"Sharpe's Heart" (Finale) by Sylvene - Sharpe
Sharpe stood looking out of the window of his room, his hand resting on the stone lintel. He was restless. Seeking. If asked, he could not have said what he was seeking. His days were full. As Commander in Chief of the Queen’s armies, he had much to do, even in this time of Peace. He did not know what was wrong. He thought of shifting but it was close to night. Now that was something. He remembered the first time he had heard of it.
“You make a good batman, Robin.”
The young guardsman had started, almost dropping his shaving water.
“Sir? How did you know?”
Sharpe turned and frowned.
“Know what?”
“That I shift to bat, sir.”
“You what?”
Robin suddenly realized that they were speaking of two different subjects.
“Nothing sir, I misunderstood. What’s a batman?”
Sharpe continued frowning. What had Robin meant? Shift?
“In the army, a batman is the personal servant of an officer. Much more than a servant though. He is a trusted aide. He carries messages and acts as bodyguard as well at times.”
Robin beamed. “Thank you sir.”
“So, what do you mean by shift to bat?”
“That is my animal shape. Some call it a soul-shape.” He laughed a little deprecatingly. “I never could figure out what being a night flying, insect eating animal said for the state of my soul.”
Sharpe looked thoughtful. “Can everyone shift?”
“Oh, no sir. Very few.”
“I see.”
As the long twilight gave graceful way to soft night, Sharpe remembered his own first shift. He had not thought it possible. He remembered the rush. The joy. The almost climatic feeling as he soared into the sky. Tatiana had talked him into it. Assured of his ability even though he doubted it himself. Thrown very his soul into the sky while Sara watched. It was Sara that called him back. Back into man. Where would he be without her, he wondered. What would he be without her?
Saraphina stared at her husband’s back. She had found him there in too often, alone by himself instead of joining the merriments of the evening. He would come to her later, she knew. He always did and they would share the night. But she did not know what to do. Her heart ached and yearned for him, but there was one part of him she could not reach. She walked across the chamber. Touched his arm. He turned. Smiled at her. Lifted a hand to lightly trail knuckles across her cheek. She smile back tremulously, always humbled by the light of love she saw in his beautiful green eyes. She caught in one of hers and kissed it.
“Sara.”
She reached up and pressed a kiss to his lips.
“Come talk to me?”
“Of course.”
~~~
Sharpe was in a foul temper. He had no reason for it and he realized it. Robin was stumbling over his feet to please him. His staff tip-toed around him. Even Sara was not immune to his sharp tongue. He did not know what was wrong but he had no peace.
“Not that jacket, Robin. I dislike it heartily. It makes me look like a strutting popinjay.”
“S-sorry, sir.”
Sharpe sighed and strode over to the wardrobe.
“Here.”
He thrust a hand in and pushed clothing aside, seeking something that pleased him when a small object flew out. It sparkled in the morning light and hit the floor with a tinkle, rolling across it before it slowly curved into smaller and smaller concentric circles, before it finally fell onto its side, gleaming in a shaft of sunlight. Sharpe’s eyes had followed it, his attention fully caught. In two swift strides, he had knelt beside it and picked it up. Staring at the coin he held between thumb and forefinger. It was a shilling. A bright new shilling. The King’s shilling.
Robin had stood frozen, watching the coin fly across the room. General Sharpe, the Prince Consort was changing before his eyes in a manner he could not have described even if pressed.
Sharpe stood. Turned and looked at his batman. His valet. His aide. The world around him was changing before his eyes. He looked at himself. Was he the same man?
“My uniform, Robin. Sharpish now.”
Wordlessly, Robin pulled the old uniform out. It was cleaned. Pressed. He found the shakoe. The great coat and the boots. Looked at the boots and replaced them with better.
Sharpe looked at himself in the mirror critically. The uniform felt like an old friend. The hole in the left elbow was still there. The pants were still tight. No sash. He’d bought his wife with that.
“Prepare my kit, Robin. And my horse. I leave in the hour. Where’s the Princess?”
“At this time of morning, sir? With her ladies.”
Sharpe nodded and strode out of his chambers into the palace.
~~~
Sharpe’s boots on the marble floor alerted the ladies to his presence. A few gasped as they saw him. They all rose. Curtsied and withdrew as the Prince Consort approached his wife.
Saraphina looked at her husband and tried to quiet her emotions. She saw the man she’d first fallen in love with. She saw the man that was leaving her. Sharpe stopped in front of his Sara. Lifted her hands to his lips, he kissed them. Then caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. A tear slipped out from the corner of an eye. Her lips trembled.
