closer causing Hughes to groan softly and move faster and harder. "Yes!" hissed Sharpe, his eyes wild as he moved with Hughes, leaning up on his elbows. Dick likes it, Tom thought to himself in amazement. He enjoys this. Up until now Tom had only seen the brutal side of Sharpe's couplings, the injuries caused by Hawkins and Crocker and he had not realised that Sharpe could also derive pleasure such things. But watching Sharpe and Hughes together, Tom could see a different side, a passionate side that was far removed from what he had witnessed before. Tom crawled silently back to his cold bed and lay down again, his mind in confusion. Tom was glad that Sharpe's experiences had not left him so jaded that he was unable to enjoy what Hughes offered him and he found himself wondering if, deep down, Dick really did care for Hughes. But was this what Dick Sharpe also wanted from him, Tom suddenly wondered? There was certainly something arousing about what the two men were doing and Tom allowed the scene to play over again in his mind as he listened to them making love. Could I do that, Tom thought and he tried to imagine himself in Hughes place as the sounds continued to build to a climax and then cease. Tom thought Hughes would leave then but the Captain seemed content to lie with Sharpe, whispering quietly in the dark, telling him stories about his life at home. He's lonely, Tom realised and felt strangely sorry for his Captain suddenly understanding the extent of Hughes' feelings for Sharpe. He remembered the fragments of the conversation he had overheard the first night. He remembered the way Hughes had came riding back to save Sharpe from certain death at the hands of the French. Sharpe had always said that Hughes cared for him and Tom had dismissed it as something trivial. But Hughes' feelings for Sharpe were not unlike his own feelings. John Hughes, Captain of the prestigious Light Company had taken a terrible risk tonight just to spend time with Dick Sharpe and hold him in his arms. Tom heard Dick ask a question and Hughes answered beginning another story from another time, something rowboats and oars and loosing the rollicks. Closing his eyes Tom let the gentle voices carry him off to sleep. ~ Part 20 Sergeant Walker woke Garrard and Sharpe two mornings later with news that the British were pulling out of Geldermaison. Walker frowned, "I'm sorry Tom, can't even tell you we'll have an easy time of it. Do you think yer can make it." Tom gathered his strength and stood, aware that he had to prove his fitness to his Sergeant who wasn't prepared to risk the lives of the others for one man who was unfit. "I'm fine Sarge. Much better, see! Dick's been looking after me." Walker frowned at Sharpe and Tom suddenly wondered if the Sergeant knew of what Sharpe had been up to. "All right Tom, you've got an hour before parade." Sharpe helped Garrard get ready after first wrapping Tom's ribs tightly with a new bandage that he had somehow obtained. Tom didn't ask how, but was very grateful. Although the wound was healing nicely, his cracked ribs still ached when he moved. Dick put most of the contents of Garrard's pack into his own and even offered to carry Tom's musket. "Bloody hell Dick, they'll never think me fit enough to march if I can't carry my own musket." Tom laughed. He was indeed feeling much better. Tom was warmly welcomed back by the other lads as he took his place in the ranks. Lieutenant Morris rode up, his horse looking out of condition and weak. "Horse stew tonight." whispered Sharpe and Tom kicked his foot. Captain Hughes arrived then, on a new horse, his eyes searching the ranks until he found Sharpe and Garrard. He gave them a small smile then proceeded to give out orders. They marched most of that day, through the bleak countryside. The weather was a little warmer, thought Tom as he noticed patches of ice and frost beginning to melt. As the day wore on and the threat of French pursuit lessened, Tom grew tired. His ribs had started aching and the cold air had caused his nose to run so much that his sleeve was wet from wiping it. At least I'm not coughing, he thought to himself as he listened to others who were not so fortunate. Several times the column had stopped and waited while men who were too weak to march on were loaded onto the medical wagons. They spent several days on the road, making camp wherever they stopped and each evening Tom could do little more than cook his dinner, clean his musket and fall to sleep, exhausted. The weather was kind to them, the sky was clear and there had been no more frosts or snow. They reached the post at Coervorden where the 33rd were to hold position as a rearguard while the rest of the army marched towards the River Emms a few days before Tom's 22nd birthday. Tom wished he could rest, but the infantry was straight away set to digging trenches and fortifications in preparation for a French attack. It wasn't long however before the men realised how hopeless their situation was. The ground was frozen so deeply that their shovels and picks barely broke the surface. "We'll never dig this bloody trench." Harry Whyte mumbled as he stood near Tom and the rest of the Light Company picking away at the hard ground. Tom leaned on his shovel, wishing Captain Hughes would come by and see what a waste of time this was. But orders were orders and Sergeant Walker told them to keep trying. An infantryman from the 2nd company of the 33rd had wondered over and stood watching Dick Sharpe until Sergeant Walker made his way furtherdown the line of diggers. When the Sergeant was out of earshot he called to Sharpe, "Hey you!" Sharpe looked up warily. The infantryman walked over to Sharpe and Tom watched as he put his hand on possessively Sharpe's arse saying "You want to do a bit of business tonight?" Before Sharpe could reply Tom interrupted "No he doesn't and don't come looking for him again. Piss off!" The Infantryman scowled at Tom but stepped back and turned to walk away. "That's the one Sir, that's him, bleeding little whore, Sir." came a voice that held a familiar cackle and Tom looked around to see Lieutenant Morris and Sergeant Hakeswill coming toward them. "Oh shit!" muttered the Infantryman as he saw his Sergeant. "You get back to the 2nd m'boy before I have yer flogged. Yer don't want to be messing around with the likes of him." Said Hakeswill to the Infantryman. He frowned at Sharpe. "He's a filthy little whore and what he does ain't right, it says so in the scriptures don't it Sir" He looked up a Morris but the Lieutenant ignored him and stared at Sharpe. The Infantryman hurried away, happy to be let off so easily. Sergeant Hakeswill was a man to be feared and his reputation was known throughout the Regiment. The rest of the Light Company stopped digging and leant on their shovels or picks waiting to see what would happen. "Are you sure this is the man Sergeant?" asked Morris with a cold smile on his lips. He had been drinking and swayed ever so slightly. Even at a distance Tom could smell the rum on his breath. "Yes Sir, that's him Sir, he's been sneaking around every night selling his arse to my lads in the 2nd Company, Sir. Saw him myself I did, Sir. Caught him this time, Private Logan will tell yer Sir." Hakeswill cackled. "Is this so Sharpe? Is that what you've been doing?" asked Morris but from the look in his eyes Tom could tell that this was all some sort of charade, that Morris wasn't interested in Dick's answer, and that Captain Hughes had not been informed of what was taking place here. "No Sir, it's all lies. I haven't been near the 2nd since we were at Geldermaisen and all I was doing then was playing cards with some of the lads, that's all," said Sharpe looking past Morris shoulder, reluctant to meet his eyes. "Come