The scrape of the iron gate told Daventry that the young boy from the boulangerie had arrived with fresh bread. It was with some relief that he left the bed, saying to Sharpe "Breakfast! I'll see to it. You stay here".

As he fussed in the kitchen with coffee, and butter and honey for the bread, he realised he'd badly misjudged Richard Sharpe. The rawness of the emotion he'd just seen had surprised him. He'd thought Sharpe a rough and ready soldier able to take all the knocks life dealt him, and, by God, he'd been dealt many. But Daventry had been wrong. Sharpe was as vulnerable and fragile as anyone else, he just didn't usually show it. Not like this, anyway.

As the coffee heated, it crossed Daventry's mind, somewhat guiltily, that maybe he was surprised because he'd never really taken Sharpe's feelings into consideration before. But then, that wasn't too surprising in itself, Daventry didn't usually get involved with his sleeping partners. So was he, he wondered, getting too involved with Sharpe?

He returned to the bedroom with the ladened tray, put it on the bed and pulled up a chair. Daventry put a cup of steaming coffee into Sharpe's hand, telling him, "Drink that!" Though kindly meant it still came out as an order. Sharpe drank.They began their breakfast, and then Daventry asked "What are you smiling about?"

Sharpe, suddenly aware that he was smiling, said "I was just thinking about me and Tom again. We had another run in with that young Lieutenant. I'd forgotten all about it until now".

"Tell me, then" encouraged Daventry, though hoping it wan't going to lead to another awkward moment. He could deal with this in a woman, but certainly not with Richard Sharpe. But he'd never known Sharpe so open and talkative, and he didn't want to stop this sudden change in him. He was finally getting an insight into the real man.

"Well, this particular day, I'd been put on sentry duty outside the supply tent. It was full of all sorts of stuff, gun oil, cartridges, clamps, fuses, and there were these boxes of small charges that the engineers used. Anyway, before I went off duty I stuffed me pocket full with some of these charges. Don't know why. I just saw 'em, and took 'em.

Later on I met up with Tom and showed them to him. Straight away he had an idea. Tom was brought up on a farm, you see, he knew what to do with the charges alright. "Come on" he says to me. and we went off in search of elephant dung. We found great piles of it on the track that led down to the river. So, Tom put a couple of these charges into the dung, like he'd done with the cow pats back home an' a pinch of powder from his dad's gun, then he sparked up his tinderbox and lit the little fuses. We ran like hell and then 'Bang!' this massive pile of dung exploded in all directions! It was great.

Well, I decided to have a go, too. So Tom lit a pile, and I lit a pile with my tinderbox and we started running. But that young Lieutenant came walking out of the trees, just at that minute. We didn't have time to shout or anything, and then 'Bang!' the charges exploded and the dung blew up. You should have seen him! He jumped a mile, must have thought he was under fire 'cos he fell flat! He got a great dollop of the dung on the back of his trousers. You can imagine where!" chuckled Sharpe.

"Tom and I didn't know what to do. We just stood there, gaping at him, mouths open. Anyway he'd seen us by then and he got up. We went over to him, couldn't do anything else really. Asked if he was alright. Then he saw the charges in my hand and knew what we'd been up to. He said "Private Sharpe! What the blazes are you doing?" That was the nearest he ever got to swearing! He was really cross because he had all this dung on his backside."

"What did you say?" asked Daventry, enjoying the tale.

" Told him I was just messing about. Said I was sorry, but I didn't expect to see him passing by. Then he asked where I'd got the charges from".

"Did you tell him?" Daventry asked.

"Yeah. Told him I'd found 'em laying around. Well I had, sort of".

"So what happened?"