“Here now.” He brushed the tear away.
“None of that.”
He kissed her. Made promise with his lips upon hers.
“I will be back.”
Then he turned and walked away. Saraphina gripped her hands to stop herself from clutching him. From begging him not to leave. She could hear her ladies whisperings behind her. She hugged her arms to her waist.
Robin had his horse standing ready. He could see his bedroll strapped to the back of the horse. The saddlebags full. The spirited stallion snorted a greeting, eager to be off. Tatiana was there speaking to Robin.
“Your majesty.” Sharpe bowed before the Queen. The mother of his wife.
“I bid you fair journey, Richard.”
He nodded. There didn’t seem to be anything to say.
“Robin will guide you, but he will not cross. He must not cross.” Tatiana stressed.
Sharpe nodded.
Tatiana looked up at the man she had come to love as a son. “Kneel.” She commanded. Sharpe bent a knee obediently. She took his face in hers and kissed him. Forehead, cheeks and lips.
“Keep safe, my dear.”
He nodded once again as he rose. Mounting his horse, he controlled him like a horseman born, and wheeling galloped out of the castle walls, Robin following behind.
Tatiana found her daughter a while later, leaning out of the window in the tallest tower of the palace. She placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder as she look over her head. Two figures on horseback could still be discerned on the road in the distance.
“You did not tell him, did you?” She asked quietly.
Saraphina shook her head. “It would have been a burden.”
~~~
It was a hard three days of travel before they reached a stone wall. They walked their horses while they sought the opening. They approached an old Oak grown into the wall.
“Here, sir.”
“Here?”
“Yes sir. Castor will bring you through.”
Sharpe looked at his batman for explanation.
“Castor was born of a stallion from the other side. He can travel both sides.”
“So can I.”
“You’re different, Sir.”
“Very well.”
Robin bit his lip as Sharpe dismounted and examined the tree and the wall. He dismounted hastily.
“Sir?”
“Yes Robin?”
“I have something for you.”
He was reaching into his saddlebags. Removing a carefully wrapped package. Handing it to Sharpe eagerly.
“I’ve kept it safe, sir. All these years.”
“Years…” Sharpe repeated. Unwilling to countenance what that meant. His furlough had been for two weeks. He was very, very late. He unwrapped the package. Red silk spilled out. He picked up the red sash. The wrapping fluttering to the ground unheeded.
“Allow me, sir. Please.”
Sharpe handed his officer’s sash to Robin.
“The.. the auctioneer was ready to rend it and burn it. I persuaded him to part with it.” He was actually quite proud of how he had tricked the man out of it for mere pennies by stoking his anger at the worthless piece of ragged silk he’d been forced to accept for his prized captive.
Robin was grinning fit to burst as he looked at his Prince. Resplendent in the uniform of the 95th rifles. His symbol of rank - a red silk sash - tied about his waist. He saluted.
“Just mount up and ride Castor through sir. Under the bough.”
Sharpe smiled. He saluted his batman, mounted and placing his trust in his horse, rode through.
~~~
The port was a bustle of noise and activity. Soldiers were mustering. The Purcelle was in port. The ship that had brought him to England. He held Castor’s bridle tightly as the horse objected to the noises and smells he was subjected to the moment he had walked through the wall.
“Hoi! Captain! Over here!” The cheery voice of Sergeant Harper with the lilt of the Irish in it sounded out from behind him. He turned.
“Whoa! Whoa, boy!” Harper grabbed the other side of Castor’s head. “Nice mount you got, Captain! Verra nice. Spent a lil o’ yer back pay didn’cha? I didn’t know you could ride.”
“I didn’t.”
“Com’on, we’ll get this lovely boy stowed on board safe and sound. The rest o’ the boys are already on board. Yer a little late.”
~~~
It was the spring time of the year when an old soldier walked into the village of Wall. He was wearing the green jacket of the Rifles and the red sash of an officer. There was a hole in the left elbow of his jacket and his sash had seen better days. His boots were once of the highest quality, but even they showed many years of wear. As the daylight was already waning, he took a room in the Black Ram and Raven and remarked on the excellence of Mrs. Humphries’ pigeon pie. In the tap room, he was happy to relate what stories he had to the young men who peppered him with questions and bemoaned the fact that the wars were long over and they would never have a chance to gain fame and glory, despite his solemn comment that war was hell.
The morn of the next day found this soldier on the road to the breach in the wall where he came by two of the same young men he had met in the tavern the night before.
