Cornwell, Bernard 03 Sharpe’s Fortress-Nov-Dec 1803. txt
CHAPTER 1
Richard Sharpe wanted to be a good officer. He truly did. He wantedit above all other things, but somehow it was just too difficult, liketrying to light a tinderbox in a rain-filled wind. Either the mendisliked him, or they ignored him, or they were over-familiar and hewas unsure how to cope with any of the three attitudes, while thebattalion’s other officers plain disapproved of him. You can put aracing saddle on a cart horse Captain Urquhart had said one night inthe ragged tent which passed for the officers’ mess, but that don’tmake the beast quick. He had not been talking about Sharpe, notdirectly, but all the other officers glanced at him.The battalion had stopped in the middle of nowhere. It was hot as helland no wind alleviated the sodden heat. They were surrounded by tallcrops that hid everything except the sky.
A cannon fired somewhere tothe north, but Sharpe had no way of knowing whether it was a Britishgun or an enemy cannon.A dry ditch ran through the tall crops and the men of the company saton the ditch lip as they waited for orders. One or two lay back andslept with their mouths wide open while Sergeant Colquhoun leafedthough his tattered Bible. The Sergeant was short-sighted, so had tohold the book very close to his nose from which drops of sweat fellonto the pages. Usually the Sergeant read quietly, mouthing the wordsand sometimes frowning when he came across a difficult name, but todayhe was just slowly turning the pages with a wetted finger.“Looking for inspiration, Sergeant?” Sharpe asked.“I am not, sir,” Colquhoun answered respectfully, but somehow managedto convey that the question was still impertinent. He dabbed a fingeron his tongue and carefully turned another page.So much for that bloody conversation, Sharpe thought. Somewhere ahead,beyond the tall plants that grew higher than a man, another cannonfired.
The discharge was muffled by the thick stems. A horse neighed,but Sharpe could not see the beast. He could see nothing through thehigh crops.“Are you going to read us a story, Sergeant?” Corporal McCallum asked.He spoke in English instead of Gaelic, which meant that he wantedSharpe to hear.“I am not, John. I am not.“Go on, Sergeant,” McCallum said.“Read us one of those dirty tales about tits.“The men laughed, glancing at Sharpe to see if he was offended.
One of the sleeping men jerked awake and looked about him, startled,then muttered a curse, slapped at a fly and lay back. The othersoldiers of the company dangled their boots towards the ditch’s crazedmud bed that was decorated with a filigree of dried green scum. A deadlizard lay in one of the dry fissures. Sharpe wondered how the carrionbirds had missed it.“The laughter of fools, John McCallum,” Sergeant Colquhoun said, ‘islike the crackling of thorns under the pot.“Away with you, Sergeant!” McCallum said.“I heard it in the kirk once, when I was a wee kid, all about a womanwhose tits were like bunches of grapes.” McCallum twisted to look atSharpe.“Have you ever seen tits like grapes, Mister Sharpe?“I never met your mother, Corporal,” Sharpe said.The men laughed again.
McCallum scowled. Sergeant Colquhoun loweredhis Bible and peered at the Corporal.“The Song of Solomon, John McCallum,” Colquhoun said, ‘likens a woman’sbosom to clusters of grapes, and I have no doubt it refers to thegarments that modest women wore in the Holy Land. Perhaps theirbodices possessed balls of knotted wool as decoration? I cannot see itis a matter for your merriment.” Another cannon fired, and this time around shot whipped through the tall plants close to the ditch. Thestems twitched violently, discharging a cloud of dust and small birdsinto the cloudless sky. The birds flew about in panic for a fewseconds, then returned to the swaying seed heads”I knew a woman who had lumpy tits,” Private Hollister said. He was adark-jawed, violent man who spoke rarely.“Lumpy like a coal sack, they were.” He frowned at the memory, thenshook his head.
“She died.“This conversation is not seemly,” Colquhoun said quietly, and the menshrugged and fell silent.Sharpe wanted to ask the Sergeant about the clusters of grapes, but heknew such an enquiry would only cause ribaldry among the men and, as anofficer, Sharpe could not risk being made to look a fool. All thesame, it sounded odd to him. Why would anyone say a woman had titslike a bunch of grapes? Grapes made him think of grapeshot and hewondered if the bastards up ahead were equipped with canister. Well,of course they were, but there was no point in wasting canister on afield of bulrushes. Were they bulrushes? It seemed a strange thingfor a farmer to grow, but India was full of oddities. There were nakedsods who claimed to be holy men, snake-charmers who whistled up hoodedhorrors, dancing bears draped in tinkling bells, and contortionistsdraped in bugger all, a right bloody circus. And the clowns aheadwould have canister. They would wait till they saw the redcoats, thenload up the tin cans that burst like duck shot from the gun barrels.
For what we are about to receive among the bulrushes, Sharpe thought,may the Lord make us truly thankful.“I’ve found it,” Colquhoun said gravely.“Found what?” Sharpe asked.“I was fairly sure in my mind, sir, that the good book mentionedmillet. And so it does. Ezekiel, the fourth chapter and the ninthverse.“The Sergeant held the book close to his eyes, squinting at the text. Hehad a round face, afflicted with wens, like a suet pudding studded withcurrants. ‘“Take thou also unto thee wheat, and barley,” he readlaboriously, ‘“and beans, and lentils, and millet, and fitches, and putthem in one vessel, and make thee bread thereof” Colquhoun carefullyclosed his Bible, wrapped it in a scrap of tarred canvas and stowed itin his pouch.“It pleases me, sir,” he explained, ‘if I can find everyday things inthe scriptures.
I like to see things, sir, and imagine my Lord andSaviour seeing the selfsame things.“But why millet?” Sharpe asked.“These crops, sir,” Colquhoun said, pointing to the tall stems thatsurrounded them, ‘are millet. The natives call itjowari, but our nameis millet.” He cuffed the sweat from his face with his sleeve. Thered dye of his coat had faded to a dull purple.“This, of course,” he went on, ‘is pearl millet, but I doubt thescriptures mention pearl millet. Not specifically.“Millet, eh?” Sharpe said. So the tall plants were not bulrushes,after all.
They looked like bulrushes, except they were taller. Nineor ten feet high.“Must be a bastard to harvest,” he said, but got no response.Sergeant Colquhoun always tried to ignore swear words.“What are fitches?” McCallum asked.“A crop grown in the Holy Land,” Colquhoun answered. He plainly didnot know.“Sounds like a disease, Sergeant,” McCallum said.“A bad dose of the fitches. Leads to a course of mercury.
” One or twomen sniggered at the reference to syphilis, but Colquhoun ignored thelevity.“Do you grow millet in Scotland?” Sharpe asked the Sergeant.“Not that I am aware of, sir,” Colquhoun said ponderously, afterreflecting on the question for a few seconds, ‘though I daresay itmight be found in the Lowlands. They grow strange things there.English things.“He turned pointedly away.And sod you too, Sharpe thought. And where the hell was CaptainUrquhart? Where the hell was anybody for that matter? The battalionhad marched long before dawn, and at midday they had expected to makecamp, but then came a rumour that the enemy was waiting ahead and soGeneral Sir Arthur Wellesley had ordered the baggage to be piled andthe advance to continue. The King’s 74th had plunged into the millet,then ten minutes later the battalion was ordered to halt beside the dryditch while Captain Urquhart rode ahead to speak with the battalioncommander, and Sharpe had been left to sweat and wait with thecompany.Where he had damn all to do except sweat.
Damn all. It was a goodcompany, and it did not need Sharpe. Urquhart ran it well, Colquhounwas a magnificent sergeant, the men were as content as soldiers everwere, and the last thing the company needed was a brand new officer, anEnglishman at that, who, just two months before, had been a sergeant.The men were talking in Gaelic and Sharpe, as ever, wondered if theywere discussing him. Probably not. Most likely they were talkingabout the dancing girls in Ferdapoor, where there had been no mereclusters of grapes, but bloody great naked melons. It had been somesort of festival and the battalion had marched one way and thehalf-naked girls had writhed in the opposite direction and SergeantColquhoun had blushed as scarlet as an unfaded coat and shouted at themen to keep their eyes front. Which had been a pointless order, when ascore of undressed bibb is were hobbling down the highway with silverbells tied to their wrists and even the officers were staring at themlike starving men seeing a plate of roast beef. And if the men werenot discussing women, they were probably grumbling about all themarching they had done in the last weeks, crisscrossing the Mahrattacountryside under a blazing sun without a sight or smell of the enemy.But whatever they were talking about they were making damn sure thatEnsign Richard Sharpe was left out.
Which was fair enough, Sharpe reckoned. He had marched in the rankslong enough to know that you did not talk to officers, not unless youwere spoken to or unless you were a slick-bellied crawling bastardlooking for favours. Officers were different, except Sharpe did notfeel different. He just felt excluded. I should have stayed asergeant, he thought. He had increasingly thought that in the last fewweeks, wishing he was back in the Seringapatam armoury with MajorStokes. That had been the life! And Simone Joubert, the Frenchwomanwho had clung to Sharpe after the battle at Assaye, had gone back toSeringapatam to wait for him. Better to be there as a sergeant, hereckoned, than here as an unwanted officer.No guns had fired for a while. Perhaps the enemy had packed up andgone? Perhaps they had hitched their painted cannon to their ox teams,stowed the canister in its limbers and buggered off northwards? Inwhich case it would be a quick about-turn, back to the village wherethe baggage was stored, then another awkward evening in the officers’mess.
Lieutenant Cahill would watch Sharpe like a hawk, adding tuppence toSharpe’s mess bill for every glass of wine, and Sharpe, as the juniorofficer, would have to propose the loyal toast and pretend not to seewhen half the bastards wafted their mugs over their canteens. Kingover the water. Toasting a dead Stuart pretender to the throne who haddied in Roman exile. Jacobites who pretended George III was not theproper King. Not that any of them were truly disloyal, and the secretgesture of passing the wine over the water was not even a real secret,but rather was intended to goad Sharpe into English indignation. ExceptSharpe did not give a fig. Old King Cole could have been King ofBritain for all Sharpe cared.Colquhoun suddenly barked orders in Gaelic and the men picked up theirmuskets, jumped into the irrigation ditch where they formed ‘3into four ranks and began trudging northwards. Sharpe, taken bysurprise, meekly followed. He supposed he should have asked Colquhounwhat was happening, but he did not like to display ignorance, and thenhe saw that the rest of the battalion was also marching, so plainlyColquhoun had decided number six company should advance as well.
The Sergeant had made no pretence of asking Sharpe for permission tomove. Why should he? Even if Sharpe did give an order the menautomatically looked for Colquhoun’s nod before they obeyed. That washow the company worked; Urquhart commanded, Colquhoun came next, andEnsign Sharpe tagged along like one of the scruffy dogs adopted by themen.Captain Urquhart spurred his horse back down the ditch.“Well done, Sergeant,” he told Colquhoun, who ignored the praise. TheCaptain turned the horse, its hooves breaking through the ditch’s crustto churn up clots of dried mud.“The rascals are waiting ahead,” Urquhart told Sharpe.“I thought they might have gone,” Sharpe said.“They’re formed and ready,” Urquhart said, ‘formed and ready.” ‘, TheCaptain was a fine-looking man with a stern face, straight back | andsteady nerve.
The men trusted him. In other days Sharpe would havebeen proud to serve a man like Urquhart, but the Captain seemedirritated by Sharpe’s presence.“We’ll be wheeling to the right soon,” Urquhart called to Colquhoun,‘forming line on the right in two ranks.“Aye, sir.“Urquhart glanced up at the sky.“Three hours of daylight left?” he guessed.“Enough to do the job. You’ll take the left files, Ensign.”’ “Yes, sir,” Sharpe said, and knew that he would have nothing to dothere. The men understood their duty, the corporals would close thefiles and Sharpe would simply walk behind them like a dog tied to acart.
” There was a sudden crash of guns as a whole battery of enemy cannonopened fire. Sharpe heard the round shots whipping through the millet,but none of the missiles came near the 74th. The battalion’s pipershad started playing and the men picked up their feet and hefted theirmuskets in preparation for the grim work ahead. Two more guns fired,and this time Sharpe saw a wisp of smoke above the seed heads and heknew that a shell had gone overhead. The smoke trail from the burningfuse wavered in the windless heat as Sharpe waited for the explosion,but none sounded.“Cut his fuse too long,” Urquhart said. His horse was nervous, orperhaps it disliked the treacherous footing in the bottom of theditch.Urquhart spurred the horse up the bank where it trampled the millet.“What is this stuff?” he asked Sharpe.“Maize?“Colquhoun says it’s millet,” Sharpe said, ‘pearl millet.
“Urquhart grunted, then kicked his horse on towards the front of thecompany. Sharpe cuffed sweat from his eyes. He wore an officer’s redtail coat with the white facings of the 74th. The coat had belonged toa Lieutenant Blaine who had died at Assaye and Sharpe had purchased thecoat for a shilling in the auction of dead officers’ effects, then hehad clumsily sewn up the bullet hole in the left breast, but no amountof scrubbing had rid the coat of Blaine’s blood which stained the fadedred weave black. He wore his old trousers, the ones issued to him whenhe was a sergeant, red leather riding boots that he had taken from anArab corpse in Ahmednuggur, and a tasselled red officer’s sash that hehad pulled off a corpse at Assaye. For a sword he wore a light cavalrysabre, the same weapon he had used to save Wellesley’s life at thebattle of Assaye. He did not like the sabre much. It was clumsy, andthe curved blade was never where you thought it was. You struck withthe sword, and just when you thought it would bite home, you found thatthe blade still had six inches to travel. The other officers carriedclaymores, big, straight-bladed, heavy and lethal, and Sharpe shouldhave equipped himself with one, but he had baulked at the auctionprices.
He could have bought every claymore in the auction if he had wished,but he had not wanted to give the impression of being wealthy. Whichhe was. But a man like Sharpe was not supposed to have money. He wasup from the ranks, a common soldier, gutter-born and gutter-bred, buthe had hacked down a half-dozen men to save Wellesley’s life and theGeneral had rewarded Sergeant Sharpe by making him into an officer, andEnsign Sharpe was too canny to let his new battalion know that hepossessed a king’s fortune. A dead king’s fortune: the jewels he hadtaken from the Tippoo Sultan in the blood and smoke-stinking Water Gateat Seringapatam.Would he be more popular if it was known he was rich? He doubted it.Wealth did not give respectability, not unless it was inherited.Besides, it was not poverty that excluded Sharpe from both theofficers’ mess and the ranks alike, but rather that he was a stranger.The 74th had taken a beating at Assaye. Not an officer had been leftunwounded, and companies that had paraded seventy or eighty strongbefore the battle now had only forty to fifty men.
The battalion hadbeen ripped through hell and back, and its survivors now clung to eachother. Sharpe might have been at Assaye, he might even havedistinguished himself on the battlefield, but he had not been throughthe murderous ordeal of the 74th and so he was an outsider.“Line to the right!” Sergeant Colquhoun shouted, and the companywheeled right and shook itself into a line of two ranks. The ditch hademerged from the millet to join a wide, dry riverbed, and Sharpe lookednorthwards to see a rill of dirty white gunsmoke on the horizon.Mahratta guns. But a long way away. Now that the battalion was freeof the tall crops Sharpe could just detect a small wind. It was notstrong enough to cool the heat, but it would waft the gunsmoke slowlyaway.“Halt!” Urquhart called.“Face front!“The enemy cannon might be far off, but it seemed that the battalionwould march straight up the riverbed into the mouths of those guns.
But at least the 74th was not alone. The 78th, another Highland battalion,was on their right, and on either side of those two Scottish battalionswere long lines of Madrassi sepoys.Urquhart rode back to Sharpe.“Stevenson’s joined.” The Captain spoke loud enough for the rest ofthe company to hear. Urquhart was encouraging them by letting themknow that the two small British armies had combined. General Wellesleycommanded both, but for most of the time he split his forces into twoparts, the smaller under Colonel Stevenson, but today the two smallparts had combined so that twelve thousand infantry could attacktogether. But against how many?Sharpe could not see the Mahratta army beyond their guns, but doubtlessthe bastards were there in force.“Which means the 94th’s off to our left somewhere,” Urquhart addedloudly, and some of the men muttered their approval of the news. The94th was another Scottish regiment, so today there were three Scottishbattalions attacking the Mahrattas.
Three Scottish and ten sepoybattalions, and most of the Scots reckoned that they could have donethe job by themselves. Sharpe reckoned they could too. They may nothave liked him much, but he knew they were good soldiers. Toughbastards. He sometimes tried to imagine what it must be like for theMahrattas to fight against the Scots. Hell, he guessed. Absolutehell.“The thing is,” Colonel McCandless had once told Sharpe, ‘it takestwice as much to kill a Scot as it does to finish off an Englishman.“Poor McCandless. He had been finished off, shot in the dying momentsof Assaye.
Any of the enemy might have killed the Colonel, but Sharpehad convinced himself that the traitorous Englishman, William Dodd, hadfired the fatal shot. And Dodd was still free, still fighting for theMahrattas, and Sharpe had sworn over McCandless’s grave that he wouldtake vengeance on the Scotsman’s behalf. He had made the oath as hehad dug the Colonel’s grave, getting blisters as he had hacked into thedry soil. McCandless had been a good friend to Sharpe and now, withthe Colonel deep buried so that no bird or beast could feast on hiscorpse, Sharpe felt friendless in this army.“Guns!” A shout sounded behind the 74th.“Make way!“Two batteries of six-pounder galloper guns were being hauled up the dryriverbed to form an artillery line ahead of the infantry. The gunswere called gallopers because they were light and were usually hauledby horses, but now they were all harnessed to teams of ten oxen so theyplodded rather than galloped. The oxen had painted horns and some hadbells about their necks. The heavy guns were all back on the roadsomewhere, so far back that they would probably be too late to jointhis day’s party.The land was more open now.
There were a few patches of tall milletahead, but off to the east there were arable fields and Sharpe watchedas the guns headed for that dry grassland. The enemy was watching too,and the first round shots bounced on the grass and ricocheted over theBritish guns.“A few minutes before the gunners bother themselves with us, I fancy,“Urquhart said, then kicked his right foot out of its stirrup and sliddown beside Sharpe.“Jock!” He called a soldier.“Hold onto my horse, will you?” The soldier led the horse off to apatch of grass, and Urquhart jerked his head, inviting Sharpe to followhim out of the company’s earshot. The Captain seemed embarrassed, aswas Sharpe, who was not accustomed to such intimacy with Urquhart.“D’you use a cigar, Sharpe?“the Captain asked.“Sometimes, sir.“Here.” Urquhart offered Sharpe a roughly rolled cigar, then struck alight in his tinderbox.
He lit his own cigar first, then held the boxwith its flickering flame to Sharpe.“The Major tells me a new draft has arrived in Madras.“That’s good, sir.“It won’t restore our strength, of course, but it’ll help,” Urquhartsaid.He was not looking at Sharpe, but staring at the British guns thatsteadily advanced across the grassland. There were only a dozen of thecannon, far fewer than the Mahratta guns. A shell exploded by one ofthe ox teams, blasting the beasts with smoke and scraps of turf, andSharpe expected to see the gun stop as the dying beasts tangled thetraces, but the oxen trudged on, miraculously unhurt by the shell’sviolence.“If they advance too far,” Urquhart murmured, ‘they’ll become so muchscrap metal. Are you happy here, Sharpe?“Happy, sir?” Sharpe was taken aback by the sudden question.Urquhart frowned as if he found Sharpe’s response unhelpful.
“Happy,” he said again, ‘content?“Not sure a soldier’s meant to be happy, sir.“Not true, not true,” Urquhart said disapprovingly. He was as tall asSharpe. Rumour said that Urquhart was a very rich man, but the onlysign of it was his uniform which was cut very elegantly in contrast toSharpe’s shabby coat. Urquhart rarely smiled, which made it difficultto be easy in his company. Sharpe wondered why the Captain had soughtthis conversation, which seemed untypical of the unbending Urquhart.Perhaps he was nervous about the imminent battle? It seemed unlikelyto Sharpe after Urquhart had endured the cauldron of fire at Assaye,but he could think of no other explanation.“A fellow should be content in his work,” Urquhart said with a flourishof his cigar, ‘and if he ain’t, it’s probably a sign that he’s in thewrong line of business.“Don’t have much work to do, sir,” Sharpe said, wishing he did notsound so surly.“Don’t suppose you do,” Urquhart said slowly.
“I do see your meaning.Indeed I do.” He shuffled his feet in the dust.“Company runs itself, I suppose. Colquhoun’s a good fellow, andSergeant Craig’s showing well, don’t you think?“Yes, sir.” Sharpe knew he did not need to call Urquhart ‘sir’ all thetime, but old habits died hard.“They’re both good Calvinists, you see,” Urquhart said.“Makes ‘em trustworthy.“Yes, sir,” Sharpe said. He was not exactly sure what a Calvinist was,and he was not going to ask.
Maybe it was the same as a freemason, and there were plenty of those in the 74th’s mess, though Sharpe again didnot really know what they were. He just knew he was not one of them.“Thing is, Sharpe,” Urquhart went on, though he did not look at Sharpeas he spoke, ‘you’re sitting on a fortune, if you follow me.“A fortune, sir?” Sharpe asked with some alarm. Had Urquhart somehowsmelt out Sharpe’s hoard of emeralds, rubies, diamonds and sapphires?“You’re an ensign,” Urquhart explained, ‘and if you ain’t happy you canalways sell your commission. Plenty of fine fellows in Scotland who’llpay you forA the rank. Even some fellows here. I gather the ScotchBrigade has some gentlemen rankers.“So Urquhart was not nervous about the coming fight, but rather aboutSharpe’s reaction to this conversation. The Captain wanted to be ridof Sharpe, and the realization made Sharpe even more awkward.
He hadwanted to be made an officer so badly, and already he wished he had never dreamed of the promotion. What had he expected? To be slappedon the back and welcomed like a long-lost brother? To be given acompany of troops? Urquhart was watching him expectantly, waiting fora response, but Sharpe said nothing.“Four hundred pounds, Sharpe,” Urquhart said.“That’s the official rate for an ensign’s commission, but between youand me you can squeeze at least another fifty. Maybe even a hundred!And in guineas.But if you do sell to a ranker here, then make damn sure his note isgood.“Sharpe said nothing. Were there really gentlemen rankers in the 94th?Such men could afford to be officers, and had an officer’s breeding,but until a commission was vacant they served in the ranks, yet ate inthe mess. They were neither fish nor fowl. Like Sharpe himself.
And any one of them would snap at the chance to buy a commission in the74th. But Sharpe hardly needed the money. He possessed a fortunealready, and if he wanted to leave the army then all he needed to dowas resign his commission and walk away. Walk away a rich man.“Of course,” Urquhart went on, oblivious of Sharpe’s thoughts, ‘if thenote’s written on a decent army agent then you won’t have anyworries.Most of our fellows use John Borrey in Edinburgh, so if you see one ofhis notes then you can place full trust in it. Borrey’s an honestfellow.Another Calvinist, you see.“And a freemason, sir?” Sharpe asked. He was not really sure why heasked, but the question just got blurted out.
He supposed he wanted toknow if it was the same thing as a Calvinist.“I really couldn’t say.” Urquhart frowned at Sharpe and his voicebecame colder.“The point is, Sharpe, he’s trustworthy.“Four hundred and fifty guineas, Sharpe thought. It was not to be spaton. It was another small fortune to add to his jewels, and he felt thetemptation to accept Urquhart’s advice. He was never going to bewelome in the 74th, and with his plunder he could set himself up inEngland.“Coins on the barrel-head,” Urquhart said.“Think on it, Sharpe, think on it.
Jock, my horse!” Sharpe threw away the cigar. His mouth was dry with dust and the smokewas harsh, but as Urquhart mounted his horse he saw the scarcely smokedcigar lying on the ground and gave Sharpe an unfriendly look. For asecond it seemed as if the Captain might say something, then he pulledon the reins and spurred away. Bugger it, Sharpe thought. Can’t do athing right these days.The Mahratta cannon had got the range of the British galloper guns nowand one of their round shot landed plumb on a carriage. One wheelsplintered, tipping the six-pounder gun onto its side. The gunnersleaped off the limber, but before they could detach the spare wheel,the ox team bolted. They dragged the broken gun back towards thesepoys, leaving a vast plume of dust where the axle boss draggedthrough the dry soil. The gunners ran to head the oxen off, but then asecond team panicked.
The beasts had their painted horns down and weregalloping away from the bombardment. The Mahratta guns were firingfast now.A round shot slashed into another gun team, spurting ox blood brightinto the sky. The enemy guns were big brutes, and with a much longerrange than the small British six-pounders. A pair of shells explodedbehind the panicked oxen, driving them even faster towards the sepoybattalions on the right of Wellesley’s line. The limbers were bouncingfrantically on the uneven ground and every lurch sent shot tumbling orpowder spilling. Sharpe saw General Wellesley turn his horse towardsthe sepoys. He was doubtless shouting at them to open ranks and soallow the bolting oxen to pass through the line, but instead, quitesuddenly, the men themselves turned and ran.“Jesus!” Sharpe said aloud, earning himself a reproving look fromSergeant Colquhoun.Two battalions of the sepoys were fleeing.
Sharpe saw the Generalriding among the fugitives, and he imagined Wellesley shouting at thefrightened men to stop and re-form, but instead they kept runningtowards the millet. They had been panicked by the oxen and by theweight of enemy shot that beat the dry grassland with dust and smoke.The men vanished in the high stalks, leaving nothing behind but ascatter of embarrassed officers and, astonishingly, the two panickedgun teams which had inexplicably stopped short of the millet and nowwaited patiently for the gunners to catch them.“Sit yourselves down!” Urquhart called to his men, and the companysquatted in the dry riverbed. One man took a stump of clay pipe fromhis pouch and lit it with a tinderbox. The tobacco smoke driftedslowly in the small wind. A few men drank from their canteens, butmost were hoarding their water against the dryness that would come whenthey bit into their cartridges. Sharpe glanced behind, hoping to seethe pucka lees who brought the battalion water, but there was no signof them. When he turned back to the north he saw that some enemycavalry had appeared on the crest, their tall lances making a spikythicket against the sky. Doubtless the enemy horsemen were tempted toattack the broken British line and so stampede more of the nervoussepoys, but a squadron of British cavalry emerged from a wood withtheir sabres drawn to threaten the flank of the enemy horsemen.
Neither side charged, but instead they just watched each other. The74th’s pipers had ceased their playing. The remaining British galloperguns were deploying now, facing up the long gentle slope to where theenemy cannon lined the horizon.“Are all the muskets loaded?” Urquhart asked Colquhoun.“They’d better be, sir, or I’ll want to know why.“Urquhart dismounted. He had a dozen full canteens of water tied to hissaddle and he unstrung six of them and gave them to the company.“Share it out,” he ordered, and Sharpe wished he had thought to bringsome extra water himself. One man cupped some water in his hands andlet his dog lap it up. The dog then sat and scratched its fleas whileits master lay back and tipped his shako over his eyes.
What the enemy should do, Sharpe thought, is throw their infantryforward. All of it. Send a massive attack across the skyline and downtowards the millet. Flood the riverbed with a horde of screamingwarriors who could add to the panic and so snatch victory.But the skyline stayed empty except for the guns and the stalled enemylancers.And so the redcoats waited.Colonel William Dodd, commanding officer of Dodd’s Cobras, spurred hishorse to the skyline from where he stared down the slope to see theBritish force in disarray. It looked to him as though two or morebattalions had fled in panic, leaving a gaping hole on the right of theredcoat line. He turned his horse and kicked it to where the Mahrattawarlord waited under his banners. Dodd forced his horse through theaides until he reached Prince Manu Bappoo.
“Throw everything forward, sahib,” he advised Bappoo, ‘now!“Manu Bappoo showed no sign of having heard Dodd. The Mahrattacommander was a tall and lean man with a long, scarred face and a shortblack beard. He wore yellow robes, had a silver helmet with a longhorse-tail plume, and carried a drawn sword that he claimed to havetaken in single combat from a British cavalry officer. Dodd doubtedthe claim, for the sword was of no pattern that he recognized, but hewas not willing to challenge Bappoo directly on the matter.Bappoo was not like most of the Mahratta leaders that Dodd knew.Bappoo might be a prince and the younger brother of the cowardly Rajahof Berar, but he was also a fighter.“Attack now!” Dodd insisted. Much earlier in the day he had advisedagainst fighting the British at all, but now it seemed that his advicehad been wrong, for the British assault had dissolved in panic longbefore it reached musket range.“Attack with everything we’ve got, sahib,” Dodd urged Bappoo.“If I throw everything forward, Colonel Dodd,” Bappoo said in his oddlysibilant voice, ‘then my guns will have to cease fire.
Let the;British walk into the cannon fire, then we shall release the infantry.“i Bappoo had lost his front teeth to a lance thrust, and hissed hiswords so that, to Dodd, he sounded like a snake. He even lookedreptilian.Maybe it was his hooded eyes, or perhaps it was just his air of silentmenace. But at least he could fight. Bappoo’s brother, the Rajah ofBerar, had fled before the battle at Assaye, but Bappoo, who had notbeen present at Assaye, was no coward. Indeed, he could bite like aserpent.“The British walked into the cannon fire at Assaye,” Dodd growled, ‘andthere were fewer of them and we had more guns, but still they won.“Bappoo patted his horse which had shied away from the sound of a nearbycannon. It was a big, black Arab stallion, and its saddle wasencrusted with silver.
Both horse and saddle had been gifts from anArabian sheik whose tribesmen sailed to India to serve in Bappoo’s ownregiment. They were mercenaries from the pitiless desert who calledthemselves the Lions of Allah and they were reckoned to be the mostsavage regiment in all India. The Lions of Allah were arrayed behindBappoo: a phalanx of dark-faced, white-robed warriors armed withmuskets and long, curved scimitars.“You truly think we should fight them in front of our guns?” Bappooasked Dodd.“Muskets will kill more of them than cannon will,” Dodd said. One ofthe things he liked about Bappoo was that the man was willing to listento advice.“Meet them halfway, sahib, thin the bastards out with musket fire, thenpull back to let the guns finish them with canister.Better still, sahib, put the guns on the flank to rake them.“Too late to do that,” Bappoo said.“Aye, well.
Mebbe.” Dodd sniffed. Why the Indians stubbornlyinsisted on putting guns in front of infantry, he did not know. Daftidea, it was, but they would do it. He kept telling them to put theircannon between the regiments, so that the gunners could slant theirfire across the face of the infantry, but Indian commanders reckonedthat the sight of guns directly in front heartened their men.“But put some infantry out front, sahib,” he urged.Bappoo thought about Dodd’s proposal. He did not much like theEnglishman who was a tall, ungainly and sullen man with long yellowteeth and a sarcastic manner, but Bappoo suspected his advice was good.The Prince had never fought the British before, but he was aware thatthey were somehow different from the other enemies he had slaughteredon a score of battlefields across western India. There was, heunderstood, a stolid indifference to death in those red ranks that letthem march calmly into the fiercest cannonade.
He had not seen ithappen, but he had heard about it from enough men to credit thereports. Even so he found it hard to abandon the tried and testedmethods of battle. It would seem unnatural to advance his infantry infront of the guns, and so render the artillery useless. He hadthirty-eight cannon, all of them heavier than anything the British hadyet deployed, and his gunners were as well trained as any in the world.Thirty-eight heavy cannon could make a fine slaughter of advancinginfantry, yet if what Dodd said was true, then the red-coated rankswould stoically endure the punishment and keep coming. Except some hadalready run, which suggested they were nervous, so perhaps this was theday when the gods would finally turn against the British.“I saw two eagles this morning,” Bappoo told Dodd, ‘outlined againstthe sun.“So bloody what? Dodd thought. The Indians were great ones forauguries, forever staring into pots of oil or consulting holy men orworrying about the errant fall of a trembling leaf, but there was nobetter augury for victory than the sight of an enemy running awaybefore they even reached the fight.“I assume the eagles mean victory?” Dodd asked politely.
“They do,” Bappoo agreed. And the augury suggested the victory wouldbe his whatever tactics he used, which inclined him against tryinganything new. Besides, though Prince Manu Bappoo had never fought theBritish, nor had the British ever faced the Lions of Allah in battle.And the numbers were in Bappoo’s favour. He was barring the Britishadvance with forty thousand men, while the redcoats were not even athird of that number.“We shall wait,” Bappoo decided, ‘and let the enemy get closer.” Hewould crush them with cannon fire first, then with musketry.“Perhaps I shall release the Lions of Allah when the British arecloser, Colonel,” he said to pacify Dodd.“One regiment won’t do it,” Dodd said, ‘not even your Arabs, sahib.Throw every man forward.
The whole line.“Maybe,” Bappoo said vaguely, though he had no intention of advancingall his infantry in front of the precious guns. He had no need to. Thevision of eagles had persuaded him that he would see victory, and hebelieved the gunners would make that victory. He imagined deadred-coated bodies among the crops. He would avenge Assaye and provethat redcoats could die like any other enemy.“To your men, Colonel Dodd,” he said sternly.Dodd wheeled his horse and spurred towards the right of the line wherehis Cobras waited in four ranks. It was a fine regiment, splendidlytrained, which Dodd had extricated from the siege of Ahmednuggur andthen from the panicked chaos of the defeat at Assaye. Two disasters,yet Dodd’s men had never flinched.