with me Sharpe, it's time we had a little talk. I need to settle this matter and find out what has been going on. Thank you Sergeant Hakeswill for bringing this to my attention, you're dismissed. Back to work the rest of you lazy bastards!" Sharpe shot a worried look at Tom and shook his head before following Morris. Tom put his shovel down and looked around for Walker. "Sarge, I've got to find Captain Morris, I've got to tell him what's happened." He exclaimed hurriedly. Walker shook his head at Tom. "Just get back to the digging Tom. You can keep the lads off him, but the Officers are a different matter. Don't you go getting mixed up in it. Captain Hughes would side with the Lieutenant, you can be sure of that." The sergeant walked off and Tom thought for a moment of leaving despite Walkers orders but he had no idea where to find the Captain. "Don't worry Tom, he can look after himself. This is probably just the chance he's been waiting for, nice easy way to get out of digging trenches." Said Harry Whyte. For a moment Tom was tempted to hit the other man, but he knew it would serve no purpose. Instead he picked up his shovel and began digging again, oblivious to the ache in his protesting ribs as he continued to worry about Dick Sharpe. ~ Part 21. When the men finished digging for the day and returned to their billets to prepare their supper Dick had not returned. Two hours, Tom thought as he waited outside the Officers billets, thinking that was the most likely place that Sharpe and Morris would be. He had asked for Captain Hughes earlier but was told by the sentry that Hughes was with the others Captains and Major Shee over at Regimental Headquarters discussing the fortification of the town. The sun was setting when the door finally opened and Sharpe emerged. He smiled when he saw Tom and laughed a little. Tom immediately noticed that Sharpe's face was bruised. "Christ Dick, are you all right? What did he do to you?" he asked in a quiet voice. Sharpe laughed again an unnatural sort of laugh before saying, "Don't worry Tom, I'm all right. He just put his filthy hands all over me, that's all." They started walking back to their billet, Sharpe talking way to quickly for Tom's peace of mind, "He took me into an office and made me stand there for so long. He kept asking me questions about what I'd been doing and what I did with you and Captain Hughes. I didn't tell him anything of course. He finally told me what he wanted and I told him 'no' but he didn't like that answer. He was drunk Tom and he just kept running his hand all over me. He told me if I didn't bend over for him he would tell Major Shee about Captain Hughes, but I just stood there and told him I'd shout out if he tried anything, that Ensign Hicks was upstairs and would come to find out what was happening. But Morris was sly. He told me Hicks would give him no trouble cause he owned him money. He wouldn't keep his hands off me Tom. But I laughed at him, told him he could touch me all he wanted but he couldn't make me do anything I didn't want to." Sharpe stopped outside their billet, he was breathing too quickly and his eyes had a wild look to them. Tom wanted desperately to reach out and hold him. "He grabbed me by the hair and pushed me down to the floor, but when he took his breeches down he couldn't get it up! He was too drunk I reckon, I laughed at him even more then, told him I'd seen bigger pricks on the drummer boys! He got really mad then and the harder he tried the more I laughed." Sharpe stopped talking and looked at Tom and for one moment Garrard thought he could see fear in Dicks eyes. "That's when he hit me, he couldn't do anything else, so he hit me a few times. He hit me and then he told me to get out. So there's nothing to worry about Tom, I'm all right." Tom did worry. If what Sharpe had said was true, then he suspected they were in for even more trouble from Morris. He reached out his hand and gently touched Sharpes bruised face " Oh Dick," he said sadly "you'll have to tell Captain Hughes what happened, he should know what Morris has been doing." Sharpe smiled, "Don't worry Tom, I can look after myself. Besides, there's nothing Captain Hughes can do. He'd just get himself into trouble. I can handle this Tom, I'm fine." But Dick didn't look fine, thought Tom as they entered the bakery where they were billeted. The other men looked up as Sharpe and Garrard entered. "Have a nice time with the Lieutenant did yer Dick?" asked Harry Whyte sarcastically and Tom told him to shut up before leading Sharpe into a vacant corner by some flour sacks. Not all of the men were as hostile towards Sharpe. His bruises stood out even in the dull light and Tom could see concerned looks on the faces of Bill Hanson, Josh Smith, Percy Peters and a few of the others lads who once would have joined in with Whyte. He waited until Sharpe was settled in the corner before going over to where the others stood around the large fireplace cooking their supper in the camp-kettles. "It's not fair that an Officer can strike an enlisted man and get away with it" said Peters after hearing Tom's hurried explanation of what had happened. "If we strike an Officer it's a flogging offense." "Dick'd best be keeping an eye out for Morris now. A man don't take to kindly to being laughed at." Said Hanson with a worried look. Tom nodded and looked back to where Sharpe still sat in the corner leaning on the flour sacks. "Morris is a bastard, most of the Officers are. Why doesn't Hughes do something about it." muttered Abraham Avery one of Tom's messmates. "Dick won't tell him," said Tom quietly "he doesn't want the Captain to always be standing up for him, he wants to handle it himself." Avery nodded, "Good on him, it's better than being seen as the Captain's pet." He concluded. "We've got fresh bread with the stew," said Peters, whose turn it was to cook, and he dished out two plates for Tom "It's been a while since we had anything so fresh. The baker was here earlier and told us to that if we leave the flour sacks alone he'll bake us bread each day. Sounds fair." Tom took the bread and stew to Dick and sat watching his friend. Dick fidgeted with his bread, nibbling it, dunking it in the stew but never really eating much. "Are you sure you're all right Dick?" Tom asked again quietly. Sharpe looked up "I'm fine Tom, don't worry. My mouths a bit sore where Morris hit me, that's all." But he frowned slightly and Tom could tell something was worrying him. After playing with his food a while longer Sharpe spoke again. "Do you think I should have done what Morris wanted Tom? It would have saved us a lot of bother. He's going to have it in for me now for sure." Tom sighed, "No Dick. What he did was wrong. You can't let men like Morris make you do things Dick. You've got to stand up for yourself." Sharpe nodded and fell silent again and Tom could tell he was thinking over the situation. Tom eventually managed to get Sharpe to eat his supper and they finally lay down together. There were ten men billeted in the bakery but Tom didn't care what they thought as he pulled Sharpe into his arms to sleep. The bakery was warm and in no time at all Tom fell asleep, despite the dull ache in his ribs, exhausted after his day of marching and digging. "NO!" screamed Sharpe and Tom jerked awake, his own heart racing, "No!" screamed Sharpe again and Tom grabbed him "It's all right Dick." He said quickly. "Bloody Hell! Is it the French!" shouted Peters. Tom saw the other men jumping up and grabbing their rifles, the embers in the fireplace bathing the room in a dull red glow. "No, Please don't, don't touch me." wailed Dick again. "Christ what are yer doing to him Garrard?" shouted Whyte. "Nothing, he's dreaming, it's a nightmare, that's all." Tom