Disclaimer: These are works of fan-fiction created for entertainment. It is not the intention of the author to infringe on anyone's copyright. No rights infringement intended. Warning: General Audience

The Sharpe Fan Fictions of Paul K.

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Bernard Cornwell’s

SHARPE’S Justice

Richard Sharpe and the
Peace of the Congress of Vienna

Screenplay Written by Patrick Harbinson and Bernard Cornwell.
Novel Adapted by Paul Kaster

PART TWO

1814 October - November

Chapter 6
ROSE TAVERN

Harper arrived before sunup. Sharpe had finished his breakfast and was saddling his horse when Harper rode up. Harper’s horse was magnificent. He rode a chestnut with white markings of sixteen hands. Harper too was dressed magnificently. He wore a fine wool suit with vest cut to fit exactly of the latest style from Savile Row.

As Sharpe swings into his saddle, he whistles.

“Don’t you look like a dandy?”

Harper only smiles.

They ride northwest on Watling St out of the city. At the edge of the city, they separate from the carts and people crowding the roads. The road to St Albans has fewer wagons, coaches and riders. The can now ride more leisurely.

Harper can’t resist talking. He talks about the fine points of horses. “We’ve seen some fine horses in London. When I ask the owners where they bought them, they tell me that they raised them or that some earl or duke has an estate that raises and races horses.”

“They discuss horses with you?”

“Aye yes. Look at these clothes. Don’t let my fine Irish accent fool you. I can present meself as someone who knows good horses.” He beams back at Sharpe.

Sharpe slowly scans his head up and down Harper. “I suppose you do. Shall I dress this up by calling you Squire Harper?” He chuckles.

Harper rolls his eyes, then seriously replies. “Aye, I like that. Squire Harper.” He too chuckles.

By the time they reach St. Albans, Harper can’t resist to ask about Sharpe’s first trip from London to Keighley when he was a boy. Harper has heard pieces of Sharpe’s life before he joined the army. He knows that Sharpe killed a man in London then ran away to the north.

“So, is this the same road you took as a boy?”

Sharpe turns on him suddenly. He says nothing, but stares at Harper.

Harper rides on quietly. After a few miles he tries again.

“So what can you tell me about fun places to stop between here and Keighley?”

“Hmmppff” is all Harper gets.

“So over there,” He points. “That seems to be a fine cathedral.”

“Never been in it.”

They ride on another few miles as they ride through Dunstable, Harper points out a woman carrying a basket. “That young lady looks a lot like you. Did you meet her mother on your first trip?”

“Pat!”

“OK.”

Sharpe starts the story about how he left London.

“Maggie Joyce told me to get out of London. She knew that the north was growing because so many wagons came to the city with steel and silver products. She thought that Sheffield would be a good place for me to use my thieving skills.”

Harper knew of Maggie Joyce from their last trip to London.

“Thieving skills?”

“Yes, you know I carry a picklock. Where do ya think I learned to use it?”

“I had to go in a hurry. I grabbed all I had in the world and walked fast out of the rookery. I watched every doorway, hidden corner and alley to see if anyone was waiting to ambush me.”

“I got away and walked north on Watling Street. So, I did travel this part of the road, just on foot.”

“Before I got to St. Albans, I came up on a wagon with a broken wheel. The driver was trying to fix it. He asked me to help him.”

“I said yes. After, we finished the wheel. He thanked me.”

“I started to walk, but he asked where I was going. I told him I was going to Sheffield as I hoped there was better work than in London.”

“He told me he was going to Keighley, north of Sheffield. He could take me as far as Sheffield and would like to have someone to talk with. So I climbed next to him.”

Sharpe offered the story only when they rode without any others on the road. As the road was busy here, he told very little. He stopped telling the story as they entered Broughton, the goal for their first day.

As they passed the Church of St. John the Baptist, they find an Inn named The Saxon Arms. They decide to stay there for the night. While Harper holds the horses, Sharpe goes in. Inside there is a great rooms with tables and chairs. All the walls are decorated with Saxon weapons, helmets and shields.

Sharpe approaches the bar at the back of the room to talk with the owner.

“Do you have two rooms and board for two horses for tonight?”

“Yes, we do?”

“And can we get food or drink?”

“Yes, we cook in the back.”