The regiment had been a part ofScindia’s army, but after Assaye the Cobras had retreated with theRajah of Berar’s infantry, and Prince Manu Bappoo, summoned from thenorth country to take command of Berar’s shattered forces, hadpersuaded Dodd to change his allegiance from Scindia to the Rajah ofBerar. Dodd would have changed allegiance anyway, for the dispiritedScindia was seeking to make peace with the British, but Bappoo hadadded the inducement of gold, silver and a promotion to colonel. Dodd’smen, mercenaries all, did not care which master they served so long ashis purse was deep.Gopal, Dodd’s second-in-command, greeted the Colonel’s return with arueful look.“He won’t advance?“He wants the guns to do the work.“Gopal heard the doubt in Dodd’s voice.“And they won’t?“They didn’t at Assaye,” Dodd said sourly.“Damn it! We shouldn’t be fighting them here at all! Never giveredcoats open ground. We should be making the bastards climb walls orcross rivers.” Dodd was nervous of defeat, and he had cause to be forthe British had put a price on his head.
That price was now sevenhundred guineas, nearly six thousand rupees, and all of it promised ingold to whoever delivered William Dodd’s body, dead or alive, to theEast India Company. Dodd had been a lieutenant in the Company’s army,but he had encouraged his men to murder a goldsmith and, faced withprosecution, Dodd had deserted and taken over a hundred sepoys withhim. That had been enough to put a price on his head, but the pricerose after Dodd and his treacherous sepoys murdered the Company’sgarrison at Chasal-gaon. Now Dodd’s body was worth a fortune andWilliam Dodd understood greed well enough to be fearful. If Bappoo’sarmy collapsed today as the Mahratta army had disintegrated at Assaye,then Dodd would be a fugitive on an open plain dominated by enemycavalry.“We should fight them in the hills,” he said grimly.“Then we should fight them at Gawilghur,” Gopal said.“Gawilghur?” Dodd asked.“It is the greatest of all the Mahratta fortresses, sahib. Not all thearmies of Europe could take Gawilghur.
” Gopal saw that Dodd wassceptical of the claim.“Not all the armies of the world could take it, sahib,” he addedearnestly.“It stands on cliffs that touch the sky, and from its walls men arereduced to the size of lice.“There’s a way in, though,” Dodd said, ‘there’s always a way in.“There is, sahib, but the way into Gawilghur is across a neck of highrock that leads only to an outer fortress. A man might fight his waythrough those outer walls, but then he will come to a deep ravine andfind the real stronghold lies on the ravine’s far side. There are morewalls, more guns, a narrow path, and vast gates barring the way!” Gopalsighed.“I saw it once, years ago, and prayed I would never have to fight anenemy who had taken refuge there.“Dodd said nothing. He was staring down the gentle slope to where thered-coated infantry waited.
Every few seconds a puff of dust showedwhere a round shot struck the ground.“If things go badly today,” Gopal said quietly, ‘then we shall go toGawilghur and there we shall be safe. The British can follow us, butthey cannot reach us. They will break themselves on Gawilghur’s rockswhile we take our rest at the edge of the fortress’s lakes. We shallbe in the sky, and they will die beneath us like dogs.“If Gopal was right then not all the king’s horses nor all the king’smen could touch William Dodd at Gawilghur. But first he had to reachthe fortress, and maybe it would not even be necessary, for Prince ManuBappoo might yet beat the redcoats here. Bappoo believed there was noinfantry in India that could stand against his Arab mercenaries.Away on the plain Dodd could see that the two battalions that had fledinto the tall crops were now being brought back into the line. In amoment, he knew, that line would start forward again.
“Tell our guns to hold their fire,” he ordered Gopal. Dodd’s Cobraspossessed five small cannon of their own, designed to give the regimentclose support. Dodd’s guns were not in front of his white-coated men,but away on the right flank from where they could lash a murderousslanting fire across the face of the advancing enemy.“Load with canister,” he ordered, ‘and wait till they’re close.” Theimportant thing was to win, but if fate decreed otherwise, then Doddmust live to fight again at a place where a man could not be beaten.At Gawilghur.The British line at last advanced. From east to west it stretched forthree miles, snaking in and out of millet fields, through pasturelandand across the wide, dry riverbed. The centre of the line was an arrayof thirteen red-coated infantry battalions, three of them Scottish andthe rest sepoys, while two regiments of cavalry advanced on the leftflank and four on the right. Beyond the regular cavalry were twomasses of mercenary horsemen who had allied themselves to the Britishin hope of loot.
Drums beat and pipes played. The colours hung abovethe shakos. A great swathe of crops was trodden flat as the cumbersomeline marched north.The British guns opened fire, their small six-pound missiles aimed atthe Mahratta guns.Those Mahratta guns fired constantly. Sharpe, walking behind the leftflank of number six company, watched one particular gun which stoodjust beside a bright clump of flags on the enemy-held skyline. Heslowly counted to sixty in his head, then counted it again, and workedout that the gun had managed five shots in two minutes. He could notbe certain just how many guns were on the horizon, for the great cloudof powder smoke hid them, but he tried to count the muzzle flashes thatappeared as momentary bright flames amidst the grey-white vapour and,as best he could guess, he reckoned there were nearly forty cannonthere. Forty times five was what? Two hundred. So a hundred shots aminute were being fired, and each shot, if properly aimed, might killtwo men, one in the front rank and one behind.
Once the attack wasclose, of course, the bastards would switch to canister and then everyshot could pluck a dozen men out of the line, but for now, as theredcoats silently trudged forward, the enemy was sending round shotdown the gentle slope. A good many of these missed. Some screamedoverhead and a few bounced over the line, but the enemy gunners weregood, and they were lowering their cannon barrels so that the roundshot struck the ground well ahead of the redcoat line and, by the timethe missile reached the target, it had bounced a dozen times and sostruck at waist height or below. Grazing, the gunners called it, andit took skill. If the first graze was too close to the gun then theball would lose its momentum and do nothing but raise jeers from theredcoats as it rolled to a harmless stop, while if the first graze wastoo close to the attacking line then the ball would bounce clean overthe redcoats. The skill was to skim the ball low enough to be certainof a hit, and all along the line the round shots were taking theirtoll. Men were plucked back with shattered hips and legs. Sharpepassed one spent cannonball that was sticky with blood and thick withflies, lying twenty paces from the man it had eviscerated.“Close up!” the sergeants shouted, and the file-closers tugged men tofill the gaps. The British guns were firing into the enemy smokecloud, but their shots seemed to have no effect, and so the guns wereordered farther forward.
The ox teams were brought up, the guns wereattached to the limbers, and the six-pounders trundled on up theslope.“Like ninepins.” Ensign Venables had appeared at Sharpe’s side.Roderick Venables was sixteen years old and attached to number sevencompany. He had been the battalion’s most junior officer till Sharpejoined, and Venables had taken it on himself to be a tutor to Sharpe inhow officers should behave.“They’re bowling us over like ninepins, eh, Richard?“Before Sharpe could reply a half-dozen men of number six company threwthemselves aside as a cannonball bounced hard and low towards them. Itwhipped harmlessly through the gap they had made. The men laughed athaving evaded it, then Sergeant Colquhoun ordered them back into theirtwo ranks.“Aren’t you supposed to be on the left of your company?” Sharpe askedVenables.“You’re still thinking like a sergeant, Richard,” Venables said.
“Pigears doesn’t mind where I am.” Pig-ears was Captain Lomax, who hadearned his nickname not because of any peculiarity about his ears, butbecause he had a passion for crisply fried pig-ears. Lomax waseasygoing, unlike Urquhart who liked everything done strictly accordingto regulations.“Besides,” Venables went on, ‘there’s damn all to do. The lads knowtheir business.“Waste of time being an ensign,” Sharpe said.“Nonsense! An ensign is merely a colonel in the making,” Venablessaid.“Our duty, Richard, is to be decorative and stay alive long enough tobe promoted. But no one expects us to be useful! Good God! A juniorofficer being useful? That’ll be the day.” Venables gave a hoot oflaughter.
He was a bumptious, vain youth, but one of the few officersin the 74th who offered Sharpe companionship.“Did you hear a new draft has come to Madras?” he asked.“Urquhart told me.“Fresh men. New officers. You won’t be junior any more.“Sharpe shook his head.“Depends on the date the new men were commissioned, doesn’t it?“Suppose it does. Quite right. And they must have sailed from Britainlong before you got the jump up, eh? So you’ll still be the messbaby.
Bad luck, old fellow.“Old fellow? Quite right, Sharpe thought. He was old. Probably tenyears older than Venables, though Sharpe was not exactly sure for noone had ever bothered to note down his birth date. Ensigns were youthsand Sharpe was a man.“Whoah!” Venables shouted in delight and Sharpe looked up to see thata round shot had struck the edge of an irrigation canal and bouncedvertically upwards in a shower of soil. Tig-ears says he once saw twocannonballs collide in mid-air,” Venables said.“Well, he didn’t actually see it, of course, but he heard it. He saysthey suddenly appeared in the sky. Bang! Then flopped down.
“They’d have shattered and broken up,” Sharpe said.“Not according to Pig-ears,” Venables insisted.“He says they flattened each other.” A shell exploded ahead of thecompany, whistling scraps of iron casing overhead. No one was hurt andthe files stepped round the smoking fragments. Venables stooped andplucked up a scrap, juggling it because of the heat.“Like to have keepsakes,” he explained, slipping the piece of iron intoa pouch.“I’ll send it home for my sisters. Why don’t our guns stop andfire?“Still too far away,” Sharpe said. The advancing line still had half amile to go and, while the six-pounders could fire at that distance, thegunners must have decided to get really close so that their shots couldnot miss.
Get close, that was what Colonel McCandless had always toldSharpe. It was the secret of battle. Get close before you startslaughtering.A round shot struck a file in seven company. It was on its firstgraze, still travelling at blistering speed, and the two men of thefile were whipped backwards in a spray of mingling blood.“Jesus,” Venables said in awe.“Jesus!” The corpses were mixed together, a jumble of splinteredbones, tangled entrails and broken weapons. A corporal, one of thefile closers stooped to extricate the men’s pouches and haversacks fromthe scattered offal.“Two more names in the church porch,” Venables remarked.“Who were they, Corporal?“The McFadden brothers, sir.
” The Corporal had to shout to be heardover the roar of the Mahratta guns.“Poor bastards,” Venables said.“Still, there are six more. A fecund lady, Rosie McFadden.“Sharpe wondered what fecund meant, then decided he could guess.Venables, for all his air of carelessness, was looking slightly pale asthough the sight of the churned corpses had sickened him. This was hisfirst battle, for he had been sick with the Malabar Itch during Assaye,but the Ensign was forever explaining that he could not be upset by thesight of blood because, from his earliest days, he had assisted hisfather who was an Edinburgh surgeon, but now he suddenly turned aside,bent over and vomited. Sharpe kept stolidly walking.Some of the men turned at the sound of Venables’s retching.“Eyes front!” Sharpe snarled.
Sergeant Colquhoun gave Sharpe a resentful look. The Sergeant believedthat any order that did not come from himself or from Captain Urquhartwas an unnecessary order.Venables caught up with Sharpe.“Something I ate.“India does that,” Sharpe said sympathetically.“Not to you.“Not yet,” Sharpe said and wished he was carrying a musket so he couldtouch the wooden stock for luck.Captain Urquhart sheered his horse left wards”To your company, Mister Venables.“Venables scuttled away and Urquhart rode back to the company’s rightflank without acknowledging Sharpe’s presence. Major Swinton, whocommanded the battalion while Colonel Wallace had responsibility forthe brigade, galloped his horse behind the ranks.
The hooves thuddedheavily on the dry earth.“All well?” Swinton called to Urquhart.“All well.“Good man!” Swinton spurred on.The sound of the enemy guns was constant now, like thunder that did notend. A thunder that pummelled the ears and almost drowned out theskirl of the pipers. Earth fountained where round shot struck.Sharpe, glancing to his left, could see a scatter of bodies lying inthe wake of the long line. There was a village there. How the hellhad he walked straight past a village without even seeing it? It wasnot much of a place, just a huddle of reed-thatched hovels with a fewpatchwork gardens protected by cactus-thorn hedges, but he had stillwalked clean past without noticing its existence.
He could see no onethere. The villagers had too much sense. They would have packed theirfew pots and pans and buggered off as soon as the first soldierappeared near their fields. A Mahratta round shot smacked into one ofthe hovels, scattering reed and dry timber, and leaving the sad roofsagging.Sharpe looked the other way and saw enemy cavalry advancing in thedistance, then he glimpsed the blue and yellow uniforms of the Britishigth Dragoons trotting to meet them. The late-afternoon sunlightglittered on drawn sabres. He thought he heard a trumpet call, butmaybe he imagined it over the hammering of the guns. The horsemenvanished behind a stand of trees. A cannonball screamed overhead, ashell exploded to his left, then the 74th’s Light Company edged inwardsto give an ox team room to pass back southwards. The British cannonhad been dragged well ahead of the attacking line where they had nowbeen turned and deployed.
Gunners rammed home shot, pushed primingquills into touch-holes, stood back. The sound of the guns crashedacross the field, blotting the immediate view with grey-white smoke andfilling the air with the nauseous stench of rotted eggs.The drummers beat on, timing the long march north. For the moment itwas a battle of artillerymen, the puny British six-pounders firing intothe smoke cloud where the bigger Mahratta guns pounded at the advancingredcoats. Sweat trickled down Sharpe’s belly, it stung his eyes and itdripped from his nose. Flies buzzed by his face. He pulled the sabrefree and found that its handle was slippery with perspiration, so hewiped it and his right hand on the hem of his red coat. He suddenlywanted to piss badly, but this was not the time to stop and unbuttonbreeches. Hold it, he told himself, till the bastards are beaten. Orpiss in your pants, he told himself, because in this heat no one wouldknow it from sweat and it would dry quickly enough.
Might smell,though.Better to wait. And if any of the men knew he had pissed his pants hewould never live it down. Pisspants Sharpe. A ball thumped overhead,so close that its passage rocked Sharpe’s shako. A fragment ofsomething whirred to his left. A man was on the ground, vomitingblood. A dog barked as another tugged blue guts from an opened belly.The beast had both paws on the corpse to give its tug purchase. Afile-closer kicked the dog away, but as soon as the man was gone thedog ran back to the body.
Sharpe wished he could have a good wash. Heknew he was lousy, but then everyone was lousy.Even General Wellesley was probably lousy. Sharpe looked eastwards andsaw the General spurring up behind the kilted 78th. Sharpe had beenWellesley’s orderly at Assaye and as a result he knew all the staffofficers who rode behind the General. They had been much friendlierthan the 74th’s officers, but then they had not been expected to treatSharpe as an equal.Bugger it, he thought. Maybe he should take Urquhart’s advice. Gohome, take the cash, buy an inn and hang the sabre over the servinghatch. Would Simone Joubert go to England with him? She might likerunning an inn.
The Buggered Dream, he could call it, and he wouldcharge army officers twice the real price for any drink.The Mahratta guns suddenly went silent, at least those that weredirectly ahead of the 74th, and the change in the battle’s noise madeSharpe peer ahead into the smoke cloud that hung over the crest just aquarter-mile away. More smoke wreathed the 74th, but that was from theBritish guns. The enemy gun smoke was clearing, carried northwards onthe small wind, but there was nothing there to show why the guns at thecentre of the Mahratta line had ceased fire. Perhaps the buggers hadrun out of ammunition. Some hope, he thought, some bloody hope. Orperhaps they were all reloading with canister to give the approachingredcoats a rajah’s welcome.God, but he needed a piss and so he stopped, tucked the sabre into hisarmpit, then fumbled with his buttons. One came away. He swore,stooped to pick it up, then stood and emptied his bladder onto the dryground.
Then Urquhart was wheeling his horse.“Must you do that now, Mister Sharpe?” he asked irritably.Yes, sir, three bladders full, sir, and damn your bloody eyes, sir.“Sorry, sir,” Sharpe said instead. So maybe proper officers didn’tpiss?He sensed the company was laughing at him and he ran to catch up,fiddling with his buttons. Still there was no gunfire from theMahratta centre. Why not? But then a cannon on one of the enemyflanks fired slantwise across the field and the ball grazed rightthrough number six company, ripping a front rank man’s feet off andslashing a man behind through the knees. Another soldier was limping,his leg deeply pierced by a splinter from his neighbour’s bone.Corporal McCallum, one of the file-closers, tugged men into the gapwhile a piper ran across to bandage the wounded men. The injured wouldbe left where they fell until after the battle when, if they stilllived, they would be carried to the surgeons.
And if they survived theknives and saws they would be shipped home, good for nothing except tobe a burden on the parish. Or maybe the Scots did not have parishes;Sharpe was not sure, but he was certain the buggers had workhouses.Everyone had workhouses and paupers’ graveyards. Better to be buriedout here in the black earth of enemy India than condemned to thecharity of a workhouse.Then he saw why the guns in the centre of the Mahratta line had ceasedfire. The gaps between the guns were suddenly filled with men runningforward. Men in long robes and headdresses. They streamed between thegaps, then joined together ahead of the guns beneath long green bannersthat trailed from silver-topped poles. Arabs, Sharpe thought. He hadseen some at Ahmednuggur, but most of those had been dead.
Here membered Sevajee, the Mahratta who fought alongside ColonelMcCandless, saying that the Arab mercenaries were the best of all theenemy troops.Now there was a horde of desert warriors coming straight for the 74thand their kilted neighbours.The Arabs came in a loose formation. Their guns had decorated stocksthat glinted in the sunlight, while curved swords were scabbarded attheir waists. They came almost jauntily, as though they had utterconfidence in their ability. How many were there? A thousand? Sharpereckoned at least a thousand. Their officers were on horseback. Theydid not advance in ranks and files, but in a mass, and some, thebravest men, ran ahead as if eager to start the killing. The greatrobed mass was chanting a shrill war cry, while in its centre drummerswere beating huge instruments that pulsed a belly-thumping beat acrossthe field. Sharpe watched the nearest British gun load with canister.
The green banners were being waved from side to side so that the silktrails snaked over the warriors’ heads. Something was written on thebanners, but it was in no script that Sharpe recognized.‘74th!” Major Swinton called.“Halt!“The 78th had also halted. The two Highland battalions, both understrength after their losses at Assaye, were taking the full brunt ofthe Arab charge. The rest of the battlefield seemed to melt away. AllSharpe could see was the robed men coming so eagerly towards him.“Make ready!” Swinton called.“Make ready!” Urquhart echoed.“Make ready!” Sergeant Colquhoun shouted.
The men raised theirmuskets chest high and pulled back the heavy hammers.Sharpe pushed into the gap between number six company and its left-handneighbour, number seven. He wished he had a musket. The sabre feltflimsy.“Present!” Swinton called.“Present!” Colquhoun echoed, and the muskets went into the men’sshoulders. Heads bowed to peer down the barrels’ lengths.“You’ll fire low, boys,” Urquhart said from behind the line, ‘you’llfire low. To your place, Mister Sharpe.“Bugger it, Sharpe thought, another bloody mistake.
He stepped backbehind the company where he was supposed to make sure no one tried torun.The Arabs were close. Less than a hundred paces to go now. Some hadtheir swords drawn. The air, miraculously smoke-free, was filled withtheir blood-chilling war cry which was a weird ululating sound.Not far now, not far at all. The Scotsmen’s muskets were angledslightly down. The kick drove the barrels upwards, and untrainedtroops, not ready for the heavy recoil, usually fired high. But thisvolley would be lethal.“Wait, boys, wait,” Pig-ears called to number seven company.
Ensign Venables slashed at weeds with his claymore. He looked nervous.Urquhart had drawn a pistol. He dragged the cock back, and his horse’sears flicked back as the pistol’s spring clicked.Arab faces screamed hatred. Their great drums were thumping. Theredcoat line, just two ranks deep, looked frail in front of the savagecharge.Major Swinton took a deep breath. Sharpe edged towards the gap again.Bugger it, he wanted to be in the front line where he could kill.
It was too nerve-racking behind the line.‘74th!” Swinton shouted, then he paused. Men’s fingers curled abouttheir triggers.Let them get close, Swinton was thinking, let them get close. It Thenkill them. it Prince Manu Bappoo’s brother, the Rajah of Berar, wasnot at the village of Argaum where the Lions of Allah now charged todestroy the heart of the British attack. The Rajah did not likebattle. He liked the idea of conquest, he loved to see prisonersparaded and he craved the loot that filled his storehouses, but he hadno belly for fighting.Manu Bappoo had no such qualms. He was thirty-five years old, he hadfought since he was fifteen, and all he asked was the chance to go onfighting for another twenty or forty years.
He considered himself atrue Mahratta; a pirate, a rogue, a thief in armour, a looter, apestilence, a successor to the generations of Mahrattas who haddominated western India by pouring from their hill fastnesses toterrorize the plump princedoms and luxurious kingdoms in the plains. Aquick sword, a fast horse and a wealthy victim, what more could a manwant? And so Bappoo had ridden deep and far to bring plunder andransom back to the small land of Berar.But now all the Mahratta lands were threatened. One British army wasconquering their northern territory, and another was here in the south.It was this southern redcoat force that had broken the troops ofScindia and Berar at Assaye, and the Rajah of Berar had summoned hisbrother to bring his Lions of Allah to claw and kill the invader. Thiswas not a task for horsemen, the Rajah had warned Bappoo, but forinfantry. It was a task for the Arabs.But Bappoo knew this was a task for horsemen. His Arabs would win, ofthat he was sure, but they could only break the enemy on the immediatebattlefield. He had thought to let the British advance right up to hiscannon, then release the Arabs, but a whim, an intimation of triumph,had decided him to advance the Arabs beyond the guns.
Let the Lions ofAllah loose on the enemy’s centre and, when that centre was broken, therest of the British line would scatter and run in panic, and that waswhen the Mahratta horsemen would have their slaughter. It was alreadyearly evening, and the sun was sinking in the reddened west, but thesky was cloudless and Bappoo was anticipating the joys of a moonlithunt across the flat Deccan Plain.“We shall gallop through blood,” he said aloud, then led his aidestowards his army’s right flank so that he could charge past his Arabswhen they had finished their fight. He would let his victorious Lionsof Allah pillage the enemy’s camp while he led his horsemen on a wildvictorious gallop through the moon-touched darkness.And the British would run. They would run like goats from the tiger.But the tiger was clever. He had only kept a small number of horsemenwith the army, a mere fifteen thousand, while the greater part of hiscavalry had been sent southwards to raid the enemy’s long supply roads.The British would flee straight into those men’s sabres.Bappoo trotted his horse just behind the right flank of the Lions ofAllah.
The British guns were firing canister and Bappoo saw how theground beside his Arabs was being flecked by the blasts of shot, and hesaw the robed men fall, but he saw how the others did not hesitate, buthurried on towards the pitifully thin line of redcoats. The Arabs werescreaming defiance, the guns were hammering, and Bappoo’s soul soaredwith the music. There was nothing finer in life, he thought, than thissensation of imminent victory. It was like a drug that fired the mindwith noble visions.He might have spared a moment’s thought and wondered why the Britishdid not use their muskets. They were holding their fire, waiting untilevery shot could kill, but the Prince was not worrying about suchtrifles. In his dreams he was scattering a broken army, slashing atthem with his tulwar, carving a bloody path south. A fast sword, aquick horse and a broken enemy. It was the Mahratta paradise, and theLions of Allah were opening its gates so that this night Manu Bappoo,Prince, warrior and dreamer, could ride into legend.
CHAPTER 2
“Fire!” Swinton shouted.
The two Highland regiments fired together, close to a thousand musketsflaming to make an instant hedge of thick smoke in front of thebattalions. The Arabs vanished behind the smoke as the redcoatsreloaded. Men bit into the grease-coated cartridges, tugged ramrodsthat they whirled in the air before rattling them down into thebarrels. The churning smoke began to thin, revealing small fires wherethe musket wadding burned in the dry grass.“Platoon fire!” Major Swinton shouted.“From the flanks!“Light Company!” Captain Peters called on the left flank.“First platoon, fire!“Kill them! Your mothers are watching!” Colonel Harness shouted. TheColonel of the y8th was mad as a hatter and half delirious with afever, but he had insisted on advancing behind his kilted Highlanders.He was being carried in a palanquin and, as the platoon fire began, hestruggled from the litter tojoin the battle, his only weapon a brokenriding crop. He had been recently bled, and a stained bandage trailedfrom a coat sleeve.
“Give them a flogging, you dogs! Give them a flogging.“The two battalions fired in half companies now, each half companyfiring two or three seconds after the neighbouring platoon so that thevolleys rolled in from the outer wings of each battalion, met in thecentre and then started again at the flanks. Clockwork fire, Sharpecalled it, and it was the result of hours of tedious practice. Beyondthe battalions’ flanks the six-pounders bucked back with each shot,their wheels jarring up from the turf as the canisters ripped apart atthe muzzles. Wide swathes of burning grass lay under the cannon smoke.The gunners were working in shirtsleeves, swabbing, ramming, thenducking aside as the guns pitched back again Only the gun commandersmost of them sergeants, seemed to look at the enemy, and then only whenthey were checking the alignment of the cannon. The other gunnersfetched shot and powder, sometimes heaved on a handspike or pushed onthe wheels as the gun was re laid then swabbed and loaded again.“Water!” a corporal shouted, holding up a bucket to show that theswabbing water was gone.“Fire low! Don’t waste your powder!” Major Swinton called as hepushed his horse into the gap between the centre companies. He peeredat the enemy through the smoke.
Behind him, next to the 74th’s twinflags, General Wellesley and his aides also stared at the Arabs beyondthe smoke clouds. Colonel Wallace, the brigade commander, trotted hishorse to the battalion’s flank. He called something to Sharpe as hewent by, but his words were lost in the welter of gunfire, then hishorse half spun as a bullet struck its haunch. Wallace steadied thebeast, looked back at the wound, but the horse did not seem badly hurt.Colonel Harness was thrashing one of the native palanquin bearers whohad been trying to push the Colonel back into the curtained vehicle.One of Wellesley’s aides rode back to quieten the Colonel and topersuade him to go southwards.“Steady now!” Sergeant Colquhoun shouted.“Aim low!“The Arab charge had been checked, but not defeated. The first volleymust have hit the attackers cruelly hard for Sharpe could see a line ofbodies lying on the turf. The bodies looked red and white, bloodagainst robes, but behind that twitching heap the Arabs were firingback to make their own ragged cloud of musket smoke.
They fired hap hazardly, untrained in platoon volleys, but they reloaded swiftlyand their bullets were striking home. Sharpe heard the butcher’s soundof metal hitting meat, saw men hurled backwards, saw some fall. Thefile-closers hauled the dead out of the line and tugged the livingcloser together.“Close up!Close up!” The pipes played on, adding their defiant music to thenoise of the guns. Private Hollister was hit in the head and Sharpesaw a cloud of white flour drift away from the man’s powdered hair ashis hat fell off.Then blood soaked the whitened hair and Hollister fell back with glassyeyes.“One platoon, fire!” Sergeant Colquhoun shouted. He was soshortsighted that he could barely see the enemy, but it hardlymattered.No one could see much in the smoke, and all that was needed was asteady nerve and Colquhoun was not a man to panic.“Two platoon, fire!” Urquhart shouted.
“Christ Jesus!” a man called close to Sharpe. He reeled backwards,his musket falling, then he twisted and dropped to his knees.“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” he moaned, clutching at his throat. Sharpecould see no wound there, but then he saw blood seeping down the man’sgrey trousers. The dying man looked up at Sharpe, tears showed at hiseyes, then he pitched forward.Sharpe picked up the fallen musket, then turned the man over to unstrapthe cartridge box. The man was dead, or so near as to make nodifference.“Flint,” a front rank man called.“I need a flint!“Sergeant Colquhoun elbowed through the ranks, holding out a spareflint.“And where’s your own spare flint, John Hammond?“Christ knows, Sergeant.
“Then ask Him, for you’re on a charge.“A man swore as a bullet tore up his left arm. He backed out of theranks, the arm hanging useless and dripping blood.Sharpe pushed into the gap between the companies, put the musket to hisshoulder and fired. The kick slammed into his shoulder, but it feltgood. Something to do at last. He dropped the butt, fished acartridge from the pouch and bit off the top, tasting the salt in thegunpowder. He rammed, fired again, loaded again. A bullet made an oddfluttering noise as it went past his ear, then another whined overhead.He waited for the rolling volley to come down the battalion’s face,then fired with the other men of six company’s first platoon.
Drop the butt, new cartridge, bite, prime, pour, ram, ramrod back in the hoops,gun up, butt into the bruised shoulder and haul back the dog-head,Sharpe did it as efficiently as any other man, but he had been trainedto it. That was the difference, he thought grimly. He was trained,but no one trained the officers. They had bugger all to do, so whytrain them? Ensign Venables was right, the only duty of a juniorofficer was to stay alive, but Sharpe could not resist a fight.Besides, it felt better to stand in the ranks and fire into the enemy’ssmoke than stand behind the company and do nothing.The Arabs were fighting well. Damned well. Sharpe could not rememberany other enemy who had stood and taken so much concentrated platoonfire. Indeed, the robed men were trying to advance, but they werechecked by the ragged heap of bodies that had been their front ranks.How many damned ranks had they? A dozen? He watched a green flagfall, then the banner was picked up and waved in the air.
Their big drums still beat, making a menacing sound to match theredcoats’ pipers. The Arab guns had unnaturally long barrels thatspewed dirty smoke and licking tongues of flame. Another bulletwhipped close enough to Sharpe to bat his face with a gust of warmair.He fired again, then a hand seized his coat collar and dragged himviolently backwards.“Your place, Ensign Sharpe,” Captain Urquhart said vehemently, ‘ishere! Behind the line!” The Captain was mounted and his horse hadinadvertently stepped back as Urquhart seized Sharpe’s collar, and theweight of the horse had made the Captain’s tug far more violent than hehad intended.“You’re not a private any longer,” he said, steadying Sharpe who hadalmost been pulled off his feet.“Of course, sir,” Sharpe said, and he did not meet Urquhart’s gaze, butstared bitterly ahead. He was blushing, knowing he had beenreprimanded in front of the men. Damn it to hell, he thought.“Prepare to charge!” Major Swinton called.
“Prepare to charge!” Captain Urquhart echoed, spurring his horse awayfrom Sharpe.The Scotsmen pulled out their bayonets and twisted them onto the lugsof their musket barrels.“Empty your guns!” Swinton called, and those men who were still loadedraised their muskets and fired a last volley.‘74th!” Swinton shouted.“Forward! I want to hear some pipes! Let me hear pipes!“Go on, Swinton, go on!” Wallace shouted. There was no need toencourage the battalion forward, for it was going willingly, but theColonel was excited. He drew his claymore and pushed his horse intothe rear rank of number seven company.“Onto them, lads! Onto them!“The redcoats marched forward, trampling through the scatter of littlefires started by their musket wadding.The Arabs seemed astonished that the redcoats were advancing.Some drew their own bayonets, while others pulled long curved swordsfrom scabbards.
“They won’t stand!” Wellesley shouted.“They won’t stand.“They bloody well will,” a man grunted.“Go on!” Swinton shouted.“Go on!” And the 74th, released to the kill, ran the last few yardsand jumped up onto the heaps of dead before slashing home with theirbayonets. Off to the right the y8th were also charging home. TheBritish cannon gave a last violent blast of canister, then fell silentas the Scots blocked the gunners’ aim.Some of the Arabs wanted to fight, others wanted to retreat, but thecharge had taken them by surprise and the rearward ranks were still notaware of the danger and so pressed forward, forcing the reluctant menat the front onto the Scottish bayonets. The Highlanders screamed asthey killed. Sharpe still held the unloaded musket as he closed up onthe rear rank.
He had no bayonet and was wondering whether he shoulddraw his sabre when a tall Arab suddenly hacked down a front rank manwith a scimitar, then pushed forward to slash with the reddened bladeat the second man in the file. Sharpe reversed the musket, swung it bythe barrel and hammered the heavy stock down onto the swordsman’s headThe Arab sank down and a bayonet struck into his spine so that hetwisted like a speared eel. Sharpe hit him on the head again, kickedhim for good measure, then shoved on. Men were shouting, screaming,stabbing, spitting, and, right in the face of number six company, aknot of robed men were slashing with scimitars as though they coulddefeat the 74th by themselves. Urquhart pushed his horse up againstthe rear rank and fired his pistol. One of the Arabs was plucked backand the others stepped away at last, all except one short man whoscreamed in fury and slashed with his long curved blade. The frontrank parted to let the scimitar cut the air between two files, then thesecond rank also split apart to allow the short man to come screamingthrough on his own, with only Sharpe in front.“He’s only a lad!” a Scottish voice shouted in warning as the ranksclosed again.It was not a short man at all, but a boy. Maybe only twelve orthirteen years old, Sharpe guessed as he fended off the scimitar withthe musket barrel.
The boy thought he could win the battlesingle-handed and leaped at Sharpe, who parried the sword and steppedback to show he did not want to fight.“Put it down, lad,” he said.The boy spat, leaped and cut again. Sharpe parried a third time, thenreversed the musket and slammed its stock into the side of the boy’shead. For a second the lad stared at Sharpe with an astonished look,then he crumpled to the turf.“They’re breaking!” Wellesley shouted from somewhere close by.“They’re breaking!“Colonel Wallace was in the front rank now, slicing down with hisclaymore. He hacked like a farmer, blow after blow. He had lost hiscocked hat and his bald pate gleamed in the late sunlight. There wasblood on his horse’s flank, and more blood spattered on the white turnbacks of his coat tails.