tried to explain. Sharpe was sitting up staring at nothing, oblivious to what was happening around him, caught up in his own private horror. "Well bloody shut him up or I'll come over there and do it. Some of us are trying to sleep." Whyte shouted back and Tom put his hand on Sharpe's arm gently shaking him. "Dick, wake up, it's all right." Sharpe slowly turned towards Tom blinking a few times, his eyes seemed out of focus and he took a deep breath. "Are yer all right Dick." Said Tom and Sharpe nodded his head "Yes, I'm all right, nothing happened, he didn't touch me." Tom frowned, this wasn't right. "Who didn't touch you Dick?" Sharpe looked around, his eyes still vague "Morris didn't touch me, nothing happened." He said hurriedly. "But you told me that he did, that he put his hands all over you. He did touch you Dick, why are you saying different?" Tom was concerned now, worried by Sharpe's behaviour. There was more to this than he was telling. Sharpe lay down again and turned his back to Tom. "Oh you're right, it was Morris, I just got confused, that's all, I was dreaming. I thought, I thought... it was someone else a long time ago. It was nothing Tom" he trailed of into silence. The rest of the men were settling down again, the quiet rustling noises slowly dying away. Tom moved closer to Sharpe and put his arm around his friend. "Tell me what happened Dick. We're mates, you can tell me." He said very softly. Sharpe lay still for a long time and Tom thought that he wasn't going to say anything more, but then Sharpe began to speak, quietly and hesitantly telling a story he had never told anyone before. "It happened when I was in the foundling home. We all slept in a big dormitory with rows of beds, there were so many of us. Anyway sometimes at night someone would come in. I don't know who it was cause we'd all hide under the blankets when we heard his footsteps. He'd walk down the rows of bed and then he'd stop, I didn't know what he did at first, cause he never stopped at my bed, but then one night he did, I remember seeing his feet. He had big feet Tom. I closed my eyes cause I was so scared and he touched me Tom, he put his big hands all over me. I was so scared. "The next day I told the Matron because I was scared he'd come back again and she took me into a big office to see these men. I think they were the Directors or something. She made me tell them what had happened. They called me a liar and said I shouldn't make up stories like that, but I said it was true, that they should ask the other boys. One of the men laughed and said that my mother was a liar and a whore and I was just like her. I'd never heard anyone speak of my mother before. I thought I could remember her from before she died, but he went on to say that she had left me on the doorstep as a baby so I guess I was wrong. One of the men came over to me and told me to that if I told the truth now, I could go back to the dormitory and not have to work that day. But I said it had happened and I was scared he would come again. "They called for someone and this other man came in and he and the matron took me outside and down into the kitchens. I could smell the food cooking, and it made me hungry. They took me to a cellar and they put me in there and told me I would stay there until I learnt to tell the truth. Then they shut the door and locked it. "It was so dark in there Tom, I couldn't see a thing. I shouted for them to let me out, but there was no answer. I started to cry then, I was only little, and I could hear rats scuttling around. I cried until I cried myself to sleep. When I woke up I screamed some more but there was still no answer. I cried again and when I woke the next time I was hungry and thirsty and cold. I could hear the rats and I couldn't see anything. I don't know how long I was down there Tom, I just cried and slept and the rats ran across my legs if I lay down. I screamed and I cried and when they did finally open the door, I told them that nothing happened, that I made it all up and that no one touched me and nothing had happened. I would have said anything to get out of there." Tom didn't speak. He was too shocked by the tale that Sharpe had told. His own childhood had been a time of love and hard work, things that gave a man a good grounding in life. No wonder Sharpe was the way he was, Tom decided sadly. Sharpe rolled over to face his friend. Tom could see that Sharpe's face looked pale in the firelight. "That's why I started taking the cats into my bed, I thought they would protect me from him but they didn't. As I got older it got worse. I never said anything again cause I was scared of being put back in the cellar, but we boys talked about it sometimes. Eventually I was sent to work for a chimney sweep. I was pleased to go, pleased to get away from there, but the first time I had to go into a chimney it reminded me of that cellar and I started screaming. They beat me and told me they would send me back to the home but I couldn't stand the thought of that so I ran away. I lived on the streets Tom for a while, starving most of the time until Maggie took me in eventually. She said that I could make a bit of money out of what that man had shown me, she said I might as well use it since I knew about it. She taught me a few more things too. That's how I survived, it was the only thing I could do. But I don't want to do it anymore Tom. You've taught me that, I want to be a soldier." Sharpe stopped and looked at Tom who still didn't know quite what to say. "Well you are a soldier now Dick," he began "you've just got to prove it to the rest of the lads. When they can see that you know what you're doing they will leave you alone. But no matter what you mustn't go whoring again. I know yer only did it cause I was sick, but I'd rather die than know yer did that, all right." "Yes Tom." Said Sharpe quietly "But what about Captain Hughes? What about him and me?" Oh Christ, thought Tom. He would have liked to tell Sharpe to have nothing more to do with Hughes, but in all fairness, their Captain had a genuine fondness for Sharpe. However any sort of relationship between an Officer and an infantryman was asking for trouble. Hughes should know that, Tom thought to himself, and yet he still ran the risk. The trouble was there was less of a risk for Hughes and more of a risk for Sharpe. Tom knew that Hughes was popular with the lads, he was considered a good Officer, but would that be enough for them to overlook his fancy for one of their own. "I don't know Dick, you'll have to talk to Hughes. Tell him you're worried about what the other lads are saying and see what he thinks." "And what about Morris? He's going to hate me for laughing at him." Yes, thought Tom, you're right there. "We'll just have to see what happens. If you can stay out of trouble then Morris hasn't got anything to use against you. Whatever he does, I'll be right there beside you Dick. Now try to get some sleep, we've got that bloody trench to dig tomorrow and my ribs are aching something bad." The two infantrymen rolled closer together and went to sleep. ~ Just a short note to accompany the next few parts. For those of you who are really interested in historical accuracy, don't look too closely here. I have found no indication that the French attacked Coevorden or took prisoners there. Those occurances are purely fictional and used to add a little something to the plot. Also it took ten days for the army to march from Coerdoven to Aschendorf, not one night. Josh Smith's story about wanting to be an actor is my own little way of acknowledging the annonymous author of a wonderful little book "A Soldier of the Seventy-first" edited by Christopher Hibbert. I recommend it to everyone. [Thanks Jen for telling me about it and