“Very good. How much?”

“For each of you, one shilling, three pence for beef, bread and beer now and eggs, ham and bread in the morning; six pence for the room and to board a horse. And, if you want more beer, four pence for each quart of beer.”

Sharpe accepts it. He looks around the hall, “Why are all these Viking weapons in here?”

“The manor here was originally part of the lands of Uhtred the Saxon thegn. We’ve had a village here for more than nine hundred years. Our ancestors were Saxons who helped to fight the Norsemen and make England what it is.”

“So, the men of this village have been good warriors for a long time?”

“Yes sir.”

Sharpe nods to him. “I’d like to know more. Perhaps later, when you are not so busy, you can tell me the story of this Uhtred. I do not know of him.”

“Surely sir.”

Sharper goes outside, takes his horse from Patrick and goes to the barn. They tend to their horses. Inside the inn, they settle into their rooms and go to eat.

Harper asks, “Did you notice all these old weapons?” Harper waves his hand around the room.

“Yes, the owner will tell us the story later, when he is not busy.”

“Let’s eat.”

Later that evening, the owner joins them. Sharpe and Harper buy him ales as he tells the story of Uhtred of Bebbanburg.

The next morning, after a good breakfast, they ride towards Leicester. Harper thinks he has not yet heard all of Sharpe’s story about his time at Yorkshire.

He tries to pull more of the story. “So, that Uhtred was a pretty good warrior. We could have used him in the rifles.”

“Aye Pat.” Sharpe doesn’t want to talk as he drank too much ale the night before listening to the story. Today his head hurts.

“Yes, he sounded like he was something like you, as it were.”

“Oh?”

“His king and the nobles were happy to have him fight for them, but they were afraid of him and didn’t want to reward him with what he deserved.”

Sharpe just rides on.

“I think we heard only a little of his story. Perhaps when we go back to London, we can stop again at the Saxon Arms. That fellow that owns the place, Cornwell, can tell us more about Uhtred.”

“Pat, you meet everybody everywhere we go and love a good story. Let’s get to Keighley first. Then we talk about what comes next.”

The weather turned colder. Both of them cover themselves against the cold and later a drizzle rain. Sharpe is happy as Harper has stopped talking and asking him to talk.

By noon, Sharpe’s head felt better.

The rain continued. They rode on, mostly quietly. Harper would comment about a passing wagon or rider. Sharpe would ignore him.

By sundown they reached Leicester. They found The Globe inn for the night.

The inn did not have so many other guests so the owner gave them good rooms at a price better than they expected. While they ate dinner. Harper decided to try having Sharpe continue his tale about how he got to Keighley and then the army.

“How long did it take you and that wagon driver to get from London to Sheffield?

Sharpe’s belly is filled and the headache is gone. There aren’t many people in the inn to hear them talk, so he resumes the story from yesterday.

“The driver’s name was Robert Porter. He asked to be called Bob, but he sounded like ‘Bab’. He was about forty years old. He’d lived all his life in Keighley. He worked for one of the gentry as a teamster. Two times per month he drove that wagon full of cloth from the mills to the tailors in London.”

“So, if he is alive, he may have carried the cloth that made this fine suit?”

“Don’t think he’s alive, but yes.”

“Neither of us had much money, so we bought what food we wanted along the way, ate when we rested the horses and slept in the wagon under the canvas covers. They could be set up like a tent.”

“So, much better than sleeping in a hole under a tree, was it?” On campaign, they often left the battalion tents behind and had to sleep in whatever shelter they could make.

“Aye, much better.”

“After four days we approached Sheffield. Bob was going to take the road around the center of town. He stopped to wish me well, but then asked me if I had work already planned. I did not.”

“He suggested that he had a friend who ran a coaching inn in Keighley that could use some help. ‘Dick, would you be interested to try that? If it doesn’t work for ya, ya can always come back to Sheffield. It tisn’t far.’”

“As I knew nought of Sheffield and I was being offered what sounded like a good job, I hopped back on the wagon.”

“After another night in the wagon, we arrived in Keighley. So, to yer question Pat, the first trip took six days.”