“Mornin’,” he called as he approached as if to cross.
“G’morning sir.”
“’Fraid we can’t let you pass, sir.”
“No?” The old soldier grinned and drew his sword. It was a fine sword. It fair gleamed in the morning sun.
The lads gulped and made their stand, their staffs gripped tightly.
“Who shall try me first then?”
The young men looked at each other and at the ground. Taking advantage of their indecision, the old soldier shouted and charged right at them.
“Haah! The 95th!”
Startled, they hesitated too long. He pushed them hard and as they stumbled aside, he was by them, leaping across the breach with a shout of triumph. He did not slow either, but continued running.
His blood thrumming in his head, his grin wide, Sharpe continued running. Each stride taking him closer to his heart. With a shout, he threw his soul upwards.
The young men stared at the mad soldier from the breach in the wall and blinked as his form seemed to shimmer, then a golden eagle rose, screaming into the sky.
The eagle soared high, then circled, taking its bearing of the land far below. Its heart and mind shifted. Became feral, more suited to its form.
“Richard?”
The eagle screamed in response.
“Richard!” the voice was joyous. The eagle turned in its direction and screamed again as it beat its strong wings and flew with the wind.
~~~
The great eagle landed on the stone lintel in a flurry of wind and feathers. After a pause, it launched itself into the room. Magic shimmered and in its place stood a naked man. Tall and well formed. With a shock of dirty blonde hair. He was unshaven and had the gaunt look of a man that had traveled long and hard.
“Welcome back sir.”
The robe was placed expertly on his shoulders. Sharpe moved his arms and Robin slid the robe in place and belted it expertly.
“Shave sir? I will have your bath water ready in a thrice.”
As it was before, he was shaved, barbered and dressed by his batman.
Sharpe had not yet spoken.
Robin continued talking, speaking of inconsequential matters, watching as his Prince’s eyes turned from the yellow of the eagle back to the green of the man. He served his Prince tea laced liberally with brandy and a plate of meat. Cooked but still almost raw.
“You’ve been gone a while, sir.”
“Yes,” his throat and lips worked to form human words again.
“How long?”
“Your daughter is three, sir.”
“Daughter!” He rasped.
“Yes, sir.”
“Clarissa Elizabeth.”
“Is she angry?” he finally asked.
“She called you, sir.” Robin said simply.
Sharpe nodded.
I think my muse needs a little laudanum now... keep her asleep for a while.
“You make a good batman, Robin.”
The young guardsman had started, almost dropping his shaving water.
“Sir? How did you know?”
Sharpe turned and frowned.
“Know what?”
“That I shift to bat, sir.”
“You what?”
Robin suddenly realized that they were speaking of two different subjects.
“Nothing sir, I misunderstood. What’s a batman?”
Sharpe continued frowning. What had Robin meant? Shift?
“In the army, a batman is the personal servant of an officer. Much more than a servant though. He is a trusted aide. He carries messages and acts as bodyguard as well at times.”
Robin beamed. “Thank you sir.”
“So, what do you mean by shift to bat?”
“That is my animal shape. Some call it a soul-shape.” He laughed a little deprecatingly. “I never could figure out what being a night flying, insect eating animal said for the state of my soul.”
Sharpe looked thoughtful. “Can everyone shift?”
“Oh, no sir. Very few.”
“I see.”
As the long twilight gave graceful way to soft night, Sharpe remembered his own first shift. He had not thought it possible. He remembered the rush. The joy. The almost climatic feeling as he soared into the sky. Tatiana had talked him into it. Assured of his ability even though he doubted it himself. Thrown very his soul into the sky while Sara watched. It was Sara that called him back. Back into man. Where would he be without her, he wondered. What would he be without her?
Saraphina stared at her husband’s back. She had found him there in too often, alone by himself instead of joining the merriments of the evening. He would come to her later, she knew. He always did and they would share the night. But she did not know what to do. Her heart ached and yearned for him, but there was one part of him she could not reach. She walked across the chamber. Touched his arm. He turned. Smiled at her. Lifted a hand to lightly trail knuckles across her cheek. She smile back tremulously, always humbled by the light of love she saw in his beautiful green eyes. She caught in one of hers and kissed it.
“Sara.”
She reached up and pressed a kiss to his lips.
“Come talk to me?”
“Of course.”
~~~
Sharpe was in a foul temper. He had no reason for it and he realized it. Robin was stumbling over his feet to please him. His staff tip-toed around him. Even Sara was not immune to his sharp tongue. He did not know what was wrong but he had no peace.