sending me a copy.] A special thankyou to Helen for her suggestions that really helped parts 22 and 23 when I was struggling. And just wait till we get to part 25 and I tell you what Heather's suggestion for the ending was Jenny Jones Sharpe's Saviour: A Story of Flanders Part 22. The men persisted in their impossible task of try to dig trenches until Major General Fox rode into Coevordon on the 5th February and saw for himself how hopeless the situation was. The French were close again and the General gave orders for the Regiment to withdraw and head for Aschendorf the following day. Released from the arduous task of trench digging, the infantrymen took time to rest and prepare for the march tomorrow. Tom was pleased. It was his birthday and although he hadn't told anyone he was glad to have a little time to sit and do nothing. He wondered if he should tell Dick and decided against it. The younger man might think he was asking for a repeat performance of what he had done at Christmas. Maybe telling Dick wasn't such a bad idea after all thought Tom, blushing slightly and wondering if he should. But what if Dick wanted him to return the favour? Tom wasn't sure he could do half the things Dick Sharpe seemed to be able to do without the least bit of hesitancy, and it certainly didn't seem fair to expect Dick to do something that he wouldn't do himself. No, they were mates and it was turn and turn about with mates. That's what was fair. Tom briefly wondered if it was like that between Dick and Captain Hughes, each taking turns, but he doubted it. Sharpe had spoken to Hughes the following evening after his run in with Morris. Tom wondered what had taken place between them as Dick had only visited the Captain's billet one night since then, content to spend most evenings with Tom in the bakery. Tom hadn't asked if things had changed with Hughes hoping Sharpe would tell him in his own good time. But one thing was certain, Morris hadn't caused any further trouble. As he sat in a tiny patch of weak sunlight Tom caught sight of Dick Sharpe. He was walking with Peters and Smith and Rawlings. At least he seems to be fitting in a bit more now, thought Tom. The younger men in the Regiment seemed to be accepting him. Sharpe smiled and waved when he saw Tom and the four young men made their way over to where Garrard sat. "So what did yer do then Dick," asked Peters pushing a stray bit of red hair back into his cue. They all sat down beside Tom and Sharpe continued on with the story that held the other three enthralled. "Well I waited until he was asleep, sort of snoring he was and I got out of bed and searched through his trouser pockets for the key. I couldn't find it so I took out my picklock and opened the chest with that." Sharpe looked around at the eager faces that were hanging on his every word. "You'll never guess what was in that chest." He said teasingly. "What?" chorused the three infantrymen and Tom just shook his head, wondering what had preceded this part of the story. Certainly not something that lads this young should be hearing, Tom decided. Peters was eighteen, but the other two were even younger than Sharpe. "At first all I could see were papers, but I dug down deeper and I pulled out this great big gold medallion." Sharpe held up his hands to indicate something the size of a tea saucer and the others 'oohed' and 'aahhed' and Tom tried hard to stop himself laughing. "I pulled on my breeches as quick as I could and I got out of there. I ran all the way back to Maggie and I showed her what I'd stolen. She said to give it to her cause she knew someone who would give me good money for it. It wasn't like anything I'd seen before. Maggie said it had foreign words on it. She reckoned the man must have been a lord or something and that I should have charged him more." "You must be rich Dick, how much did you get for the medallion?" ask Josh Smith in his quiet little voice, his brown eyes looking almost as big as the fabled medallion. "Maggie gave me five shillings for it, but I'm not rich, I spent it. I had a great time that night, a whole bottle of rum and a whore of my own!" Whatever remained of Sharpe's story was interrupted by the sound musket fire and the boom of artillery. "Bloody Hell it's the French!" exclaimed Garrard "Come on lads." he said as he scrambled up and began loading his musket. Suddenly the small village was swarming with blue coats as a large force of French soldiers emerged from three directions. We're surrounded, thought Tom hopelessly as he watched the French cut off their only escape to the north west of the village. It had happened so quickly, not the way Tom had always imagined a capture would be, a long battle, their numbers dropping one by one until there was no option left but surrender or death. But here they were with muskets half loaded, completely surrounded by French. It would be useless to fight. One wrong move and the French would shoot them dead. A French Sergeant shouted something at them and Josh Smith whispered "He said to put our Muskets down or he'll shoot us." Tom nodded "Do it lads, no point dying today, it's my Birthday." From somewhere to the north of the village Tom could hear musket fire and knew that some of the Regiment had managed to escape. But not Tom Garrard, he thought sadly to himself as the French led them towards the village inn. Tom saw other small groups of Infantrymen also being rounded up. Most appeared uninjured, but Tom spied Crocker leaning heavily on Wardell, bright red blood running down his shoulder. The scene at the inn was chaotic. Some of the French soldiers had already begun to ransack the place and had broken into the wine. No one seems to be in charge, Tom thought to himself as he watched the French troops arguing in front of him. Josh Smith who was still beside him whispered quickly, "They don't know what to do with us. That Corporal says to just shoot us, but the Sergeant wants to lock us up somewhere until the Officers return. I think he said they are still chasing after the rest of our lads." The Sergeant finally took control and herded the red coated soldiers into the large kitchen and down the steps into the deep stone cellar. The way was well lit, but Tom kept an eye on Dick Sharpe, worried about what he might do. Dick caught Tom's worried glance and smiled back at him. "I'm all right Tom, I'm over that now, I been in the dark lots of times," he said with a grin and laughed a little until the French soldier behind them jabbed at Sharpe with the barrel of him musket to stop the talking. Once in the cellar the Sergeant moved passed the huge oak barrels containing wine and opened the door to a large dusty storeroom. Inside were row upon row of bottles and Tom guessed that here was where the more expense wines were kept. The Sergeant indicated for the Infantrymen to put their packs down outside but did not stop to search the men for weapons before he moved them into the storeroom. He then closed and locked the door with a resounding click. The room was plunged into darkness but as Tom's eyes adjusted he could see tiny cracks of light coming from under the door and down through the ceiling. The noise that was filtering down indicated that they were directly under the main room of the inn. Tom could hear the French soldiers shouting and drinking and two had even begun singing. "Well at least we won't be thirsty, who wants a drink." announced Wardell as he grabbed a bottle off one of the shelves and smashed the neck. Tom looked around in the dimness to see who was present, hoping to see one of the Sergeants or Corporals but apart from Wardell and Crocker, he and Harry Whyte were the most experienced men present. Wardell smashed another bottle and handed it to Crocker where he lay stretched out on