Then the pressure of the enemy collapsed andthe horse twisted into the gap and Wallace spurred it on.“Come on, boys! Come on!” A man stooped to rescue Wallace’s cockedhat.Its plumes were blood-soaked.The Arabs were fleeing.“Go!” Swinton shouted.“Go! Keep ‘em running! Go!“A man paused to search a corpse’s robes and Sergeant Colquhoun draggedthe man up and pushed him on. The file-closers were making sure noneof the enemy bodies left behind the Scottish advance were dangerous.They kicked swords and muskets out of injured men’s hands, proddedapparently unwounded bodies with bayonets and killed any man who showeda spark of fight. Two pipers were playing their ferocious music,driving the Scots up the gentle slope where the big Arab drums had beenabandoned. Man after man speared the drum skins with bayonets as theypassed.
“Forward on! Forward on!” Urquhart bellowed as though he were on ahunting field.“To the guns!” Wellesley called.“Keep going!” Sharpe bellowed at some laggards.“Go on, you bastards, go on!“The enemy gun line was at the crest of the low rise, but the Mahrattagunners dared not fire because the remnants of the Lions of Allah werebetween them and the redcoats. The gunners hesitated for a fewseconds, then decided the day was lost and fled.“Take the guns!” Wellesley called.Colonel Wallace spurred among the fleeing enemy, striking down with theclaymore, then reined in beside a gaudily painted eighteen pounder”Come on, lads! Come on! To me!“The Scotsmen reached the guns. Most had reddened bayonets, all hadsweat streaks striping their powder-blackened faces. Some beganrifling the limbers where gunners stored food and valuables.“Load!” Urquhart called.
“Load!“Form ranks!” Sergeant Colquhoun shouted. He ran forward and tuggedmen away from the limbers.“Leave the carts alone, boys! Form ranks! Smartly now!“Sharpe, for the first time, could see down the long reverse slope.Three hundred paces away were more infantry, a great long line of itmassed in a dozen ranks, and beyond that were some walled gardens andthe roofs of a village. The shadows were very long for the sun wasblazing just above the horizon. The Arabs were running towards thestationary infantry.“Where are the galloper guns?” Wallace roared, and an aide spurredback down the slope to fetch the gunners.“Give them a volley, Swinton!” Wellesley called.The range was very long for a musket, but Swinton hammered thebattalion’s fire down the slope, and maybe it was that volley, orperhaps it was the sight of the defeated Arabs that panicked the greatmass of infantry. For a few seconds they stood under their big brightflags and then, like sand struck by a flood, they dissolved into arabble.
Cavalry trumpets blared. British and sepoy horsemen charged forwardwith sabres, while the irregular horse, those mercenaries who hadattached themselves to the British for the chance of loot, loweredtheir lances and raked back their spurs.It was a cavalryman’s paradise, a broken enemy with nowhere to hide.Some Mahrattas sought shelter in the village, but most ran past it,throwing down their weapons as the terrible horsemen streamed into thefleeing horde with sabres and lances slicing and thrusting.“Puckaleesl’ Urquhart shouted, standing in his stirrups to look for themen and boys who brought water to the troops. There was none in sightand the 74th was parched, the men’s thirst made acute by the saltpetrein the gunpowder which had fouled their mouths.“Where the ?“Urquhart swore, then frowned at Sharpe.“Mister Sharpe? I’ll trouble you to find our pucka lees”Yes, sir,” Sharpe said, not bothering to hide his disappointment atthe order. He had hoped to find some loot when the 74th searched thevillage, but instead he was to be a fetcher of water. He threw downthe musket and walked back through the groaning, slow-moving litter ofdead and dying men.
Dogs were scavenging among the bodies.“Forward now!” Wellesley called behind Sharpe, and the whole long lineof British infantrymen advanced under their flags towards the village.The cavalry was already far beyond the houses, killing with abandon anddriving the fugitives ever farther northwards.Sharpe walked on southwards. He suspected the pucka lees were stillback with the baggage, which would mean a three-mile walk and, by thetime he had found them, the battalion would have slaked its thirst fromthe wells in the village. Bugger it, he thought. Even when they gavehim a job it was a useless errand.A shout made him look to his right where a score of native cavalrymenwere slicing apart the robes of the dead Arabs in search of coins andtrinkets. The scavengers were Mahrattas who had sold their services tothe British and Sharpe guessed that the horsemen had not joined thepursuit for fear of being mistaken for the defeated enemy. One of theArabs had only been feigning death and now, despite being hugelyoutnumbered, defied his enemies with a pistol that he dragged frombeneath his robe.
The taunting cavalrymen had made a ring and the Arabkept twisting around to find that his tormentor had skipped away beforehe could aim the small gun.The Arab was a short man, then he turned again and Sharpe saw thebruised, bloody face and recognized the child who had charged the 74thso bravely. The boy was doomed, for the ring of cavalrymen was slowlyclosing for the kill. One of the Mahrattas would probably die, or atleast be horribly injured by the pistol ball, but that was part of thegame. The boy had one shot, they had twenty. A man prodded the boy inthe back with a lance point, making him whip round, but the man withthe lance had stepped fast back and another man slapped the boy’sheaddress with a tulwar. The other cavalrymen laughed.Sharpe reckoned the boy deserved better. He was a kid, nothing more,but brave as a tiger, and so he crossed to the cavalrymen.“Let him be!” he called. The boy turned towards Sharpe. If he recognized that the Britishofficer was trying to save his life he showed no sign of gratitude;instead he lifted the pistol so that its barrel pointed at Sharpe’sface. The cavalrymen, reckoning this was even better sport, urged himto shoot and one of them approached the boy with a raised tulwar, butdid not strike. He would let the boy shoot Sharpe, then kill him.“Let him be,” Sharpe said.“Stand back!” The Mahrattas grinned, but did not move.Sharpe could take the single bullet, then they would tear the boy intosabre-shredded scraps of meat.The boy took a step towards Sharpe.“Don’t be a bloody fool, lad,” Sharpe said. The boy obviously did notspeak English, but Sharpe’s tone was soothing.
It made no difference.The lad’s hand was shaking and he looked frightened, but defiance hadbeen bred into his bone. He knew he would die, but he would take anenemy soul with him and so he nerved himself to die well. Tut the gundown,” Sharpe said softly.He was wishing he had not intervened now. The kid was just distraughtenough and mad enough to fire, and Sharpe knew he could do nothingabout it except run away and thus expose himself to the jeers of theMahrattas. He was close enough now to see the scratches on thepistol’s blackened muzzle where the rammer had scraped the metal.“Don’t be a bloody fool, boy,” he said again. Still the boy pointedthe pistol. Sharpe knew he should turn and run, but instead he tookanother pace forward. Just one more and he reckoned he would be closeenough to swat the gun aside.Then the boy shouted something in Arabic, something about Allah, andpulled the trigger.The hammer did not move. The boy looked startled, then pulled thetrigger again.Sharpe began laughing. The expression of woe on the child’s face wasso sudden, and so unfeigned, that Sharpe could only laugh. The boylooked as if he was about to cry.The Mahratta behind the boy swung his tulwar. He reckoned he couldslice clean through the boy’s grubby headdress and decapitate him, butSharpe had taken the extra step and now seized the boy’s hand andtugged him into his belly. The sword hissed an inch behind the boy’sneck. “I said to leave him alone!” Sharpe said.“Or do you want to fight me instead?“None of us,” a calm voice said behind Sharpe, ‘wants to fight EnsignSharpe.“Sharpe turned. One of the horsemen was still mounted, and it was thisman who had spoken. He was dressed in a tattered European uniformjacket of green cloth hung with small silver chains, and he! l had alean scarred face with a nose as hooked as Sir Arthur Wellesley’s.He now grinned down at Sharpe.“Syud Sevajee,” Sharpe said.“I never did congratulate you on your promotion,” Sevajee said, andleaned down to offer Sharpe his hand.Sharpe shook it.“It was McCandless’s doing,” he said.
“No,” Sevajee disagreed, ‘it was yours.” Sevajee, who led this band ofhorsemen, waved his men away from Sharpe, then looked down at the boywho struggled in Sharpe’s grip.“You really want to save that little wretch’s life?“Why not?“A tiger cub plays like a kitten,” Sevajee said, ‘but it still growsinto a tiger and one day it eats you.“This one’s no kitten,” Sharpe said, thumping the boy on the ear tostop his struggles.Sevajee spoke in quick Arabic and the boy went quiet.“I told him you saved his life,” Sevajee explained to Sharpe, ‘and thathe is now beholden to you.” Sevajee spoke to the boy again who, aftera shy look at Sharpe, answered.“His name’s Ahmed,” Sevajee said, ‘and I told him you were a greatEnglish lord who commands the lives and deaths of a thousand men.“You told him what?“I told him you’d beat him bloody if he disobeys you,” Sevajee said,looking at his men who, denied their entertainment, had gone back tolooting the dead.“You like being an officer?” he asked Sharpe.
“I hate it.“Sevajee smiled, revealing red-stained teeth.“McCandless thought you would, but didn’t know how to curb yourambition.” Sevajee slid down from his saddle.“I am sorry McCandless died,” the Indian said.“Me too.“You know who killed him?“I reckon it was Dodd.“Sevajee nodded.“Me too.” Syud Sevajee was a high-born Mahratta, the eldest son of oneof the Rajah of Berar’s warlords, but a rival in the Rajah’s servicehad murdered his father, and Sevajee had been seeking revenge eversince.
If that revenge meant marching with the enemy British, thenthat was a small price to pay for family pride. Seva^e had ridden withColonel McCandless when the Scotsman had pursued Dodd, and thus he hadmet Sharpe.“Beny Singh was not with the enemy today,” he told Sharpe.Sharpe had to think for a few seconds before remembering that BenySingh was the man who had poisoned Sevajee’s father.“How do you know?“His banner wasn’t among the Mahratta flags. Today we faced ManuBappoo, the Rajah’s brother. He’s a better man than the Rajah, but herefuses to take the throne for himself. He’s also a better soldierthan the rest, but not good enough, it seems. Dodd was there.“He was?“He got away. ” Sevajee turned and gazed northwards.“And I know where they’re going.“Where?“To Gawilghur,” Sevajee said softly, ‘to the sky fort.“Gawilghur?“I grew up there.” Sevajee spoke softly, still gazing at the hazednorthern horizon.“My father was kill adar of Gawilghur. It was a post of honour,Sharpe, for it is our greatest stronghold. It is the fortress in thesky, the impregnable refuge, the place that has never fallen to ourenemies, and Beny Singh is now its kill adar Somehow we shall have toget inside, you and I. And I shall kill Singh and you will killDodd.“That’s why I’m here,” Sharpe said.
“No.” Sevajee gave Sharpe a sour glance.“You’re here, Ensign, because you British are greedy.” He looked atthe Arab boy and asked a question. There was a brief conversation,then Sevajee looked at Sharpe again.“I have told him he is to be your servant, and that you will beat himto death if he steals from you.“I wouldn’t do that!” Sharpe protested.“I would,” Sevajee said, ‘and he believes you would, but it still won’tstop him thieving from you. Better to kill him now.” He grinned, thenhauled himself into his saddle.
“I shall look for you at Gawilghur, Mister Sharpe.“I shall look for you,” Sharpe said.Sevajee spurred away and Sharpe crouched to look at his new servant.Ahmed was as thin as a half-drowned cat. He wore dirty robes and atattered headdress secured by a loop of frayed rope that was stainedwith blood, evidently where Sharpe’s blow with the musket had caughthim during the battle. But he had bright eyes and a defiant face, andthough his voice had not yet broken he was braver than many fullgrownmen. Sharpe unslung his canteen and pushed it into the boy’s hand,first taking away the broken pistol that he tossed away.“Drink up, you little bugger,” Sharpe said, ‘then come for a walk.“The boy glanced up the hill, but his army was long gone. It hadvanished into the evening beyond the crest and was now being pursued byvengeful cavalry.
He said something in Arabic, drank what remained ofSharpe’s water, then offered a grudging nod of thanks.So Sharpe had a servant, a battle had been won, and now he walked southin search of pucka leesColonel William Dodd watched the Lions of Allah break, and spat withdisgust. It had been foolish to fight here in the first place and nowthe foolery was turning to disaster.“Jemadar!” he called.“Sahib?“We’ll form square. Put our guns in the centre. And the baggage.“Families, sahib?“Families too.” Dodd watched Manu Bappoo and his aides galloping backfrom the British advance. The gunners had already fled, which meantthat the Mahrattas’ heavy cannon would all be captured, every lastpiece of it. Dodd was tempted to abandon his regiment’s small batteryof five-pounders which were about as much use as pea-shooters, but asoldier’s pride persuaded him to drag the guns from the field.Bappoo might lose all his guns, but it would be a cold day in hellbefore William Dodd gave up artillery to an enemy.His Cobras were on the Mahratta right flank and there, for the moment,they were out of the way of the British advance. If the rest of theMahratta infantry remained firm and fought, then Dodd would stay withthem, but he saw that the defeat of the Arabs had demoralized Bappoo’sarmy. The ranks began to dissolve, the first fugitives began to runnorth and Dodd knew this army was lost. First Assaye, now this. Agoddamn disaster! He turned his horse and smiled at his white-jacketedmen.“You haven’t lost a battle!” he shouted to them.“You haven’t even fought today, so you’ve lost no pride! But you’llhave to fight now! If you don’t, if you break ranks, you’ll die. Ifyou fight, you’ll live March!“The Cobras would now attempt one of the most difficult of all feats ofsoldiering, a fighting withdrawal. They marched in a loose square, thecentre of which gradually filled with their women and children. Someother infantry tried to join the families, but Dodd snarled at his mento beat them away.“Fire if they won’t go!” he shouted. The last thing he wanted was forhis men to be infected by panic.Dodd trailed the square. He heard cavalry trumpets and he twisted inhis saddle to see a mass of irregular light horsemen come over thecrest.“Halt!” he shouted.“Close ranks! Charge bayonets!“The white-jacketed Cobras sealed the loose square tight. Dodd pushedthrough the face of the square and turned his horse to watch thecavalrymen approach. He doubted they would come close, not when therewere easier pickings to the east and, sure enough, as soon as theleading horsemen saw that the square was waiting with levelled muskets,they sheered away. Dodd holstered his pistol.“March on, Jemadar!“Twice more Dodd had to halt and form ranks, but both times thethreatening horsemen were scared away by the calm discipline of hiswhite-coated soldiers. The red-coated infantry was not pursuing. Theyhad reached the village of Argaum and were content to stay there,leaving the pursuit to the horsemen, and those horsemen chased afterthe broken rabble that flooded northwards, but none chose to die bycharging Dodd’s formed ranks.Dodd inclined to the west, angling away from the pursuers. Bynightfall he was confident enough to form the battalion into a columnof companies, and by midnight, under a clear moon, he could no longereven hear the British trumpets. He knew that men would still be dying,ridden down by cavalry and pierced by lances or slashed by sabres, butDodd had got clean away. His men were tired, but they were safe in adark countryside of millet fields, drought-emptied irrigation ditchesand scattered villages where dogs barked frantically when they caughtthe scent of the marching column.Dodd did not trouble the villagers. He had sufficient food, andearlier in the night they had found an irrigation tank that had yieldedenough water for men and beasts.
“Do you know where we are, Jemadar?” he asked.“No, sahib.” Gopal grinned, his teeth showing white in the darkness.“Nor do I. But I know where we’re going.“Where, sahib?“To Gawilghur, Gopal. To Gawilghur.“Then we must march north, sahib.” Gopal pointed to the mountains thatshowed as a dark line against the northern stars.“It is there, sahib.
“Dodd was marching to the fortress that had never known defeat. To theimpregnable fastness on the cliff. To Gawilghur.Dawn came to the millet fields. Ragged-winged birds flopped downbeside corpses. The smell of death was already rank, and would onlygrow worse as the sun rose to become a furnace in a cloudless sky.Bugles called reveille, and the picquets who had guarded the sleepingarmy around Argaum cleared their muskets by loosing off shots. Thegunfire startled birds up from corpses and made the feasting dogs growlamong the human dead.Regiments dug graves for their own dead. There were few enough tobury, for no more than fifty redcoats had died, but there were hundredsof Mahratta and Arab corpses, and the lascars who did the army’sfetching and carrying began the task of gathering the bodies.
Some enemies still lived, though barely, and the luckiest of those weredespatched with a blow of a mattock before their robes were rifled.The unlucky were taken to the surgeons’ tents.The enemy’s captured guns were inspected, and a dozen selected assuitable for British service. They were all well made, forged in Agraby French-trained gunsmiths, but some were the wrong calibre and a fewwere so overdecorated with writhing gods and goddesses that noself-respecting gunner could abide them. The twenty-six rejected gunswould be double-shot ted and exploded.“A dangerous business,” Lieutenant Colonel William Wallace remarked toSharpe.“Indeed, sir.“You saw the accident at Assaye?” Wallace asked. The Colonel took offhis cocked hat and fanned his face. The hat’s white plumes were stillstained with blood that had dried black.
“I heard it, sir. Didn’t see it,” Sharpe said. The accident hadoccurred after the battle of Assaye when the enemy’s captured cannonwere being destroyed and one monstrous piece, a great siege gun, hadexploded prematurely, killing two engineers.“Leaves us short of good engineers,” Wallace remarked, ‘and we’ll needthem if we’re going to Gawilghur.“Gawilghur, sir?“A ghastly fortress, Sharpe, quite ghastly.” The Colonel turned andpointed north.“Only about twenty miles away, and if the Mahrattas have any sensethat’s where they’ll be heading.” Wallace sighed.“I’ve never seen the place, so maybe it isn’t as bad as they say, but Iremember poor McCandless describing it as a brute. A real brute.
Like Stirling Castle, he said, only much larger and the cliff’s twentytimes higher.“Sharpe had never seen Stirling Castle, so had no real idea what theColonel meant. He said nothing. He had been idling the morning awaywhen Wallace sent for him, and now he and the Colonel were walkingthrough the battle’s litter. The Arab boy followed a dozen pacesbehind.“Yours, is he?” Wallace asked.“Think so, sir. Sort of picked him up yesterday.“You need a servant, don’t you? Urquhart tells me you don’t haveone.“So Urquhart had been discussing Sharpe with the Colonel.
No good couldcome of that, Sharpe thought. Urquhart had been nagging Sharpe to finda servant, implying that Sharpe’s clothes were in need of cleaning andpressing, which they were, but as he only owned the clothes he wore, hecould not really see the point in being too finicky.“Ihadn’t really thought what to do with the lad, sir,” Sharpe admitted.Wallace turned and spoke to the boy in an Indian language, and Ahmedstared up at the Colonel and nodded solemnly as though he understoodwhat had been said. Perhaps he did, though Sharpe did not.“I’ve told him he’s to serve you properly,” Wallace said, ‘and thatyou’ll pay him properly.” The Colonel seemed to disapprove of Ahmed,or maybe he just disapproved of everything to do with Sharpe, though hewas doing his best to be friendly. It had been Wallace who had givenSharpe the commission in the 74th, and Wallace had been a close friendof Colonel McCandless, so Sharpe supposed that the balding Colonel was,in his way, an ally. Even so, Sharpe felt awkward in the Scotsman’scompany. He wondered if he would ever feel relaxed among officers. “How’s that woman of yours, Sharpe?” Wallace asked cheerfully.“My woman, sir?” Sharpe asked, blushing.“The Frenchwoman, can’t recall her name. Took quite a shine to you,didn’t she?“Simone, sir? She’s in Seringapatam, sir. Seemed the best place forher, sir.“Quite, quite.“Simone Joubert had been widowed at Assaye where her husband, who hadserved Scindia, had died. She had been Sharpe’s lover and, after thebattle, she had stayed with him. Where else, she asked, was she to go?But Wellesley had forbidden his officers to take their wives on thecampaign, and though Simone was not Sharpe’s wife, she was white, andso she had agreed to go to Seringapatam and there wait for him. Shehad carried a letter of introduction to Major Stokes, Sharpe’s friendwho ran the armoury, and Sharpe had given her some of the Tippoo’sjewels so that she could find servants and live comfortably.
He sometimes worried he had given her too many of the precious stones,but consoled himself that Simone would keep the surplus safe till hereturned.“So are you happy, Sharpe?” Wallace asked bluffly.“Yes, sir,” Sharpe said bleakly.“Keeping busy?“Not really, sir.“Difficult, isn’t it?” Wallace said vaguely. He had stopped to watchthe gunners loading one of the captured cannon, a great brute thatlooked to take a ball of twenty or more pounds. The barrel had beencast with an intricate pattern of lotus flowers and dancing girls, thenpainted with garish colours. The gunners had charged the gaudy barrelwith a double load of powder and now they rammed two cannonballs downthe blackened gullet. An engineer had brought some wedges and a gunnersergeant pushed one down the barrel, then hammered it home with therammer so that the ball would jam when the gun was fired.The engineer took a ball of fuse from his pocket, pushed one end intothe touch-hole, then backed away, uncoiling the pale line.
“Best if we give them some space,” Wallace said, gesturing that theyshould walk south a small way.“Don’t want to be beheaded by a scrap of gun, eh?“No, sir.“Very difficult,” Wallace said, picking up his previous thought.“Coming up from the ranks? Admirable, Sharpe, admirable, butdifficult, yes?“I suppose so, sir,” Sharpe said unhelpfully.Wallace sighed, as though he was finding the conversation unexpectedlyhard going.“Urquhart tells me you seem’ the Colonel paused, looking for thetactful word ‘unhappy?“Takes time, sir.“Of course, of course. These things do. Quite.” The Colonel wiped ahand over his bald pate, then rammed his sweat-stained hat back intoplace.
“I remember when I joined. Years ago now, of course, and I was only alittle chap. Didn’t know what was going on! They said turn left, thenturned right. Damned odd, I thought. I was arse over elbow formonths, I can tell you.” The Colonel’s voice tailed away.“Damned hot,” he said after a while.“Damned hot. Ever heard of the 95th, Sharpe?“‘95th, sir? Another Scottish regiment?“Lord, no. The 95th Rifles.
They’re a new regiment. Couple of yearsold. Used to be called the Experimental Corps of Riflemen!” Wallacehooted with laughter at the clumsy name.“But a friend of mine is busy with the rascals. Willie Stewart, he’scalled. The Honourable William Stewart. Capital fellow! But Willie’sgot some damned odd ideas. His fellows wear green coats. Green! Andhe tells me his riflemen ain’t as rigid as he seems to think we are.“Wallace smiled to show he had made some kind of joke. “Thing is, Sharpe, I wondered if you wouldn’t be better suited toStewart’s outfit? His idea, you should understand. He wrote wonderingif I had any bright young officers who could carry some experience ofIndia to Shorncliffe. I was going to write back and say we do preciouslittle skirmishing here, and it’s skirmishing that Willie’s rogues arebeing trained to do, but then I thought of you, Sharpe.“Sharpe said nothing. Whichever way you wrapped it up, he was beingdismissed from the 74th, though he supposed it was kind of Wallace tomake the 95th sound like an interesting sort of regiment.Sharpe guessed they were the usual shambles of a hastily raised wartimebattalion, staffed by the leavings of other regiments and composed ofgutter rogues discarded by every other recruiting sergeant. The veryfact they wore green coats sounded bad, as though the army could not bebothered to waste good red cloth on them. They would probably dissolvein panicked chaos in their first battle.“I’ve written to Willie about you,” Wallace went on, ‘and I know he’llhave a place for you.” Meaning, Sharpe thought, that the HonourableWilliam Stewart owed Wallace a favour.
“And our problem, frankly,” Wallace continued, ‘is that a new draft hasreached Madras. Weren’t expecting it till spring, but they’re herenow, so we’ll be back to strength in a month or so.” Wallace paused,evidently wondering if he had softened the blow sufficiently.“And the fact is, Sharpe,” he resumed after a while, ‘that Scottishregiments are more like, well, families!Families, that’s it, just it. My mother always said so, and she was apretty shrewd judge of these things. Like families! More so, I think,than English regiments, don’t you think?“Yes, sir,” Sharpe said, trying to hide his misery.“But I can’t let you go while there’s a war on,” Wallace continuedheartily. The Colonel had turned to watch the cannon again. Theengineer had finished unwinding his fuse and the gunners now shouted ateveryone within earshot to stand away.“I do enjoy this,” the Colonel said warmly.
“Nothing like a bit of gratuitous destruction to set the juicesflowing, eh?“The engineer stooped to the fuse with his tinderbox. Sharpe saw himstrike the flint then blow the charred linen into flame. There was apause, then he put the fuse end into the small fire and the smokefizzed up.The fuse burned fast, the smoke and sparks snaking through the drygrass and starting small fires, then the red hot trail streaked up theback of the gun and down into the touch-hole.For a heartbeat nothing happened, then the whole gun just seemed todisintegrate. The charge had tried to propel the double shot up thewedged barrel, but the resistance was just big enough to restrict theexplosion. The touch-hole shot out first, the shaped piece of metaltearing out a chunk of the upper breach, then the whole rear of thepainted barrel split apart in smoke, flame and whistling lumps ofjagged metal. The forward part of the barrel, jaggedly torn off,dropped to the grass as the gun’s wheels were splayed out. The gunnerscheered.“One less Mahratta gun,” Wallace said.
Ahmed was grinning broadly.“Did you know Mackay?” Wallace asked Sharpe.“No, sir.“Captain Mackay. Hugh Mackay. East India Company officer. FourthNative Cavalry. Very good fellow indeed, Sharpe. I knew his fatherwell.Point is, though, that young Hugh was put in charge of the bullocktrain before Assaye. And he did a very good job! Very good. But heinsisted on joining his troopers in the battle. Disobeyed orders,d’you see?Wellesley was adamant that Mackay must stay with his bullocks, butyoung Hugh wanted to be on the dance floor, and quite right too, exceptthat the poor devil was killed. Cut in half by a cannonball!” Wallacesounded shocked, as though such a thing was an outrage.“It’s left the bullock train without a guiding hand, Sharpe.“Christ, Sharpe thought, but he was to be made bullock master!“Not fair to say they don’t have a guiding hand,” Wallace continued,‘because they do, but the new fellow don’t have any experience withbullocks. Torrance, he’s called, and I’m sure he’s a good fellow, butthings are likely to get a bit more sprightly from now on. Goingdeeper into enemy territory, see? And there are still lots of theirdamned horsemen at large, and Torrance says he needs a deputy officer.Someone to help him. Thought you might be just the fellow for the job,Sharpe. “Wallace smiled as though he was granting Sharpe a huge favour.“Don’t know anything about bullocks, sir,” Sharpe said doggedly.“I’m sure you don’t! Who does? And there are dromedaries, andelephants. A regular menagerie, eh? But the experience, Sharpe, willdo you good. Think of it as another string to your bow.“Sharpe knew a further protest would do no good, so he nodded.“Yes, sir,” he said.“Good! Good! Splendid.” Wallace could not hide his relief.“It won’t be for long, Sharpe.
Scindia’s already suing for peace, andthe Rajah of Berar’s bound to follow. We may not even have to fight atGawilghur, if that’s where the rogues do take refuge. So go and helpTorrance, then you can set a course for England, eh? Become aGreenjacket!“So Ensign Sharpe had failed. Failed utterly. He had been an officerfor two months and now he was being booted out of a regiment. Sent tothe bullocks and the dromedaries, whatever the hell they were, andafter that to the green-coated dregs of the army. Bloody hell fire, hethought, bloody hell fire.The British and their allied cavalry rode all night, and in the dawnthey briefly rested, watered their horses, then hauled themselves intotheir saddles and rode again. They rode till their horses were reelingwith tiredness and white with sweat, and only then did they give up thesavage pursuit of the Mahratta fugitives. Their sabre arms were weary,their blades blunted and their appetites slaked. The night had been awild hunt of victory, a slaughter under the moon that had left theplain reeking with blood, and the sun brought more killing andwide-winged vultures that flapped down to the feast.The pursuit ended close to a sudden range of hills that marked thenorthern limit of the Deccan Plain. The hills were steep and thicklywooded, no place for cavalry, and above the hills reared great cliffs,dizzyingly high cliffs that stretched from the eastern to the westernhorizon like the nightmare ramparts of a tribe of giants. In placesthere were deep re-entrants cut into the great cliff and some of theBritish pursuers, gaping at the vast wall of rock that barred theirpath, supposed that the wooded clefts would provide a path up to thecliff’s summit, though none could see how anyone could reach thehighland if an enemy chose to defend it.Between two of the deep re-entrants a great promontory of rock juttedfrom the cliff face like the prow of a monstrous stone ship. Thesummit of the jutting rock was two thousand feet above the horsemen onthe plain, and one of them, scrubbing blood from his sabre blade with ahandful of grass, glanced up at the high peak and saw a tiny puff ofwhiteness drifting from its crest. He thought it a small cloud, butthen he heard a faint bang of gunfire, and a second later a round shotdropped vertically into a nearby patch of millet. His captain pulledout a telescope and trained it high into the sky. He stared for a longtime, then gave a low whistle.“What is it, sir?“It’s a fortress,” the Captain said. He could just see black stonewalls, shrunken by distance, poised above the grey-white rock.“It’s hell in the bloody sky,” he said grimly, ‘that’s what it is. It’sGawilghur.“More guns fired from the fortress, but they were so high in the airthat their shots lost all their forward momentum long before theyreached the ground. The balls fell like nightmare rain and the Captainshouted at his men to lead their horses out of range.“Their final refuge,” he said, then laughed, ‘but it’s nothing to dowith us, boys! The infantry will have to deal with that bigbastard.“The cavalrymen slowly moved southwards. Some of their horses had lostshoes, which meant they had to be walked home, but their night’s workwas well done. They had ravaged a broken army, and now the infantrymust cope with the Mahrattas’ final refuge.A sergeant shouted from the right flank and the Captain turnedwestwards to see a column of enemy infantry appearing from a grove oftrees just over a mile away. The white-coated battalion stillpossessed their artillery, but they showed no sign of wanting a fight.A crowd of civilians and several companies of fugitive Mahrattas hadjoined the regiment which was heading for a road that twisted into thehills beneath the fort, then zigzagged its way up the face of the rockpromontory.If that road was the only way into the fort, the cavalry Captainthought, then God help the redcoats who had to attack Gawilghur. Hestared at the infantry through his telescope. The white-coated troopswere showing small interest in the British cavalry, but it still seemedprudent to quicken his pace southwards.A moment later and the cavalry was hidden behind millet fields. TheCaptain turned a last time and gazed again at the fortress on thesoaring cliffs. It seemed to touch the sky, so high it stood above allIndia.“Bastard of a place,” the Captain said wonderingly, then turned andleft.He had done his job, and now the infantry must climb to the clouds todo theirs. Colonel William Dodd watched the blue-coated cavalrymen walk theirtired horses southwards until they vanished beyond a field of standingmillet. The sub adar in charge of the regiment’s small cannon hadwanted to unlimber and open fire on the horsemen, but Dodd had refusedhis permission. There would have been no point in attacking, for bythe time the guns were loaded the cavalrymen would have walked out ofrange.He watched a last salvo of round shot plummet to earth from the fort’shigh guns. Those cannon were of little use, Dodd thought, except tooverawe people on the plain.It took Dodd’s regiment over seven hours to climb to the fort ofGawilghur, and by the time he reached the summit Dodd’s lungs wereburning, his muscles aching and his uniform soaked with sweat. He hadwalked every step of the way, refusing to ride his horse, for the beastwas tired and, besides, if he expected his men to walk up the longroad, then he would walk it as well. He was a tall, sallow-faced manwith a harsh voice and an awkward manner, but William Dodd knew how toearn his men’s admiration. They saw that he walked when he could haveridden, and so they did not complain as the steep climb sapped theirbreath and stole their strength. The regiment’s families, its baggageand its battery of cannon were still far below on the twisting,treacherous track that, in its last few miles, was little more than aledge hacked from the cliff.
Dodd formed his Cobras into four ranks as they approached Gawilghur’ssouthern entrance where the great metal-studded gates were being swungopen in welcome.“March smartly now!” Dodd called to his men.“You’ve nothing to be ashamed of! You lost no battle!” He pulledhimself up into his saddle and drew his gold-hiked sword to salute theflag of Berar that flapped above the high gate-tower. Then he touchedhis heels to the mare’s flanks and led his undefeated men into thetower’s long entrance tunnel.He emerged into the afternoon sun to find himself staring at a smalltown that was built within the stronghold’s ramparts and on the summitof Gawilghur’s promontory. The alleys of the town were crammed withsoldiers, most of them Mahratta cavalrymen who had fled in front of theBritish pursuit, but, twisting in his saddle, Dodd saw some infantry ofGawilghur’s garrison standing on the fire step He also saw Manu Bappoowho had out ridden the British pursuit and now gestured to Dodd fromthe gate-tower’s turret.Dodd told one of his men to hold his horse, then climbed the blackwalls to the top fire step of the tower where he stopped in awedastonishment at the view. It was like standing at the edge of theworld.The plain was so far beneath and the southern horizon so far away thatthere was nothing in front of his eyes but endless sky. This, Doddthought, was a god’s view of earth.