“Not that jacket, Robin. I dislike it heartily. It makes me look like a strutting popinjay.”
“S-sorry, sir.”
Sharpe sighed and strode over to the wardrobe.
“Here.”
He thrust a hand in and pushed clothing aside, seeking something that pleased him when a small object flew out. It sparkled in the morning light and hit the floor with a tinkle, rolling across it before it slowly curved into smaller and smaller concentric circles, before it finally fell onto its side, gleaming in a shaft of sunlight. Sharpe’s eyes had followed it, his attention fully caught. In two swift strides, he had knelt beside it and picked it up. Staring at the coin he held between thumb and forefinger. It was a shilling. A bright new shilling. The King’s shilling.
Robin had stood frozen, watching the coin fly across the room. General Sharpe, the Prince Consort was changing before his eyes in a manner he could not have described even if pressed.
Sharpe stood. Turned and looked at his batman. His valet. His aide. The world around him was changing before his eyes. He looked at himself. Was he the same man?
“My uniform, Robin. Sharpish now.”
Wordlessly, Robin pulled the old uniform out. It was cleaned. Pressed. He found the shakoe. The great coat and the boots. Looked at the boots and replaced them with better.
Sharpe looked at himself in the mirror critically. The uniform felt like an old friend. The hole in the left elbow was still there. The pants were still tight. No sash. He’d bought his wife with that.
“Prepare my kit, Robin. And my horse. I leave in the hour. Where’s the Princess?”
“At this time of morning, sir? With her ladies.”
Sharpe nodded and strode out of his chambers into the palace.
~~~
Sharpe’s boots on the marble floor alerted the ladies to his presence. A few gasped as they saw him. They all rose. Curtsied and withdrew as the Prince Consort approached his wife.
Saraphina looked at her husband and tried to quiet her emotions. She saw the man she’d first fallen in love with. She saw the man that was leaving her. Sharpe stopped in front of his Sara. Lifted her hands to his lips, he kissed them. Then caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. A tear slipped out from the corner of an eye. Her lips trembled.
“Here now.” He brushed the tear away.
“None of that.”
He kissed her. Made promise with his lips upon hers.
“I will be back.”
Then he turned and walked away. Saraphina gripped her hands to stop herself from clutching him. From begging him not to leave. She could hear her ladies whisperings behind her. She hugged her arms to her waist.
Robin had his horse standing ready. He could see his bedroll strapped to the back of the horse. The saddlebags full. The spirited stallion snorted a greeting, eager to be off. Tatiana was there speaking to Robin.
“Your majesty.” Sharpe bowed before the Queen. The mother of his wife.
“I bid you fair journey, Richard.”
He nodded. There didn’t seem to be anything to say.
“Robin will guide you, but he will not cross. He must not cross.” Tatiana stressed.
Sharpe nodded.
Tatiana looked up at the man she had come to love as a son. “Kneel.” She commanded. Sharpe bent a knee obediently. She took his face in hers and kissed him. Forehead, cheeks and lips.
“Keep safe, my dear.”
He nodded once again as he rose. Mounting his horse, he controlled him like a horseman born, and wheeling galloped out of the castle walls, Robin following behind.
Tatiana found her daughter a while later, leaning out of the window in the tallest tower of the palace. She placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder as she look over her head. Two figures on horseback could still be discerned on the road in the distance.
“You did not tell him, did you?” She asked quietly.
Saraphina shook her head. “It would have been a burden.”
~~~
It was a hard three days of travel before they reached a stone wall. They walked their horses while they sought the opening. They approached an old Oak grown into the wall.
“Here, sir.”
“Here?”
“Yes sir. Castor will bring you through.”
Sharpe looked at his batman for explanation.
“Castor was born of a stallion from the other side. He can travel both sides.”
“So can I.”
“You’re different, Sir.”
“Very well.”
Robin bit his lip as Sharpe dismounted and examined the tree and the wall. He dismounted hastily.
“Sir?”
“Yes Robin?”
“I have something for you.”
He was reaching into his saddlebags. Removing a carefully wrapped package. Handing it to Sharpe eagerly.
“I’ve kept it safe, sir. All these years.”
“Years…” Sharpe repeated. Unwilling to countenance what that meant. His furlough had been for two weeks. He was very, very late. He unwrapped the package. Red silk spilled out. He picked up the red sash. The wrapping fluttering to the ground unheeded.