the floor. "Only way to stop from bleedin' to death." he muttered as he tipped the bottle up to his mouth. "All I need now is Dick Sharpe to come over here and keep me warm. What do yer say Dick?" he sneered. "Yer need to stop that bleeding, Crocker," said Garrard. Crocker laughed "Yer a bloody old woman Garrard, I'm fine." Tom looked around counting the heads, waiting to see if anyone was going to take charge in the absence of authority. There were twenty three men in the cellar, four of them with injuries, Crocker being the worst. Harry Whyte walked over to where Tom stood and said quietly "What are we going to do?" Tom looked around at the worried faces "Keep them from the wine. At least if they're sober we might stand a chance at escaping." Moving to the centre of the room Tom said in a loud voice, "Listen up now lads, if we want to try to escape we have to keep our wits about us so no drinking, yer hear me. The French upstairs are going to be out cold by dark and we might be able to find a way to escape. We can't do that if we're drunk. What do yer say?" Wardell snorted and sat down with his bottle but the others all crowded over to Tom nodding and asking what they should do. Tom turned to Josh Smith who was now sitting on the dusty floor with Sharpe, Peters and Rawlings. Dick had his arm around the younger man who had tears running down his face. "He's worried about Bill," said Dick quietly and Tom said "Josh we need yer help. You can speak French can't yer. You knew what they were saying." Smith nodded "Yes I learned French and Latin at school." Peters stared at the dark haired boy as if he had just grown an extra arm. "Why'd yer join the bloody army if yer went to school?" he said in amazement. Smith sniffed a bit and replied "I ran away from school to become an actor, but I met Sergeant Hakeswill and he got me drunk. The next thing I knew I'd signed up to join the 33rd. I didn't really want to but they wouldn't let me go home." He paused and sniffed again "Do you think that Bill got away with the rest of the lads?" Looking at the young man Tom suddenly felt very sorry for him and hoped that Bill Smith wasn't lying dead or dying somewhere. "I'm sure he's fine and just as worried about you, Josh, but we need your help if we're going to get out. We need you to listen to what the frogs are talking about upstairs, see if you can hear anything that might be helpful." Garrard paused, "What are yer doing Dick?" Sharpe had stretched out full length on the floor and was peering under the door. "There's only one frog standing guard in the cellar. If he falls asleep or gets drunk all we need to do is unlock the door and we could escape." Said Sharpe with a smile. Harry Whyte laughed, "Well that would be fine if we had the key, but I don't see it around anywhere, do you?" he said sarcastically. Sharpe stood up, the front of his uniform covered in dust, and grinned "Don't need a key, I've got something better." From the lining of his jacket he slowly withdrew a small ring holding numerous metal rods with bent ends. "A picklock." he said holding it up for everyone to see. "I could open that door in less than two minutes." Sharpe boasted. "Well all we have to do now is wait for the right moment and we can get out. Tonight will be our best chance, it will be dark and the frogs will be well and truly drunk by then." Tom looked at the now hopeful men, "Lets all get some rest for a while and attend to the wounded, so that we're ready to fight when the time comes. We won't have our muskets, but I'm sure we can steal some from the French." Tom walked over to where Dick was once more sitting beside Josh Smith and Percy Peters proudly showing them his picklock. "But that's not where you said you hid it in that other story Dick." said Peters and Tom rolled his eyes. ~ Part 23 The noise upstairs gradually increased as the French soldiers became more and more drunk. There were women there now, whore's most likely, who seemed to be getting as drunk as the men. Josh Smith informed them that a Lieutenant had arrived to assume command but had immediately asked for wine and a woman to be sent upstairs to his room. The rest of the French army was billeted in the larger town to the west. From time to time a soldier would venture down to the cellar in search of more wine but no one came to check on the British Infantrymen. Tom had tried to check Crocker's wound but had been told in no uncertain terms to keep his murdering hands to himself and now could only watch as the wounded man slipped into unconsciousness. Wardell was unconscious too now, due to the large volume of alcohol he had steadily consumed. Slowly the raucous sounds from above died away to be replaced by slurred voices, snoring and the occasional noise of someone vomiting. Gradually the cracks in the floor became covered as more and more French soldiers passed out on the floor. The guard outside had been pacing back and forth for some time now and Josh Smith announced that the man was swearing and cursing about no one coming to relieve him. "It must be dark by now," said Whyte as he came over to where Tom sat with Dick's head resting against his shoulder. The younger man had fallen asleep and Tom had been reluctant to disturb him. "You'd better wake him cause we might need him in a hurry." Tom gently shook Sharpe, who woke with a startled cry and looked around frantically. "It's all right Dick, I'm here." said Tom softly as he realised that despite Sharpe's brave words, he still had some lingering fear of waking in the dark. A second voice sounded outside, a woman's voice, and the infantrymen looked to Smith waiting for a translation. "She said, she said, um, she offered to....to, um..." the young man trailed off and even in the dark Tom knew the boy was blushing. Percy Peters lay down and peered under the door, suddenly letting out a gasp. "Bloody Hell, yer should see what she's doing to him. She must be one of those French whores that I heard about." Several others lay down to peek under the door and Whyte said "Now's yer chance Dick, while he's got his trousers down and isn't watching. We'll take him by surprise." Sharpe was true to his word and had the door open in no time at all. The Infantrymen stormed out of the storeroom, Garrard grabbing the Frenchman's musket which had been left leaning against the wall. The French Infantryman offered no resistance, being rather incapacitated at the time, and was soon tied up and locked into the storeroom together with his female companion. "Perhaps we should have asked her if she wants to come with us?" Percy Peters said rather wistfully but Tom drew their attention to a more immediate problem. "What'll we do about them?" he asked as he glanced over to where Wardell snored and Crocker lay unmoving after being dragged out of the storeroom. Whyte shrugged, we'll have to leave them. Crocker will be dead by morning anyway. He's lost too much blood." "We can't leave them, they're part of the company." piped up Sharpe "Captain Hughes would never leave wounded men behind. He told me we should always look out for each other!" Whyte looked away guiltily, "It's their own bloody fault!" he muttered. Young Peters spoke up "They're not yer mates Dick. After what they did to yer you should be happy to leave 'em behind." Sharpe shook his head. "It ain't right to leave 'em here. There's enough of us to carry them." Sharpe looked around at the other men. "I'll do it if know one else will." Tom smiled, suddenly feeling very proud of Sharpe, "I'll get some of the lads to help them. We won't abandon them." The Infantrymen quietly gathered up their packs as Tom placed a hasty dressing on Crocker's wound. He gave instructions to the men carrying Wardell to knock him out if he woke and gave them any