The Scarlet Thief by Paul Fraser Collard Read Free Book Online

own authority.
    The officers’ arrival was announced by the jangle of horse tackle, the damp soil deadening the sound of the horses’ hooves. To the solemn beat of the drum, the officers rode to their allotted places. If they sensed the men’s tension, there was no sign of it in their languid pace and in the easy way they sat their chargers. Barely a glance was given to the stationary ranks of redcoats.
    ‘Carry on, Sergeant Major.’ Colonel Stimpson gave the order to the regimental sergeant major in a low tone. Still, the words sent a ripple of tension through the battalion, as if the hundreds of men had drawn breath as one. Stimpson looked around him warily, suddenly becoming aware of the strange mood gripping his battalion.
    To the words of command, the prisoner detail left the guardroom and made their way on to the parade ground. Tom Black marched between the men charged with bringing him to his place of punishment, his head low, his eyes fixed on the ground, unable to look at the formed ranks of the battalion assembled to witness his shame.
    Tom marched without his musket, his scarlet coat bereft of the cross-belts, his head bare. His body shivered in the morning air, the cold and fear setting his muscles trembling, the shaking obvious to the hundreds of eyes that watched his progress. Had Tom lifted his gaze he would have seen little sympathy in the impassive faces of his fellow redcoats, their expressions betraying none of their emotions. Yet more than one soldier wondered what thoughts were going through Tom’s mind, what fear he felt, what they would feel if they ever found themselves in his place.
    Tom looked small, puny, his escort in their tall shakos seeming to tower over his slight frame. The young soldier’s face was puffy, his skin blotchy. The tracks of tears smudged his face and a thin smear of snot crusted around the meagre moustache on his upper lip. When he reached the waiting triangle, he lifted his head, a look of pleading on his face as he searched the watching ranks for some final assistance.
    With deft hands the corporal in charge of the escort stripped the young soldier to the waist, his scarlet coat and thin shirt quickly removed. Tom looked around piteously, his beseeching look ignored by the two sergeants who tied him fast to the triangle.
    Jack was transfixed. He could see every shaking rib in Tom’s thin frame. He could see the tears coursing down the young soldier’s cheeks.
    The adjutant spurred his horse forward. In a loud, braying voice, he read the charge that had been brought against the redcoat. The words passed Jack by, the adjutant’s voice droning on, the convoluted passages he read out barely making sense.
    His role completed, the adjutant pulled hard on his reins, moving away from centre stage with indecent haste. The sergeants cleared the area, leaving just the drum major and his two young drummer boys, who shuffled forward, reluctantly taking their places like actors pushed from the wings to face a difficult audience.
    ‘One.’
    The whip landed on the young soldier’s back with a wet slap. Thin trails of blood traced across Tom’s back, the first blow starting the sordid process of turning the boy’s back into minced meat.
    Jack closed his eyes.
    ‘Two. Three.’
    Jack kept his eyes closed. Like a drowning man reaching for the rope that would pull him to safety, Jack’s mind grasped for memories of better times, searching for an escape.
    ‘Come on now, boys. Lay it on properly. Four. Five.’
    The redcoats stood in silence and endured the grim spectacle. Forced to watch as a fellow soldier was scarred for life. Flogged bloody for nothing more than falling foul of his sergeant.
    ‘Fifty.’
    Jack opened his eyes. The long, slow count of the drum major had seemed to last for hours. Finally, it was over.
    The corporal of the guard moved forward, cutting down the unconscious soldier from where he hung on the triangle like a carcass of meat. His back had been reduced