The eagle’s view. He leaned overthe parapet and saw his guns struggling up the narrow road. They wouldnot reach the fort till long after nightfall.“You were right, Colonel,” Manu Bappoo said ruefully.Dodd straightened to look at the Mahratta prince.“It’s dangerous to fight the British in open fields,” he said, ‘buthere ?” Dodd gestured at the approach road.“Here they will die, sahib.“The fort’s main entrance,” Bappoo said in his sibilant voice, ‘is onthe other side. To the north.“Dodd turned and gazed across the roof of the central palace. He couldsee little of the great fortress’s northern de fences though a long wayaway he could see another tower like the one on which he now stood.“Is the main entrance as difficult to approach as this one?” he asked.I “No, but it isn’t easy. The enemy has to approach along a narrowstrip of rock, then fight through the Outer Fort. After that comes aravine, and then the Inner Fort. I want you to guard the innergate.“Dodd looked suspiciously at Bappoo.“Not the Outer Fort?” Dodd reckoned his Cobras should guard the placewhere the British would attack. That way the British would bedefeated.“The Outer Fort is a trap,” Bappoo explained. He looked tired, but thedefeat at Argaum had not destroyed his spirit, merely sharpened hisappetite for revenge.“If the British capture the Outer Fort they will think they have won.They won’t know that an even worse barrier waits beyond the ravine.That barrier has to be held. I don’t care if the Outer Fort falls, butwe must hold the Inner. That means our best troops must be there.“It will be held,” Dodd said.Bappoo turned and stared southwards. Somewhere in the heat-hazeddistance the British forces were readying to march on Gawilghur.“Ithought we could stop them at Argaum,” he admitted softly. Dodd, who had advised against fighting at Argaum, said nothing.“But here,” Bappoo went on, ‘they will be stopped.“Here, Dodd thought, they would have to be stopped. He had desertedfrom the East India Company’s army because he faced trial andexecution, but also because he believed he could make a fortune as amercenary serving the Mahrattas. So far he had endured three defeats,and each time he had led his men safe out of the disaster, but fromGawilghur there would be no escape. The British would block everyapproach, so the British must be stopped. They must fail in this highplace, and so they would, Dodd consoled himself. For nothingimaginable could take this fort. He was on the world’s edge, liftedinto the sky, and for the redcoats it would be like scaling the veryheights of heaven.So here, at last, deep inside India, the redcoats would be beaten.
Six. cavalrymen in the blue and yellow coats of the igth LightDragoons waited outside the house where Captain Torrance was said to bebilleted. They were under the command of a long-legged sergeant whowas lounging on a bench beside the door. The Sergeant glanced up asSharpe approached.“I hope you don’t want anything useful out of the bastards,” he saidacidly, then saw that the shabby-uniformed Sharpe, despite wearing apack like any common soldier, also had a sash and a sabre. Hescrambled to his feet.“Sorry, sir.“Sharpe waved him back down onto the bench.“Useful?” he asked.“Horseshoes, sir, that’s all we bleeding want.
Horseshoes! Supposedto be four thousand in store, but can they find them?” The Sergeantspat.“Tells me they’re lost! I’m to go to the bhinjarries and buy them!I’m supposed to tell my captain that? So now we have to sit here tillCaptain Torrance gets back. Maybe he knows where they are. Thatmonkey in there’ he jerked his thumb at the house’s front door’ doesnknow a bloody thing.“Sharpe pushed open the door to find himself in a large room where ahalf-dozen men argued with a harried clerk. The clerk, an Indian, satbehind a table covered with curling ledgers.“Captain Torrance is ill!“the clerk snapped at Sharpe without waiting to discover the newcomer’sbusiness.“And take that dirty Arab boy outside,” the clerk added, jerking hischin at Ahmed who, armed with a musket he had taken from a corpse onthe battlefield, had followed Sharpe into the house.“Muskets!” A man tried to attract the clerk’s attention.“Horseshoes!” an East India Company lieutenant shouted. “Buckets,” a gunner said.“Come back tomorrow,” the clerk said.“Tomorrow!“You said that yesterday,” the gunner said, ‘and I’m back.“Where’s Captain Torrance?” Sharpe asked.“He’s ill,” the clerk said disapprovingly, as though Sharpe had riskedthe Captain’s fragile health even by asking the question.“He cannot be disturbed. And why is that boy here? He is an Arab!“Because I told him to be here,” Sharpe said. He walked round thetable and stared down at the ledgers.“What a bleeding mess!“Sahib!” The clerk had now realized Sharpe was an officer.“Other side of the table, sahib, please, sahib! There is a systemhere, sahib.
I stay this side of the table and you remain on theother. Please, sahib.“What’s your name?” Sharpe asked.The clerk seemed affronted at the question.“I am Captain Torranee’s assistant,” he said grandly.“And Torrance is ill?“The Captain is very sick.“So who’s in charge?“I am,” the clerk said.“Not any longer,” Sharpe said. He looked up at the East India Companylieutenant.“What did you want?“Horseshoes. “So where are the bleeding horseshoes?” Sharpe asked the clerk.“I have explained, sahib, I have explained,” the clerk said. He was amiddle-aged man with a lugubrious face and pudgy ink-stained fingersthat now hastily tried to close all the ledgers so that Sharpe couldnot read them.“Now please, sahib, join the queue.“Where are the horseshoes?” Sharpe insisted, leaning closer to thesweating clerk.“This office is closed!” the clerk shouted.“Closed till tomorrow! All business will be conducted tomorrow.Captain Torrance’s orders!“Ahmed!” Sharpe said.“Shoot the bugger.“Ahmed spoke no English, but the clerk did not know that.
He held hishands out.“I am closing the office! Work cannot be done like this! I shallcomplain to Captain Torrance! There will be trouble! Big trouble!“The clerk glanced at a door that led to the inner part of the house.“Is that where Torrance is?” Sharpe asked, gesturing at the door.“No, sahib, and you cannot go in there. The Captain is sick.“Sharpe went to the door and pushed it open. The clerk yelped aprotest, but Sharpe ignored him. A muslin screen hung on the otherside of the door and entangled Sharpe as he pushed into the room wherea sailor’s hammock hung from the beams. The room seemed empty, butthen a whimper made him look into a shadowed corner. A young womancrouched there. She was dressed in a said, but she looked European toSharpe. She had been sewing gold braid onto the outer seams of a pairof breeches, but now stared in wide-eyed fright at the intruder.“Who are you, Ma’am?” Sharpe asked.The woman shook her head. She had very black hair and very white skin.Her terror was palpable.“Is Captain Torrance here?” Sharpe asked.“No,” she whispered.“He’s sick, is that right?“If he says so, sir,” she said softly. Her London accent confirmedthat she was English. “I ain’t going to hurt you, love,” Sharpe said, for fear was making hertremble.“Are you Mrs. Torrance?“No!“So you work for him?“Yes, sir.“And you don’t know where he is?“No, sir,” she said softly, looking up at Sharpe with huge eyes. Shewas lying, he reckoned, but he guessed she had good reason to lie,perhaps fearing Torrance’s punishment if she told the truth. Heconsidered soothing the truth out of her, but reckoned it might taketoo long. He wondered who she was. She was pretty, despite herterror, and he guessed she was Torrance’s bibbi. Lucky Torrance, hethought ruefully.“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Ma’am,” he said, then he negotiatedthe muslin curtain back into the front room.
The clerk shook his head fiercely.“You should not have gone in there, sahib! That is private quarters I shall be forced to tell Captain Torrance.“Sharpe took hold of the clerk’s chair and tipped it, forcing the manoff. The men waiting in the room gave a cheer. Sharpe ignored them,sat on the chair himself and pulled the tangle of ledgers towardshim.“Idon’t care what you tell Captain Torrance,” he said, ‘so long as youtell me about the horseshoes first.“They are lost!” the clerk protested.“How were they lost?” Sharpe asked.The clerk shrugged.“Things get lost,” he said.
Sweat was pouring down his plump face ashe tentatively tried to tug some of the ledgers away from Sharpe, buthe recoiled from the look on the Ensign’s face.“Things get lost,” the clerk said again weakly.“It is the nature of things to get lost.“Muskets?” Sharpe asked.“Lost,” the clerk admitted.“Buckets?“Lost,” the clerk said.“Paperwork,” Sharpe said.The clerk frowned.“Paperwork, sahib?“If something’s lost,” Sharpe said patiently, ‘there’s a record. Thisis the bloody army. You can’t have a piss without someone making anote of it. to show me the records of what’s been lost.“The clerk sighed and pulled one of the big ledgers open.“Here, sahib,” he said, pointing an inky finger.“One barrel of horseshoes, see?Being carried on an ox from Jamkandhi, lost in the Godavery on November12th.“How many horseshoes in a barrel?” Sharpe asked.“A hundred and twenty.” The long-legged cavalry Sergeant had come intothe office and now leaned against the doorpost.“And there are supposed to be four thousand horseshoes in store?“Sharpe asked.“Here!” The clerk turned a page. “Another barrel, see?“Sharpe peered at the ill-written entry.“Lost in the Godavery,” he read aloud.“And here.” The clerk stabbed his finger again.“Stolen,” Sharpe read. A drop of sweat landed on the page as the clerkturned it back.“So who stole it?“The enemy, sahib,” the clerk said.“Their horsemen are everywhere.“Their bloody horsemen run if you so much as look at them,” the tallcavalry Sergeant said sourly.“They couldn’t steal an egg from a chicken.
“The convoys are ambushed, sahib,” the clerk insisted, ‘and things arestolen.“Sharpe pushed the clerk’s hand away and turned the pages back, lookingfor the date when the battle had been fought at Assaye. He found it,and discovered a different handwriting had been used for the previousentries. He guessed Captain Mackay must have kept the ledger himself,and in Mackay’s neat entries there were far fewer annotations reading’stolen’ or ‘lost’. Mackay had marked eight cannonballs as being lostin a river crossing and two barrels of powder had been marked down asstolen, but in the weeks since Assaye no fewer than sixty-eight oxenhad lost their burdens to either accidents or thieves. More tellingly,each of those oxen had been carrying a scarce commodity. The armywould not miss a load of round shot, but it would suffer grievouslywhen its last reserve of horseshoes was gone.“Whose handwriting is this?” Sharpe had turned to the most recentpage.“Mine, sahib.” The clerk was looking frightened.
“How do you know when something is stolen?“The clerk shrugged.“The Captain tells me. Or the Sergeant tells me.“The Sergeant?“He isn’t here,” the clerk said.“He’s bringing a convoy of oxen north.“What’s the Sergeant’s name?” Sharpe asked, for he could find norecord in the ledger.“Hakeswill,” the cavalry Sergeant said laconically.“He’s the bugger we usually deal with, on account of Captain Torrancealways being ill.“Bloody hell,” Sharpe said, and pushed the chair back. Hakeswill!Obadiah bloody Hakeswill!“Why wasn’t he sent back to his regiment?“Sharpe asked.
“He isn’t supposed to be here at all!“He knows the system,” the clerk explained.“Captain Torrance wanted him to stay, sahib.“And no bloody wonder, Sharpe thought. Hakeswill had worked himselfinto the army’s most profitable billet! He was milking the cow, butmaking sure it was the clerk’s handwriting in the ledger. No flies onObadiah.“How does the system work?” he asked the clerk.“Chitties,” the clerk said.“Chitties?“An ox driver is given a chitty, sahib, and when he has delivered hisload the chitty is signed and brought here. Then he is paid. Nochitty, no money.
It is the rule, sahib. No chitty, no money.“And no bloody horseshoes either,” put in the lean Sergeant of the “AndSergeant Hakeswill pays the money?” Sharpe asked.“If he is here, sahib,” the clerk said.“That doesn’t get me my damned horseshoes,” the Company Lieutenantprotested.“Or my buckets,” the gunner put in.“The bhinjarries have all the essentials,” the clerk insisted. He madeshooing gestures.“Go and see the bhinjarriesl They have necessaries!This office is closed till tomorrow.“But where did the bhinjarries get their necessaries, eh? Answer methat?” Sharpe demanded, but the clerk merely shrugged. Thebhinjarries were merchants who travelled with the army, contributingtheir own vast herds of pack oxen and carts. They sold food, liquor,women and luxuries, ar’.d now, it seemed, they were offering militarysupplies as well, which meant that the army would be paying for thingsthat were normally issued free, and doubtless, if bloody Hakeswill hada finger in the pot, things which had been stolen from the army in thefirst place.“Where do I go for horseshoes?” Sharpe asked the clerk.The clerk was reluctant to answer, but he finally spread his hands andsuggested Sharpe ask in the merchants’ encampment.“Someone will tell you, sahib.“You tell me,” Sharpe said.“I don’t know!“So how do you know they have horseshoes?“I hear these things!” the clerk protested.Sharpe stood and bullied the clerk back against the wall.“You do more than hear things,” he said, leaning his forearm againstthe clerk’s neck, ‘you know things. So you bloody well tell me, orI’ll have my Arab boy chop off your goo lies for his breakfast. He’s ahungry little bugger.“The clerk fought for breath against the pressure of Sharpe’s arm.“Naig.” He offered the name plaintively when Sharpe relaxed his arm.“Naig?” Sharpe asked. The name rang a distant bell. A long-agobell.Naig? Then he remembered a merchant of that name who had followed thearmy to Seringapatam.“Naig?” Sharpe asked again. “A fellow with green tents?“The very one, sahib.” The clerk nodded.“But I did not tell you this thing! These gentlemen are witnesses, Idid not tell you!“He runs a brothel!” Sharpe said, remembering, and he remembered toohow Naig had been a friend to Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill four yearsbefore. Sharpe had been a private then and Hakeswill had trumped upcharges that had fetched Sharpe a flogging.“Nasty Naig’ had been the man’s nickname, and back then he had soldpale-skinned whores who travelled in green-curtained wagons.“Right!” Sharpe said.“This office is closed!” The gunner protested and the cavalry Sergeantlooked disappointed.“We’re going to see Naig,” Sharpe announced.“No!” the clerk said too loud.“No?” Sharpe asked.
“He will be angry, sahib.“Why should he be angry?” Sharpe demanded.“I’m a customer, ain’t I?He’s got horseshoes, and we want horseshoes. He should be delighted tosee us.“He must be treated with respect, sahib,” the clerk said nervously.“He is a powerful man, Naig. You have money for him?“I just want to look at his horseshoes,” Sharpe said, ‘and if they’rearmy issue then I’ll ram one of them down his bloody throat.“The clerk shook his head.“He has guards, sahib. He has jettisl’ “I think I might let you go onyour own,” the East India Company Lieutenant said, backing away.
“Jettis?” The light dragoon Sergeant asked.“Strongmen,” Sharpe explained.“Big buggers who kill you by wringing your neck like a chicken.” Heturned back to the clerk.“Where did Naig get hisjettis? From Seringapatam?“Yes, sahib.“I killed enough of the buggers,” Sharpe said, ‘so I don’t mind killinga few more. Are you coming?” he asked the cavalry Sergeant.“Why not?” The man grinned.“Anyone else?” Sharpe asked, but no one else seemed to want a fightthat afternoon.“Please, sahib,” the clerk said weakly.
Sharpe ignored him and, followed by Ahmed and the cavalryman, went backinto the sunlight.“What’s your name?” Sharpe asked the Sergeant.“Lockhart, sir. Eli Lockhart.“I’m Dick Sharpe, Eli, and you don’t have to call me “sir”, I’m not aproper bleeding officer. I was made up at Assaye, and I wish thebuggers had left me a sergeant now. They sent me to be a bloodybullock driver, because I’m not fit for anything else.” He looked atLockhart’s six troopers who were still waiting.“What are they doing here?“Didn’t expect me to carry the bloody horseshoes myself, did you?“Lockhart said, then gestured at the troopers.“Come on, boys.
We’re going to have a scrap.“Who said anything about a scrap?” Sharpe asked.“He’s got horseshoes,” Lockhart explained, ‘but we don’t have money. Sothere’s only one way to get them off him.“True,” Sharpe said, and grinned.Lockhart suddenly looked oddly shy.“Was you in the Captain’s quarters, sir?“Yes, why?“The tough-looking Sergeant was actually blushing now.“You didn’t see a woman there, did you, sir?“Dark-haired girl. Pretty?“That’s her.“Who is she?“Torrance’s servant. A widow. He brought her and her husband out fromEngland, but the fellow died and left her on her own. Torrance won’tlet her go.“And you’d like to take her off his hands, is that it?“I’ve only ever seen her at a distance,” the Sergeant admitted.“Torranee was in another regiment, one of the Madrassi’s, but we campedtogether often enough.“She’s still there,” Sharpe said drily, ‘still alive.“He keeps her close, he does,” Lockhart said, then kicked a dog out ofhis path. The eight men had left the village and entered the sprawlingencampment where the merchants with their herds, wagons and familieswere camped. Great white oxen with painted horns were hobbled by pegs,and children scurried among the beasts collecting their dung which theyslapped into cakes that would be dried for fuel.“So tell me about these jet tis Lockhart asked. “Like circus strongmen,” Sharpe said, ‘only it’s some kind of religiousthing. Don’t ask me. None of it makes bleeding sense to me. Gotmuscles like mountains, they have, but they’re slow. I killed four ofthe buggers at Seringapatam.“And you know Hakeswill?“I know bloody Hakeswill. Recruited me, he did, and he’s beenpersecuting me ever since. He shouldn’t even be with this army, he’ssupposed to be with the Havercakes down south, but he came up here witha warrant to arrest me. That didn’t work, so he’s just stayed, hasn’the? And he’s working the bleeding system! You can wager your lastshilling that he’s the bastard who supplies Naig, and splits theprofit.“Sharpe stopped to look for green tents.
“How come you don’t carry your own spare horseshoes?“We do. But when they’ve gone you have to get more from the supplies.That’s how the system’s supposed to work. And yesterday’s pursuit lefthalf the hooves wrecked. We need shoes.“Sharpe had seen a cluster of faded green tents.“That’s where the bastard is,” he said, then looked at Lockhart.“This could get nasty.“Lockhart grinned. He was as tall as Sharpe and had a face that lookedas though it had survived a lifetime of tavern brawls.
“Come this far, ain’t I?“Is that thing loaded?” Sharpe nodded at the pistol at Lockhart’sbelt.A sabre also hung there, just like the one at Sharpe’s hip.“It will be.” Lockhart drew the pistol and Sharpe turned to Ahmed andmimed the actions of loading the musket. Ahmed grinned and pointed tothe lock, indicating that his weapon was already charged.“How many of the buggers will be waiting for us?” Lockhart asked.“A dozen?” Sharpe guessed.Lockhart glanced back at his six men.“We can deal with a dozen buggers.“Right,” Sharpe said, ‘so let’s bloody well make some trouble.
” Hegrinned, because for the first time since he had become an officer hewas enjoying himself.Which meant someone was about to get a thumping.
CHAPTER 3
Major General Sir Arthur Wellesley rode northwards among a cavalcade ofofficers whose horses kicked up a wide trail of dust that lingered inthe air long after the horsemen had passed. Two troops of East IndiaCompany cavalry provided the General’s escort. Manu Bappoo’s armymight have been trounced and its survivors sent skeltering back intoGawilghur, but the Deccan Plain was still infested with Mahrattacavalry ready to pounce on supply convoys, wood-cutting parties or thegrass-cutters who supplied the army’s animals with fodder and so thetwo troops rode with sabres drawn. Wellesley set a fast pace,revelling in the freedom to ride in the long open country.“Did you visit Colonel Stevenson this morning?” he called back to anaide.“I did, sir, and he’s no better than he was.“But he can get about?“On his elephant, sir.“Wellesley grunted.
Stevenson was the commander of his smaller army,but the old Colonel was ailing. So was Harness, the commander of oneof Wellesley’s two brigades, but there was no point in asking aboutHarness. It was not just physical disease that assaulted Harness, forthe Scotsman’s wits were gone as well. The doctors claimed it was theheat that had desiccated his brains, but Wellesley doubted thediagnosis. Heat and rum, maybe, but not the heat alone, though he didnot doubt that India’s climate was bad for a European’s health. Fewmen lived long without falling prey to some wasting fever, andWellesley was thinking it was time he left himself. Time to go backhome before his health was abraded and, more important, before hisexistence was forgotten in London. French armies were unsettling allEurope and it could not be long before London despatched an army tofight the old foe, and Wellesley wanted to be a part of it. He was inhis middle thirties and he had a reputation to make, but first he hadto finish off the Mahrattas, and that meant taking Gawilghur, and tothat end he was now riding towards the great rampart of cliffs thatsealed off the plain’s northern edge.An hour’s ride brought him to the summit of a small rise which offereda view northwards. The plain looked dun, starved of water by thefailed monsoon, though here and there patches of millet grew tall. Ina good year, Wellesley guessed, the millet would cover the plain fromhorizon to horizon, a sea of grain bounded by the Gawilghur cliffs. Hedismounted on the small knoll and took out a telescope that he settledon his horse’s saddle. It was a brand new glass, a gift from themerchants of Madras to mark Wellesley’s pacification of Mysore. Tradenow moved freely on India’s eastern flank, and the telescope, which hadbeen specially ordered from Matthew Berge of London, was a generoustoken of the merchants’ esteem, but Wellesley could not get used toit.The shape of the eyepiece was less concave than the one he was used to,and after a moment he snapped the new telescope shut and pulled out hisold glass which, though lower powered, was more comfortable.He stared for a long time, gazing at the fort which crowned the rockpromontory. The black stone of the fortress walls looked particularlysinister, even in the sunlight.“Good God,” the General muttered after a while. Fail up there, hethought, and there would be no point in going home. He could go toLondon with some victories under his belt, and men would respect himeven if the victories had not been against the French, but go with adefeat and they would despise him. Gawilghur, he thought sourly, hadthe look of a career-breaker.Colonel Wallace, Wellesley’s healthy brigade commander, had alsodismounted and was inspecting the fortress through his own glass.“Devil of a place, Sir Arthur,” Wallace said “How high is it,Blackiston?” Wellesley called to one of his aides, an engineer.“I took a triangulation yesterday, sir,” Blackiston said, ‘anddiscovered the fortress walls are eighteen hundred feet above theplain.“Is there water up there?” Colonel Butters, the chief engineer,asked.“We hear there is, sir,” Blackiston said.“There are tanks in the fort;huge things like lakes.“But the water level must be low this year?” Butters suggested.“I doubt it’s low enough, sir,” Blackiston murmured, knowing thatButters had been hoping that thirst might defeat the garrison. “And the rascals will have food, no doubt,” Wellesley commented.“Doubtless,” Wallace agreed drily.“Which means they’ll have to be prised out,” the General said, thenbent to the glass again and lowered the lens to look at the foothillsbelow the bluff. Just south of the fort was a conical hill that rosealmost halfway up the flank of the great promontory.“Can we get guns on that near hill?” he asked.There was a pause while the other officers decided which hill he wasreferring to. Colonel Butters flinched.“We can get them up there, sir, but I doubt they’ll have the elevationto reach the fort.“You’ll get nothing bigger than a twelve-pounder up there,” Wallacesaid dubiously, then slid the telescope’s view up the bluff to thewalls.“And you’ll need bigger shot than twelve-pounders to break down thatwall.
“Sir Arthur!” The warning call came from the officer commanding theEast India Company cavalry who was pointing to where a group ofMahratta horsemen had appeared in the south. They had evidently beenfollowing the lingering dust cloud left by the General’s party and,though the approaching horsemen only numbered about twenty men, thesepoy cavalry wheeled to face them and spread into a line.“It’s all right,” Wellesley called, ‘they’re ours. I asked them tomeet us here.” He had inspected the approaching horsemen through histelescope and now, waving the sepoy cavalry back, he walked to greetthe silladars.“Syud Sevajee,” Wellesley acknowledged the man in the shabby green andsilver coat who led the cavalrymen, ‘thank you for coming.“Syud Sevajee nodded brusquely at Wellesley, then stared up atGawilghur.“You think you can get in?“I think we must,” Wellesley said.“No one ever has,” Sevajee said with a sly smile.Wellesley returned the smile, but slowly, as if accepting the impliedchallenge, and then, as Sevajee slid down from his saddle, the Generalturned to Wallace.
“You’ve met Syud Sevajee, Wallace?“I’ve not had that pleasure, sir.“Wellesley made the introduction, then added that Syud Sevajee’s fatherhad been one of the Rajah of Berar’s generals.“But is no longer?” Wallace asked Sevajee.“Beny Singh murdered him,” Sevajee said grimly, ‘so I fight with you,Colonel, to gain my chance to kill Beny Singh. And Beny Singh nowcommands that fortress.” He nodded towards the distant promontory.“So how do we get inside?” Wellesley asked.The officers gathered around Sevajee as the Indian drew his tulwar andused its tip to draw a figure eight in the dust. He tapped the lowercircle of the eight, which he had drawn far larger than the upper.“That’s what you’re looking at,” he said, ‘the Inner Fort.
And thereare only two entrances. There’s a road that climbs up from the plainand goes to the Southern Gate.” He drew a squiggly line that tailedaway from the bottom of the figure eight.“But that road is impossible. You will climb straight into their guns.A child with a pile of rocks could keep an army from climbing thatroad. The only possible route into the Inner Fort is through the mainentrance.” He scratched a brief line across the junction of the twocircles.“Which will not be easy?” Wellesley asked drily.Sevajee offered the General a grim smile. “The main entrance is a long corridor, barred by four gates and flankedby high walls. But even to reach it, Sir Arthur, you will have to takethe Outer Fort.” He tapped the small upper circle of the figureeight.Wellesley nodded.“And that, too, is difficult?“Again, two entrances,” Sevajee said.“One is a road that climbs from the plain. You can’t see it from here,but it twists up the hills to the west and it comes to the fort here.“He tapped the waist of the figure eight.“It’s an easier climb than the southern road, but for the last mile ofthe journey your men will be under the guns of the Outer Fort. And thefinal half-mile, General, is steep.
” He stressed the last word.“On one side of the road is a cliff, and on the other is a precipice,and the guns of the Outer Fort can fire straight down that half-mile ofroad.“Colonel Butters shook his head in gloomy contemplation of Sevajee’snews.“How come you know all this?” he asked.“I grew up in Gawilghur,” Sevajee said.“My father, before he was murdered, was kill adar of the fortress.“He knows,” Wellesley said curtly.“And the main entrance of the Outer Fort?“That,” Sevajee said, ‘is the fortress’s weakest point.” He scratcheda line that pierced the uppermost curve of the small circle.“It’s the only level approach to the fortress, but it’s very narrow.
Onone side’ he tapped the eastern flank of the line ‘the ground fallssteeply away.On the other side is a reservoir tank. So to reach the fort you mustrisk a narrow neck of land that is swept by two ramparts of guns, oneabove the other.“Two walls?” Wallace asked.“Set on a steep hill,” Sevajee said, nodding.“You must fight uphill across both walls. There is an entrance, butit’s like the Inner Fort’s entrance: a series of gates with a narrowpassage leading from one to the other, and men above you on both sideshurling down rocks and round shot.“And once we’ve captured the Outer Fort,” Wellesley asked, ‘whatthen?“Sevajee offered a wolfish smile.“Then your troubles are just beginning, Sir Arthur.” He scuffed outthe diagram he had made in the dust and scratched another, this oneshowing two circles, one large and one small, with a space betweenthem. “The two forts are not connected. They are separated here’ he tappedthe space between the circles with his tulwar – ‘and that is a ravine.A deep ravine. So once you have the Outer Fort, you still have toassault the Inner Fort, and its de fences will be untouched. It has awall which stands at the top of the ravine’s cliff, and that is whereyour enemy will be taking refuge; inside the wall of the Inner Fort. Myfather reckoned no enemy could ever capture Gawilghur’s Inner Fort. Ifall India should fall, he said, then its heart would still beat atGawilghur.“Wellesley walked a few paces north to stare at the high promontory.“How big is the garrison?“Normally,” Sevajee said, ‘about a thousand men, but now? It could besix or seven times that many. There is room inside for a wholearmy.
“And if the fort did not fall, Wellesley thought, then the Mahrattaswould take heart. They would gather a new army and, in the new year,raid southwards again. There would be no peace in western India tillGawilghur fell.“Major Blackiston?“Sir?“You’ll make an exploration of the plateau.” The General turned toSevajee.“Will you escort Major Blackiston up into the hills? I want sketches,Blackiston, of the neck of land leading to the main entrance. I wantyou to tell me where we can place breaching batteries. I need to knowhow we can get guns up to the tops of the hills, and I need to know itall within two days.“Two days?” Blackiston sounded appalled.“We don’t want the rascals to take root up there, do we? Speed,Blackiston, speed! Can you leave now?” This question was directed atSevajee.
“I can,” Sevajee answered.Wellesley waved Blackiston on his way.“Two days, Major! I want you back tomorrow evening!“Colonel Butters frowned at the far hills.“You’re taking the army to the top?“Half the army,” Wellesley said, ‘the other half will stay on theplain.“He would need to hold Gawilghur between his redcoats like a nut, andhope that when he squeezed it was the nut, and not the nutcracker, thatbroke. He pulled himself back into the saddle, then waited as theother officers mounted. Then he turned his mare and started backtowards the camp.“It’ll be up to the engineers to get us onto the heights,” he said,‘then a week’s hard carrying to lift the ammunition to the batteries.“The thought of that job made the General frown.“What’s the problem with the bullock train?” he demanded of Butters.
“I’m hearing complaints.Over two thousand muskets stolen from convoys, and Huddlestone tells methere are no spare horseshoes; that can’t be right!“Torrance says that bandits have been active, sir,” Butters said.“And I gather there have bepn accidents,” he added lamely.“Who’s Torrance?” Wellesley asked.“Company man, sir, a captain. He took over poor Mackay’s duties.“I could surmise all that for myself,” the General said acidly.“Who is he?“Butters blushed at the reproof.“His father’s a canon at Wells, I think.Or maybe Salisbury? But more to the point, sir, he has an uncle inLeadenhall Street.
“Wellesley grunted. An uncle in Leadenhall Street meant that Torrancehad a patron who was senior in the East India Company,someone to wield the influence that a clergyman father might nothave.“Is he as good as Mackay?“Butters, a heavy-set man who rode his horse badly, shrugged.“He was recommended by Huddlestone.“Which means Huddlestone wanted to be rid of him,” Wellesley snapped.“I’m sure he’s doing his best,” Butters said defensively.“Though he did ask me for an assistant, but I had to turn him down.I’ve no one to spare. I’m short of engineers already, sir, as you wellknow.“I’ve sent for more,” Wellesley said.
Wallace intervened.“I gave Torrance one of my ensigns, Sir Arthur.“You can spare an ensign, Wallace?“Sharpe, sir.“Ah.” Wellesley grimaced.“Never does work out, does it? You lift a man from the ranks and youdo him no favours.“He might be happier in an English regiment,” Wallace said, ‘so I’mrecommending he exchanges into the Rifles.“You mean they’re not particular?” Wellesley asked, then scowled.“How the devil are we to fight a war without horseshoes?” He kickedback at the mare, angry at the predicament.“My God, Butters, but your Captain Torrance must do his job!“Wellesley, better than anyone, knew that he would never take Gawilghurif the supply train failed.
And Gawilghur had never been taken.Dear God, Wellesley thought, but how was it ever to be done?“Big buggers,” Sergeant Eli Lockhart murmured as they neared the twogreen tents. The cavalryman was speaking of the guards who lolled inchairs outside Naig’s tents. There were four in view, and two of themhad bare, oiled chests that bulged with unnatural muscle. Their hairwas never cut, but was instead coiled around their heads. They werekeeping guard outside the larger of the tents, the one Sharpe guessedwas Naig’s brothel. The other tent might have been the merchant’sliving quarters, but its entrance was tightly laced, so Sharpe couldnot glimpse inside.“The two greasy fellows are thejettis,” Sharpe said.“Big as bloody beeves, they are,” Lockhart said.“Do they really wring your neck?“Back to front,” Sharpe said.
“Or else they drive a nail into your skull with their bare hand.” Heswerved aside to go past the tents. It was not that he feared to picka fight with Naig’s guards, indeed he expected a scrap, but there wasno point in going bald-headed into battle. A bit of cleverness wouldnot go amiss.“I’m being canny,” he explained to Lockhart, then turned to make surethat Ahmed was keeping up. The boy was holding Sharpe’s pack as wellas his musket.The four guards, all of them armed with fire locks and tulwars, watchedthe British soldiers walk out of sight.“They didn’t like the look of us,” Lockhart said.“Mangy buggers, they are,” Sharpe said. He was glancing about theencampment and saw what he wanted just a few paces away.
It was somestraw, and near it was a smouldering campfire, and he screwed a handfulof the straw stalks into a spill that he lit and carried to the rear ofthe smaller tent. He pushed the flaming spill into a fold of thecanvas.A child watched, wide-eyed.“If you say anything,” Sharpe told the halfnaked child, “I’ll screwyour head off back to front.” The child, who did not understand aword, grinned broadly.“You’re not really supposed to be doing this, are you?” Lockhartasked.“No,” Sharpe said. Lockhart grinned, but said nothing. Instead hejust watched as the flames licked at the faded green canvas which, fora moment or two, resisted the fire. The material blackened, but didnot burn, then suddenly it burst into fire that licked greedily up thetent’s high side. “That’ll wake ‘em up,” Sharpe said.“What now?” Lockhart asked, watching the flame sear up the tent’sside.“We rescue what’s inside, of course.” Sharpe drew his sabre.“Come on, lads!” He ran back to? the front of the tent.“Fire!” he shouted.“Fire!Fetch water! Fire!“The four guards stared uncomprehendingly at the Englishman, then leapedto their feet as Sharpe slashed at the laces of the small tent’sdoorway. One of them called a protest to Sharpe.“Fire!” Lockhart bellowed at the guards who, still unsure of what washappening, did not try to stop Sharpe. Then one of them saw the smokebillowing over the ridge of the tent.