trouble. Everyone quickly armed themselves with whatever weapons they could find. Some of the men, like Tom, had small knives hidden in their boots, whilst others withdrew them from their packs which were still lying untouched on the floor. A few of the lads grabbed up bottles of wine but insisted that they would only be used as weapons when Tom questioned them. Slowly they climbed the stairs, Tom, carrying the French musket, took the lead. All was quiet in the kitchen except for soft snores coming from under the large table. Two Frenchmen lay there, three empty flagons beside them. Food was strewn around, cheeses cut open, a pail of milk spilt. Tom led the Infantrymen out the back door and into the darkened courtyard. There was no one standing guard. "We'll have to get some muskets." whispered Whyte and there were murmurs of assent. "I don't much fancy marching back into the inn and creeping around in a room full of frogs." murmured Tom "I wonder what they did with ours." "I bet they locked them up in the storehouse that we were using as an armourey. Captain Hughes said it was the only place in town that was secure enough." Sharpe said eagerly. "Useful little bastard, isn't he." Said Whyte to Garrard but there was no malice in his voice. "I bet there's still a lot of stuff there that was left behind too. Let's give it a try. Will yer picklock get us into that too Sharpie?" Sharpe grinned wickedly "It'll get me into anything Harry!" There was one French guard leaning against the large stone storehouse in the centre of the village and he appeared to be asleep. Four of the infantrymen had taken Wardell and Crocker to the outskirts of the village while the rest were now hidden behind a small stone wall that was part of a pigsty. "No point in us all going over there until I've got the door unlocked. We can't shoot him cause the noise will wake up the rest of the frogs. Give me yer knife Tom, I'll have to finish him off with that first." Said Sharpe with a nod towards the sleeping Frenchman. "Bloody Hell Dick, I'll do that." Said Tom feeling slightly ruffled now that Sharpe seemed to have taken command. But Sharpe replied "I'll tell yer now Tom, I'll be a damned sight quieter than you creeping up on him. I've done my fair share of thieving and I know how to be quiet." With an exasperated look Tom handed over the knife and they all watched as Sharpe silently slipped into the shadows and slithered around the side of the storehouse. Tom held his breath as he watched Sharpe slowly sidle up behind the sleeping Frenchman, slip his hand tightly over his mouth and cut his throat in one smooth stroke before setting to work with his trusty picklock. "Brave little bugger too." whispered Harry Whyte smiling. When the huge wooden door was opened, Tom and the others hurried over. Inside were their muskets along with the French equivalent and tons of ammunition and barrels of gunpowder. The French had obviously added their own supplies to the store that afternoon. The British soldiers grabbed up muskets and loaded their packs with musket balls and other essentials. "We should blow this lot up," said Sharpe looking around and Tom had to agree with him. "The French would be sorry to loose all of this." While the rest of the men made their way quietly to edge of the village where the others waited, Garrard, Sharpe, Whyte, Peters, and little Josh Smith, who refused to be left out, carefully laid a trail of gunpowder out of the storehouse and into the shadows. The village was silent as they lit the fuse with a spark from a musket flint and ran behind one of the nearby houses. Moments later the silence was shattered by an explosion that lit the sky up and started the ice melting in the streets. The five infantrymen made their way to out of the village to where their friends waited and they all began the long walk to Aschendorf. ~ Part 24 They walked most of the night, following the road that showed signs of recent travel and around midnight ran into a small French patrol. Thank God we got those muskets thought Tom as he knelt behind a tree, firing into the darkness. Luck was on the British side for once and the French patrol, seeing it was outnumbered, withdrew. Tom was happy to let them go and gathered the infantrymen together again. The men were tiring but Tom refused to stop before they had put more miles and several hours between themselves and any possible French pursuit. Finally, with the dawn already showing on the horizon, Whyte and Garrard deemed it was safe to take a short break. They found a sheltered copse of trees just off the road that afforded cover and Tom sat down wearily beside Sharpe. Six men had been set to stand picquet and with that final responsibility taken care of Tom allowed his eyes to close. "Was it really yer birthday Tom?" he heard Sharpe's voice ask, close to his ear. "Yes it was and don't yer go getting any ideas." Tom said firmly. Sharpe laughed softly "Got no idea what yer talking about Tom." he said innocently. When they arrived in Aschendorf they were greeted as returning heroes. Captain Hughes listened eagerly to their report and congratulated them on their courage and ingenuity. He assured each man that Colonel Wellesley would be informed of his role in the escape at which Sharpe had blushed and murmured "It might be best if yer didn't mention the picklock Sir." Peters, Smith and Rawlings also made sure that their Captain knew that it was Dick who had spoken up against leaving Crocker and Wardell behind. Crocker had been carried off to the small house that was serving as a surgery, still unconscious and Wardell was nursing a very sore head. When they were dismissed, Tom was pleased to see Bill Hanson openly embrace Josh Smith, happily ignoring the good-natured whistles and cheers from the rest of the Regiment. Tom and Dick waited with the others while Sergeant Walker allocated their billets. The town was flooding. A nearby dyke had collapsed during the frost, swelling the Emms River and water was flowing freely through the lower end of the town. Walker waved his arm towards a small two story house that stood surrounded by floodwater. "You two can have that one. The residents have moved out but the top floor is still dry. Just don't go stealing anything in there." Tom mumbled his thanks, aware that he shouldn't be complaining, at least he was safe again and there was plenty of supplies in town. He pulled off his boots and stockings and rolled up the legs on his breeches before wading through the water to the house. Inside, the floor was covered by a foot of water, which seemed to flow in through the front door and out the back. Tom looked around, noting that it would be impossible to light the fireplace. At least the weather was a little warmer now. "Tom, come see what's up here," cried Dick from the top of the stairs. Tom climbed cautiously and put down his boots and pack at the top of the landing. He was standing in a small dark attic room, the only light that which filtered in through the small gabled window. "Look Tom, we'll be comfortable here. It's got real feathers in it." Sharpe was stretched out on a large soft looking bed that took up most of the small room. Bloody Hell, Tom thought, suddenly blushing. "You ever done it in a bed before, Tom?" asked Sharpe in a cheeky voice. "Of course I have." said Tom a little angrily. It was true. Never with Sally, they had always had to sneak around in the barn when his parents were away, but since joining the Regiment he'd been with a few whores and there was also Anna, the woman from the village. He looked at Sharpe who was still grinning at him and wondered if he had perhaps mistaken the question. "Just with women though." he added to clarify things. Sharpe smiled even more. Tom looked away, suddenly