“Allow me, sir. Please.”
Sharpe handed his officer’s sash to Robin.
“The.. the auctioneer was ready to rend it and burn it. I persuaded him to part with it.” He was actually quite proud of how he had tricked the man out of it for mere pennies by stoking his anger at the worthless piece of ragged silk he’d been forced to accept for his prized captive.
Robin was grinning fit to burst as he looked at his Prince. Resplendent in the uniform of the 95th rifles. His symbol of rank - a red silk sash - tied about his waist. He saluted.
“Just mount up and ride Castor through sir. Under the bough.”
Sharpe smiled. He saluted his batman, mounted and placing his trust in his horse, rode through.
~~~
The port was a bustle of noise and activity. Soldiers were mustering. The Purcelle was in port. The ship that had brought him to England. He held Castor’s bridle tightly as the horse objected to the noises and smells he was subjected to the moment he had walked through the wall.
“Hoi! Captain! Over here!” The cheery voice of Sergeant Harper with the lilt of the Irish in it sounded out from behind him. He turned.
“Whoa! Whoa, boy!” Harper grabbed the other side of Castor’s head. “Nice mount you got, Captain! Verra nice. Spent a lil o’ yer back pay didn’cha? I didn’t know you could ride.”
“I didn’t.”
“Com’on, we’ll get this lovely boy stowed on board safe and sound. The rest o’ the boys are already on board. Yer a little late.”
~~~
It was the spring time of the year when an old soldier walked into the village of Wall. He was wearing the green jacket of the Rifles and the red sash of an officer. There was a hole in the left elbow of his jacket and his sash had seen better days. His boots were once of the highest quality, but even they showed many years of wear. As the daylight was already waning, he took a room in the Black Ram and Raven and remarked on the excellence of Mrs. Humphries’ pigeon pie. In the tap room, he was happy to relate what stories he had to the young men who peppered him with questions and bemoaned the fact that the wars were long over and they would never have a chance to gain fame and glory, despite his solemn comment that war was hell.
The morn of the next day found this soldier on the road to the breach in the wall where he came by two of the same young men he had met in the tavern the night before.
“Mornin’,” he called as he approached as if to cross.
“G’morning sir.”
“’Fraid we can’t let you pass, sir.”
“No?” The old soldier grinned and drew his sword. It was a fine sword. It fair gleamed in the morning sun.
The lads gulped and made their stand, their staffs gripped tightly.
“Who shall try me first then?”
The young men looked at each other and at the ground. Taking advantage of their indecision, the old soldier shouted and charged right at them.
“Haah! The 95th!”
Startled, they hesitated too long. He pushed them hard and as they stumbled aside, he was by them, leaping across the breach with a shout of triumph. He did not slow either, but continued running.
His blood thrumming in his head, his grin wide, Sharpe continued running. Each stride taking him closer to his heart. With a shout, he threw his soul upwards.
The young men stared at the mad soldier from the breach in the wall and blinked as his form seemed to shimmer, then a golden eagle rose, screaming into the sky.
The eagle soared high, then circled, taking its bearing of the land far below. Its heart and mind shifted. Became feral, more suited to its form.
“Richard?”
The eagle screamed in response.
“Richard!” the voice was joyous. The eagle turned in its direction and screamed again as it beat its strong wings and flew with the wind.
~~~
The great eagle landed on the stone lintel in a flurry of wind and feathers. After a pause, it launched itself into the room. Magic shimmered and in its place stood a naked man. Tall and well formed. With a shock of dirty blonde hair. He was unshaven and had the gaunt look of a man that had traveled long and hard.
“Welcome back sir.”
The robe was placed expertly on his shoulders. Sharpe moved his arms and Robin slid the robe in place and belted it expertly.
“Shave sir? I will have your bath water ready in a thrice.”
As it was before, he was shaved, barbered and dressed by his batman.
Sharpe had not yet spoken.
Robin continued talking, speaking of inconsequential matters, watching as his Prince’s eyes turned from the yellow of the eagle back to the green of the man. He served his Prince tea laced liberally with brandy and a plate of meat. Cooked but still almost raw.
“You’ve been gone a while, sir.”
“Yes,” his throat and lips worked to form human words again.
“How long?”
“Your daughter is three, sir.”
“Daughter!” He rasped.
“Yes, sir.”
“Clarissa Elizabeth.”
“Is she angry?” he finally asked.
“She called you, sir.” Robin said simply.
Sharpe nodded.
I think my muse needs a little laudanum now... keep her asleep for a while.