Free Sharpe's Waterloo by Bernard Cornwell Page B

back with specific instructions for Sharpe. ‘I want you in evening dress uniform. That means gold lace, two epaulettes with gold bullion on each and blue cushions. And a dress sword, Sharpe, instead of that butcher’s blade.’ The Prince smiled, as if to soften his sartorial orders, then gestured at one of his Dutch aides. ‘Come on, Winckler, there’s nothing more to do here.’ He strode from the room, leaving Rebecque thin-lipped and silent.
    The sound of the hooves faded in the warm air. Rebecque listened again for the sound of musketry, but heard nothing, so instead tapped the map with an ebony ruler. ‘His Royal Highness is quite right, Sharpe, you should be wearing Dutch uniform.’
    â€˜I keep meaning to buy one.’
    Rebecque smiled. ‘I can lend you something suitable for tonight.’
    â€˜Bugger tonight.’ Sharpe twisted the map round so that it faced him. ‘Do you want me to go to Mons?’
    â€˜I’ve already sent Harry.’ Rebecque went to the open window and stared into the heat haze. ‘Perhaps nothing is happening in Mons.’ He spoke softly, almost to himself. ‘Perhaps we’re all wrong about Mons. Perhaps Napoleon is just swinging open the front doors and ignoring the back gate.’
    â€˜Sir?’
    â€˜It’s a double-leafed front door, Sharpe, that’s what it is!’ Rebecque spoke with a sudden urgency as he strode back to the table and tapped the map. ‘The Prussians are the left-hand door and we’re the right, and when the French push in the middle, Sharpe, the two leaves will hinge apart. Is that what Bonaparte’s doing to us?’
    Sharpe stared down at the map. From the Prince’s headquarters a road ran eastwards through Nivelles to meet the Charleroi highway at an unnamed crossroads. If that crossroads was lost, then Napoleon would have successfully swung the two doors apart. The British and Dutch had been worrying about Mons, but now Sharpe took a scrap of charcoal and scrawled a thick ring round the crossroads. ‘That’s the lock on your doors, Rebecque. Who are our closest troops?’
    â€˜Saxe-Weimar’s brigade.’ Rebecque had already seen the importance of the crossroads. He strode to the door and shouted for clerks.
    â€˜I’ll go there,’ Sharpe offered.
    Rebecque nodded acceptance of the offer. ‘But for God’s sake send me prompt news, Sharpe. I don’t want to be left in the dark.’
    â€˜If the French have taken that damned crossroads, we’ll all be in the dark. Permanently. I’m borrowing one of the Prince’s horses. Mine’s blown.’
    â€˜Take two. And take Lieutenant Doggett with you. He can carry your messages.’
    â€˜Does that crossroads have a name?’ That was an important question, for any messages Sharpe sent had to be accurate.
    Rebecque searched the table to find one of the larger scale maps that the Royal Engineers had drawn and distributed to all the army headquarters. ‘It’s called Quatre Bras.’
    â€˜Four arms?’
    â€˜That’s what it says here, Quatre Bras. Four Arms. Just what you need for opening double doors, eh?’
    Sharpe did not respond to the small jest. Instead he shouted for Lieutenant Doggett, then went to the kitchen where he sat and tugged on his boots. He yelled through the open stableyard door for three horses to be saddled, two for himself and one for Lieutenant Doggett. ‘And untie my dog!’
    The orders for Prince Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, sealed with Rebecque’s copy of the Prince of Orange’s personal seal, came ten minutes later. Rebecque brought the orders himself and handed them up to Sharpe who was already mounted. ‘Remember you’re supposed to be dancing tonight,’ Rebecque smiled at Sharpe.
    Paulette had come into the stableyard and was leaning against a sun-warmed wall. She smiled at Sharpe as he twisted the