glad that there was still several hours before nightfall. He realised that he would have a lot of thinking to do between now and when it finally came time to get into that large bed. He had decisions to make that would best be made beforehand. Decisions that couldn't and shouldn't be made in the heat of passion, only to be regretted later. Tom picked up the large camp kettle, it currently being his turn to carry and cook. "Come on, you can help me get supper on. I hear there's fresh meat tonight and it's not horse!" As they sat around later eating their stew by the large campfire that had been built on high ground, Tom once more found himself watching Dick Sharpe. The younger man was sitting with Smith and Peters and as Tom watched several of the infantrymen came up to ask about their escape from the French. Peters, who was the most talkative was happy to oblige and soon had the others eagerly listening to his tale of Sharpe's bravery and expertise with a picklock. "They'll have to accept him now," said Bill Hanson as he sat down beside Tom. "Harry Whyte's been talking about it all afternoon. He's been saying that you lads never would have made it out if wasn't for Dick. I don't think anyone will give him trouble now that he's a hero." "I hope your right Bill, but I still worry about him and Captain Hughes. There are some that don't agree with that sort of favouritism." Hanson shrugged, "Yer right Tom, but Hughes has always been a fair Captain to us. The men respect him. I dare say he's had his 'favourites' before. He probably had the sense to keep a bit quieter about it though." Hanson laughed. "So what is it about Dick Sharpe that makes you and Hughes unable to keep quiet?" Tom looked up shocked, but was greeted with a peel of laughter from Hanson who slapped Garrard hard on the back. "Bloody Hell Bill!" said Tom, before laughing as well. They sat for hours that evening around the campfire laughing and talking as others came and asked about the escape and Percy Peters would retell the tale again and again. Dick Sharpe was finally persuaded to tell his part of the story and Tom watched as Dick proudly showed his picklock and explained its use. The fire burned low and young Josh Smith fell asleep with his head in Bill Hanson's lap. Still Peters and Sharpe and Harry Whyte who had come to join the group retold the tale which became longer and wilder and now included a detailed description of what the whore and the French Private were doing when they were captured. Eventually Tom met Sharpe's eyes across the flickering fire and they smiled at each other. They both stood and bid the rest goodnight. As they slowly waded through the cold water neither man spoke, both comfortable in the silence. The sky was clear and bright, the stars brilliant pinpoints of light, dulled only by the brightness of the full moon. ~ Part 25 When they entered the little attic bedroom Sharpe began to strip off his uniform. "Cuffs of my breeches are wet Tom, their too wet to sleep in." he said by way of explanation and Tom wondered what other excuse Dick had when he slipped his jacket and shirt off as well. He watched as Sharpe briefly stood naked in the moonlight that streamed in the window loosening his hair from its cue, before throwing back the covers on the bed and climbing in. Taking a deep breath Tom replied "Mine too" and did the same. The bed was cold, the sheets felt damp to his naked skin and Tom shivered until Dick rolled over and laid his body alongside, warm and hard. Their eyes met and without hesitation Tom reached to touch him. This was what he wanted, what he had spent the evening deciding. No turning back now, Tom thought, his hand flowing the length of Sharpe body and back again. Sharpe smiled and Tom pulled him closer, delighting in the feeling of flesh against flesh. His lips found Sharpe's, warm and waiting and he melted into the kiss. His hands explored slowly at first then almost frantically as he felt Sharpe respond to him, felt Sharpe's warm hands moving on his skin which had suddenly become heated. Their kisses became deeper, their breathing laboured until they had to break away and draw breath for a moment before starting again. Tom rolled, pinning Sharpe beneath him, feeling Sharpe scratch down his back, lick across his chest and spread his legs. Tom slowed then, hesitated, looked down at Sharpe with his fair hair spread everywhere and his eyes bright. He bent to kiss across Sharpe's collarbone and heard Sharpe whisper "Tom do yer want to..." Sharpe trailed off and Tom knew that he was searching for words that wouldn't offend. Make love, Tom thought, but he wasn't sure that Dick even knew that term, so he just whispered "Yes," surprised at how small his own voice sounded. Sharpe pulled Tom's head up so that they were looking at one another. "I know yer haven't done this before Tom. Yer'll have to go slowly or yer'll hurt me," said Sharpe and Tom nodded. Sharpe took Tom's hand and licked two of his fingers coating them with spit. "With them first." he said and Tom hesitated, suddenly unsure, a little shocked by what this entailed but not wanting to back out now. He nodded again and looked away hoping Sharpe couldn't see him blushing in the faint moonlight. Bloody hell, he thought, as he followed Sharpe's instructions, his hand shaking, hoping he was doing the right thing. Sharpe gasped slightly and Tom looked back even more nervous now, but Sharpe smiled at him and whispered "That's right." Tom felt Sharpe's hand, wet with spit, coating his erection. "All right Tom, yer ready now, but don't do it too fast" came Sharpe's whispered instructions again and Tom wondered if it could possibly be worth all this trouble and fussing. It was certainly far more complicated than doing it with a woman, he decided. Tom took a deep breath, gripped Sharpe's hips for leverage and pushed. There was a momentary resistance, then Tom heard Sharpe sigh and felt his body open to him, accept him, encase him. Tom closed his eyes for a moment, not yet willing to admit what he had done. He wanted to escape from the intensity, the powerful intimacy that threatened to overwhelm him. But he heard Sharpe whispering to him again, "It's all right Tom, that's it," and he opened his eyes to find Sharpe looking at him, smiling, waiting. Tom felt his mind surrender and his body take over, drawing him into a rhythm too powerful to resist. He felt Sharpe cling to him, arms and legs locked tightly in place, body slick with sweat now as he rose up to meet Tom's thrusts. Their voices rose together, not words but the universal sounds of pleasure that grew more frantic until first one then the other cried out their release. Tom rolled onto his side, pulling Dick with him so that the younger man lay against his chest as they rested. Dick moved to get up but Tom held onto him, not ready to let him go. "I was just going to put on my shirt, it's cold." said Sharpe. "Not yet," said Tom as he tried to catch his breath. "Do yer want another go Tom." Sharpe asked with laughter in his voice and he lay down again. "No, it's your turn." Said Tom and there was silence for a moment. "What do yer mean Tom?" asked Sharpe as he leaned up on his elbow looking at his friend.Tom took a deep breath and looked into Sharpe's green eyes. "It's your turn to have a go, to do that to me" he said quietly. Sharpe looked away then "Yer don't have to Tom, yer don't know what yer getting into. It'll hurt, yer mightn't like it." Tom reached up and brushed Sharpes face lightly. "We're mates Dick. It's turn and turn about. That's only fair. I wouldn't expect you to do anything that I wouldn't do myself." Sharpe looked back and for a moment Tom thought he saw the glimmer of a tear in Sharpes eyes but it was gone as a shy smile touched Sharpe's