Not For Honour Alone, part 9
by PJ

Edrington was forced to wait before he could see Wellington. It was, after all, dinner time, and even a general needs to eat, Colonel, his aide had said in the most condescending tone of voice.

Edrington had bristled at that, but held his tongue. It would never do to remind Wellington's aide that his commander was merely a viscount, as opposed to the belted earl in the colonel's uniform. He contented himself with pacing before the headquarters tent, working off his anger and agitation.

"His Lordship will see you now." announced the aide in the same officious tone. Edrington simply strode past the man without a glance.

Wellington was seated behind a makeshift desk that was piled high with books, maps, and dispatches. Although the meal had been cleared away, the scent of roast mutton still lingered.

One of the maps was unrolled on the general's desk, and Edrington could make out that it was of the region of Spain they were currently marching through. Their position was marked with a large "X", and other comments were scribbled across the various routes into Portugal. It was obvious that Wellington was planning their next move, and soon.

"Ahem."

Edrington started out of his reverie, and snapped almost painfully to attention.

Wellington grunted. "You can relax, Colonel. We've known each other a little too long for me to be fooled by pretensions of respect." Edrington allowed his shoulders to slump. "That's better." Wellington said. "Now, what did you wish to speak to me about?"

"About Andrews, sir."

Wellington sighed heavily. "I was afraid of that."

He got no farther. Edrington leaned forward, arms spread and palms flattened on the desk. "And I'm afraid you were somewhat mistaken if you thought I would just let this go." he said. "What exactly has the cook been slipping into your mutton that made you think it would be a good idea to put me in charge of this investigation? Let alone asking me to work with Captain Sharpe!"

Wellington raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose at Edrington. "You have concerns about Captain Sharpe, Colonel?"

Edrington leaned back from the desk and threw his arms up in frustration. "Of course I have concerns! He's disrespectful, insolent, independent..."

"Intelligent, resourceful, and the best man to have at your back in a fight." Wellington interrupted with a slight smile. "In fact, I would say he's the ideal man to help."

"But... He... Its..." Edrington could only sputter in response.

Wellington waved his hand toward a chair. "Sit down, Colonel."  Edrington collapsed into the chair, rubbed his eyes with one hand and then combed his fingers through his hair. He sighed once and looked at his commander expectantly.

"Colonel..." A brief pause. "Hal" he continued. "I know you think that I've either gone completely mad or that the cooks are adding something to my food, but I assure you I am completely in command of my faculties. Forgive my bluntness, but I frankly don't think you're capable of handling this on your own."

Wellington held up one hand to stall the protest Edrington had been about to make. "If you were honest with yourself you'd see my point." He stood up and began pacing in the confines of the tent, ticking his points off on his fingers. "You were wounded, you've been ill, your mother just died... For pity's sake! All of that coming on top of each other would fell almost any man. I neither fault you nor condemn you. But what I do want is to get to the bottom of this whole mess, which I believe is your aim as well. Correct me if I'm wrong."

"I know all that, Wellesley. But why Captain Sharpe? He doesn't care about the greater good, or justice in the greatest sense. He wants some kind of revenge; revenge against the system, revenge against the army, revenge against Andrews; who really knows what?" He sighed and slouched in the chair. "I don't know how to handle this, or him."

Wellington laughed slightly, and Edrington looked up at him.

"I'm sorry! In all the years we've known one and other I don't think I've ever heard you admit to being at a loss. Its rather refreshing."

Edrington snorted. "I'm so glad you're amused. But the question remains; what the blazes am I supposed to do about Sharpe!"

Wellington grew thoughtful. "Do you really think he's only interested in revenge?" he asked before resuming his seat behind the desk.

"What else am I supposed to think?" Edrington jumped to his feet an began pacing in agitation. "You haven't heard the way he talks. He refers to Andrews as 'that bastard', he wouldn't know a salute if you clubbed him on the head with one, and he looks at me as if I were something he scraped off his boot!" He halted before the desk and threw his hands up. "What can I think?" he repeated.

Wellington sighed. "Maybe if I tell you some of what I know of him you'll understand a little better." He stared into space for a moment with a far away look in his eyes. "Nothing has ever come easy for him. Oh, I'll grant you he has natural abilities as a soldier, with a good instinct for strategy and tactics, but everything else in his life he's had to claw his way to."

"He earned his promotion to sergeant by taking on an extremely risky mission to infiltrate the Sultan Tippoo's forces. He succeeded, and we were able to capture Seringapatam in part due to his efforts. He saved my life at Assaye when his own was in considerable danger. I'll never forget watching him fight that day. It was like the old legends of the Beserker warriors." Wellington shook his head in bemusement. "I know it may be hard to understand, but Sharpe is unlike any man I've ever encountered." His piercing blue eyes met Edrington's. "You need to trust him. When its time, you'll find he'll do what is right, even if it means sacrificing what he wants."

"Was that when you gave him his commission?" Edrington asked quietly.

"What?"

"At Assaye. Was that his act of bravery that earned him his commission?"

"Yes." Wellington nodded. "And it was an honour to shake his hand and be the first man to address him as Mister Sharpe." He smiled. "Believe me, Edrington. I've not given you a task that you can't handle. But let Sharpe have his say. Who knows, you may even learn something from him."

Edrington stood up, resigned to the fate that had cast him this lot but determined to get to the bottom of matters and help Andrews if he could. He saluted sharply and moved to leave the tent.

"You don't have much time for this, Edrington."

Edrington turned back to face Wellington, who had sat behind the desk and taken up his pen.

"Sir?"

Wellington looked up and gestured to the maps spread across the desk. "The French are closer to us than originally thought. We must resume the march tomorrow or we run the risk of being cut off from our best route into Portugal." He stared off into space for a moment. "We may have a fight on our hands before the week is out." He met Edrington's eyes. "I'm sorry. I know the last thing you need is another problem, but it can't be helped."

Edrington was stunned for a time, digesting Wellington's words. "Is our situation really that bad?" he asked.

"Yes." Wellington replied. "I'm afraid it is. So I would suggest you get back to your assignment, Colonel." he said with a hint of a smile. "And keep this to yourself. I'd rather not have a general panic on my hands."

Edrington nodded once, but absently. His mind was miles away, imagining the French army converging on the weary and tattered remnants of the British. It was not a pretty picture.

He was at the tent flap when Wellington called him back once more.

"I trust, Colonel, that I need not remind you that your honour is bound to whatever happens to Andrews?" he asked. "You may find your own career ruined by the outcome of this situation."

Edrington stopped and stood, his back toward Wellington. When he spoke there was a hint of metal in his voice, the likes of which hadn't been heard in weeks.

"No, sir." he replied, his tone bordering on insolent. "You needn't remind me of my own position in all of this. But you may rest assured that I consider it worth the risk." And he departed quickly, leaving the tent flap rustling in his wake.

Wellington shook his head. "I hope you're right, Edrington. I do hope so."