Pat knew that this was Sharpe’s way to tell him that he was finished with the story for the day. He had learned a lot, but not the part about what happened to Sharpe at Keighley that made him run to the army. Sharpe’s story was complicated. Unlike Pat, who had got drunk in Ireland and woke up to find that he was in the army.

They finished their meal and ale. This day Sharpe drank very little to avoid a repeat of the night before. Both slept well as the rain continued to drum on the roof of the inn.

Both woke early. They remained conditioned from many years of having to be ready for ‘Stand to Arms’ prior to sunup. And, they were motivated as today they should reach Keighley. The smell of cooking from the kitchen struck them as they entered the great room. They ate and were saddled and on the road to Leicester before sunup.

The ride from Leicester to Nottingham went by quickly. They weren’t pushing their horses, but the pace seemed to be quicker than other days. Harper continued to sing out to Sharpe about sights he would see on either side of the road. Sharpe would turn to look, nod with a quick “Aye, Pat” then return to looking forward.

Near Mansfield the fields suddenly are full of cattle. This time it is Sharpe who comments.

“Patrick, all those cattle there remind me of France.”

“France? Cattle remind ya of France?”

“Do you remember that cattle herder at St Jean de Luz?”

Harper recalls that ten months ago, they were with the South Essex at St Jean de Luz. The French lived off the locals, which was the same as stealing and looting. The British brought their own supplies to support the army. Often, they would contract herders to bring cattle or sheep. The army was pursuing the French so quickly, that the drovers struggled to keep up. The South Essex had the duty to escort the cattle herd.

“He was beside himself because we walked his cows too far and too fast.

“Their hooves were bad. They could not go any more. The poor, wee calves were braying somethin’ terrible.”

“Yes, and he was right upset when you ordered to have 200 butchered and salted into barrels.”

“Yea, he was. I think he wanted me to leave ‘em behind. He had already charged the army for them. If we abandoned them, he could butcher ‘em to sell to the locals. They would have paid well as they had little left after the French had marched through ahead of us.”

Harper chuckles, “ Do ya still see his face when ya asked where we could get barrels and salt?”

Sharpe chuckles too. “Aye, he was as red as a fresh butchered steak! I thought he would explode.”

“Aye and as to steak, the brigade had fresh steak dinners that day.”

Harper remembers how well they ate. It was another time that Sharpe’s experience as a quartermaster and a common soldier often led him to make quick, but practical decisions. Sharpe was hard on his men. But, from his days as a common soldier, he always made sure that the men were taken care of. In this case, the drover was looking to destroy the cattle for his profit. Sharpe made sure that his battalion AND the brigade benefited instead.

“All were full before we fought up that mountain and lost General Nairn.”

Both of them pause as they both liked General Nairn.

Harper still did not understand how the cattle connect to Ste Jean de Luz.

“So, cattle remind you of France?”

“No, that drover was from Yorkshire.”

“Aye he was. I remember that ya calmed him down sorta by talking about his home in Yorkshire. Did ya know him from when ya were here before?”

“No Pat. Not everyone in Yorkshire knows everyone, like ya do in Ireland. We aren’t busybodies like the Irish.” He smiles.

Harper starts to protest. Instead he asks, “So how did that job at the coaching inn go?”

Sharpe tries to make the story quick so that Harper will change to another topic.

“I liked the inn owner, at first. The work was good. I made friends with some of the people in the village.”

“Lassies?”

“Yes, a few.”

“I took a liking to one who worked at the inn. Learned that another, older boy liked her and thought that I should not pay her attention.”

“We fought a few times over her.”

“Keighley has an orphanage. Run by the church. I don’t like how they treat the kids. So I stuck my nose in there too to see if this one was better than London. Met a girl there too.”

“Aye, ya would.”

“Both of

us that liked the girl at the inn knew that the owner, Mr. Eagleton had his eyes on her. Easter holiday, when I was sixteen, I found him trying to rape the girl. I pulled him off her and killed him.”

“So, twice ya saved a girl from rape and killed the rapist. Explains a lot of things ya did with your women in Portugal and Spain.”

“So, again I ran. I took the owners horse and his body towards Oakworth. West of here, there is a ravine. I found a small cave. Stuffed the man into it with all his tack, then piled the front full of mud and stones. I was damn cold and the sun was almost up by the time I finished. I rode the horse across to the edge of the woods, then slapped it on its way to the west. Don’t know what happened to the horse.

