Sergeant Havercamp cried. 'He could win the war single-handed. You ever thought of being a soldier?

Harper said nothing. His sandy hair made him look younger than his twenty-eight years. Sergeant Havercamp rubbed his hands in glee. 'How much money have you got, lad?

Harper shook his head as though too embarrassed to say anything.

'Nothing, I'll be bound! Look at me, now! Sergeant Havercamp produced two golden guineas from his pocket and dexterously rolled them between his fingers so that the gold glittered mesmerically as he skilfully wove the two coins in and out of his knuckles. 'Money! Soldier's money! You heard of the battle at Vitoria, lad? We took treasure there, we took gold, we took jewels, we took more money than you'll dream of in a lifetime of dreams!

Harper, who had fought at Vitoria, and taken a king's ransom from that battlefield, gaped convincingly.

Sergeant Havercamp juggled the two coins with one hand, tossing one up, then catching the other while the first twinkled beside his whiskers. 'Rich! That's what you can be as a soldier! Rich! Women, glory, money, and victory, lads! The two drummer boys performed another obedient drum-roll, and the young men in the crowd stared bewitched at the gold coins.

'You'll never be hungry again! You'll never be without a woman! You'll never be poor again! You can walk with your head up and never fear again, because you will be a soldier!

The drum-roll again, and still the gold coins went up and down beside Sergeant Havercamp's smiling, confiding, friendly face.

'You've heard of us, lads! You know of us! We're the South Essex. We're the lads who tweaked Bonaparte's nose! That monkey loses sleep because of us. The South Essex! We've put fear into the heart of an Emperor, and you can belong to us! Yes! We'll even pay you!

The drum-roll once more. The coins stopped in Havercamp's raised right hand. He took off his shako, revealing red hair, and, holding the inverted shako in his left hand, as the drummer boys struck one sharp blow on their skins, he tossed one of the golden guineas into the hat. A second drumbeat marked the second guinea joining the first and, still without saying a word, Sergeant Havercamp produced more guineas from his pouch and tossed them, one by one, into the shako.

'Three! A small, weasel-faced man who had wriggled his way close to Sharpe and Harper shouted, ‘Four! Five! Another man took up the count and, as the guineas mounted, the crowd called the numbers aloud to drown the thin hymn singing of the Methodists.

'Fifteen! Sixteen! Seventeen! Eighteen! Nineteen! Twenty! Twenty-one! Twenty-two!

The count stopped. Sergeant Havercamp grinned at them. He put his hand into his pouch and brought out a half-guinea, held it up to the crowd, then tossed it into the hat. The drummers beat their skins. The Sergeant followed the half-guinea with a quick shower of shillings and pence, raised the hat, then shook it to let the crowd hear the heavy sound of the money inside.

'Twenty-three pounds, seventeen shillings, and sixpence! That's what we'll pay you! Twenty-three pounds, seventeen shillings, and sixpence! Just to join the army! We'll pay you! He shook the hat again. 'Now, lads, I was young once! He held up a hand to check the good-natured jeers. 'True! Even I, Sergeant Horatio Havercamp was young once, and let me tell you something! He paused dramatically, looking from face to face in the crowd. 'I never did meet, not ever will, a pretty girl who could resist the sound of money! Now, lads! If they'll kiss you for a shilling, what will they do for a guinea, eh? He raised one finger, licked it, and laughed. 'Twenty-three pounds, seventeen shillings, and sixpence!

'I'll marry you for that! a woman called out, provoking laughter, but the young men in the crowd were remembering the golden stream of coins that added up to more than six months' wages for most of them. Six months' wages! All at once, and just for signing up!

Sergeant Havercamp shook his head sadly. 'I know what you're thinking, lads! I know! You've heard stories! You've heard the lies they put about! He shook his head again in silent sadness at the sinfulness of a world that could tell lies about the army. 'They say the army's a harsh place! They say there's disease and worse but, oh, my lads! Oh, my lads! My own mother begged me. She did! She said "Horatio! Don't you go for a soldier, don't you go!" She threatened never to talk to me again. But I did! Ah, I'll admit I was young and I was headstrong and I was too tempted by the girls and the glory and the money; and my old mother, God bless her grey hairs, she said I'd broken her heart! Broken her very heart! He let the enormity of this sink into them, then slowly smiled. 'But, my friends, my dear mother today lives in her own cottage and with every breath she takes, my friends, she blesses the name of Horatio Havercamp! And why? Why? He paused dramatically. 'Because, my friends, it was I who bought her the cottage and I who planted her wallflowers and I who have given her the rest she so richly deserves.

He smiled modestly. 'Only the other day the General passes by her garden gate. "Mother Havercamp," he said, "I sees your son Horatio has done you bravely!" "He has," she says, "and all because he went for a soldier."

Horatio Havercamp opened his pouch and tipped the money glintingly inside. He put his shako on his head, tapped it down, and drew himself up to his considerable height. 'Well, lads! The chance is yours! Money! Glory! Riches! Fame! Women! I won't be here long! There's a war that has to be fought and there are women that wait for us and if you don't come to us today then perhaps your chance will never come! You'll grow old and you'll rue the day that you let Horatio Havercamp go out of your life! Now, lads, I've spoken long enough and I've a thirst like a dry dog in a smithy, so I'm spending some of that money the army gives me on some pots of ale in the Green Man! So come and see me! No persuasion, lads, just some free froth on your lips and a wee chat!

The drummers gave a last, loud roll, and Sergeant Havercamp jumped down to the roadway.

The small, weasel-faced man who had led the chanting as the guineas were thrown, looked up at Patrick Harper. 'Are you going with him?

Sharpe guessed the man was a corporal, one of Havercamp's assistants salted into the crowd to snare the likeliest recruits. He wore a corduroy coat over a moleskin waistcoat, but his grey trousers looked suspiciously like standard issue.

Harper shrugged. 'Who wants to be a soldier?

'You're Irish? The small man said it delightedly as though, all his life, he had nurtured a love for the Irish and had never, before this moment, had a chance to display it. 'Come on! You must be thirsty!

'The ale's free?

'He said so, didn't he? Besides, what can he do to us?

Harper looked at Sharpe. 'You want to go, Dick? He blushed like an eight year old as he used Sharpe's name.

The small, sharp-featured man looked at Sharpe. The scar, and Sharpe's older face, made him pause, then he grinned. 'Three of us, eh? We can always walk away if we don't take to the fellow! You're called Dick?

Sharpe nodded. The man looked up at the huge Irishman. 'You?

'Patrick.

'I'm Terry. Come on, eh, Paddy? Dick?

Sharpe scratched the thick, stiff bristles of his unshaven chin. 'Why not? I could drink a bloody barrel.

Sharpe and Harper went to join the army.

Sergeant Horatio Havercamp had been wonderfully successful. Five lads, other than Sharpe and Harper, were in the Green Man's snug where the good Sergeant ordered quarts of ale and glasses of rum to chase the beer down. A window opened onto the street and the Sergeant sat close by it so he could shout pleasantries to any likely looking young man who wandered towards the fair's attractions. He had also, Sharpe noted, positioned himself close enough to the door so that he could cut off the retreat of any of his prospective recruits.