"Well, he was soft, this Lieutenant, but not that soft. He kept asking all these questions, so Tom told him the truth that I'd been put standing guard duty on the supply tent. My mouth dropped open at that, I was all set to tell all kinds of lies. Then I heard Tom say "It wasn't Dick's fault, Sir, Sergeant had no right sending him there. Dick was a thief before he joined up. It was leading him into temptation, all them things laying around, just waiting to be taken". I couldn't believe my ears, especially the bit about 'temptation'. Tom thought the Lieutenant would like that part because it's in the Bible, and that he'd let us off".

Sharpe was laughing now. Daventry asked him "So you got away with it?"

"No, we got put on a charge" said Sharpe, a broad grin on his face,"I don't know who the Lieutenant talked to, but the Sergeant put us on latrine digging. Me and Tom were shovelling shit for a month!"

Shape was still smiling at the memory, then he said "Typical of Tom, that. He always tried to get me out of trouble".

They went quiet. Daventry was amazed. He'd never seen Sharpe so animated, so bright. They'd talked of battles and army life before, but nothing compared to this. He had an image of young Dick Sharpe in his mind, cocky and into all sorts of mischief. Probably the bane of every sergeant's life.

Then Sharpe said "I bet it were Hakeswell thought up that punishment. Just his sort of thing."

"Who was Hakeswell?" asked Daventry.

"The Devil with three stripes on his arm" said Sharpe with real hatred.

Then Daventry said " The young Lieutenant? You're talking about William Lawford, aren't you?". As soon as he'd said it he knew the spell was broken. The smile left Sharpe's face. He clammed up. This was just how Sharpe had been when Daventry had asked him why he ran from the Foundlings Home. That time Richard had walked away from him. He wondered if he'd do it again.

"It was just a guess" explained Daventry with a shrug. "Lawford was a young Lieutenant in India, if I remember. He was very religious, too, when he was younger".

When Sharpe didn't reply, Daventry changed tack again and said "Tom must have been a very good friend to you?"

"Best mate I ever had" came Sharpe's quiet reply.

Daventry searched his mind to keep the conversation going. "What about that Irish Sergeant?" he tried "He was a friend, wasn't he?"

"Patrick?" said Sharpe dully "Yeah, he was a friend". Then he looked at Daventry as though he wasn't understanding, "But Tom was a mate".

Daventry nodded, he thought he understood the difference. "But you knew Lawford?" his tone was cautious.

Sharpe replied with " Yeah", no more. Then he remembered that Lawford was at Horse Guards, too. He and Daventry probably knew each other. Almost certainly did.

"I see him most days" Daventry informed him, "He dines at The Club."

Sharpe had become quiet, closed. Between them lay dozens of unasked questions.

"He's very......." Daventry seemed to search for the word, then chose one, "...popular". He looked Sharpe in the eye, waiting for a response.

"Sutcliffe" said Sharpe "That was the Lieutenant's name. Sutcliffe. You could ask Tom, only he's not here, is he?" He made it sound like a challenge. They both knew he was lying, but Sharpe just didn't want to talk about Lawford.

Daventry knew he was on dangerous ground, but he decided to continue, "Didn't Lawford take part in the Siege? I heard about that."

Sharpe paused before answering, not sure where this conversation was leading, "Everyone took part in the Siege. Wasn't just for volunteers, you know. Where were you, anyway? Were you in India?"

Daventry shook his head "My father died about that time. I inherited the title, the lands. It was all very complicated. My mother was still alive, my wife was expecting another child...................."

As he explained, Sharpe realised again how position and privilege could be used. If an inconvenient war came along, then someone like Daventry could just walk away, come back and fight another day. Then he heard Lawford's name again. Daventry wasn't going to drop this. What was he saying?

"A lot of chaps came back from India with new ideas, having had new experiences, especially young gentlemen like William Lawford. I've heard many exotic stories.They saw a side of life they'd never seen in England, or in Flanders. I rather regret not going out. It would have been interesting to see the Rajahs', the palaces, the wealth." Daventry was saying. He looked at Sharpe, waiting for him to speak, to confirm or deny. Sharpe said nothing.