He yelled a warning into thelarger tent as his companions suddenly moved to pull the Englishmanaway from the tent’s entrance.“Hold them off!” Sharpe called, and Lockhart’s six troopers closed onthe three men. Sharpe slashed at the lacing, hacking down through thetough rope as the troopers thumped into the guards. Someone swore,there was a grunt as a fist landed, then a yelp as a trooper’s bootslammed into ajettfs groin. Sharpe sawed through the last knot, thenpushed through the loosened tent flaps.“Jesus!” He stopped, staring at the boxes and barrels and crates thatwere stacked in the tent’s smoky gloom.Lockhart had followed him inside.“Doesn’t even bother to hide the stuff properly, does he?” theSergeant said in amazement, then crossed to a barrel and pointed to a19 that had been cut into one of the staves.“That’s our mark! The bugger’s got half our supplies!” He looked upat the flames that were now eating away the tent roof.“We’ll lose the bloody lot if we don’t watch it. “Cut the tent ropes,” Sharpe suggested, ‘and push it all down.“The two men ran outside and slashed at the guy ropes with their sabres,but more of Naig’s men were coming from the larger tent now.“Watch your back, Eli!” Sharpe called, then turned and sliced thecurved blade towards ajetti’s face. The man stepped back, and Sharpefollowed up hard, slashing again, driving the huge man farther back.“Now bugger off!” he shouted at the vast brute.“There’s a bloody fire! Fire!“Lockhart had put his attacker on the ground and was now stamping on hisface with a spurred boot. The troopers were coming to help and Sharpelet them deal with Naig’s men while he cut through the last of the guyropes, then ran back into the tent and heaved on the nearest pole. Theair inside the tent was choking with swirling smoke, but at last thewhole heavy array of canvas sagged towards the fire, lifting the canvaswall behind Sharpe into the air.“Sahib!” Ahmed’s shrill voice shouted and Sharpe turned to see a manaiming a musket at him. The lifting tent flap was exposing Sharpe, buthe was too far away to rush the man, then Ahmed fired his own musketand the man shuddered, turned to look at the boy, then winced as thepain in his shoulder struck home.
He dropped the gun and clapped ahand onto the wound. The sound of the shot startled the other guardsand some reached for their own muskets, but Sharpe ran at them and usedhis sabre to beat the guns down.“There’s a bloody fire!” he shouted into their faces.“A fire! You want everything to burn?” They did not understand him,but some realized that the fire threatened their master’s supplies andso ran to haul the half-collapsed burning canvas away from the woodencrates.“But who started the fire?” a voice said behind Sharpe, and he turnedto see a tall, fat Indian dressed in a green robe that was embroideredwith looping fish and long-legged water-birds. The fat man was holdinga halfnaked child by the hand, the same small boy who had watchedSharpe push the burning straw into a crease of the canvas.“British officers,” the fat man said, ‘have a deal of freedom in thiscountry, but does that mean they can destroy an honest man’sproperty?“Are you Naig?” Sharpe asked.The fat man waved to his guards so that they gathered behind him.The tent had been dragged clear of the crates and was burning itselfout harmlessly. The green-robed man now had sixteen or seventeen menwith him, four of themjettis and all of them armed, while Sharpe hadLockhart and his battered troopers and one defiant child who wasreloading a musket as tall as himself. “I will give you my name,” the fat man said unpleasantly, ‘when youtell me yours.“Sharpe. Ensign Sharpe.“A mere ensign!” The fat man raised his eyebrows.“I thought ensigns were children, like this young man.” He patted thehalf-naked boy’s head.“I am Naig.“So perhaps you can tell me,” Sharpe said, ‘why that tent was stuffedfull of our supplies?“Your supplies!” Naig laughed.“They are my goods, Ensign Sharpe.Perhaps some of them are stored in old boxes that once belonged to yourarmy, but what of that? I buy the boxes from the quartermaster’sdepartment.
“Lying bastard,” Sergeant Lockhart growled. He had prised open thebarrel with the number 19 incised on its side and now flourished ahorseshoe.“Ours!” he said.Naig seemed about to order his guards to finish off Sharpe’s smallband, but then he glanced to his right and saw that two Britishofficers had come from the larger tent. The presence of the two, bothcaptains, meant that Naig could not just drive Sharpe away, for nowthere were witnesses. Naig might take on an ensign and a few troopers,but captains carried too much authority. One of the captains, who worethe red coat of the Scotch Brigade, crossed to Sharpe.“Trouble?” he asked. His revels had plainly been interrupted, for histrousers were still unbuttoned and his sword and sash were slung acrossone shoulder.“This bastard, sir, has been pilfering our supplies.
” Sharpe jerkedhis thumb at Naig then nodded towards the crates.“It’s all marked as stolen in the supply ledgers, but I’ll wager it’sall there. Buckets, muskets, horseshoes.“The Captain glanced at Naig, then crossed to the crates.“Open that one,” he ordered, and Lockhart obediently stooped to the boxand levered up its nailed lid with his sabre.“I have been storing these boxes,” Naig explained. He turned to thesecond captain, an extraordinarily elegant cavalryman in Companyuniform, and he pleaded with him in an Indian language. The CompanyCaptain turned away and Naig went back to the Scotsman. The merchantwas in trouble now, and he knew it.“I was asked to store the boxes!” he shouted at the Scotsman.
But the infantry Captain was staring down into the opened crate whereten brand new muskets lay in their wooden cradles. He stooped for oneof the muskets and peered at the lock. Just forward of the hammer andbehind the pan was an engraved crown with the letters GR beneath it,while behind the hammer the word Tower was engraved.“Ours,” the Scotsman said flatly.“I bought them.” Naig was sweating now.“I thought you said you were storing them?” the Scotsman said.“Now you say you bought them. Which is it?“My brother and I bought the guns from silladars,” Naig said.“We don’t sell these Tower muskets,” the Captain said, hefting the gunthat was still coated with grease.
Naig shrugged.“They must have been captured from the supply convoys. Please, sahib,take them. I want no trouble. How was I to know they were stolen?” Heturned and pleaded again with the Company cavalry Captain who was atall, lean man with a long face, but the cavalryman turned and walked ashort distance away. A crowd had collected now and watched the dramasilently, and Sharpe, looking along their faces, suspected there wasnot much sympathy for Naig. Nor, Sharpe thought, was there much hopefor the fat man. Naig had been playing a dangerous game, but with suchutter confidence that he had not even bothered to conceal the stolensupplies. At the very least he could have thrown away the governmentissue boxes and tried to file the lock markings off the muskets, butNaig must have believed he had powerful friends who would protect him.The cavalryman seemed to be one of those friends, for Naig had followedhim and was hissing in his ear, but the cavalryman merely pushed theIndian away, then turned to Sharpe.
“Hang him,” he said curtly.“Hang him?” Sharpe asked in puzzlement.“It’s the penalty for theft, ain’t it?” the cavalryman insisted.Sharpe looked to the Scottish Captain, who nodded uncertainly.“That’s what the General said,” the Scotsman confirmed.“I’d like to know how he got the supplies, sir,” Sharpe said.“You’ll give the fat bastard time to concoct a story?” the cavalrymandemanded. He had an arrogance that annoyed Sharpe, but everythingabout the cavalryman irritated Sharpe. The man was a dandy. He woretall, spurred boots that sheathed his calves and knees in soft,polished leather.
His white breeches were skin tight, his waistcoathad gold buttons, while his red tail coat was clean, uncreased andedged with gold braid. He wore a frilled stock, a red silk sash wasdraped across his right shoulder and secured at his left hip by a knotof golden braid, his sabre was scabbarded in red leather, while hiscocked hat was plumed with a lavishly curled feather that had been dyedpale green. The clothes had cost a fortune, and clearly his servantsmust spend hours on keeping their master so beautifully dressed. Helooked askance at Sharpe, a slight wrinkle of his nostrils suggestingthat he found Sharpe’s appearance distressing. The cavalryman’s facesuggested he was a clever man, but also that he despised those who wereless clever than himself.“I don’t suppose Sir Arthur will be vastly pleased when he hears thatyou let the fellow live, Ensign,” he said acidly.“Swift and certain justice, ain’t that the penalty for theft? Hang thefat beast.“That is what the standing orders say,” the Scotch Brigade Captainagreed, ‘but does it apply to civilians?“He should have a trial!” Sharpe protested, not because he was socommitted to Naig’s right to a hearing, but because he feared the wholeepisode was getting out of hand. He had thought to find the supplies,maybe have a mill with Naig’s guards, but no one was supposed to die.Naig deserved a good kicking, but death?“Standing orders apply to anyone within the picquet lines,” the cavalryCaptain averred confidently. “So for God’s sake get on with it!Dangle the bastard!” He was sweating, and Sharpe sensed that theelegant cavalryman was not quite so confident as he appeared.“Bugger a trial,” Sergeant Lockhart said happily.“I’ll hang the bastard.“He snapped at his troopers to fetch a nearby ox cart. Naig had triedto retreat to the protection of his guards, but the cavalry Captain haddrawn a pistol that he now held close to Naig’s head as the grinningtroopers trundled the empty ox cart into the open space in front of thepilfered supplies.Sharpe crossed to the tall cavalryman.“Shouldn’t we talk to him, sir?“My dear fellow, have you ever tried to get the truth out of anIndian?“the Captain asked.“They swear by a thousand gaudy gods that they’ll tell the truth, thenlie like a rug! Be quiet!” Naig had begun to protest and thecavalryman rammed the pistol into the Indian’s mouth, breaking a toothand gashing Naig’s gum.“Another damned word, Naig, and I’ll castrate you before I hang you.“The cavalryman glanced at Sharpe, who was frowning.
“Are you squeamish, Ensign?“Don’t seem right, sir. I mean I agree he deserves to be hung, butshouldn’t we talk to him first?“If you like conversation so much,” the cavalryman drawled, ‘institutea Philosophical Society. Then you can enjoy all the hot air youlike.Sergeant?” This last was to Lockhart. Take the bastard off my hands,will you?“Pleasure, sir.” Lockhart seized Naig and shoved him towards thecart.One of the cavalry troopers had cut a length of guy rope from the burntremnants of the tent and he now tied one end to the tip of the singleshaft that protruded from the front of the ox cart. He made a loop inthe rope’s end.Naig screamed and tried to pull away. Some of his guards startedforward, but then a hard voice ordered them back and Sharpe turned tosee that a tall, thin Indian in a black and green striped robe had comefrom the larger tent.
The newcomer, who looked to be in his forties,walked with a limp. He crossed to the cavalry Captain and spokequietly, and Sharpe saw the cavalryman shake his head vehemently, thenshrug as if to suggest that he was powerless. Then the Captaingestured to Sharpe and the tall Indian gave the Ensign a look of suchmalevolence that Sharpe instinctively put his hand on his sabre’shilt.Lockhart had pulled the noose over Naig’s head.“Are you sure, sir?” he asked the cavalry Captain.“Of course I’m sure, Sergeant,” the cavalryman said angrily.“Just get on with it.“Sir?” Sharpe appealed to the Scots Captain, who frowned uncertainly,then turned and walked away as though he wanted nothing more to do withthe affair. The tall Indian in the striped robe spat into the dust,then limped back to the tent.Lockhart ordered his troopers to the back of the cart. Naig wasattempting to pull the noose free of his neck, but Lockhart slapped hishands down.“Now, boys!” he shouted.The troopers reached up and hauled down on the backboard so that thecart tipped like a seesaw on its single axle and, as the trooperspulled down, so the shaft rose into the air. The rope stretched andtightened.Naig screamed, then the cavalryman jumped up to sit on the cart’s backand the shaft jerked higher still and the scream was abruptly chokedoff.Naig was dangling now, his feet kicking wildly under the lavishlyembroidered robe. None of the crowd moved, none protested.Naig’s face was bulging and his hands were scrabbling uselessly at thenoose which was tight about his neck. The cavalry officer watched witha small smile.“A pity,” he said in his elegant voice. “The wretched man ran the best brothel I ever found.“We’re not killing his girls, sir,” Sharpe said.“That’s true, Ensign, but will their next owner treat them as well?“The cavalryman turned to the big tent’s entrance and took off hisplumed hat to salute a group of said-clad girls who now watchedwideeyed as their employer did the gallows dance.“I saw Nancy Merrick hang in Madras,” the cavalryman said, ‘and she didthe jig for thirty seven minutes! Thirty-seven! I’d wagered onsixteen, so lost rather a lot of tin. Don’t think I can watch Naigdance for half an hour. It’s too damned hot. Sergeant? Help his soulto perdition, will you?“Lockhart crouched beneath the dying man and caught hold of his heels.Then he tugged down hard, swearing when Naig pissed on him.He tugged again, and at last the body went still.“Do you see what happens when you steal from us?” the cavalry Captainshouted at the crowd, then repeated the words in an Indian language.
“If you steal from us, you will die!” Again he translated his words,then gave Sharpe a crooked grin.“But only, of course, if you’re stupid enough to be caught, and Ididn’t think Naig was stupid at all. Rather the reverse. Just how didyou happen to discover the supplies, Ensign?“Tent was on fire, sir,” Sharpe said woodenly.“Me and Sergeant Lockhart decided to rescue whatever was inside.“How very public-spirited of you.” The Captain gave Sharpe a long,speculative look, then turned back to Lockhart.“Is he dead, Sergeant?“Near as makes no difference, sir,” Lockhart called back.“Use your pistol to make sure,” the Captain ordered, then sighed.“Ashame,” he said.
“I rather liked Naig. He was a rogue, of course, but rogues are somuch more amusing than honest men.” He watched as Lockhart lowered theshaft, then stooped over the prostrate body and put a bullet into itsskull.“I suppose I’ll have to find some carts to fetch these supplies backwhere they belong,” the Captain said.“I’ll do that, sir,” Sharpe said.“You will?” The Captain seemed astonished to discover suchwillingness.“Why on earth would you want to do that, Ensign?“It’s my job, sir,” Sharpe said.“I’m Captain Torrance’s assistant.“You poor benighted bastard,” the Captain said pityingly.“Poor, sir? Why?“Because I’m Captain Torrance.
Good day to you, Ensign.” Torranceturned on his heel and walked away through the crowd.“Bastard,” Sharpe said, for he had suddenly understood why Torrance hadbeen so keen to hang Naig.He spat after the departed Captain, then went to find some bullocks andcarts. The army had its supplies back, but Sharpe had made a newenemy. As if Hakeswill were not enough, he now had Torrance as well.The palace in Gawilghur was a sprawling one-storey building that stoodon the highest point within the Inner Fort. To its north was a gardenthat curled about the largest of the fortress’s lakes. The lake was atank, a reservoir, but its banks had been planted with flowering trees,and a flight of steps led from the palace to a small stone pavilion onthe lake’s northern shore. The pavilion had an arched ceiling on whichthe reflections of the lake’s small waves should have rippled, but theseason had been so dry that the lake had shrunk and the water level wassome eight or nine feet lower than usual. The water and the exposedbanks were rimed with a green, foul-smelling scum, but BenySingh, the Killadar of Gawilghur, had arranged for spices to be burnedin low, flat braziers so that the dozen men inside the pavilion werenot too offended by the lake’s stench.“If only the Rajah was here,” Beny Singh said, ‘we should know what todo.” Beny Singh was a short, plump man with a curling moustache andnervous eyes. He was the fortress commander, but he was a courtier byavocation, not a soldier, and he had always regarded his command of thegreat fortress as a licence to make his fortune rather than to fightthe Rajah’s enemies.Prince Manu Bappoo was not surprised that his brother had chosen not tocome to Gawilghur, but had instead fled farther into the hills. TheRajah was like Beny Singh, he had no belly for a fight, but Bappoo hadwatched the first British troops creep across the plain beneath thefort’s high walls and he welcomed their coming.“We don’t need my brother here to know what we must do,” he said.“We fight.” The other men, all commanders of the various troops thathad taken refuge in Gawilghur, voiced their agreement.“The British cannot be stopped by walls,” Beny Singh said. He wascradling a small white lap dog which had eyes as wide and frightened asits master’s.“They can, and they will,” Bappoo insisted.Singh shook his head.“Were they stopped at Seringapatam? At Ahmednuggur? They crossedthose city walls as though they had wings!They are what is the word your Arabs use? – djinnsl’ He looked aboutthe gathered council and saw no one who would support him.“They must have the djinns on their side,” he added weakly.“So what would you do?” Bappoo asked.“Treat with them,” Beny!Ungh said.“Ask for cowle.“Cowled It was Colonel Dodd who intervened, speaking in his crude,newly learned Marathi.“I’ll tell you what terms Wellesley will offer you. None! He’ll marchyou away as a prisoner, he’ll slight these walls and take away theRajah’s treasures.“There are no treasures here,” Beny Singh said, but no one believedhim. He was soothing the little dog which had been frightened by theEnglishman’s harsh voice.“And he’ll give your women to his men as playthings,” Dodd addednastily.Beny Singh shuddered. His wife, his concubines and his children wereall in the palace, and they were all dear to him. He pampered them,worshipped them and adored them.“Perhaps I should remove my people from the fort?” he suggestedhesitantly.“I could take them to Multai?The British will never reach Multai.“You’d run away?” Dodd asked in his harsh voice. “You bloody won’t!“He spoke those three words in English, but everyone understood whatthey meant. He leaned forward.“If you run away,” he said, ‘the garrison loses heart. The rest of thesoldiers can’t take their women away, so why should you? We fight themhere, and we stop them here. Stop them dead!“He stood and walked to the pavilion’s edge where he spat onto thegreen-scummed bank before turning back to Beny Singh.“Your women are safe here, Killadar. I could hold this fortress fromnow till the world’s end with just a hundred men.“The British are djinns,” Beny Singh whispered. The dog in his armswas shivering.“They are not djinns,” Dodd snapped.
“There are no demons! They don’t exist!“Winged djinns,” Beny Singh said in almost a whimper, ‘invisibledjinnsl In the air!“Dodd spat again.“Bloody hell,” he said in English, then turned fast towards BenySingh.“I’m an English demon. Me! Understand? I’m a djinn, and if you takeyour women away I’ll follow you and I’ll come to them at night and fillthem with black bile.” He bared his yellowed teeth and the Killadarshuddered. The white dog barked shrilly.Manu Bappoo waved Dodd back to his seat. Dodd was the only Europeanofficer left in his forces and, though Bappoo was glad to have theEnglishman’s services, there were times when Colonel Dodd could betiresome.“If there are djinns,” Bappoo told Singh, ‘they will be on our side.“He waited while the Killadar soothed the frightened dog, then he leanedforward.
“Tell me,” he demanded of Beny Singh, ‘can the British take thefortress by using the roads up the hill?“Beny Singh thought about those two steep winding roads that twisted upthe hill beneath Gawilghur’s walls. No man could survive those climbs,not if the defenders were raining round shot and rocks down theprecipitous slopes.“No,” he admitted.“So they can only come one way. Only one way! Across the land bridge.And my men will guard the Outer Fort, and Colonel Dodd’s men willdefend the Inner Fort.“And no one,” Dodd said harshly, ‘no one will get past my Cobras.“He still resented that his well-trained, white-coated soldiers were notdefending the Outer Fort, but he had accepted Manu Bappoo’s argumentthat the important thing was to hold the Inner Fort. If, by somechance, the British did capture the Outer Fort, they would never fightpast Dodd’s men.“My men,” Dodd growled, ‘have never been defeated.
They never willbe.“Manu Bappoo smiled at the nervous Beny Singh.“You see, Killadar, you will die here of old age.“Or of too many women,” another man put in, provoking laughter.A cannon sounded from the Outer Fort’s northern ramparts, followed afew seconds later by another. No one knew what might have caused thefiring and so the dozen men followed Manu Bappoo as he left thepavilion and walked towards the Inner Fort’s northern ramparts.Silverfurred monkeys chattered at the soldiers from the highbranches.Arab guards stood at the gate of the Rajah’s garden. They were postedto stop any common soldiers of the garrison going to the paths besidethe tank where the Killadar’s women liked to stroll in the cool of theevening. A hundred paces beyond the garden gate was a steep sided rockpit, about twice as deep as a man stood high, and Dodd paused to lookdown into its shadowed depths. The sides had been chiselled smooth bystone-workers so that nothing could climb up from the floor that waslittered with white bones.“The Traitor’s Hole,” Bappoo said, as he paused beside Dodd, ‘but thebones are from baby monkeys.“But they do eat men?” Dodd asked, intrigued by the shadowed blacknessat the foot of the’^hole.“They kill men,” Bappoo said, ‘but don’t eat them. They’re not bigenough.“I can’t see any,” Dodd said, disappointed, then suddenly a sinuousshadow writhed swiftly between two crevices.“There!” he said happily.“Don’t they grow big enough to eat men?“Most years they escape,” Bappoo said.“The monsoon floods the pit and the snakes swim to the top and wriggleout. Then we must find new ones. This year we’ve been saved thetrouble. These snakes will grow bigger than usual.“Beny Singh waited a few paces away, clutching his small dog as thoughhe feared Dodd would throw it down to the snakes.“There’s a bastard who ought to be fed to the snakes,” Dodd said toBappoo, nodding towards the Killadar.“My brother likes him,” Bappoo said mildly, touching Dodd’s arm toindicate that they should walk on.“They share tastes.“Such as?“Women, music, luxury. We really do not need him here.“Dodd shook his head.“If you let him go, sahib, then half the damned garrison will want torun away. And if you let the women go, what will the men fight for?Besides, do you really think there’s any danger?“None,” Bappoo admitted. He had led the officers up a steep rockstairway to a natural bastion where a vast iron gun was trained acrossthe chasm towards the distant cliffs of the high plateau. From herethe far cliffs were almost a mile away, but Dodd could just see a groupof horsemen clustered at the chasm’s edge. It was those horsemen, allin native robes, who had prompted the Outer Fort’s gunners to openfire, but the gunners, seeing their shots fall well short of thetarget, had given up.Dodd drew out his telescope, trained it, and saw a man in the uniformof the Royal Engineers sitting on the ground a few paces from hiscompanions. The engineer was sketching. The horsemen were allIndians.Dodd lowered the telescope and looked at the huge iron gun.“Is it loaded?” he asked the gunners.“Yes, sahib. “A haideri apiece if you can kill the man in the dark uniform. The onesitting at the cliff’s edge.“The gunners laughed. Their gun was over twenty feet long and itswrought-iron barrel was cast with decorations that had been paintedgreen, white and red. A pile of round shot, each over a foot indiameter, stood beside the massive carriage that was made from giantbaulks of teak. The gun captain fussed over his aim, shouting at hismen to lever the vast carriage a thumb’s width to the right, then afinger’s breadth back, until at last he was satisfied. He squintedalong the barrel for a second, waved the officers who had followedBappoo to move away from the great gun, then leaned over the breach todab his glowing port fire onto the gun’s touch-hole.The reed glowed and smoked for a second as the fire dashed down to thecharge, then the vast cannon crashed back, the teak runners sliding upthe timber ramp that formed the lower half of the carriage.Smoke jetted out into the chasm as a hundred startled birds flappedfrom their nests on the rock faces and circled in the warm air.Dodd had been standing to one side, watching the engineer through hisglass.
For a second he actually saw the great round shot as a flickerof grey in the lower right quadrant of his lens, then he saw a boulderclose to the engineer shatter into scraps. The engineer fell sideways,his sketch pad falling, but then he picked himself up and scrambled upthe slope to where his horse was being guarded by the cavalrymen.Dodd took a single gold coin from his pouch and tossed it to thegunner.“You missed,” he said, ‘but it was damned fine shooting.“Thank you, sahib.“A whimper made Dodd turn. Beny Singh had handed his dog to a servantand was staring through an ivory-barrelled telescope at the enemyhorsemen.“What is it?” Bappoo asked him.“Syud Sevajee,” Singh said in a small voice.“Who’s Syud Sevajee?” Dodd asked. Bappoo grinned.“His father was once kill adar here, but he died.Was it poison?” he asked Beny Singh.“He just died,” Singh said.“He just died!“Murdered, probably,” Bappoo said with amusement, ‘and Beny Singhbecame kill adar and took the dead man’s daughter as his concubine.“Dodd turned to see the enemy horsemen vanishing among the trees beyondthe far cliff.“Come for revenge, has he? You still want to leave?” he demanded ofBeny Singh.“Because that fellow will be waiting for you. He’ll track you throughthe hills, Killadar, and slit your throat in the night’s darkness.“We shall stay here and fight,” Beny Singh declared, retrieving the dogfrom his servant.
“Fight and win,” Dodd said, and he imagined the British breachingbatteries on that far cliff, and he imagined the slaughter that wouldbe made among the crews by this one vast gun. And there were fiftyother heavy guns waiting to greet the British approach, and hundreds oflighter pieces that fired smaller missiles. Guns, rockets, canister,muskets and cliffs, those were Gawilghur’s de fences and Dodd reckonedthe British stood no chance. No chance at all. The big gun’s smokedrifted away in the small breeze.“They will die here,” Dodd said, ‘and we shall chase the survivorssouth and cut them down like dogs.” He turned and looked at BenySingh.“You see the chasm? That is where their demons will die. Their wingswill be scorched, they will fall like burning stones to their deaths,and their screams will lull your children to a dreamless sleep.” Heknew he spoke true, for Gawilghur was impregnable.
“I take pleasure, no, Dilip, make that I take humble pleasure inreporting the recovery of a quantity of stolen stores.” CaptainTorrance paused. Night had just fallen and Torrance uncorked a bottleof arrack and took a sip.“Am I going too fast for you?“Yes, sahib,” Dilip, the middle-aged clerk, answered.“Humble pleasure,” he said aloud as his pen moved laboriously over thepaper, ‘in reporting the recovery of a quantity of stolen stores.“Add a list of the stores,” Torrance ordered.“You can do that later.Just leave a space, man.“Yes, sahib,” Dilip said.“I had suspected for some time,” Torrance intoned, then scowled assomeone knocked on the door.
“Come,” he shouted, ‘if you must.“Sharpe opened the door and was immediately entangled in the muslin. Hefought his way past its folds.“It’s you,” Torrance said unpleasantly.“Me, sir.“You let some moths in,” Torrance complained.“Sorry, sir.“That is why the muslin is there, Sharpe, to keep out moths, ensignsand other insignificant nuisances. Kill the moths, Dilip.“The clerk dutifully chased the moths about the room, swatting them witha roll of paper.
The windows, like the door, were closely screenedwith muslin on the outside of which moths clustered, attracted by thecandles that were set in silver sticks on Torrance’s table. Dilip’swork was spread on the table, while Captain Torrance lay in a widehammock slung from the roof beams. He was naked.“Do I offend you, Sharpe?“Offend me, sir?“I am naked, or had you not noticed?“Doesn’t bother me, sir.“Nudity keeps clothes clean. You should try it. Is the last of theenemy dead, Dilip?“The moths are all deceased, sahib.“Then we shall continue. Where were we?”’ “I had suspected for some time,” Dilip read back the report.“Surmised is better, I think. I had surmised for some time.” Torrancepaused to draw on the mouthpiece of a silver-bellied hookah.“What are you doing here, Sharpe?“Come to get orders, sir.“How very assiduous of you. I had surmised for some time thatdepredations I can spell it if you cannot, Dilip were being made uponthe stores entrusted to my command. What the devil were you doing,Sharpe, poking about Naig’s tents?“Just happened to be passing them, sir,” Sharpe said, ‘when they caughtfire.“Torrance gazed at Sharpe, plainly not believing a word. He shook hishead sadly.“You look very old to be an ensign, Sharpe?“I was a sergeant two months ago, sir.“Torrance adopted a look of pretended horror. “Oh, good God,” he said archly, ‘good God alive. May all the spavinedsaints preserve us. You’re not telling me you’ve been made up from theranks?“Yes, sir.“Sweet suffering Jesus,” Torrance said. He lay his head back on thehammock’s pillow and blew a perfect smoke ring that he watched wobbleits way up towards the ceiling.“Having confidential information as to the identity of the thief, Itook steps to apprehend him. You will notice, Sharpe, that I am givingyou no credit in this report?“No, sir?“Indeed I am not. This report will go to Colonel Butters, anappallingly bombastic creature who will, I suspect, attempt to takesome of the credit for himself before passing the papers on to ArthurWellesley who, as you may know, is our commander. A very stern man,our Arthur. He likes things done properly.
He plainly had a verystern governess in his nursery.“I know the General, sir.“You do?” Torrance turned his head to look at Sharpe.“Socially, perhaps? You and he dine together, do you? Pass the timeof day, do you? Hunt together, maybe? Drink port? Talk about oldtimes? Whore together, perhaps?” Torrance was mocking, but there wasjust an edge of interest in his voice in case Sharpe really did knowSir Arthur.“I mean I’ve met him, sir.“Torrance shook his head as though Sharpe had been wasting his time.“Do stop calling me “sir”. It may be your natural subservience,Sharpe, or more likely it is the natural air of superiority thatemanates from my person, but it ill becomes an officer, even onedredged up from the ranks. A search of his tents, Dilip, secured themissing items. I then, in accordance with general orders, hanged thethief as an example. I have the honour to be, et cetera, et cetera.“Two thousand muskets are still missing, sir,” Sharpe said.“Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to call you “sir”.“If it pleases you to grovel, Sharpe, then do so. Two thousand musketsstill missing, eh? I suspect the bugger sold them on, don’t you?“I’m more interested in how he got them in the first place,” Sharpesaid.“How very tedious of you,” Torrance said lightly.“I’d suggest talking to Sergeant Hakeswill when he gets back,” Sharpesaid.“I won’t hear a word spoken against Obadiah,” Torrance said.“Obadiah is a most amusing fellow. “He’s a lying, thieving bastard,” Sharpe said vehemently.“Sharpe! Please!” Torrance’s voice was pained.“How can you say such wicked things? You don’t even know thefellow.“Oh, I know him, sir. I served under him in the Havercakes.“You did?” Torrance smiled.“I see we are in for interesting times.Perhaps I should keep the two of you apart. Or perhaps not. Brick!“The last word was shouted towards a door that led to the back of thecommandeered house.
The door opened and the black-haired woman slipped past the muslin.“Captain?” she asked. She blushed when she saw Torrance was naked,and Torrance, Sharpe saw, enjoyed her embarrassment.“Brick, my dear,” Torrance said, ‘my hookah has extinguished itself.Will you attend to it? Dilip is busy, or I would have asked him.Sharpe?May I have the honour of naming you to Brick? Brick? This is EnsignSharpe. Ensign Sharpe? This is Brick.“Pleased to meet you, sir,” the woman said, dropping a brief curtseybefore she stooped to the hookah. She had clearly not told Torrancethat she had met Sharpe earlier.“Ma’am,” Sharpe said.
“Ma’am!” Torrance said with a laugh.“She’s called Brick, Sharpe.“Brick, sir?” Sharpe asked sourly. The name was utterly unsuited tothe delicate-featured woman who now deftly disassembled the hookah.“Her real name is Mrs. Wall,” Torrance explained, ‘and she is mylaundress, seamstress and conscience. Is that not right, littleBrick?“If you say so, sir.“I cannot abide dirty clothes,” Torrance said.“They are an abomination unto the Lord. Cleanliness, we are constantlytold by tedious folk, is next to godliness, but I suspect it is asuperior virtue.
Any peasant can be godly, but it is a rare person whois clean. Brick, however, keeps me clean. If you pay her a trifle,Sharpe, she will doubtless wash and mend those rags you are pleased tocall a uniform.“They’re all I’ve got, sir.“So? Walk naked until Brick has serviced you, or does the ideaembarrass you?“I wash my own clothes, sir.“I wish you would,” Torrance said tartly.“Remind me why you came here, Sharpe?“Orders, sir.“Very well,” Torrance said.“At dawn you will go to Colonel Butters’s quarters and find an aide whocan tell you what is required of us. You then tell Dilip. Dilip thenarranges everything. After that you may take your rest. I trust youwill not find these duties onerous?“Sharpe wondered why Torrance had asked for a deputy if the clerk didall the work, then supposed that the Captain was so lazy that he couldnot be bothered to get up early in the morning to fetch his orders.“I get tomorrow’s orders at dawn, sir,” Sharpe said, ‘from an aide ofColonel Butters.“There!” Torrance said with mock amazement.“You have mastered your duties, Ensign. I congratulate you.“We already have tomorrow’s orders, sahib,” Dilip said from the tablewhere he was copying a list of the recovered stores into Torrance’sreport.“We are to move everything to Deogaum. The pioneers’ stores are to bemoved first, sahib. The Colonel’s orders are on the table, sahib, withthe chitties Pioneers’ stores first, then everything else.“Well, I never!” Torrance said.“See? Your first day’s work is done, Sharpe.” He drew on the hookahwhich the woman had relit.“Excellent,my dear,” he said, then held out a hand to stop her from leaving. Shecrouched beside the hammock, averting her eyes from Torrance’s nakedbody. Sharpe sensed her unhappiness, and Torrance sensed Sharpe’sinterest in her.“Brick is a widow, Sharpe,” he said, ‘and presumably looking for ahusband, though I doubt she’s ever dared to dream of marrying as highas an ensign. But why not? The social ladder is there to be climbedand, low a rung as you might be, Sharpe, you still represent aconsiderable advancement for Brick. Before she joined my service shewas a mop-squeezer. From mop-squeezer to an officer’s wife! There’sprogress for you. I think the two of you would suit each other vastlywell. I shall play Cupid, or rather Dilip will. Take a letter to thechaplain of the 94th, Dilip. He’s rarely sober, but I’m sure he canwaddle through the marriage ceremony without falling over.“I can’t marry, sir!” Sharpe protested.Torrance, amused at himself, raised an eyebrow.“You are averse to women? You dislike dear Brick? Or you’ve taken anoath of celibacy, perhaps?“Sharpe blushed.“I’m spoken for, sir.“You mean you’re engaged? How very touching. Is she an heiress,perhaps?“Sharpe shrugged.“She’s in Seringapatam,” he said lamely.“And we’re not engaged.“But you have an understanding,” Torrance said, ‘with this ravishingcreature in Seringapatam. Is she black, Sharpe? A black bibbi? I’msure Clare wouldn’t mind, would you? A white man in India needs abibbi or two as well as a wife. Don’t you agree, Brick?” He turned tothe woman, who ignored him.“The late Mister Wall died of the fever,” Torrance said to Sharpe, ‘andin the Christian kindness of my heart I continue to employ his widow.Does that not speak well of my character?“If you say so, sir,” Sharpe said.“I see my attempt to play Cupid is not meeting with success,” Torrancesaid.“So, Sharpe, to business. Tomorrow morning I suggest you go toDeogaum, wherever the hell that is.“With the bullocks, sir?“Torrance raised his eyebrows in exasperation.“You are an officer, Sharpe, not a bullock driver. You don’t prodrumps, you leave that to the natives. Go early. Ride there at dawn,and your first duty will be to find me quarters.“I don’t have a horse,” Sharpe said.“You don’t have a horse? Don’t have a horse? Good God alive, man,what bloody use are you? You’ll just have to bloody well walk then. Ishall find you in Deogaum tomorrow afternoon and God help you if youhaven’t found me decent quarters. A front room, Sharpe, where Dilipcan conduct business. A large room for me, and a hole for Brick. Iwould also like to have a walled garden with adequate shade trees and asmall pool.“Where is Deogaum?” Sharpe asked.“Northwards, sahib,” Dilip answered.“Close to the hills.“Beneath Gawilghur?” Sharpe guessed.“Yes, sahib.“Sharpe looked back to Torrance.“Can I ask a favour of you, sir?“Torrance sighed.“If you insist. “At Gawilghur, sir, I’d like permission to join the assault party.“Torrance stared at Sharpe for a long time.“You want what?” he finally asked.“I want to be with the attack, sir. There’s a fellow inside, see, whokilled a friend of mine. I want to see him dead.“Torrance blinked at Sharpe.“Don’t tell me you’re enthusiastic! Good God!” A sudden look ofterror came to the Captain’s face.“You’re not a Methodist, are you?“No, sir.“Torrance pointed the hookah’s mouthpiece towards a corner of theroom.