After being awake all night, I went south. Walked three weeks. Lived rough. Near Sowerby Bridge went to get a meal. Listened to recruiter. Went into tavern. With the heat of the fire, some food and some beer I slept on the table. When I woke up, there were soldiers near me. I drank my beer, but at the bottom was a shilling. When I took it in my hand, Hakeswill’s recruiting party grabbed me. Ended up in the army. You know the rest.”

“Well, so, you could be welcomed by a hangin’ party then?”

“don’t know. Only the girl and I knew what we did. She chased me away and said she would take care of it.”

Sharpe looks ahead. “There’s Sheffield. Time to get off these horses.”

As they turned up the street, the door to the King’s Head inn was on their right. Further on the road, they could see a yard that with stables, malt rooms, swine hulls, kiln house, barns and a family’s home with outbuildings to the sides. It was another typical village. Further beyond were gardens and a bowling green.

They secured their horses and entered the inn.

Inside was a large parlour with large and small kitchens and a pantry. Four fabric-covered chairs and a buffet filled the parlour. A cane armchair with four cushions

Sharpe approached the proprietor to secure two rooms.

“’ow may I ‘elp you, sir?”

“We want two rooms for tonight, a meal and a wash.”

“Sir, we have a great chamber room above the entry.” He points to the stairs next to the door.

”And a best chamber we call the Bailiff’s room.”

“We also have other rooms above the hall and kitchen. These may have more noise than the other two rooms.”

“Rooms above the hall will do.”

“Do you want a room with a looking glass?”

“No, I carry my own looking glass to shave.”

“ah well, we have no water to the rooms. You may make your ablutions at the pump in the yard or at our sink stone.”

Sharpe looks at him. As this is the only inn here, he resolves that they will have to take the rooms here. He negotiates the price with board for the horses, two meals and one serving of ale. He settles on one shilling, five pence for each room and board. He knows they will have to buy more ale as Harper has a large thirst.

He pays and turns to Harper.

“I’m hungry. Let’s settle the horses and eat.”

Harper agrees. As they take the horses to the barn, they pass several people. One man who is slowly walking towards the inn, notices Sharpe’s uniform. He looks up and seems to recognize him.

Sharpe and Harper return to the inn, take their bags to the rooms and return to the parlour.

The man that had passed them earlier, enters the inn, chooses a table at the edge of the room. He keeps his hat and coat while he slowly sips his ale. Discretely he listens and watches Sharpe and Harper.

Sharpe h

ad ordered a good meal.

Harper asks, “Why do you always order?”

“Because so far, I’m the only one that has paid for the food. I order what I want.”

“Tomorrow, we should be able to reach Keighley.

After the meal and several ales for Harper, Harper pays the barmaid. They rise and go to their rooms.

The man at the edge of the room waits until they leave, then leaves the inn. He has no horse or money to pay for a coach, so he starts walking towards Keighley.

In the morning, Sharpe goes outside to get water. Although the inn does not offer a wash basin, he asks if he may carry a bucket of water from the pump to the kitchen to heat for his wash and shave. The owner is busy preparing breakfast for the room, but agrees. He points to a pot that can be hung over the fire. Sharpe retrieves a bucket of water, fills the pot, then returns the water to the bucket to take to his room.

When he finishes, he returns the bucket to the kitchen. In the parlour, he finds Harper already eating.

“Hungry, Pat?”

Harper smiles with a mouth of food and nods.

“Ale makes me hungry the next day.”

“Aye, it does.”

Sharpe signals to the barmaid to bring his meal and a mug of tea.

“How are the eggs?”

“The eggs and ham are good. The tea is so much better than what we had to drink in the army.”

Sharpe sips his tea. “Aye, this tastes like tea, not like water with a little milk and tea taste.”

As an officer Sharpe should have eaten with the officer’s mess. But most mornings, he had his tea and food with the soldiers with the light company. A section would boil a pot of water and throw the tea ration for a day into the pot. When it was ready, they would add milk, if it was available. Each would take a mug to drink. Sharpe would join different sections, but mostly with his remaining Rifles. When the rations were slow to reach them, which was too often, they would use leftover tea from the bottom of packs or leaves recovered from the pot the day before.

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