lips. "Yer've never done it before either, have you." said Tom, suddenly aware that he had discovered a unique gift he could give to his friend."No," Sharpe admitted softly, "but I know how to, I'll try not to hurt yer Tom, I wouldn't want to do that. Let me up a minute." Sharpe bounded out of the bed and over to his pack. Tom watched his svelt form, pale in the moonlight, rummage through the pack and then return quickly to their bed with the small bottle of oil that they used for cleaning their muskets. "This will make it easier." Sharpe said and Tom frowned "What's wrong with spit again?" he asked. "Trust me Tom, it won't be enough. It's going to hurt a bit at first, but just for a while." Without further thought Tom rolled onto his back and opened his legs. "Not like that Tom, roll on yer side. If yer don't like it yer can pull away if yer on yer side. Yer can't do that if yer flat on yer back." Sharpe said slowly, looking at Tom with eyes that suddenly seemed way too large. "Dick, I'm not going to pull away. I want to do it like this. Besides I can look at yer like this." he added with a grin and Sharpe smiled too. Sharpe was right, Tom thought a few minutes later, it did hurt. How the hell was anyone supposed to enjoy this, he thought as he bit his lip and swallowed. He felt Sharpe's body invading his and tried not to think about bayonets and battlefields. Sharpe pushed harder and Tom whimpered. "It hurts," he whispered looking up into Dick's eyes "I know, Tom," Sharpe whispered gently "But just for a while. It'll get better, I promise yer. Just wait a moment more." Sharpe bent to kiss him, and Tom became lost in the passion of that kiss. He felt the pain begin to recede, felt something else replace it as Sharpe began to move. Tom closed his eyes and groaned as the feeling built and once more he gave himself up to the powerful sensations that Dick Sharpe coaxed from him. He heard Sharpe calling his name over and over, his voice heavy with passion, his thrusts becoming frantic until Tom could resist no longer. He answered the call and followed Sharpe into ecstacy. Afterwards they lay together, Sharpe sprawled across Garrard, sweat and semen drying between them. Tom listened to Sharpe's breathing slowing into sleep and was suddenly beset by fears. What changes would be wrought on their friendship by this thing they had done together. Could it survive the intensity of what had taken place or would it be destroyed, leaving a gaping hole of uncertainty between them, an awkwardness that couldn't be breached. Had this intimacy erected walls rather than banished them? Tom sighed, suddenly afraid that he had lost everything he had come to treasure. Gently he placed a final kiss on Sharpe fair head where it lay sleeping on his chest and regretted what they had done. But Sharpe stirred and raised his head, eyes sleepy and sated. "Do yer think we could do it again Tom?" he asked smiling. All of Tom's doubts and fears were swept away by that smile, by the trust, the honesty and the friendship that he saw there. Tom smiled back and brushed a stray bit of golden hair from Sharpe's face, "Sure Dick, just let me catch my breath first," he replied. Part 26 To Tom's surprise, life seemed to go on much as it had previously. The following days were spent like many others, digging fortifications for the town, doing drill, or standing picquet duty. The nights were different though as he and Sharpe continued to explore this new facet of their friendship. They mapped every inch of each others bodies with their hands and mouths. They learnt each others likes and dislikes, finding what was pleasurable and what wasn't. Tom grew to saviour the intimacy that he now shared with Sharpe, to welcome the giving and the taking and to see it as as a special bond between them. Days passed and the weather grew warmer, spring came and with it the renewed threat of a French attack. Tom was standing picquet one morning not far from the Regimental Headquarters when he noticed all of the Company Captains and Major Shee arrive for a meeting. As the Officers disappeared inside, Tom relaxed against the gate post he was standing beside and yawned. The warm morning sun was making him drowsy. I've got to get more sleep, Tom thought as he smiled to himself. The meeting was short and afterwards Tom watched as Captain Hughes stood for sometime outside, talking to none other than Colonel Wellesley himself. The two men obviously knew each other well and were at ease in each other's Company. Suddenly they burst into laughter, and Tom wondered what could be so funny in the midst of war. When he was dismissed, Captain Hughes mounted his new horse, a black mare, and rode over to where Tom stood. Garrard snapped to attention, suddenly worried. Sharpe had spent part of the previous night with Hughes, the first time since they had become lovers. When Sharpe had finally returned, he had not spoken a word of what had taken place with Hughes. Tom had not asked but had waited quietly in their bed. Sharpe wasted no time in showing what he wanted, and Tom had let him do the taking, surprised at the intensity of their encounter. Afterwards, as he lay there exhausted, Tom wondered what had taken place between Hughes and Sharpe earlier and what effect, if any, it had on Sharpes behaviour. Had Sharpe told their Captain about his new relationship with Tom? He remembered Hughes words to Dick in the barn that night, 'I'll be able to tell you know' and wondered if Hughes didn't need to ask. Perhaps that's what he riding over here about now, thought Tom as his Captain reigned up beside him. But Hughes smiled, no trace of anger or suspicion in his face and said "At ease Tom. I thought you might like to be the first to know that we are heading home shortly. It's all over. We are to march to Bremen and then board ships for England." Tom breathed a sigh of relief for more than one reason. "About time Sir. I'll be happy to leave this God forsaken place. It's been a bloody nightmare for us." Hughes looked at him with faded blue eyes that seemed very weary all of a sudden, "For most of us yes, but I think there is one person who will view his time here differently." Tom raised his eyebrows enquiringly, unsure of what his Captain meant. "Dick Sharpe has a lot to be thankful for. For one thing, his bravery and daring has been brought to the Colonel's notice" Hughes grinned and looked toward the bulding where the Colonel was billeted. "I doubt Wellesley will forget Dicks name in a hurry. He couldn't believe that one of his men actually brought a picklock to Flanders! He's still laughing about it." The Captain paused a moment then looked back at Garrard, his face serious again. "Dick's changed Tom, he's a soldier now, a part of the Regiment. He has you to thank for that." Tom blushed and looked away, embarrassed by his Captain's praise. "Not me Sir, I didn't do much, it was Dick who did it all" he replied. The Captain shook his head and Tom thought he could detect a trace of sadness in Hughes voice as he spoke again. "He couldn't have done it without your help or your encouragement. You believed in him Tom, you gave him a chance. He trusts you. You're his saviour." Tom felt sorry for the older man, suddenly knowing how much it must hurt Hughes to admit that Tom had succeeded where he thought he himself had failed. Tom knew Hughes cared deeply for Sharpe and wanted to help him, but felt he had never found a way to win Sharpe's trust. Tom shook his head "But he listens to what you say too, Sir. It was your words that he used to remind the lads of their responsibility to Crocker and Wardell." Smiling Tom caught his Captain's eyes and held them, "So it's not just me Sir, it's you and me both. We're both Sharpe's Saviour." The End. September 1998.