“There is a linen press, Sharpe, d’you see it? Inside it are myclothes. Amidst my clothes you will find a pistol. Take the pistol,remove yourself from my presence, apply the muzzle to your head andpull the trigger. It is a much quicker and less painful way ofdying.“But you won’t mind if I join the attack?“Mind? You’re not, surely, labouring under the misapprehension that Icare about your existence? You think I might mourn you, even aftersuch a short acquaintance? My dear Sharpe, I fear I shall not miss youat all. I doubt I’ll even remember your name once you’re dead. Ofcourse you can join the assaulting party. Do what you like! Now Isuggest you get some sleep. Not here, though, I like my privacy.Find a tree, perhaps, and slumber beneath its sheltering branches.
Good night to you, Sharpe.“Good night, sir.“And don’t let any moths in!“Sharpe negotiated the muslin and slipped out of the door. Torrancelistened to the footsteps go away, then sighed.“A tedious man, Dilip.“Yes, sahib.“I wonder why he was made an officer?” Torrance frowned as he suckedon his hookah, then shook his head.“Poor Naig! Sacrificed to a mere ensign’s ambition. How did thatwretched Sharpe even know to look in Naig’s tent? Did he talk toyou?“Yes, sahib,” Dilip admitted.Torrance stared at him.
“Did you let him look at the ledgers?“He insisted, sahib.“You’re a bloody fool, Dilip! A bloody, bloody fool. I should thrashyou if I wasn’t so tired. Maybe tomorrow.“No, sahib, please.“Oh, just bugger away off, Dilip,” Torrance snarled.“And you can go too, Brick.“The girl fled to the kitchen door. Dilip collected his ink bottle andsand-sprinkler.“Shall I take the chitties now, sahib, for the morning?“Go!” Torrance roared.
“You bore me! Go!” Dilip fled to the front room, and Torrance layback in the hammock. He was indeed bored.He had nothing to do and nowhere to go. Most nights he would go toNaig’s tents and there drink, gamble and whore, but he could hardlyvisit the green pavilion this night, not after stringing Naig up by theneck.Damn it, he thought. He glanced at the table where a book, a gift fromhis father, lay unopened. The first volume of Some Reflections onPaul’s Epistle to the Ephesians by the Reverend Courtney Mallison, andit would be a frigid day in the devil’s house before Torrance read thatturgid tome. The Reverend Mallison had been Torrance’s childhoodtutor, and a vicious beast he had been. A whipper, that wasMallison.Loved to whip his pupils.
Torrance stared at the ceiling. Money. Itwas all down to money. Everything in the damned world was down tomoney. Make money, he thought, and he could go home and make CourtneyMallison’s life a misery. Have the bastard on his knees. AndMallison’s daughter. Have that prim bitch on her back.There was a knock on the door.“I said I didn’t want to be disturbed!“Torrance shouted, but despite his protest the door opened and themuslin billowed inward, letting in a flutter of moths. “For Christ’s sake,” Torrance cursed, then fell abruptly silent.He fell silent, for the first man through the door was ajetti, his baretorso gleaming with oil, and behind him came the tall man with a limp,the same man who had pleaded for Naig’s life. His name was Jama, andhe was Naig’s brother, and his presence made Torrance acutely aware ofhis nudity. He swung off the hammock and reached for his dressinggown, but Jama twitched the silk garment off the chair back.“Captain Torrance,” he said with a bow.“Who let you in?” Torrance demanded.“I expected to see you in our small establishment tonight, Captain,“Jama said. Where his brother had been plump, noisy and a braggart,Jama was lean, silent and watchful.Torrance shrugged.“Maybe tomorrow night?“You will be welcome, Captain, as always.
“Jama took a small sheaf ofpapers from his pocket and fanned his face with them.“Ten thousand welcomes, Captain.“Ten thousand rupees. That was the value of the papers in Jama’s hand,all of them notes signed by Torrance. He had signed far more, but theothers he had paid off with supplies filched from the convoys. Jamawas here to remind Torrance that his greatest debts remained unpaid.“About today ” Torrance said awkwardly.“Ah, yes!” Jama said, as though he had momentarily forgotten thereason for his visit.“About today, Captain. Do tell me about today. ” The jetti saidnothing, just leaned against the wall with folded arms, his oiledmuscles shining in the candlelight and his dark eyes fixed immovably onTorrance.“I’ve already told you. It wasn’t of my doing,” Torrance said with asmuch dignity as a naked man could muster.“You were the one who demanded my brother’s death,” Jama said.“What choice did I have? Once the supplies were found?“But perhaps you arranged for them to be found?“No!” Torrance protested.“Why the hell would I do that?“Jama was silent a moment, then indicated the huge man at his side.“His name is Prithviraj. I once saw him castrate a man with his barehands.” Jama mimed a pulling action, smiling.“You’d be astonished at how far a little skin can stretch before itbreaks.
“For God’s sake!” Torrance had gone pale.“It was not my doing!“Then whose doing was it?“His name is Sharpe. Ensign Sharpe.“Jama walked to Torrance’s table where he turned the pages of SomeReflections on Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians.“This Sharpe,” he asked, ‘he was not obeying your orders?“Of course not!“Jama shrugged.“My brother was careless,” he admitted, ‘over confident. He believedthat with your friendship he could survive any enquiry.“We were doing business,” Torrance said.“It was not friendship. And I told your brother he should have hiddenthe supplies.
“Yes,“Jama said, ‘he should. And so I told him also. But even so,Captain, I come from a proud family. You expect me to watch my brotherkilled and do nothing about it?” He fanned out the notes of Torrance’sdebts.“I shall return these to you, Captain, when you deliver Ensign Sharpeto me. Alive! I want Prithviraj to take my revenge. Youunderstand?“Torrance understood well enough.“Sharpe’s a British officer,” he said.“If he’s murdered there’ll be an enquiry. A real enquiry.
Heads willbe broken.“That is your problem, Captain Torrance,” Jama said.“How you explain his disappearance is your affair. As are your debts.“He smiled and pushed the notes back into the pouch at his belt.“Give me Sharpe, Captain Torrance, or I shall send Prithviraj to visityou in the night. In the meantime, you will please continue topatronize our establishment.“Bastard,” Torrance said, but Jama and his huge companion had alreadygone. Torrance picked up Some Reflections on Paul’s Epistle to theEphesians and slammed the heavy book down on a moth.“Bastard,” he said again. But on the other hand it was Sharpe whowould suffer, not him, so it did not really matter. And what wasSharpe anyway? Nothing but an upstart from the ranks, so who wouldcare if he died? Torrance killed another moth, then opened the kitchendoor.“Come here, Brick.“No, sir, please?“Shut up. And come here. You can kill these damn moths while I getdrunk.“Filthy drunk, he reckoned, for he had been scared today. He knew hehad very nearly got caught when Sharpe had stripped the tent away fromthe purloined supplies, but by killing Naig quickly Torrance hadprotected himself, and now the price of his continued survival wasSharpe’s death. Arrange that, he thought, and all his troubles wouldbe past. He forced Brick to drink some arrack, knowing how she hatedit. Then he drank some himself. Damn Sharpe to hell, he thought, damn theinterfering bastard to hell, which was where Sharpe was going anyway soTorrance drank to that happy prospect. Farewell, Mister Sharpe.
CHAPTER 4
Sharpe was not sure how far away Deogaum was, but guessed it was closeto twenty miles and that was at least a seven-hour journey on foot, andso it was long before dawn when he stirred Ahmed from his sleep besidethe smouldering remains of a bullock-dung fire, then set off under thestars. He tried to teach Ahmed some English.“Stars,” Sharpe said, pointing.“Stars,” Ahmed repeated dutifully.“Moon,” Sharpe said.“Moon,” Ahmed echoed.“Sky.
“Moon?” Ahmed asked, curious that Sharpe was still pointing to thesky.“Sky, you bugger.“Skyoobugger?“Never mind,” Sharpe said. He was hungry, and he had forgotten to askCaptain Torrance where he was supposed to draw rations, but theirnorthward route took them through the village of Argaum where thefighting battalions of the army were bivouacked. Unburied bodies stilllittered the battlefield, and scavenging wild dogs growled from thedark stench as Sharpe and Ahmed walked past. A picquet challenged themat the village, and Sharpe asked the man where he would find thecavalry lines. He could not imagine taking Ahmed to the 74th’s messfor breakfast, but Sergeant Eli Lockhart might be more welcoming.The reveille had sounded by the time Sharpe came to the gully where thehorses were picketed and the troopers’ campfires were being restored tolife. Lockhart scowled at the unexpected visitor through the smokydawn gloom, then grinned when he recognized Sharpe.“Must be some fighting to do, lads,” he announced, ‘the bleedinginfantry’s here.
Good morning, sir. Need our help again?“I need some breakfast,” Sharpe admitted.“Tea, that’ll start you off. Smithers! Pork chops! Davies! Some ofthat bread you’re hiding from me. Look lively now!” Lockhart turnedback to Sharpe.“Don’t ask me where the chops come from, sir. I might have to lie.” Hespat in a tin mug, scoured its interior with the end of his blanket,then filled it with tea.“There you are, sir. Does your boy want some?Here you are, lad. ” Lockhart, a mug of tea in his own hand, theninsisted on taking Sharpe to the picketed horses.“See, sir?” He lifted a horse’s leg to show off the new horseshoe.“My guvnor’s beholden to you. I might introduce you afterbreakfast.“Sharpe assumed that Lockhart was talking of his troop commander, butonce the pork chops and bread had been eaten, the Sergeant led Sharpeacross to the lines of the native cavalry, and then to the tent of the7th Native Cavalry’s commanding officer who, it seemed, was in chargeof all the army’s cavalry.“He’s called Huddlestone,” Lockhart said, ‘and he’s a decent fellow.He’ll probably offer us another breakfast.“Colonel Huddlestone did indeed insist that both Lockhart and Sharpejoin him for a breakfast of rice and eggs. Sharpe was beginning to seethat Lockhart was a useful man, someone who was trusted by his officersand liked by his troopers, for Huddlestone greeted the Sergeant warmlyand immediately plunged into a conversation about some local horsesthat had been purchased for remounts and which Huddlestone reckonedwould never stand the strain of battle, though Lockhart seemed to feelthat a few of them would be adequate.“So you’re the fellow who smoked out Naig?” Huddlestone said to Sharpeafter a while.
“Didn’t take much doing, sir.“No one else did it, man! Don’t shy away from credit. I’m damnedgrateful to you.“Couldn’t have done it without Sergeant Lockhart, sir.“Damned army would come to a stop without Eli, ain’t that so?” theColonel said, and Lockhart, his mouth full of egg, just grinned.Huddlestone turned back to Sharpe.“So they gave you to Torrance?“Yes, sir.“He’s a lazy bugger,” Huddlestone said vengefully. Sharpe, astonishedat the open criticism, said nothing.“He’s one of my own officers,” Huddlestone went on, ‘and I confess Iwasn’t sorry when he asked to be given duty with the bullock train.
“He asked, sir?” Sharpe found it curious that a man would prefer to bewith the baggage when he could be in a fighting unit.“His uncle is grooming him for a career in the Company,” Huddlestonesaid.“An uncle in Leadenhall Street. Know what Leaden-hall Street is,Sharpe?“Company offices, sir?“The very same. The uncle pays him an allowance, and he wants Torranceto get some experience in dealing with bhinjarries. Got it all plannedout! A few years in the Company’s army, another few trading in spices,then home to inherit his uncle’s estate and his seat in the Court ofDirectors. One day we’ll all be tugging our forelocks to the lazybugger. Still, if he wants to run the baggage train it’s no skin offour bums, Sharpe. No one likes the job, so Torrance is welcome to it,but my guess is that you’ll be doing most of his work.” The Colonelfrowned.
“He arrived in India with three English servants! Can you believe it?It ain’t as if servants are hard to find here, but Torrance wanted thecachet of white scullions. Two of ‘em died of the fever, then Torrancehad the nerve to say that one of them hadn’t earned the cost of thevoyage out and so he’s forcing the widow to stay on and pay the debt!“Huddlestone shook his head, then gestured for his servant to pour moretea.“So what brings you here, Ensign?“On my way to Deogaum, sir.“He really came to beg his breakfast, Colonel,” Lockhart put in.“And I’ve no doubt the Sergeant fed you before you came to steal myvictuals?” Huddlestone asked, then grinned.“You’re in luck, Ensign.We’re moving up to Deogaum today. You can ride with us.“Sharpe blushed.“I’ve no horse, sir.
“Eli?” Huddlestone looked at Lockhart.“I’ve got a horse he can ride, sir.“Good.” Huddlestone blew on his tea.“Welcome to the cavalry, Sharpe.“Lockhart found two horses, one for Sharpe and the other for Ahmed.Sharpe, ever uncomfortable on horseback, struggled into the saddleunder the cavalry’s sardonic gaze, while Ahmed jumped up and kickedback his heels, revelling in being back on a horse.They went gently northwards, taking care not to tire the horses.Sharpe, as he rode, found himself thinking about Clare Wall, and thatmade him feel guilty about Simone Joubert, the young French widow whowaited for him in Seringapatam. He had sent her there with asouthbound convoy and a letter for his friend Major Stokes, anddoubtless Simone was waiting for Sharpe to return when the campaignagainst the Mahrattas was over, but now he needed to warn her that hewas being posted back to England.
Would she come with him? Did hewant her to come? He was not sure about either question, though hefelt obscurely responsible for Simone. He could give her a choice, ofcourse, but whenever Simone was faced by a choice she tended to looklimp and wait for someone else to make the decision. He had to warnher, though. Would she even want to go to England? But what elsecould she do? She had no relatives in India, and the nearest Frenchsettlements were miles away.His thoughts were interrupted at mid-morning when Eli Lockhart spurredalongside his horse.“See it?“See what?“Up there!” Lockhart pointed ahead and Sharpe, peering through thedust haze thrown up by the leading squadrons, saw a range of highhills.The lower slopes were green with trees, but above the timber line therewas nothing but brown and grey cliffs that stretched from horizon tohorizon. And at the very top of the topmost bluff he could just see astreak of dark wall broken by a gate-tower.“Gawilghur!” Lockhart said.“How the hell do we attack up there?” Sharpe asked. The Sergeant laughed.“We don’t! It’s a job for the infantry. Reckon you’re better offattached to that fellow Torrance.“Sharpe shook his head.“I have to get in there, Eli.“Why?“Sharpe gazed at the distant wall.“There’s a fellow called Dodd in there, and the bastard killed a friendof mine.“Lockhart thought for a second.“Seven hundred guineas Dodd?“That’s the fellow,” Sharpe said.“But I’m not after the reward.
I just want to see the bugger dead.“Me too,” Lockhart said grimly.“You?“Assaye,” Lockhart said brusquely.“What happened?“We charged his troops. They were knocking seven kinds of hell out ofthe 74th and we caught the buggers in line. Knocked ‘em hard back, butwe must have had a dozen troopers unhorsed. We didn’t stop, though, wejust kept after their cavalry and it wasn’t till the battle was overthat we found our lads. They’d had their throats cut. All of them.“That sounds like Dodd,” Sharpe said. The renegade Englishman liked tospread terror. Make a man afraid, Dodd had once told Sharpe, and hewon’t fight you so hard.“So maybe I’ll go into Gawilghur with you,” Lockhart said.“Cavalry?” Sharpe asked.“They won’t let cavalry into a real fight.“Lockhart grinned.“I couldn’t let an ensign go into a fight without help. Poor littlebugger might get hurt.“Sharpe laughed. The cavalry had swerved off the road to pass a longcolumn of marching infantry who had set off before dawn on their marchto Deogaum. The leading regiment was Sharpe’s own, the 74th, andSharpe moved even farther away from the road so that he would not haveto acknowledge the men who had wanted to be rid of him, but EnsignVenables spotted him, leaped the roadside ditch, and ran to his side.“Going up in the world, Richard?” Venables asked.“Borrowed glory,” Sharpe said.“The horse belongs to the igth.“Venables looked slightly relieved that Sharpe had not suddenly beenable to afford a horse.“Are you with the pioneers now?” he asked.“Nothing so grand,” Sharpe said, reluctant to admit that he had beenreduced to being a bullock guard.Venables did not really care.“Because that’s what we’re doing,” he explained, ‘escorting thepioneers. It seems they have to make a road. “Up there?” Sharpe guessed, nodding towards the fortress thatdominated the plain.“Captain Urquhart says you might be selling your commission,” Venablessaid.“Does he?“Are you?“Are you making an offer?“I’ve got a brother, you see,” Venables explained.“Three actually.And some sisters. My father might buy.” He took a piece of paper froma pocket and handed it up to Sharpe.“So if you go home, why not see my pater? That’s his address. Hereckons one of my brothers should join the army. Ain’t any good foranything else, see?“I’ll think on it,” Sharpe said, taking the paper.
The cavalry hadstretched ahead and so he clapped his heels back, and the horse jerkedforward, throwing Sharpe back in the saddle. For a second he sprawled,almost falling over the beast’s rump, then he flailed wildly to catchhis balance and just managed to grasp the saddle pommel. He thought heheard laughter as he trotted away from the battalion.Gawilghur soared above the plain like a threat and Sharpe felt like apoacher with nowhere to hide. From up there, Sharpe reckoned, theapproaching British army would look like so many ants in the dust. Hewished he had a telescope to stare at the high, distant fortress, buthe had been reluctant to spend money. He was not sure why. It was notthat he was poor, indeed there were few soldiers richer, yet he fearedthat the real reason was that he felt fraudulent wearing an officer’ssash, and that if he were to buy the usual appurtenances of an officera horse and a telescope and an expensive sword then he would be mockedby those in the army who claimed he should never have been commissionedin the first place. Nor should he, he thought. He had been happier asa sergeant. Much happier. All the same, he wished he had a telescopeas he gazed up at the stronghold and saw a great billow of smoke jetfrom one of the bastions. Seconds later he heard the fading boom ofthe gun, but he saw no sign of the shot falling. It was as though thecannonball had been swallowed into the warm air.A mile short of the foothills the road split into three. The sepoyhorsemen went westwards, while the igth Light Dragoons took the righthand path that angled away from the domineering fortress. The countrybecame more broken as it was cut by small gullies and heaped with lowwooded ridges thfe first hints of the tumultuous surge of land thatended in the vast cliffs. Trees grew thick in those foothills, andDeogaum was evidently among the low wooded hills. It lay east ofGawilghur, safely out of range of the fortress’s guns. A crackle ofmusketry sounded from a timbered cleft and the igth Dragoons, ridingahead of Sharpe, spread into a line. Ahmed grinned and made sure hismusket was loaded. Sharpe wondered which side the boy was on.Another spatter of muskets sounded, this time to the west. TheMahrattas must have had men in the foothills. Perhaps they werestripping the villages of the stored grain? The sepoys of the EastIndia Company cavalry had vanished, while the horsemen of the igth werefiling into the wooded cleft. A gun boomed in the fort, and this timeSharpe heard a thump as a cannonball fell to earth like a stone farbehind him. A patch of dust drifted from a field where the shot hadplummeted, then he and Ahmed followed the dragoons into the gully andthe leaves hid them from the invisible watchers high above.The road twisted left and right, then emerged into a patchwork of smallfields and woods. A large village lay beyond the fields Sharpe guessedit must be Deogaum then there were shots to his left and he saw a crowdof horsemen burst out of the trees a half-mile away. They wereMahrattas, and at first Sharpe thought they were intent on charging theigth Light Dragoons, then he realized they were fleeing from theCompany cavalry. There were fifty or sixty of the enemy horsemen who,on seeing the blue-and-yellow-coated dragoons, swerved southwards toavoid a fight. The dragoons were turning, drawing sabres and spurringinto pursuit. A trumpet sounded and the small fields were suddenly awhirl of horses, dust and gleaming weapons.Sharpe reined in among a patch of trees, not wanting to be at thecentre of a Mahratta cavalry charge. The enemy horse pounded past in ablur of hooves, shining helmets and lance points. The Company cavalrywas still a quarter-mile behind when Ahmed suddenly kicked back hisheels and shot out of the hiding place to follow the Mahrattacavalry.Sharpe swore. The little bastard was running back to join theMahrattas. Not that Sharpe could blame him, but he still feltdisappointed. He knew he had no chance of catching Ahmed who hadunslung his musket and now rode up behind the rearmost enemy horseman. That man looked round, saw Ahmed was not in British uniform, and soignored him. Ahmed galloped alongside, then swung his musket by itsbarrel so that the heavy stock cracked into the Mahratta’s forehead.The man went off the back of his horse as though jerked by a rope.His horse ran on, stirrups flapping. Ahmed reined in, turned andjumped down beside his victim. Sharpe saw the flash of a knife. Thesepoy cavalry was closer now, and they might think Ahmed was the enemy,so Sharpe shouted at the boy to come back. Ahmed scrambled back intohis saddle and kicked his horse to the trees where Sharpe waited. Hehad plundered a sabre, a pistol and a leather bag, and had a grin aswide as his face. The bag held two stale loaves of flat bread, someglass beads and a small book in a strange script.
Ahmed gave one loafto Sharpe, threw away the book, draped the cheap beads about his neckand hung the sabre at his waist, then watched as the dragoons cut intothe rearward ranks of the fugitives. There was the blacksmith’s soundof steel on steel, two horses stumbled in flurries of dust, a manstaggered bleeding into a ditch, pistols banged, a lance shivered pointdownwards in the dry turf, and then the enemy horse was gone and theBritish and sepoy cavalry reined in.“Why can’t you be a proper servant?” Sharpe asked Ahmed.“Clean my boots, wash my clothes, make my supper, eh?“Ahmed, who did not understand a word, just grinned.“Instead I get some murderous urchin. So come on, you bugger.“Sharpe kicked his horse towards the village. He passed a half-emptytank where some clothes lay to dry on bushes, then he was in the dustymain street which appeared to be deserted, though he was aware of faceswatching nervously from dark windows and curtain-hung doorways. Dogsgrowled from the shade and two chickens scratched in the dust. Theonly person in sight was a naked holy man who sat cross legged under atree, with his long hair cascading to the ground about him. He ignoredSharpe, and Sharpe ignored him.“We have to find a house,” Sharpe told the uncomprehending Ahmed.“House, see? House.“The village headman, the naique, ventured into the street. At leastSharpe assumed he was the naique, just as the naique assumed that themounted soldier was the leader of the newly arrived cavalrymen. Heclasped his hands before his face and bowed to Sharpe, then clicked hisfingers to summon a servant carrying a small brass tray on which stooda little cup of arrack. The fierce liquor made Sharpe’s head feelsuddenly light. The naique was talking ten to the dozen, but Sharpequietened him with a wave.“No good talking to me,” he said, “I’m nobody. Talk to him. ” Hepointed to Colonel Huddlestone who was leading his Indian cavalrymeninto the village. The troopers dismounted as Huddlestone talked to theheadman. There was a squawk as the two chickens were snatched up.Huddlestone turned at the sound, but his men all looked innocent.High above Sharpe a gun banged in the fortress. The shot seared out tofall somewhere in the plain where the British infantry marched.The dragoons came into the village, some with bloodied sabres, andSharpe surrendered the two horses to Lockhart. Then he searched thestreet to find a house for Torrance. He saw nothing which had a walledgarden, but he did find a small mud-walled home that had a courtyardand he dropped his pack in the main room as a sign of ownership. Therewas a woman with two small children who shrank away from him.
“It’s all right,” Sharpe said, ‘you get paid. No one will hurt you.“The woman wailed and crouched as though expecting to be hit.“Bloody hell,” Sharpe said, ‘does no one in this bleeding country speakEnglish?“He had nothing to do now until Torrance arrived. He could have huntedthrough the village to discover paper, a pen and ink so he could writeto Simone and tell her about going to England, but he decided thatchore could wait. He stripped off his belt, sabre and jacket, found arope bed, and lay down.Far overhead the fortress guns fired. It sounded like distantthunder.Sharpe slept.Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill tugged off his boots, releasing a stenchinto the room that caused Captain Torrance to close his eyes.
“Good God,” Torrance said weakly. The Captain felt ill enough already.He had drunk the best part of a bottle of arrack, had woken in thenight with gripes in the belly, and then slept unevenly until dawn whensomeone had scratched at his door and Torrance had shouted at, the pestto go away, after which he had at last fallen into a deeper sleep. Nowhe had been woken by Hakeswill who, oblivious of the stench, began tounwrap the cloths that bound his feet. It smelt, Torrance thought,like rotted cheese that had been stored in a corpse’s belly. Heshifted his chair slightly towards the window and pulled his dressinggown tighter about his chest.“I’m truly sorry about Naig,” Torrance said. Hakeswill had listened indisbelief to the tale of Naig’s death and seemed genuinely saddened byit, just as he had been shocked by the news that Sharpe was nowTorrance’s assistant.“The bleeding Scotch didn’t want him, sir, did they?” Hakeswillsaid.“Never thought the Scotch had much sense, but they had wits enough toget rid of Sharpie.
” Hakeswill had uncovered his right foot andTorrance, barely able to endure the stink, suspected there was blackfungus growing between the Sergeant’s toes.“Now you’ve got him, sir,” Hakeswill went on, ‘and I pities you, Idoes. Decent officer like you,sir? Last thing you deserved. Bleeding Sharpie! He ain’t got noright to be an officer, sir, not Sharpie. He ain’t a gentleman likeyour good self, sir. He’s just a common toad, like the rest of us.“So why was he commissioned?” Torrance asked, watching as Hakeswilltugged at the crusted cloth on his left foot.“On account of saving the General’s life, sir. Leastwise, that’s whatis said.” Hakeswill paused as a spasm made his face twitch.
“Saved Sir Arthur’s life at Assaye. Not that I believe it, sir, butSir Arthur does, and the result of that, sir, is that Sir Arthur thinksbloody Sharpie is a blue eyed boy. Sharpie farts and Sir Arthur thinksthe wind’s turned southerly.“Does he now?” Torrance asked. That was worth knowing.“Four years ago, sir,” Hakeswill said, “I had Sharpie flogged. Wouldhave been a dead ‘un too, he would, like he deserved, only Sir Arthurstopped the flogging after two hundred lashes. Stopped it!” Theinjustice of the act still galled the Sergeant.“Now he’s a bleedin’ officer. I tells you, sir, the army ain’t what itwas.
Gone to the dogs, it has.” He pulled the cloth from his leftfoot, then frowned at his toes.“I washed them in August,” he said in wonderment, ‘but it don’t looklike it, does it?“It is now December, Sergeant,” Torrance said reprovingly.“A good sluice should last six months, sir.“Some of us engage in a more regular toilet,” Torrance hinted.“You would, sir, being a gentleman. Thing is, sir, I wouldn’t normallytake the toe rags off, only there’s a blister.” Hakeswill frowned.“Haven’t had a blister in years! Poor Naig. For a blackamoor hewasn’t a bad sort of fellow. “Naig, Torrance believed, had been as evil a creature as any on thesurface of the earth, but he smiled piously at Hakeswill’s tribute.“We shall certainly miss him, Sergeant.“Pity you had to hang him,” sir, but what choice did you have?Between the devil and a deep blue buggeration, that’s where you were,sir. But poor Naig.” Hakeswill shook his head in sad remembrance.“You should have strung up Sharpie, sir, more’s the pity you couldn’t.Strung him up proper like what he deserves. A murdering bastard, heis, murdering!” And an indignant Hakeswill told Captain Torrance howSharpe had tried to kill him, first by throwing him among the Tippoo’stigers, then by trapping him in a courtyard with an elephant trained tokill by crushing men with its forefoot.“Only the tigers weren’t hungry, see, on account of being fed? And asfor the elephant, sir, I had me knife, didn’t I? I jabbed it in thepaw, I did.” He mimed the stabbing action.
“Right in its paw, deep in! It didn’t like it. I can’t die, sir, Ican’t die.” The Sergeant spoke hoarsely, believing every word. He hadbeen hanged as a child, but he had survived the gallows and nowbelieved he was protected from death by his own guardian angel.Mad, Torrance thought, bedlam-mad, but he was nevertheless fascinatedby Obadiah Hakeswill. To look at, the Sergeant appeared the perfectsoldier; it was the twitch that suggested something more interestinglay behind the bland blue eyes. And what lay behind those childisheyes, Torrance had decided, was a breathtaking malevolence, yet onethat was accompanied by an equally astonishing confidence. Hakeswill,Torrance had decided, would murder a baby and find justification forthe act.“So you don’t like Mister Sharpe?” Torrance asked.“I hates him, sir, and I don’t mind admitting it.
I’ve watched him, Ihave, slither his way up the ranks like a bleeding eel up a drain.“Hakeswill had taken out a knife, presumably the one which he hadstabbed into the elephant’s foot, and now cocked his right heel on hisleft knee and laid the blade against the blister.Torrance shut his eyes to spare himself the sight of Hakeswillperforming surgery.“The thing is, Sergeant,” he said, ‘that Naig’s brother would ratherlike a private word with Mister Sharpe.“Does he now?” Hakeswill asked. He stabbed down.“Look at that, sir.Proper bit of pus. Soon be healed. Ain’t had a blister in years!Reckon it must be the new boots. ” He spat on the blade and poked theblister again.“I’ll have to soak the boots in vinegar, sir. So Jama wants Sharpe’sgoo lies does he?“Literally, as it happens. Yes.“He can join the bleeding queue.“No!” Torrance said sternly.“It is important to me, Sergeant, that Mister Sharpe is delivered toJama. Alive. And that his disappearance occasions no curiosity.“You mean no one must notice?” HakeswilPs face twitched while hethought, then he shrugged.
“Ain’t difficult, sir.“It isn’t?“I’ll have a word with Jama, sir. Then you can give Sharpie someorders, and I’ll be waiting for him. It’ll be easy, sir. Glad to doit for you.“You are a comfort to me, Sergeant.“That’s my job, sir,” Hakeswill said, then leered at the kitchen doorwhere Clare Wall had appeared.“Sunshine of my life,” he said in what he hoped was a winning tone.“Your tea, sir,” Clare said, offering Torrance a cup.“A mug for the Sergeant, Brick! Where are your manners?“She don’t need manners,” Hakeswill said, still leering at theterrified Clare, ‘not with what she’s got.
Put some sugar in it,darling, if the Captain will spare me some.“Give him sugar, Brick,” Torrance ordered.Hakeswill watched Brick go back to the kitchen.“A proper little woman, that, sir. A flower, that’s what she is, aflower!“No doubt you would like to pluck her?“It’s time I was married,” Hakeswill said.“A man should leave a son, sir, says so in the scriptures.“You want to do some begetting, eh?” Torrance said, then frowned assomeone knocked on the outer door.“Come!” he called.An infantry captain whom neither man recognized put his head round thedoor.“Captain Torrance?“That’s me,” Torrance said grandly. “Sir Arthur Wellesley’s compliments,” the Captain said, his acid tonesuggesting that the compliments would be remarkably thin, ‘but is thereany reason why the supplies have not moved northwards?“Torrance stared at the man. For a second he was speechless, then hecursed under his breath.“My compliments to the General,” he said, ‘and my assurances that thebullock train will be on its way immediately.“He waited until the Captain had gone, then swore again.“What happened, sir?” Hakeswill asked.“The bloody chitties Torrance said.“Still here. Dilip must have come for them this morning, but I toldhim to bugger off.” He swore again.“Bloody Wellesley will pull my guts out backwards for this.
“Hakeswill found the chitties on the table and went to the door,leaving small bloody marks on the floor from his opened blister.“Dilly You black bastard heathen swine! Here, take these. On yourway!“no”Damn!” Torrance said, standing and pacing the small room.“Damn, damn, damn.“Nothing to worry about, sir,” Hakeswill said.“Easy for you to say, Sergeant.“Hakeswill grinned as his face was distorted by twitches.“Just blame someone else, sir,” he said, ‘as is usually done in thearmy.“Who? Sharpe? You said yourself he’s Wellesley’s blue-eyed boy.I’m supposed to blame him? Or you, perhaps?“Hakeswill tried to calm the Captain down by giving him his cup oftea.
