Sharpe's Challenge Page #2

Some of us might call that reckless.

And you're whom, sir,

to be giving orders to an officer?

Come, sir, state your business.

My name is Richard Sharpe

and my business is with General Burroughs.

You're off to join his 3rd Army

on the Northern Plain, are you not?

You have experience of India, Mr Sharpe?

Experience?

Aye, some.

I was at Srirangapattam and Assaye.

Then you should know, Mr Sharpe,

this is friendly territory.

Any threat from Khande Rao's Pindari

lies 30 miles...

-You mean the Battle of Assaye?

-Aye, that were it.

There were no riflemen here then.

You wear the green jacket of the 95th,

do you not, Mr Sharpe?

I do, ma'am.

And you're right.

There were no riflemen here then.

I was at the time a private soldier in the 33rd.

Sharpe.

Good God, I mean, not the ranker

that saved Wellington's life?

Well, it once fell to me to help him out. Aye.

Then it's an honour, sir. Indeed an honour.

Captain Lawrence, sir.

And this is Miss Celia Burroughs,

the general's daughter.

Ma'am.

Unless I'm much mistaken,

it's rightly Colonel Sharpe, isn't it?

Retired, Captain, retired.

I've... I've no commission here.

It'll be an honour to have you travel along with us,

Mr Sharpe, of course, but as...

I'd wait, if I were you.

There's someone up on that ridge.

May be nothing but...

I'd send a scouting party forward.

Alas, sir, our cavalry vanished off to the west

to find forage some two hours since.

Two hours?

-Then I'd best go and find them for you.

-I'd be grateful.

Meantime, you may depend we shall advance

along the pass with every weight of caution.

Ma'am.

(HORSE NEIGHING)

(FLIES BUZZING)

Not long dead.

An hour at most.

You must be the cavalry

Captain Lawrence sent me to find.

Next time you're looking to catch a man unawares,

you might want to conceal your horses downwind.

Captain Mohan Singh.

I command these lancers.

Richard Sharpe.

And I command no one here.

Pindari?

A raiding party,

acting on orders from Khande Rao.

I thought this was friendly territory.

It was.

What brings you to India, Mr Sharpe?

I'm looking for a friend. A man called Harper.

Patrick Harper.

-You know him?

-The Irish horse master?

-That's him.

-Yeah.

I knew him.

There was a raid, uh, six months ago.

The column he was travelling with

was massacred to the last man.

Most likely by the same dogs responsible for this.

I'm sorry, Mr Sharpe,

your journey seems to have been in vain.

It would appear your father

has sent a Company escort, ma'am.

Good day, Captain Lawrence.

-It is Captain Lawrence, isn't it?

-Sir.

Which would make this...

delightful creature Miss Celia Burroughs,

daughter to the great white General.

-Could I ask, sir, who you might be?

-My name is Dodd.

General William Dodd.

Formerly of the honourable...

honourable East India Company.

Now, happily Commander-in-Chief

to his Highness, Khande Rao,

Rajah of Ferraghur.

-Do you joke with me, sir?

-Joke, sir? Why, sir, no, sir.

But I do have a paradox

might amuse Miss Burroughs.

Present!

I'm sorry, Mr Sharpe,

but we really must get back to column.

(GUNS FIRING)

(MEN SHOUTING)

What the hell are you doing here?

You're supposed to be dead.

Sure, I can't watch your arse

if I'm dead, now, can I?

By God, Pat.

I don't think much of your new tailor.

You're a long way from home, Richard.

Are you lost?

Ramona sent me.

What the bloody hell were you doing

running off and leaving her?

I've been too long a soldier. You know how it is.

Your Lucille can't be too happy about you...

Last winter.

A fever.

Oh, Jesus, no. I'm...I'm so sorry.

She was a rare lady.

Aye.

Aye, she was that.

Mr Harper?

Well...

it would appear we have all been premature

in our prayers at your passing.

Luck of the Irish, Captain. You can't beat it.

(SQUAWKING)

Damn it.

There is one comfort, though.

General Burroughs' daughter

does not seem to be among the dead.

Nor is Captain Lawrence.

This looks like the handiwork of a Pindari

war band I've been tracking for the past four days.

This column was taken by surprise.

The men died in line.

Didn't even have time to unsling their rifles.

Whoever did this came at them in friendship.

I've never seen anything like it before.

I have. Chasalgaon.

Chasalgaon?

But to my knowledge,

there were no survivors at Chasalgaon.

Colonel Sharpe's always had

a certain gift for the impossible, sir.

Colonel Sharpe?

-Are you with me, Patrick?

-Yes, always.

Where are you going?

After the bastards that did this,

where do you think?

They will be many miles

from here by now, Colonel.

Colonel, I will send

two of my best men to track them

but we must report

the column's loss without delay.

Khande Rao is in Ferraghur,

the greatest fortress in the world.

It has never fallen.

(WOMAN SINGING IN HINDI)

(PRIEST SPEAKING IN HINDI)

(ANKLETS JINGLING)

Kneel before His Majesty Khande Rao.

I shall do no such thing.

Highness, your loyal commander-in-chief

offers you this humble gift.

The daughter of the mighty general

sent by England to challenge your greatness

kneels before you.

I'm afraid there's not much meat on her

and what there is undercooked but...

I'm sure, given encouragement,

she'll provide Your Highness with some sport.

No!

God damn you, sir, for shame.

Your Highness!

As a French officer, I cannot permit...

Permit?

Colonel Gudin,

you're here to train His Highness' men.

Nothing more.

India is not France.

You would do well to remember it.

What is your name, British soldier?

Captain Lawrence.

I've lately consulted with the Brahmin,

Captain Lawrence,

hoping to gain the answer

to a question that greatly troubles me.

Perhaps you can confirm

whether my augurs read the signs right.

Will your army lay siege to us here

at Ferraghur before the rains come?

In the army of His Britannic Majesty, sir,

the plans of great generals

are not confided to mere captains.

A pity.

You will convey for me then a message.

A message to your army

camped upon the Northern Plains.

You should know that England

does not parley with brigands, sir.

Oh, but you mistake me, Captain,

for I make no offer of parley.

(CELIA SCREAMING)

Is the prisoner fit for punishment,

Sergeant Bickerstaff?

Prisoner fit for punishment, sir.

Very well, do your duty.

One!

Two!

No, no, no!

By God, sir, but this won't do!

Lay it on hard, man. Don't tickle him!

You heard General Simmerson, lay it on!

And keep those strokes high, above his trousers.

Three!

Four!

-What's this poor sod done, then, Simmerson?

-Five! Six!

-Farted upwind of your nobility?

-Eight!

Wait!

Sharpe!

I see time has done nothing

to improve a want of etiquette in you.

Still the same

whore-mongering gutter trash of memory.

Aye.

And you're still the same cruel, flogging bastard.

Cruel, sir? I calls it discipline.

This fellow was caught wearing paint and earrings

on parade, if you please.

Joys, he names 'em.

Joys.

The marks and trinkets of his idolatry.

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