Daventry went on "He taught you to read didn't he?"

Sharpe nodded, his answer was surly "It passed the time in prison". He waited for the rest, which was surely coming.

Then Daventry said it. But first he put a hand out to touch Sharpe's hair ready to grab hold if he tried to take off. "And what did you teach him?" Sharpe's heart was thumping, he didn't want this conversation. He thought of leaving the bed, the room, but he could see Daventry was waiting for that.

Again Sharpe said nothing, so Daventry continued "Someone taught him a few tricks. He wasn't quite so innocent when he returned to England. At least, that's the gossip I've heard".

Sharpe gave him a wry smile, almost a sneer, "Oh, aye, and you believe soldier's gossip? Well, you're the first one I've met who does!"

"I heard a Private robbed him of his virginity" said Daventry knowingly. He didn't take his eyes off Sharpe, just let his fingers play with his hair. "There were a lot of thieving sods in that army" Sharpe told him. Daventry waited, but got no other confession in return.

The conversation wasn't going to take it's course, at least, not if Sharpe could help it. He left it to Daventry to say something more.

Eventually Daventry said "I thought Lawford was your friend?"

Sharpe answered his question with a question " Maybe he's your friend?"

Daventry gave a small laugh at that. "Ah, no. Not William Lawford. Not my type". Sharpe was thinking that Lawford would have been just Daventry's type, but then the question was cleared up. "Besides, I never mix business with pleasure, Richard, and William Lawford is strictly business, War Office and all that." Sharpe was then taken aback somewhat by Daventry's next revelation."

"And I don't consort with gentlemen. Ever". He looked Sharpe in the eye. It was the honest truth.

"What's that mean?" asked Sharpe, wanting the definition confirmed, but he knew what Daventry meant. He knew alright.

Daventry ran his fingers through Sharpe's hair, gently sliding them through the straggle "I prefer street boys" he said softly and Sharpe waited for him to say "Like you", but he didn't. Instead he said "Less complicated. One can get one's fingers' very badly burnt getting involved with gentlemen. If you're not careful you end up being called out, or worse, being blackmailed. Not to mention the politics that can be dragged into the end of an affair".He watched Sharpe to see the effect of his words. He had no intention of being hurtful. He was being honest.

Sharpe was very quiet. He had no reply. But he accepted Daventry's explaination. It somehow made sense. Infact, he'd known it all along. Daventry was a clever bastard. It occured to Sharpe that possibly no-one at Horse Guards knew this side of Frederick Daventry. Street boys? People like him who couldn't or wouldn't cause trouble or scandal. People like him who could be swept under the mat if anything went wrong. Street boys, grateful for any few shillings pressed into their hands. Sharpe realised he'd known Frederick Daventry all his life.

As for Sharpe's reluctance to talk about Lawford. Sharpe felt he'd been betrayed by him, let down. He'd put his trust in him. Completely. And been let down. That would never have happened with Tom. Or Patrick. Real friends, mates, they never let you down. Daventry was right about gentlemen, thought Sharpe, scheming bastards the lot of them. Lawford had always been ambitious, and politics seemed to turn every man's head. He cast a look at Frederick Daventry and wondered when he was going to let him down. They'd had their run-in's, by God they had, and he wondered how long this would all last.

"Did I tell you about the hops?" Sharpe heard himself saying, and even Daventry seemed surprised at the sudden change of topic.

"No" he smiled "You didn't".

"I made them into beer, like you said. Put it into old cider bottles and left it in the cellar to ferment".

"Was it good?"

"Dunno" replied Sharpe "The whole lot exploded! Lucille thought it was the British come back to have another crack at the French!"

Sharpe hadn't intended it to sound funny, but Daventry burst out laughing, and so Sharpe grinned, too. Daventry looked at him, sitting naked on the bed, and realised he was getting fond of Richard Sharpe. Very fond. Frederick Daventry began to worry.

The End.

Anon. July 1998.

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