“Blame Dilly, sir, on account of him being a heathen bastard as blackas my new boots.“He’ll simply deny everything when questioned!” Torrance protested.Hakeswill smiled.“Won’t be in a position to deny anything, sir, will he? On account ofbeing ” He paused, stuck his tongue out, opened his eyes wide andmade a choking noise.“Good God, Sergeant,” Torrance said, shuddering at the horrid picturesuggested by Hakeswill’s contorted face.“Besides, he’s a good clerk!It’s damned difficult to replace good men.“It’s easy, sir. Jama will give us a man. Give us a good man.“Hakeswill grinned.
“It’ll make things much easier, sir, if we can trust the clerk as wellas each other.“Torrance flinched at the thought of being in league with ObadiahHakeswill, yet if he was ever to pay off his debts he needed theSergeant’s cooperation. And Hakeswill was marvellously efficient. Hecould strip the supplies bare and not leave a trace of his handiwork,always making sure someone else took the blame. And doubtless theSergeant was right. If Jama could provide a clerk, then the clerkcould provide a false set of accounts. And if Dilip was blamed for thelate arrival of the pioneers’ stores, then Torrance would be off thatparticularly sharp and nasty hook. As ever, it seemed as thoughHakeswill could find his way through the thorniest of problems.Just leave it to me, sir,” Hakeswill said.“I’ll look after everything, sir, I will.
” He bared his teeth at Clarewho had brought his mug of tea.“You’re the flower of womanhood,” he told her, then watchedappreciatively as she scuttled back to the kitchen.“Her and me, sir, are meant for each other. Says so in thescriptures.“Not till Sharpe’s dead,” Torrance said.“He’ll be dead, sir,” Hakeswill promised, and the Sergeant shivered inas he anticipated the riches that would follow that death. Not justClare Wall, but the jewels. The jewels! Hakeswill had divined that ithad been Sharpe who had killed the Tippoo Sultan in Seringapatam, andSharpe who must have stripped the ruler’s body of its diamonds andemeralds and sapphires and rubies, and Sharpe, Hakeswill reckoned, wasstill hiding those stones. From far away, dulled by the heat of theday, came the sound of artillery firing. Gawilghur, Hakeswill thought,where Sharpe should not reach, on account of Sharpe being Hakeswill’sbusiness, and no one else’s.
I will be rich, the Sergeant promisedhimself, I will be rich.Colonel William Dodd stood on the southernmost battlements of Gawilghurwith his back against the parapet so that he was staring down into apalace courtyard where Beny Singh had erected a striped pavilion.Small silver bells that tinkled prettily in the small breeze were hungfrom the pavilion’s fringed hem, while under the canopy a group ofmusicians played the strange, long-necked stringed instruments whichmade a music that, to Dodd’s ears, sounded like the slow strangulationof cats. Beny Singh and a dozen pretty creatures in saris were playingsome form of Blind Man’s Buff, and their laughter rose to the ramparts,making Dodd scowl, though if truth were told he was inordinatelyjealous of Beny Singh. The man was plump, short and timid, yet heseemed to work some magical spell on the ladies, while Dodd, who wastall, hard and scarred to prove his bravery, had to make do with awhore.Damn the Killadar. Dodd turned sharply away and stared over theheat-baked plain. Beneath him, and just far enough to the east to beout of range of Gawilghur’s largest guns, the edge of the Britishencampment showed. From this height the rows of dull white tentslooked like speckles. To the south, still a long way off, Dodd couldsee the enemy baggage train trudgiilg towards its new encampment. Itwas odd, he thought, that they should make the oxen carry their burdensthrough the hottest part of the day. Usually the baggage marched justafter midnight and camped not long after dawn, but today the great herdwas stirring the dust into the broiling afternoon air and it looked,Dodd thought, like a migrating tribe. There were thousands of oxen inthe army’s train, all loaded with round shot, powder, tools, salt beef,arrack, horseshoes, bandages, flints, muskets,spices, rice, and with them came the merchants’ beasts and themerchants’ families, and the ox herdsmen had their own families andthey all needed more beasts to carry their tents, clothes and food. Adozen elephants plodded in the herd’s centre, while a score ofdromedaries swayed elegantly behind the elephants. Mysore cavalryguarded the great caravan, while beyond the mounted picquets halfnakedgrass-cutters spread into the fields to collect fodder that theystuffed into nets and loaded onto yet more oxen.Dodd glanced at the sentries who guarded the southern stretch ofGawilghur’s walls and he saw the awe on their faces as they watched theenormous herd approach. The dust from the hooves rose to smear thesouthern skyline like a vast sea fog.“They’re only oxen!” Dodd growled to the men.“Only oxen! Oxen don’t fire guns. Oxen don’t climb walls. “None of them understood him, but they grinned dutifully.Dodd walked eastwards. After a while the wall ended, giving way to thebare lip of a precipice. There was no need for walls around much ofthe perimeters of Gawilghur’s twin forts, for nature had provided thegreat cliffs that were higher than any rampart a man could make, butDodd, as he walked to the bluff’s edge, noted places here and therewhere an agile man could, with the help of a rope, scramble down therock face.A few men deserted Gawilghur’s garrison every day, and Dodd did notdoubt that this was how they escaped, but he did not understand whythey should want to go. The fort was impregnable! Why would a man notwish to stay with the victors?He reached a stretch of wall at the fort’s southeastern corner andthere, high up on a gun platform, he opened his telescope and stareddown into the foothills. He searched for a long time, his glassskittering over trees, shrubs and patches of dry grass, but at last hesaw a group of men standing beside a narrow path. Some of the men werein red coats and one was in blue.“What are you watching, Colonel?” Prince Manu Bappoo had seen Dodd onthe rampart and had climbed to join him.“British,” Dodd said, without taking his eye from the telescope.
“They’re surveying a route up to the plateau.“Bappoo shaded his eyes and stared down, but without a telescope hecould not see the group of men.“It will take them months to build a road up to the hills.“It’ll take them two weeks,” Dodd said flatly.“Less. You don’t know how their engineers work, sahib, but I do.They’ll use powder to break through obstacles and a thousand axe men towiden the tracks. They’ll start their work tomorrow and in a fortnightthey’ll be running guns up to the hills.” Dodd collapsed thetelescope.“Let me go down and break the bastards,” he demanded.
“No,” Bappoo said. He had already had this argument with Dodd whowanted to take his Cobras down into the foothills and there harass theroad-makers. Dodd did not want a stand-up fight, a battle of musketline against musket line, but instead wanted to raid, ambush and scarethe enemy. He wanted to slow the British work, to dishearten thesappers and, by such delaying tactics, force Wellesley to send forageparties far into the countryside where they would be prey to theMahratta horsemen who still roamed the Deccan Plain.Bappoo knew Dodd was right, and that the British road could be slowedby a campaign of harassment, but he feared to let the white coatedCobras leave the fortress. The garrison was already nervous, awed bythe victories of Wellesley’s small army, and if they saw the Cobrasmarch out of the fort then many would think they were being abandonedand the trickle of deserters would become a flood.“We have to slow them!” Dodd snarled.“We shall,” Bappoo said.“I shall send silladars, Colonel, and reward them for every weapon theybring back to the fort. But you will stay here, and help prepare thede fences He spoke firmly, showing that the subject was beyonddiscussion, then offered Dodd a gap-toothed smile and gestured towardsthe palace at the centre of the Inner Fort.
“Come, Colonel, I want to show you something.“The two men walked through the small houses that surrounded the palace,past an Arab sentry who protected the palace precincts, then throughsome flowering trees where monkeys crouched. Dodd could hear thetinkle of the bells where Beny Singh was playing with his women, butthat sound faded as the path twisted deeper into the trees.The path ended at a rock face that was pierced by an arched woodendoor. Dodd looked up while Bappoo unlocked the door and saw that thegreat rock slab formed the palace foundations and, when Bappoo thrustback the creaking door, he understood that it led into the palacecellars.A lantern stood on a shelf just inside the door and there was a pausewhile Bappoo lit its wick.“Come,” Bappoo said, and led Dodd into the marvelous coolness of thehuge low cellar.“It is rumoured,” Bappoo said, ‘that we store the treasures of Berar inhere, and in one sense it is true, but they are not the treasures thatmen usually dream of.” He stopped by a row of barrels and casuallyknocked off their lids, revealing that the tubs were filled with coppercoins.“No gold or silver,” Bappoo said, ‘but money all the same.
Money tohire new mercenaries, to buy new weapons and to make a new army.“Bappoo trickled a stream of the newly minted coins through hisfingers.“We have been lax in paying our men,” he confessed.“My brother, for all his virtues, is not generous with his treasury.“Dodd grunted. He was not sure what virtues the Rajah of Berar didpossess. Certainly not valour, nor generosity, but the Rajah wasfortunate in his brother, for Bappoo was loyal and evidently determinedto make up for the Rajah’s shortcomings.“Gold and silver,” Dodd said, ‘would buy better arms and more men.“My brother will not give me gold or silver, only copper. And we mustwork with what we have, not with what we dream of. ” Bappoo put thelids back onto the barrels, then edged between them to where rack afterrack of muskets stood.“These, Colonel,” he said, ‘are the weapons for that new army.“There were thousands of muskets, all brand new, and all equipped withbayonets and cartridge boxes. Some of the guns were locally madecopies of French muskets, but several hundred looked to Dodd to be ofBritish make. He lifted one from the racks and saw the Tower mark onits lock.“How did you get these?” he asked, surprised.Bappoo shrugged.“We have agents in the British camp. They arrange it. We meet some oftheir supply convoys well to the south and pay for their contents.
Itseems there are traitors in the British army who would rather makemoney than seek victory.“You buy guns with copper?” Dodd asked scathingly. He could notimagine any man selling a Tower musket for a handful of copper.“No,” Bappoo confessed.“To buy the weapons and the cartridges we need gold, so I use my own.My brother, I trust, will repay me one day.“Dodd frowned at the hawk-faced Bappoo.“You’re using your money to keep your brother on the throne?” he askedand, though he waited for an answer, none came. Dodd shook his head,implying that “5Bappoo’s nobility was beyond understanding, then he cocked and firedthe unloaded musket. The spark of the flint flashed a sparkle of redlight against the stone ceiling. “A musket in its rack kills no one,” he said.“True. But as yet we don’t have the men to carry these muskets. Butwe will, Colonel. Once we have defeated the British the other kingdomswill join us.” That, Dodd reflected, was true enough. Scindia, Dodd’serstwhile employer, was suing for peace, while Holkar, the mostformidable of the Mahratta monarchs, was staying aloof from thecontest, but if Bappoo did win his victory, those chieftains would beeager to share future spoils.“And not just the other kingdoms,” Bappoo went on, ‘but warriors fromall India will come to our banner. I intend to raise a compoo armedwith the best weapons and trained to the very highest standard. Many,I suspect, will be sepoys from Wellesley’s defeated army and they willneed a new master when he is dead.
I thought perhaps you would leadthem?“Dodd returned the musket to its rack.“You’ll not pay me with copper, Bappoo.“Bappoo smiled.“You will pay me with victory, Colonel, and I shall reward you withgold.“Dodd saw some unfamiliar weapons farther down the rack. He lifted oneand saw it was a hunting rifle. The lock was British, but the filigreedecoration on the stock and barrel was Indian.“You’re buying rifles?“he asked.“No better weapon for skirmishing,” Bappoo said.“Maybe,” Dodd allowed grudgingly. The rifle was accurate, but slow toload.“A small group of men with rifles,” Bappoo said, ‘backed up by muskets,could be formidable.“Maybe,” Dodd said again, then, instead of putting the rifle back ontothe rack, he slung it on his shoulder.“I’d like to try it,” he explained.“You have ammunition?“Bappoo gestured across the cellar, and Dodd went and scooped up somecartridges.“If you’ve got the cash,” he called back, ‘why not raise your new armynow. Bring it to Gawilghur.“There’s no time,” Bappoo said, ‘and besides, no one will join us now.They think the British are beating us. So if we are to make our newarmy, Colonel, then we must first win a victory that will ring throughIndia, and that is what we shall do here at Gawilghur. ” He spoke veryconfidently, for Bappoo, like Dodd, believed Gawilghur to beunassailable. He led the Englishman back to the entrance, blew out thelantern and carefully locked the armoury door.The two men climbed the slope beside the palace, passing a line ofservants who carried drinks and sweetmeats to where Beny Singh whiledaway the afternoon. As ever, when Dodd thought of the Killa-dar, hefelt a surge of anger. Beny Singh should have been organizing thefortress’s de fences but instead he frittered away his days with womenand liquor. Bappoo must have divined Dodd’s thoughts, for hegrimaced.“My brother likes Beny Singh. They amuse each other.“Do they amuse you?” Dodd asked.Bappoo paused at the northern side of the palace and there he gazedacross the ravine to the Outer Fort which was garrisoned by his Lionsof Allah.
“I swore an oath to my brother,” he answered, ‘and I am a man who keepsmy oaths.“There must be those,” Dodd said carefully, ‘who would rather see youas Rajah?“Of course,” Bappoo answered equably, ‘but such men are my brother’senemies, and my oath was to defend my brother against all his enemies.“He shrugged.“We must be content, Colonel, with what fate grants us. It has grantedme the task of fighting my brother’s wars, and I shall do that to thebest of my ability.” He pointed to the deep ravine that lay betweenthe Outer and the Inner Forts.“And there, Colonel, I shall win a victory that will make my brotherthe greatest ruler of all India.The British cannot stop us. Even if they make their road, even if theyhaul their guns up to the hills, even if they make a breach in ourwalls and even if they capture the Outer Fort, they must still crossthat ravine, and they cannot do it. No one can do it.
” Bappoo staredat the steep gorge as if he could already see its rocks soaked in enemyblood.“Who rules that ravine, Colonel, rules India, and when we have ourvictory then we shall unlock the cellar and raise an army that willdrive the redcoats not just from Berar, but from Hyderabad, from Mysoreand from Madras. I shall make my brother Emperor of all southernIndia, and you and I, Colonel, shall be his warlords.” Bappoo turnedto gaze into the dust smeared immensity of the southern sky.“It will all belong to my brother,” he said softly, ‘but it will beginhere. At Gawilghur.“And here, Dodd suddenly thought, it would end for Bappoo. No man whowas willing to endure a feeble wretch like Beny Singh, or protect acowardly libertine like the Rajah, deserved to be a warlord of allIndia.No, Dodd thought, he would win his own victory here, and then he wouldstrike against Bappoo and against Beny Singh, and he would raise hisown army and use it to strike terror into the rich southern kingdoms.Other Europeans had done it.
Benoit de Boigne had made himself richerthan the kings of all Christendom, while George Thomas, an illiterateIrish sailor, had risen to rule a princedom for his widowed mistress.Dodd saw himself as a new Presterjohn. He would make a kingdom fromthe rotting scraps of India, and he would rule from a new palace inGawilghur that would be like no other in the world. He would haveroofs of gold, walls of white marble and garden paths made from pearls,and men from all India would come to pay him homage. He would be Lordof Gawilghur, Dodd thought, and smiled. Not bad for a miller’s sonfrom Suffolk, but Gawilghur was a place to stir dreams for it liftedmen’s thoughts into the heavens, and Dodd knew that India, above allthe lands on God’s earth, was a place where dreams could come true.Here a man was either made rich beyond all desire, or else becamenothing.And Dodd would not be nothing. He would be Lord of Gawilghur and theterror of India.Once the redcoats were defeated. “Is this the best you could manage, Sharpe?” Torrance enquired,looking about the main room of the commandeered house.“No, sir,” Sharpe said.“There was a lovely house just up the road. Big shady courtyard,couple of pools, a fountain and a gaggle of dancing girls, but Ithought you might prefer the view from these windows.“Sarcasm ill becomes an ensign,” Torrance said, dropping his saddlebagson the earthen floor.“Indeed, very little becomes ensigns, Sharpe, except a humble devotionto serving their betters. I suppose the house will have to suffice.Who is that?” He shuddered as he stared at the woman whose house hewas occupying.“She lives here, sir.“Not now, she doesn’t.
Get rid of the black bitch, and her foulchildren. Brick!“Clare Wall came in from the sunlight, carrying a sack.“Sir?“I’m hungry, Brick. Find the kitchen. We made a late start, Sharpe,“Torrance explained, ‘and missed dinner.“I imagine that’s why the General wants to see you, sir,” Sharpesaid.“Not because you missed dinner, but because the supplies weren’t hereon time.“Torrance stared at Sharpe in horror.“Wellesley wants to see me?“Six o’clock, sir, at his tent.“Oh, Christ!” Torrance threw his cocked hat across the room. Justbecause the supplies were a little late?“Twelve hours late, sir.“Torrance glared at Sharpe, then fished a watch from his fob.“It’s half past five already! God help us! Can’t you brush that coat,Sharpe?“He don’t want to see me, sir. Just you.“Well, he’s bloody well going to see both of us. Clean uniform,Sharpe, hair brushed, paws washed, face scrubbed, Sunday best.“Torrance frowned suddenly.“Why didn’t you tell me you saved Wellesley’s life?“Is that what I did, sir?“I mean, good God, man, he must be grateful to you?” Torrance asked.Sharpe just shrugged.“You saved his life,” Torrance insisted, ‘and that means he’s in yourdebt, and you must use the advantage. Tell him we don’t have enoughmen to run the supply train properly. Put in a good word for me,Sharpe, and I’ll repay the favour. Brick! Forget the food! I need aclean stock, boots polished, hat brushed. And give my dress coat apressing!“Sergeant Hakeswill edged through the door.“Your am mock sir,” he said to Torrance, then saw Sharpe and a slowgrin spread across his face.“Look who it isn’t. Sharpie!“Torrance wheeled on the Sergeant.“Mister Sharpe is an officer, Hakeswill! In this unit we do observethe proprieties!“Quite forgot myself, sir,” Hakeswill said, his face twitching, ‘onaccount of being reunited with an old comrade. Mister Sharpe, ever sopleased to see you, sir.“Lying bastard,” Sharpe said. “Ain’t officers supposed to observe the properties, sir?” Hakeswilldemanded of Torrance, but the Captain had gone in search of his nativeservant who had charge of the luggage. Hakeswill looked back toSharpe.“Fated to be with you, Sharpie.“9”You stay out of my light, Obadiah,” Sharpe said, ‘or I’ll slit yourthroat.“I can’t be killed, Sharpie, can’t be killed!” Hakeswill’s facewrenched itself in a series of twitches.“It says so in the scriptures.” He looked Sharpe up and down, thenshook his head ruefully.“I’ve seen better things dangling off the tails of sheep, I have. Youain’t an officer, Sharpie, you’re a bleeding disgrace.“Torrance backed into the house, shouting at his servant to drape thewindows with muslin, then turned and hurried to the kitchen to harryClare.
He tripped over Sharpe’s pack and swore.“Whose is this?“Mine,” Sharpe said.“You’re not thinking of billeting yourself here, are you, Sharpe?“Good as anywhere, sir.“I like my privacy, Sharpe. Find somewhere else.” Torrance suddenlyremembered he was speaking to a man who might have influence withWellesley.“If you’d be so kind, Sharpe. I just can’t abide being crowded.An affliction, I know, but there it is. I need solitude, it’s mynature. Brick! Did I tell you to brush my hat? And the plume needs acombing.“Sharpe picked up his pack and walked out to the small garden whereAhmed was sharpening his new tulwar. Clare Wall followed him into thesunlight, muttered something under her breath, then sat and started topolish one of Torrance’s boots.“Why the hell do you stay with him?“Sharpe asked.She paused to look at Sharpe. She had oddly hooded eyes that gave herface an air of delicate mystery.“What choice do I have?” she asked, resuming her polishing.Sharpe sat beside her, picked up the other boot and rubbed it withblackball.“So what’s he going to do if you bugger off?“She shrugged.“I owe him money.
“Like hell. How can you owe him money?“He brought my husband and me here,” she said, ‘paid our passage fromEngland. We agreed to stay three years. Then Charlie died.” Shepaused again, her eyes suddenly gleaming, then sniffed and began topolish the boot obsessively.Sharpe looked at her. She had dark eyes, curling black hair and a longupper lip. If she was not so tired and miserable, he thought, shewould be a very pretty woman.“How old are you, love?“She gave him a sceptical glance.“Who’s your woman in Seringapatam, then?“She’s a Frenchie,” Sharpe said.
“A widow, like you.“Officer’s widow?” Clare asked. Sharpe nodded.“And you’re to marry her?” Clare asked.“Nothing like that,” Sharpe said.“Like what, then?” she asked.“I don’t know, really.” Sharpe said. He spat on the boot’s flank andrubbed the spittle into the bootblack.“But you like her?” Clare asked, picking the dirt from the boot’sspur.
She seemed embarrassed to have posed the question, for shehurried on.“I’m nineteen,” she said, ‘but nearly twenty.“Then you’re old enough to see a lawyer,” Sharpe said.“You ain’t indentured to the Captain. You have to sign papers, don’tyou? Or make your mark on a paper. That’s how it was done in thefoundling home where they dumped me. Wanted to make me into a chimneysweep, they did! Bloody hell! But if you didn’t sign indenturepapers, you should talk to a lawyer.“Clare paused, staring at a sad tree in the courtyard’s centre that wasdying from the drought.“I wanted to get married a year back,” she said softly, ‘and that’swhat Tom told me. He were called Tom, see? A cavalryman, he was. Onlya youngster.“What happened?“Fever,” she said bleakly.“But it wouldn’t have worked anyway, because Torrance wouldn’t ever letme marry.” She began polishing the boot again.“He said he’d see me dead first.” She shook her head.“But what’s the point in seeing a lawyer? You think a lawyer wouldtalk to me? They like money, lawyers do, and do you know a lawyer inIndia that ain’t in the Company’s pocket? Mind you’ she glancedtowards the house to make sure she was not being overheard ‘he hasn’tgot any money either. He gets an allowance from his uncle and hisCompany pay and he gambles it all away, but he always seems to findmore.” She paused.“And what would I do if I walked away?” She left the question hangingin the warm air, then shook her head. “I’m miles from bleeding home. I don’t know. He was good to me atfirst. I liked him! I didn’t know him then, you see.” She halfsmiled.“Funny, isn’t it? You think because someone’s a gentleman and the sonof a clergyman that they have to be kind? But he ain’t.” Shevigorously brushed the boot’s tassel.“And he’s been worse since he met that Hakeswill. I do hate him.” Shesighed.
“Just fourteen months to go,” she said wearily, ‘and then I’ll havepaid the debt.“Hell, no,” Sharpe said.“Walk away from the bugger.“She picked up Torrance’s hat and began brushing it.“I don’t have family,” she said, ‘so where would I go?“You’re an orphan?“She nodded.“I got work as a house girl in Torrance’s uncle’s house.That’s where I met Charlie. He were a footman. Then Mr. Henry,that’s his uncle, see, said we should join the Captain’s household.
Charlie became Captain Torrance’s valet. That was a step up. And themoney was better, only we weren’t paid, not once we were in Madras. Hesaid we had to pay our passage.“What the devil are you doing, Sharpe?” Torrance had come into thegarden.“You’re not supposed to clean boots! You’re an officer!“Sharpe tossed the boot at Torrance. “I keep forgetting, sir.“If you must clean boots, Sharpe, start with your own. Good God, man!You look like a tinker!“The General’s seen me looking worse,” Sharpe said.“Besides, he never did care what men looked like, sir, so long as theydo their job properly.
“I do mine properly!” Torrance bridled at the implication.“I just need more staff. You tell him that, Sharpe, you tell him! Giveme that hat, Brick! We’re late.“In fact Torrance arrived early at the General’s tent and had to kickhis heels in the evening sunshine.“What exactly did the General say when he summoned me?” he askedSharpe.“He sent an aide, sir. Captain Campbell. Wanted to know where thesupplies were.“You told him they were coming?“Told him the truth, sir.“Which was?“That I didn’t bloody well know where they were.
“Oh, Christ! Thank you, Sharpe, thank you very much.” Torrancetwitched at his sash, making the silk fall more elegantly.“Do you know what loyalty is?“Before Sharpe could answer the tent flaps were pushed aside and CaptainCampbell ducked out into the sunlight.“Wasn’t expecting you, Sharpe!” he said genially, holding out hishand.Sharpe shook hands.“How are you, sir?“Busy,” Campbell said.“You don’t have to go in if you don’t want.“He does,” Torrance said.Sharpe shrugged.“Might as well,” he said, then ducked into the tent’s yellow light asCampbell pulled back the flap.
The General was in his shirtsleeves, sitting behind a table that wascovered with Major Blackiston’s sketches of the land bridge toGawilghur. Blackiston was beside him, travel-stained and tired, whilean irascible-looking major of the Royal Engineers stood two pacesbehind the table. If the General was surprised to see Sharpe he showedno sign of it, but instead looked back to the drawings.“How wide is the approach?” he asked.“At its narrowest, sir, about fifty feet.” Blackiston tapped one ofthe sketches.“It’s wide enough for most of the approach, two or three hundred yards,but just here there’s a tank and it squeezes the path cruelly. Aravine to the left, a tank to the right.“Fall to your death on one side,” the General said, ‘and drown on theother. And doubtless the fifty feet between is covered by theirguns?“Smothered, sir.
Must be twenty heavy cannon looking down the throatof the approach, and God knows how much smaller metal.Plenty.“Wellesley removed the inkwells that had been serving as weights so thatthe drawings rolled up with a snap.“Not much choice, though, is there?” he asked.“None, sir.“Wellesley looked up suddenly, his eyes seeming very blue in the tent’shalf light.“The supply train is twelve hours late, Captain. Why?“He spoke quietly, but even Sharpe felt a shiver go through him.Torrance, his cocked hat held beneath his left arm, was sweating.“I. I ” he said, too nervous to speak properly, but then he tooka deep breath.“I was ill, sir, and unable to supervise properly, and my clerk failedto issue the chitties It was a most regrettable occurrence, sir, andI can assure you it will not happen again.“The General stared at Torrance in silence for a few seconds.“Colonel Wallace gave you Ensign Sharpe as an assistant? Did Sharpealso fail to obey your orders?“I had sent Mister Sharpe ahead, sir,” Torrance said. The sweat wasnow pouring down his face and dripping from his chin.“So why did the clerk fail in his duties?“Treachery, sir,” Torrance said.The answer surprised Wellesley, as it was meant to. He tapped hispencil on the table’s edge.“Treachery?” he asked in a low voice.“It seemed the clerk was in league with a merchant, sir, and had beenselling him supplies. And this morning, sir, when he should have beenissuing the chitties he was employed on his own business.“And you were too ill to detect his treachery?“Yes, sir,” Torrance said almost pleadingly.“At first, sir, yes, sir.“Wellesley gazed at Torrance for a few silent seconds, and the Captainhad the uncomfortable feeling that the blue eyes saw right into hissoul.“So where is this treacherous clerk now, Captain?” Wellesley asked atlast.“We hanged him, sir,” Torrance said and Sharpe, who had not heard ofDilip’s death, stared at him in astonishment.The General slapped the table, making Torrance jump in alarm.“You seem very fond of hanging, Captain Torrance?“A necessary remedy for theft, sir, as you have made plain.“I, sir? I?” The General’s voice, when he became angry, did notbecome louder, but more precise and, therefore, more chilling.“The general order mandating summary death by hanging for thievery,Captain, applies to men in uniform. King’s and Company men only. Itdoes not apply to civilians. Does the dead man have family?“No, sir,” Torrance said. He did not really know the answer, butdecided it was better to say no than to prevaricate.“If he does, Captain,” Wellesley said softly, ‘and if they complain,then I shall have no choice but to put you on trial, and depend uponit, sir, that trial will be in the civilian courts.“I apologize, sir,” Torrance said stiffly, ‘for my over-zealousness.“The General stayed silent for a few seconds.“Supplies were missing,” he said after a while.“Yes, sir,” Torrance agreed weakly.“Yet you never reported the thefts?” Wellesley said. “I did not believe you wished to be troubled by every mishap, sir,“Torrance said.“Mishap!” Wellesley snapped.“Muskets are stolen, and you call that a mishap? Such mishaps, CaptainTorrance, lose wars. In future you will inform my staff when suchdepredations are made.” He stared atTorrance for a few seconds, then looked at Sharpe.“Colonel Huddlestone tells me it was you, Sharpe, who discovered themissing supplies?“All but the muskets, sir. They’re still missing.“How did you know where to look?“Captain Torrance’s clerk told me where to buy supplies, sir.” Sharpeshrugged.“I guessed they were the missing items, sir.
“Wellesley grunted. Sharpe’s answer appeared to confirm Torrance’saccusations, and the Captain gave Sharpe a grateful glance. Wellesleysaw the glance and rapped the table, demanding Torrance’s attention.“It is a pity, Captain, that we could not have questioned the merchantbefore you so summarily executed him. May I presume you didinterrogate the clerk?“My sergeant did, sir, and the wretch confessed to having sold items toNaig.” Torrance blushed as he told the lie, but it was so hot in thetent and he was sweating so heavily that the blush went unnoticed.“Your sergeant?” Wellesley asked.“You mean your havildar?“Sergeant, sir,” Torrance said.“I inherited him from Captain Mackay, sir. Sergeant Hakeswill.
“Hakeswill!” the General said in astonishment.“What’s he still doing here? He should be back with his regiment!“He stayed on, sir,” Torrance said, ‘with two of his men. His othertwo died, sir, fever. And he had no alternative orders, sir, and hewas too useful to let go, sir.“Useful!” Wellesley said. He had been the commanding officer of the33rd, Hakeswill’s regiment, and he knew the Sergeant well. He shookhis head.“If you find him useful, Torrance, then he can stay till Gawilghur’sfallen. But then he returns to his regiment. You’ll make sure ofthat, Campbell?“Yes, sir,” the aide said.
“But I believe some of the 33rd are on their way here, sir, so theSergeant can return with them.“The 33rd coming here?” Wellesley asked in surprise. “I ordered nosuch thing.“Just a company, sir,” Campbell explained.“I believe headquarters detailed them to escort a convoy.“Doubtless we can make use of them,” the General said grudgingly.“Is it awkward for you, Sharpe? Serving with Hakeswill?” Officers whowere promoted from the ranks were never expected to serve with theirold regiments, and Wellesley was plainly wondering whether Sharpe foundhis old comrades an embarrassment.“I daresay you’ll get by,” the General said, not waiting for ananswer.“You usually do. Wallace tells me he’s recommended you for theRifles?“Yes, sir.
“That could suit you, Sharpe. Suit you very well. In the meantime,the more you learn about supplies, the better.” The cold eyes lookedback to Torrance, though it appeared the General was still talking toSharpe.“There is a misapprehension in this army that supplies are of smallimportance, whereas wars are won by efficient supply, more than theyare won by acts of gallantry. Which is why I want no more delays.“There will be none, sir,” Torrance said hastily.“And if there are,” Wellesley said, ‘there will be a court martial. Youmay depend upon that, Captain. Major Elliott?” The General spoke tothe engineer who until now had been a spectator of Torrance’sdiscomfiture.
“Tell me what you need to build our road, Major.“A hundred bullocks,” Elliott said sourly, ‘and none of your spavinedbeasts, Torrance. I want a hundred prime Mysore oxen to carry timberand road stone. I’ll need rice every day for a half-battalion ofsepoys and an equivalent number of pioneers.“Of course, sir,” Torrance said.“And I’ll take him’ Elliott stabbed a finger at Sharpe ‘because I needsomeone in charge of the bullocks who knows what he’s doing.“Torrance opened his mouth to protest, then sensibly shut it.Wellesley glanced at iSharpe.“You’ll attach yourself to Major Elliott, Sharpe. Be with him at dawntomorrow, with the bullocks, and you, Captain Torrance, will ensure thedaily supplies go up the road every dawn.
And I want no more summaryhangings.“Of course not, sir.” Torrartce, relieved to be let off so lightly,ducked his head in an awkward bow.“Good day to you both,” the General said sourly, then watched as thetwo officers left the tent. He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn.“How long to drive the road, Elliott?“Two weeks?” the Major suggested.“You’ve got one week. One week!” The General forestalled Elliott’sprotest.“Good day to you, Elliott.“The engineer grumbled as he ducked out into the fading light. Wellesley grimaced. “Is Torrance to be trusted?” he asked.“Comes from a good family, sir,” Blackiston said.“So did Nero, as I recall,” Wellesley retorted.“But at least Torrance has got Sharpe, and even if Sharpe won’t make agood officer, he’s got the makings of a decent sergeant. He did wellto find those supplies.“Very well, sir,” Campbell said warmly.Wellesley leaned back in his chair. A flicker of distaste showed onhis face as he recalled the terrible moment when he had been unhorsedat Assaye. He did not remember much of the incident for he had beendazed, but he did recall watching Sharpe kill with a savagery that hadastonished him.
He disliked being beholden to such a man, but theGeneral knew he would not be alive if Sharpe had not risked his ownlife.“I should never have given Sharpe a commission,” he said ruefully.“Aman like that would have been quite content with a fiscal reward. Afungible reward. That’s what our men want, Campbell, something thatcan be turned into rum or arrack.“He appears to be a sober man, sir,” Campbell said.“Probably because he can’t afford the drink! Officers’ messes aredamned expensive places, Campbell, as you well know. I reward Sharpeby plunging him into debt, eh? And God knows if the Rifles are anycheaper. I can’t imagine they will be. He needs something fungible,Campbell, something fungible. ” Wellesley turned and rummaged in thesaddlebags that were piled behind his chair. He brought out the newtelescope with the shallow eyepiece that had been a gift from themerchants of Madras.“Find a goldsmith in the camp followers, Campbell, and see if thefellow can replace that brass plate.“With what, sir?“Nothing too flowery, the General thought, because the glass was onlygoing to be pawned to pay mess bills or buy gin.“In gratitude, AW,” he said, ‘and add the date of Assaye. Then give itto Sharpe with my compliments.“It’s very generous of you, sir,” Campbell said, taking the glass, ‘butperhaps it would be better if you presented it to him?“Maybe, maybe. Blackiston! Where do we site guns?” The Generalunrolled the sketches.“Candles,” he ordered, for the light was fading fast.The shadows stretched and joined and turned to night around the Britishcamp.
