Sharpe’s Prey: The Expedition to Copenhagen, 1807. Bernard Cornwell
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‘Filthy stuff!’ Standfast had poked the grimy coppers. ‘I’ll have to boil them in vinegar! What have you been doing, Lieutenant? Robbing poor boxes?’ He had exchanged the twenty-four pounds, eight shillings and fourpence halfpenny for twenty-two shining guineas that were now safely wrapped in one of Sharpe’s spare shirts.
He could have used his own money to get weapons, but he did not see why he should. Britain was sending him to Denmark and it was Britain’s enemies who threatened Lavisser, so Britain, Sharpe reckoned, should pay, and that meant taking gold from the big chest that half filled the cabin that Sharpe and Lavisser shared. Sharpe had to edge one of the hanging cot beds aside to open the chest’s lid. Inside were layers of grey canvas bags secured with wire ties that were sealed with crimped lead tags blobbed with red wax. Sharpe lifted three bags from the top layer and selected a lower bag that he slit with his knife.
Guineas. The golden horsemen of Saint George. Sharpe lifted one, looking at the image of the saint lancing the writhing dragon. Rich, thick, gold coins, and the chest had enough to suborn a kingdom, but it could spare a little for Lieutenant Sharpe and so he stole fifteen of the heavy coins that he secreted in his pockets before restoring the bags. He was just putting the last one in place when there was the thud of feet dropping down the companionway ladder immediately outside the cabin. Sharpe closed the chest lid and sat on it to hide the absence of a padlock. The cabin door opened and Barker came in with a bucket. He saw Sharpe and paused.
Sharpe pretended to be pulling on his boots. He looked up at the hulking Barker who had to stoop beneath the beams. ‘So you were a footpad, Barker?’
‘That’s what the Captain told you.’ Barker put the bucket down.
‘Where?’ Sharpe asked.
Barker hesitated, as if suspecting a trap in the question, then shrugged. ‘Bristol.’
‘Don’t know it,’ Sharpe said airily. ‘And now you’re reformed?’
‘Am I?’
‘Are you?’
Barker grimaced. ‘I’m looking for Mister Lavisser’s coat.’
Sharpe could see the padlock in a corner of the cabin and hoped Barker did not notice it. ‘So what will you do if the French interfere with us?’
Barker scowled at Sharpe. It seemed as if he had not understood the question, or else he just hated talking to Sharpe, but then he sneered. ‘How will they even know we’re there? The master speaks Danish and you and I will keep our gobs shut.’ He plucked a coat from a hook on the back of the door and left without another word.
Sharpe waited for his steps to fade, then restored the padlock to the hasp. He did not like Barker and the feeling was evidently mutual. On the face of it the man made a strange servant for Lavisser, yet Sharpe had met plenty of gentlemen who liked to mix with brutes from the gutter. Such men enjoyed listening to the stories and felt flattered by the friendships, and presumably Lavisser shared their taste. Maybe, Sharpe reflected, that explained why Lavisser was being so friendly to himself.
Next day he used two of the guineas to bribe the ship’s Master-at-Arms who made the gold vanish into a pocket with the speed of a conjurer and an hour later brought Sharpe a well-honed cutlass and two heavy sea-service pistols with a bag of cartridges. ‘I’d be obliged, sir, if Captain Samuels didn’t know about this,’ the Master-at-Arms said, ‘on account that he’s a flogger when he’s aggravated. Keep ’em hidden till you’re ashore, sir.’ Sharpe promised he would. There would be no difficulty in keeping the promise during the voyage, but he did not see how he was to carry the weapons off the ship without Captain Samuels seeing them, then thought of the chest. He asked Lavisser to put them with the gold.
Lavisser laughed when he saw the cutlass and heavy-barrelled guns. ‘You couldn’t wait till we reached Vygârd?’
‘I like to know I’m armed,’ Sharpe said.
‘Armed? You’ll look like Bluebeard if you carry that lot! But if it makes you happy, Richard, why not? Your happiness is my prime concern.’ Lavisser took the chest’s key from a waistcoat pocket and raised the lid. ‘A sight to warm your chill heart, eh?’ he said, indicating the dull grey bags. ‘A fortune in every one. I fetched it myself from the Bank of England and, Lord, what a fuss! Little men in pink coats demanding signatures, enough keys to lock up half the world, and deep suspicion. I’m sure they thought I was going to steal the gold. And why not? Why don’t you and I just divide it and retire somewhere gracious? Naples? I’ve always wanted to visit Naples where I’m told the women are heartbreakingly beautiful.’ Lavisser saw Sharpe’s expression and laughed. ‘For a man up from the ranks, Richard, you’re uncommonly easy to shock. But I confess I’m tempted. I suffer the cruel fate of being the younger son. My wretched brother will become earl and inherit the money while I am expected to fend for myself. You find that risible, yes? Where you come from everyone fends for themselves, so I shall do the same.’ He put Sharpe’s new weapons on the grey bags, then closed the chest. ‘The gold will go to Prince Frederick,’ he said, securing the padlock, ‘and there will be peace on earth and goodwill to all mankind.’
Next evening the frigate passed the northernmost tip of Jutland. The low headland was called the Skaw and it showed dull and misty in the grey twilight. A beacon burned at its tip and the light stayed in view as the Cleopatra turned south towards the Kattegat. Captain Samuels was plainly worried about that narrow stretch of water, in one place only three miles wide, which was the entrance to the Baltic and guarded on its Swedish bank by the great cannon of Helsingborg and on the Danish by the batteries of Helsingør’s Kronborg Castle. The frigate had seen few other ships between Harwich and the Skaw, merely a handful of fishing boats and a wallowing Baltic trader with her main deck heavily laden with timber, but now, sailing into the narrowing gut between Denmark and Sweden, the traffic was heavier. ‘What we don’t know’ – Captain Samuels deigned to speak to Sharpe and Lavisser on the morning after they had passed the Skaw – ‘is whether Denmark is still neutral. We can pass Helsingør by staying close to the Swedish shore, but the Danes will still see us pass and know we’re up to no good.’
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