Candles were lit, lanterns hung from ridge-poles and fires fedwith bullock dung. The picquets stared at shadows in the darkness, butsome, lifting their gaze, saw that high above them the tops of thecliffs were still in daylight and there, like the home of the gods, thewalls of a fortress showed deadly black where Gawilghur waited theircoming. CHAPTER 5
The first part of the road was easy enough to build, for the existingtrack wound up the gender slopes of the foothills, but even on thefirst day Major Elliott was filled with gloom.“Can’t do it in a week!” the engineer grumbled.“Man’s mad! Expects miracles. Jacob’s ladder, that’s what he wants.“He cast a morbid eye over Sharpe’s bullocks, all of them prime Mysorebeasts with brightly painted horns from which tassels and small bellshung.“Never did like working with oxen,” Elliott complained.“Bring any elephants?“I can ask for them, sir.“Nothing like an elephant.
Right, Sharpe, load the beasts with smallstones and keep following the track till you catch up with me. Gotthat?“Elliott hauled himself onto his horse and settled his feet in thestirrups.“Bloody miracles, that’s what he wants,” the Major growled, thenspurred onto the track.“Elliott!” Major Simons, who commanded the half-battalion of sepoyswho guarded the pioneers building the road, called in alarm.“I haven’t reconnoitred beyond the small hillock! The one with the twotrees.“Can’t wait for your fellows to wake up, Simons. Got a road to buildin a week. Can’t be done, of course, but we must look willing.Pinckney! I need a havildar and some stout fellows to carry pegs. Tell’em to follow me. “Captain Pinckney, the officer in charge of the East India Companypioneers, spat onto the verge.“Waste of bloody time.“What is?” Sharpe asked.“Pegging out the route! We follow the footpath, of course. Bloodynatives have been scurrying up and down these hills for centuries.” Heturned and shouted at a havildar to organize a party to follow Elliottup the hill, then set the rest of his men to loading the oxen’spanniers with small stones.The road made good progress, despite Elliott’s misgivings, and threedays after they had begun the pioneers cleared a space among the treesto establish a makeshift artillery park where the siege guns could waitwhile the rest of the road was forged. Sharpe was busy and, because ofthat, happy. He liked Simons and Pinckney, and even Elliott provedaffable. The Major had taken Wellesley’s demands that the road be madein a week as a challenge, and he pressed the pioneers hard.
The enemy seemed to be asleep. Elliott would ride far ahead toreconnoitre the route and never once saw a Mahratta.“Stupid fools,” Elliott said one night beside the fire, ‘they couldhold us here for months!“You still shouldn’t ride so far ahead of my picquets,” Simons reprovedthe Major.“Stop fussing, man,” Elliott said, and next morning, as usual, he rodeout in front to survey the day’s work.Sharpe was again bringing stones up the road that morning. He waswalking at the head of his ox train on the wooded stretch above thenewly made artillery park. The day’s heat was growing and there waslittle wind in the thick woods of teak and cork trees that covered thelow hills. Groups of pioneers felled trees where they might obstruct agun carriage’s progress, and here and there Sharpe saw a whitewashedpeg showing where Elliott had marked the track. Shots sounded ahead,but Sharpe took no notice. The upland valleys had become a favouritehunting ground for the shikarees who used nets, snares and ancientmatchlocks to kill hares, wild pigs, deer, quail and partridge thatthey sold to the officers, and Sharpe assumed a party of the hunterswas close to the track, but after a few seconds the firing intensified.
The musketry was muffled by the thick leaves, but for a moment thesound was constant, almost at battle pitch, before, as suddenly as ithad erupted, it stopped.His bullock drivers had halted, made nervous by the firing.“Come on!” Sharpe encouraged them. None of them spoke English, andSharpe had no idea which language they did speak, but they weregood-natured men, eager to please, and they prodded their heavily ladenbullocks onwards. Ahmed had unslung his musket and was peering ahead.He suddenly raised the gun to his shoulder, and Sharpe pushed it downbefore the boy could pull the trigger.“They’re ours,” he told the lad.“Sepoys.“A dozen sepoys hurried back through the trees. Major Simons was withthem and, as they came closer, Sharpe saw the men were carrying amakeshift stretcher made from tree branches and jackets.
“It’s Elliott.“Simons paused by Sharpe as his men hurried ahead.“Bloody fool got a chest wound. He won’t live. Stupid man was too farforward. I told him not to get ahead of the picquets.” Simons took aragged red handkerchief from his sleeve and wiped the sweat from hisface.“One less engineer.“Sharpe peered at Elliott who was blessedly unconscious. His face hadgone pale, and pinkish blood was bubbling at his lips with everylaboured breath.
“He won’t last the day,” Simons said brutally, ‘but I suppose we shouldget him back to the surgeons.“Where are the enemy?” Sharpe asked.“They ran,” Simons said.“Half a dozen of the bastards were waiting in ambush. They shotElliott, took his weapons, but ran off when they saw us.“Three shikarees died that afternoon, ambushed in the high woods, andthat night, when the road-builders camped in one of the grassy uplandvalleys, some shots were fired from a neighbouring wood. The bulletshissed overhead, but none found a target. The picquets blazed backuntil a havildar shouted at them to hold their fire. CaptainPinck-they shook his head.“I thought it was too good to last,” he said gloomily.
“It’ll be slow work now.” He poked the fire around which a half-dozenofficers were sitting.Major Simons grinned.“If I was the enemy,” he said, “I’d attack Mister Sharpe’s oxen insteadof attacking engineers. If they cut our supply line they’d do somereal damage.“There’s no point in shooting engineers,” Pinckney agreed.“We don’t need Royal Engineers anyway. We’ve been making roads foryears. The fellows in the blue coats just get in the way. Mind you,they’ll still send us another.
“If there are any left,” Sharpe said. The campaign had been fatal forthe engineers. Two had died blowing up the enemy guns at Assaye,another three were fevered and now Elliott was either dying or alreadydead.“They’ll find one,” Pinckney grumbled.“If there’s something theKing’s army doesn’t need then you can be sure they’ve got a healthysupply of it.“The Company army’s better?” Sharpe asked.“It is,” Major Simons said.“We work for a sterner master than you, Sharpe. It’s calledbook-keeping. You fight for victories, we fight for profits.
Leadenhall Street won’t pay for fancy engineers in blue coats, not whenthey can hire plain men like us at half the cost.“They could afford me,” Sharpe said.“Cheap as they come, I am.“Next morning Simons threw a strong picquet line ahead of the workparties, but no Mahrattas opposed the pioneers who were now wideningthe track where it twisted up a bare and steep slope that was litteredwith rocks. The track was ancient, worn into the hills by generationsof travellers, but it had never been used by wagons, let alone by heavyguns. Merchants who wanted to carry their goods up the escarpment hadused the road leading directly to the fortress’s Southern Gate, whilethis track, which looped miles to the east of Gawilghur, was littlemore than a series of paths connecting the upland valleys where smallfarms had been hacked from the jungle. It was supposed to be tigercountry, but Sharpe saw none of the beasts. At dawn he had returned toDeogaum to collect rice for the sepoys, and then spent the next fourhours climbing back to where the pioneers were working. He was nervousat first, both of tigers and of an enemy ambush, but the worst hesuffered was a series of drenching rainstorms that swept up themountains.The rain stopped when he reached the working parties who were drivingthe road through a small ridge.
Pinckney was setting a charge ofgunpowder that would loosen the rock and let him cut out a mile oflooping track. His servant brought a mug of tea that Sharpe dranksitting on a rock. He stared southwards, watching the veils of greyrain sweep across the plain.“Did Wellesley say anything about sending a new engineer?” MajorSimons asked him.“I just collected the rice, sir,” Sharpe said.“I didn’t see the General.“I thought you were supposed to be a friend of his?” Simons observedsourly.“Everyone thinks that,” Sharpe said, ‘except him and me.“But you saved his life?“Sharpe shrugged.“I reckon so. Either that or stopped him getting captured.“And killed a few men doing it, I hear?“Sharpe looked at the tall Simons with some surprise, for he had notrealized that his exploit had become common knowledge.“Don’t remember much about it.“I suppose not. Still,” Simons said, ‘a feather in your cap?“I don’t think Wellesley thinks that,” Sharpe said.“You’re a King’s officer now, Sharpe,” Simons said enviously. As anEast India Company officer he was trapped in the Company’s cumbersomesystem of promotion.“If Wellesley thrives, he’ll remember you.“Sharpe laughed.“I doubt it, sir. He ain’t the sort.” He turned southwards againbecause Ahmed had called a warning in Arabic. The boy was pointingdownhill and Sharpe stood to see over the crown of the slope. Farbeneath him, where the road passed through one of the lush valleys, asmall party of horsemen was approaching and one of the riders was in ablue coat.“Friends, Ahmed!” he called.“Looks like the new engineer,” Sharpe said to Simons.“Pinckney will be delighted,” Simons said sarcastically.Pinckney came back to inspect the approaching party through atelescope, and spat when he saw the blue coat of the Royal Engineers.“Another interfering bastard to teach me how to suck eggs,” he said.“So let’s blow the charge before he gets here, otherwise he’ll tell uswe’re doing it all wrong. “A crowd of grinning sepoys waited expectantly about the end of thefuse. Pinckney struck a light, put it to the quick match then watchedthe sparks smoke their way towards the distant charge. The smoke trailvanished in grass and it seemed to Sharpe that it must haveextinguished itself, but then there was a violent coughing sound andthe small ridge heaved upwards. Soil and stone flew outwards in acloud of filthy smoke. The sepoys cheered. The explosion had seemedsmall to Sharpe, but when the smoke and dust cleared he could see thatthe ridge now had a deep notch through which the road could climb tothe next high valley.The pioneers went to shovel the loosened earth away and Sharpe satagain. Ahmed squatted beside him.“What am I going to do with you?“Sharpe asked.“I go to England,” Ahmed said carefully.
“You won’t like it there. Cold as buggery.“Cold?“Freezing.” Sharpe mimicked a shiver, but plainly it meant nothing tothe Arab boy.“I go to England,” Ahmed insisted.A half-hour later the new engineer appeared just beneath Sharpe.He wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, rode a grey horse and was trailed bythree servants who led pack mules laden with luggage amongst whichSharpe could see a tripod, a surveyor’s level and a vast leather tubethat he guessed held a telescope. The engineer took off his hat andfanned his face as he rounded the last bend. “Pon my soul,” he saidcheerfully, ‘but thank God the horse does the climbing and not me.“Pinckney had come back to greet the engineer and held out his hand asthe blue-coated Major slid from his saddle.
“Captain Pinckney, sir,” he introduced himself.“Pinckney, eh?” the white-haired engineer said cheerfully.“I knew a Pinckney in Hertfordshire. He made plough shares and damnfine ones too.“My uncle Joshua, sir.“Then you must be Hugh’s boy, yes? An honour!” He shook Pinckney’shand vigorously.“Major John Stokes, at your service, though I don’t suppose you needme, do you? You must have built more roads than I ever did.” MajorStokes looked towards Sharpe who had stood and was now smiling.“Good God in His blessed heaven,” Stokes said, ‘it can’t be! But itis! My dear Sharpe! My dear Mister Sharpe. I heard all about yourcommission! Couldn’t be more pleased, my dear Sharpe.
An officer,eh?“Sharpe smiled broadly.“OnJ} an ensign, sir.“Every ladder has a first rung, Sharpe,” Stokes said in gentle reproofof Sharpe’s modesty, then held out his hand.“We shall be mess mates, as they say in the Navy. Well, I never! Messmates, indeed! And with a Pinckney too! Hugh Pinckney forges millgears, Sharpe. Never seen a man make better-toothed wheels in all mylife.” He clasped Sharpe’s hand in both of his.“They grubbed me out of Seringapatam, Sharpe.Can you believe that? Told me all the other engineers had the pox, andsummoned me here just in time to discover that poor Elliott’s dead.‘34I suppose I shouldn’t complain. It’s awfully good for my promotionprospects.” He let go of Sharpe’s hand.“Oh, and by the way, I travelled north with some of your old comrades!Captain Charles Morris and his company. Not the most charmingcreature, is he?“Not one of my favourites, sir,” Sharpe admitted. Good God! BloodyMorris was here? First Hakeswill, then Morris!“He didn’t want to come,” Stokes said, ‘but higher powers deemed that Ihad to be protected from the ungodly, so they insisted on an infantryescort.” He turned as a rattle of gunfire sounded higher up theescarpment.“Bless my soul! Is that musketry?“Ticquet line, sir,” Pinckney explained.“The enemy harasses us, but they’re not thrusting home.“They should, they should. A battalion of skirmishers in these hillscould keep us at bay for a month! Well, I never, Sharpe! Anensign!“The Major turned back to Pinckney. “Sharpe and I ran the armoury at Seringapatam for four years.“You ran it, sir,” Sharpe said.“I was just your sergeant.“Best sergeant I ever had,” Stokes told Pinckney enthusiastically.“And it’s not “sir”’ he turned to Sharpe ‘but John.” He grinned atSharpe.“They were four good years, eh? Best we’ll ever have, I daresay. Andhere you are now, an officer! My dear fellow, I couldn’t be moreoverjoyed.” He sniffed the air.“Been blowing things up, Pinckney?“Cutting through that ridge, sir.
I trust you don’t mind that wedidn’t wait for you?“Mind? Why should I mind? You go ahead, dear fellow. I’m sure youknow your business better than I do. God knows why they need anengineer here at all! Probably to be decorative, eh? Still, I’ll makemyself useful. I thought I might map the escarpment. Hasn’t beendone, you see. Of course, Pinckney, if you need advice, just ask away,but I’ll probably be at sixes and sevens groping for an answer.” Hebeamed at the delighted Pinckney, then looked at the rough countrythrough which the road led.“This is fine landscape, isn’t it? Such a relief after the plains. Itreminds me of Scotland.“There are tigers here, Major,” Sharpe said. “And there’s all kinds of fierce things in Scotland too, Sharpe. I wasonce posted to Fort William and might as well have been in darkestChina! It was worse than Newfoundland. And speaking of America,Sharpe, that young lady you sent me has travelled there. Extraordinarything to do, I thought, and I advised her to abandon the whole wretchedidea. There are bears, I told her, fierce bears, but she wouldn’t bepersuaded.“Simone, sir?” Sharpe asked, at first not believing his ears, thenfeeling a dreadful premonition.“A charming creature, I thought. And to be widowed so young!“Stokes tutted and shook his head.“She went to a fortune teller, one of those naked fellows who makefunny faces in the alley by the Hindu temple, and says she was advisedto go to a new world. Whatever next, eh?“I thought she was waiting for me, sir,” Sharpe said.
“Waiting for you? Good Lord, no. Gone to Louisiana, she says. Shestayed in my house for a week I moved out, of course, to stop anyscandal and then she travelled to Madras with Mrs. Pennington.Remember Charlotte Pennington? The clergyman’s widow? I can’t thinkthe two of them will get along, but your friend said the fortune tellerwas adamant and so she chose to go.” The Major was eager to giveSharpe the rest of the news from Seringapatam. The armoury was closingdown, he said, now that the frontier of the British-held territory wasso much farther north, but Stokes had kept himself busy dismantling thetown’s inner fortifications.“Very ill made, Sharpe, disgraceful work, quite disgraceful. Wallscrumbled to the touch.“But Sharpe was not listening.
He was thinking of Simone. She hadgone! By now she was probably in Madras, and maybe already on board aship. And she had taken his jewels. Only a few of them, true, butenough. He touched the seam of his jacket where a good many of theTippoo’s other jewels were hidden.“Did Madame Joubert leave any message?” he asked Stokes when the Majorpaused to draw breath. What did he hope, Sharpe wondered, that Simonewould want him to join her in America?“A message? None, Sharpe. Too busy to write, I daresay. She’s aremarkably wealthy woman, did you know? She bought half the raw silkin town, hired a score of bearers and off she went. Every officer intown was leaving a card for her, but she didn’t have the time of dayfor any of them. Off to Louisiana!” Stokes suddenly frowned.“What is the matter, Sharpe? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.You’re not sickening, are you?“No, no. It’s just I thought she might have written.“Oh! I see! You were sweet on her!” Stokes shook his head.“I feel for you, Sharpe, ‘pon my soul, I do, but what hope could youhave? A woman with her sort of fortune doesn’t look at fellows likeus! “Pon my soul, no. She’s rich! She’ll marry high, Sharpe, or ashigh as a woman can in French America.“Her sort of fortune indeed! Simone had no fortune, she had beenpenniless when Sharpe met her, but he had trusted her. God damn theFrog bitch! Stolen a small fortune.“It doesn’t matter,” he told Stokes, but somehow it did. Simone’sbetrayal was like a stab to the belly. It was not so much the jewels,for he had kept the greater part of the plunder, but the brokenpromises. He felt anger and pity and, above all, a fool. A greatfool. He turned away from Stokes and stared down the track to where adozen oxen escorted by two companies of sepoys were trudging towardshim.“I’ve got work coming,” he said, not wanting to discuss Simone anyfurther.“I passed those fellows on my way,” Stokes said, ‘carrying powder, Ithink. I do like blowing things up. So just what do you do here,Sharpe?“I keep the pioneers supplied with material, sir, and sign in all theconvoys.“Hope it leaves you time to help me, Sharpe. You and me togetheragain, eh? It’ll be like the old days.“That’d be good, sir,” Sharpe said with as much enthusiasm as he couldmuster, then he walked down the track and pointed to where theox-drivers should drop their barrels of gunpowder. The men crowdedabout him with their chitties and he pulled out a pencil and scrawledhis initials in the corner of each one, thus confirming that they hadcompleted and were owed for one journey.The last man also handed Sharpe a sealed paper with his name written ina fine copperplate hand.“From the clerk, sahib,” the man said, the phrase plainly muchpractised for he spoke no other English.Sharpe tore the seal off as he walked back up the hill. The letter wasnot from the clerk at all, but from Torrance.“Bloody hell!” he cursed.“What is it?” Stokes asked.“A man called Torrance,” Sharpe complained. “He’s in charge of the bullocks. He wants me back at Deogaum becausehe reckons there are forged chitties in the camp.“In the far south of India,” Stokes said, ‘they call them shits.“Sharpe blinked at the Major.“Sorry, sir?“You mustn’t call me “sir”, Sharpe. “Pon my soul, yes. I had a Tamilservant who was forever asking me to sign his shits. Had me all in adither at first, I can tell you.“Sharpe crumpled Torrance’s note into a ball.“Why the hell can’t Torrance sort out his own shits?” he askedangrily.
But he knew why.Torrance was scared of another meeting with Wellesley, which meant theCaptain would now follow the rules to the letter.“It won’t take long,” Stokes said, ‘not if you take my horse. But keepher to a steady walk, Richard, because she’s tired. And have herrubbed down and watered while you’re sorting out the shits.“Sharpe was touched by Stokes’s generosity.“Are you sure?“What are friends for? Go on, Richard! On horseback you’ll be homefor supper. I’ll have my cook brew up one of those mussallas you likeso much.“Sharpe left his pack with Stokes’s baggage. The big ruby and a scoreof other stones were in the pack, and Sharpe was half tempted to carryit to Deogaum and back, but if he could not trust Stokes, who could hetrust? He tried to persuade Ahmed to stay behind and keep an eye onthe baggage, but the boy refused to be parted from Sharpe and insistedon trotting along behind the horse. “Stokes won’t hurt you,” Sharpe told Ahmed.“I’m your havildar,” Ahmed insisted, hefting his musket and peeringabout the deserted landscape for enemies. There was none in sight, butAhmed’s gesture reminded Sharpe of Elliott’s death and he wondered ifhe should have waited for the ox convoy to return to Deogaum, for theconvoys all had escorts of sepoys or mercenary horsemen. He wastempted to kick the horse into a trot, but he resisted the impulse.The danger was more acutC once he reached the lower hills, for Mahrattahorsemen were forever probing the perimeter of the British camp andbeing chased away by cavalry patrols. Twice he saw horsemen in thedistance, but neither group took any notice of Sharpe who was ready tohaul Ahmed up onto the horse and then ride for his life if he wasthreatened. He did not relax until he met a patrol of Madrassi cavalryunder the command of a Company lieutenant who escorted him safely tothe encampment.Deogaum was now surrounded by a great spread of tents and make shiftbooths, homes to soldiers and camp followers. A dancing bear wasperforming for a crowd of infantrymen and the animal reminded Sharpe ofMajor Stokes’s words about America. Simone! It was his own damnfault.
He should never have trusted the woman. The thought of his ownfoolishness plunged Sharpe into a black mood that was not helped by thesight of two redcoat privates lounging on a bench outside Torrance’squarters. Neither man moved as Sharpe slid from the horse.He gave the reins to Ahmed and mimed that the boy should rub the greymare down with straw and then water her.The two redcoats shifted slightly as if acknowledging Sharpe’spresence, but neither man stood. He knew both of them; indeed, not sovery long ago he had marched in the same ranks as these two men whosecoats had the red facings of the 33rd. Kendrick and Lowry, they werecalled, and two worse characters it would have been hard to find in anylight company. Both were cronies of Hakeswill’s, and both had beenamong the small party Hakeswill had brought north in his failed attemptto arrest Sharpe.“On your feet,” Sharpe said.Kendrick glanced at Lowry, who looked back at Kendrick, and the twomade faces at each other as though they were surprised by Sharpe’sdemands. They hesitated just long enough to make their insolenceplain, but not quite long enough to make it punishable, then stood toattention.“Is that your ‘orse, Mister Sharpe?” Kendrick asked, stressing the’mister’.Sharpe ignored the question and pushed into the house to find a newclerk sitting behind the table. He was a young, good-looking Indianwith oiled hair and a very white robe. He wore an apron to protect therobe from ink spots.“You have business, sahib?” he asked brusquely.“With Captain Torrance.“The Captain is ill.” The Indian, whose English was very good,smiled.“He’s always bloody ill,” Sharpe said and walked past the protestingclerk to push open the inner door. Torrance was in his hammock, smoking his hookah, and dressed in anIndian gown embroidered with dragons while Sergeant Hakeswill wassitting at a small table counting a pile of coins.“Sharpe!” Torrance sounded surprised. Hakeswill, looking equallysurprised, sullenly stood to attention.“Wasn’t expecting you till this evening,” Torrance said.“I’m here,” Sharpe said unnecessarily.“So it is apparent. Unless you’re a spectre?“Sharpe had no time for small talk.“You’ve got a problem with chitties he asked abruptly.“Tiresome, isn’t it?” Torrance seemed uncomfortable.“Very tiresome.
Sergeant, you have business elsewhere?“I’ve got duties, sir!” Hakeswill snapped.“Attend to them, dear fellow.“Sir!” Hakeswill stiffened, turned to the right, then marched from theroom.“So how are you, Sharpe? Keeping busy?” Torrance had swung himselfoff the hammock and now scooped the coins into a leather bag.“I hear poor Elliott died?“Shot, sir.“Torrance shuddered as if the news was personal.“So very sad,” he sighed, then retied the belt of his elaborate gown.“I never did thank you, Sharpe, for being so supportive with SirArthur.“Sharpe had not thought he had been supportive at all.“I just told the truth, sir. “My father would be proud of you, and I’m deeply grateful to you. Itseems Dilip was in league with Naig.“He was?“Torrance heard the disbelief in Sharpe’s voice.“No other explanation, is there?” he said curtly.“Someone must have been telling Naig which convoys carried the vitalsupplies, and it had to be Dilip. I must say I thought Wellesley wasdamned obtuse! There really is no point in having scruples abouthanging natives. There isn’t exactly a shortage of them, is there?” Hesmiled.“There’s something wrong with the chitties Sharpe demanded rudely.“So there is, Sharpe, so there is. Our new clerk discovered thediscrepancies.
He’s a smart young fellow. Sajit!“The young clerk came into the room, clasped his hands and offeredTorrance a slight bow.“Sahib?“This is Ensign Sharpe, Sajit. He’s by way of being my deputy and thusas much your sahib as I am.“Sajit offered Sharpe a bow.“I am honoured, sahib.“Perhaps you could show Mister Sharpe the problematical chittiesSajit?” Torrance suggested.Sajit went back to the outer room and returned a moment later with apile of the grubby paper slips. He placed them on the table, theninvited Sharpe to inspect them. All the chitties had Sharpe’sinitials in the bottom right-hand corner, most of them in pencil, butsome had been initialled in ink and Sharpe set those aside. “I didn’t sign any of those,” he said confidently.“I don’t have a pen and ink.“You were right, Sajit!” Torrance said.“You honour me, sahib,” Sajit said.“And every chitty is a stolen anna,” Torrance said, ‘so we have todiscover which bullock men gave us the false ones. That’s the problem,Sharpe.“They’ve got names on them,” Sharpe said, pointing at the slips ofpaper.“You hardly needed to drag me down here to tell you who they wereissued to!“Please don’t be tedious, Sharpe,” Torrance said plaintively.“Ever since the General put a shot across our bows I am forced to beparticular.And the names mean nothing! Nothing! Look’ he scooped up the chitties – ‘at least a dozen are assigned to Ram, whoever Ram is.
There are probably a dozen Rams out there. What I want you to do,Sharpe, is go round the encampment with Sajit and point out which menhave visited the road. Sajit can then identify which bullock men aresubmitting false claims.“Sharpe frowned.“Why doesn’t Sajit just identify which men were ordered up themountain? They must have got their chitties from him?“I want to be sure, Sharpe, I want to be sure!” Torrance pleaded.“My testimony, sahib, would not be believed,” Sajit put in, ‘but no onewould doubt the word of an English officer.“Bloody hell,” Sharpe said. The last thing he felt like doing waswandering about the bullock camp identifying drivers. He was not surehe could do it anyway.“So why not summon the bullock men here?“he demanded.
“The bad ones would run away, sahib, rather than come,” Sajit said.“Best to ambush them in their encampment, Sharpe,” Torrance said.“I’ll do my best,” Sharpe grunted.“I knew you would!” Torrance seemed relieved.“Do it now, Sharpe, and perhaps you could join me for a late dinner?Say at half past one?“Sharpe nodded, then went back into the sunlight to wait for Sajit.Kendrick and Lowry had vanished, presumably with Hakeswill. Ahmed hadfound a bucket of water and Stokes’s mare was drinking greedily.“You can stay here, Ahmed,” Sharpe said, but the boy shook his head.“You’re my bleeding shadow,” Sharpe grumbled.“Shadow?“Sharpe pointed to his own shadow.
“Shadow.“Ahmed grinned, all white teeth in a grubby face. He liked the word.“Sharpe’s shadow!” he said.Sajit emerged from the house with a pink silk parasol that he offeredto Sharpe. Sharpe refused, and the clerk, who had discarded his apron,gratefully shaded himself from the fierce midday sun.“I am sorry to be troublesome to you, sahib,” he said humbly.“No trouble,” Sharpe said dourly, following the clerk. Ahmed camebehind, leading the Major’s mare.“The boy need not come,” Sajit insisted, glancing behind at the horsewhich seemed to alarm him.
“You tell him that,” Sharpe said, ‘but don’t blame me if he shoots you.He’s very fond of shooting people.“Sajit hurried on.“I think I know, sahib, which is the bad man who is cheating us. He isa fellow from Mysore. He gave me many chitties and swore you signedthem in front of him. If you would be so kind as to confirm or denyhis story, we shall be finished.“Then let’s find the bugger and be done with it.“Sajit led Sharpe through the bullock lines where the wealthier herdsmenhad erected vast dark and sagging tents. Women slapped bread doughbeside small ox-dung fires, and more piles of the fuel dried in the sunbeside each tent entrance.
Sharpe looked for Naig’s big green tents,but he could not see them and he assumed that whoever had inheritedNaig’s business had packed up and gone.“There, sahib, that is the bad man’s tent.” Sajit nervously led Sharpetowards a brown tent that stood slightly apart from the others. Hestopped a few paces from the entrance and lowered his voice.“He is called Ranjit, sahib.“So fetch the bugger,” Sharpe said, ‘and I’ll tell you if he’s lying ornot.“Sajit seemed nervous of confronting Ranjit for he hesitated, but thenplucked up his courage, collapsed the parasol and dropped to the groundto crawl into the tent which sagged so deeply that the doorway wasscarce higher than a man’s knee. Sharpe heard the murmur of voices,then Sajit backed hurriedly out of the low fringed entrance. Heslapped at the dust on his white robes, then looked at Sharpe with aface close to tears.“He is a bad man, sahib. He will not come out. I told him a sahib washere to see him, but he used rude words!“I’ll take a look at the bastard,” Sharpe said.“That’s all you need, isn’t it? For me to say whether I’ve seen him ornot?“Please, sahib,” Sajit said, and gestured at the tent’s entrance.Sharpe took off his hat so it would not tangle with the canvas, hoistedthe tent’s entrance as high as he could, then ducked low under theheavy brown cloth.And knew instantly that it was a trap.And understood, almost in the same instant, that he could do nothingabout it.The first blow struck his forehead, and his vision exploded in streaksof lightning and shuddering stars. He fell backwards, out into thesunlight and someone instantly grabbed one of his ankles and beganpulling him into the deep shadow. He tried to kick, tried to pushhimself against the tent’s sides, but another hand seized his secondleg, another blow hammered the side of his skull and, mercifully, heknew nothing more.“He’s got a thick skull, our Sharpie,” Hakeswill said with a grin. Heprodded Sharpe’s prone body and got no reaction.“Fast asleep, he is.“The Sergeant’s face twitched. He had hit Sharpe with the heavybrassbound butt of a musket and he was amazed that Sharpe’s skull wasnot broken. There was plenty of blood in his black hair, and he wouldhave a bruise the size of a mango by nightfall, but his skull seemed tohave taken the two blows without splintering.“He always was a thick-headed bugger,” Hakeswill said.“Now strip him.“Strip him?” Kendrick asked.“When his body is found,” Hakeswill explained patiently, ‘if it isfound, and you can’t rely on bleeding blackamoors to do a proper joband hide it, we don’t want no one seeing he’s a British officer, dowe?Not that he is an officer. He’s just a jumped-up bit of muck. Sostrip him, then tie his hands and feet and cover his eyeballs.“Kendrick and Lowry jerked and tugged Sharpe’s coat free, then handedthe garment to Hakeswill who ran his fingers along the hems.“Got it!” he exulted when he felt the lumps in the cloth. He tookoutH3a knife, slit the coat and the two privates stared in awe as he easedthe glittering jewels out of the tightly sewn seam. It was dark in theshadowed tent, but the stones gleamed bright.“Get on with it!” Hakeswill said.“The rest of his clothes off!“What are you doing?” Sajit had sidled into the tent and now stared atthe jewels.“None of your bleeding business,” Hakeswill said.“You have jewels?” Sajit asked.Hakeswill slid out his bayonet and stabbed it at Sajit, checking thelunge a fraction before the blade would have punctured the clerk’sneck. “The jewels ain’t your business, Sajit. The jewels are my business.Your business is Sharpie, got it? I agreed to give him to yourbleeding uncle, but I gets what he carries.“My uncle will pay well for good stones,” Sajit said.“Your Uncle Jama’s a bleeding monkey who’d cheat me soon as fart at me,so forget the bleeding stones. They’re mine.” Hakeswill thrust thefirst handful into a pocket and started searching the rest of Sharpe’sclothes. He slit open all the seams, then cut Sharpe’s boots apart todiscover a score of rubies hidden in the folded boot-tops. They weresmall rubies, scarce bigger than peas, and Hakeswill was looking forone large ruby.“I saw it, I did.
The bloody Tippoo had it on his hat.Large as life! Look in his hair.“Kendrick obediently ran his fingers through Sharpe’s blood-encrustedhair.“Nothing there, Sarge.“Turn the bugger over and have a look you know where.“Not me!“Don’t be so bloody squeamish! And tie his hands. Fast now! Youdon’t want the sod waking up, do you?“The clothes and boots yielded sixty-three stones. There were rubies,emeralds, sapphires and four small diamonds, but no large ruby.Hakeswill frowned. Surely Sharpe would not have sold the ruby? Still,he consoled himself, there was a fortune here, and he could not resistputting all the stones together on a mat and staring at them. “I do like a bit of glitter,” he breathed as his fingers greedilytouched the jewels. He put ten of the smaller stones in one pile,another ten in a second, and pushed the two piles towards Kendrick andLowry.“That’s your cut, boys.Keep you in whores for the rest of your lives, that will.“Perhaps I will tell my uncle about your stones,” Sajit said, staringat the jewels.“I expect you will,” Hakeswill said, ‘and so bleeding what? I ain’t asdozy as Sharpie. You won’t catch me.“Then maybe I shall tell Captain Torrance.” Sajit had positionedhimself close to the entrance so that he could flee if Hakeswillattacked him.“Captain Torrance likes wealth.
“Likes it too much, Hakeswill thought, and if Torrance knew about thestones he would make Hakeswill’s life hell until he yielded a share.The Sergeant’s face juddered in a series of uncontrollable twitches.“You’re a bright lad, Sajit, ain’t you?” he said.“You might be nothing but a bleeding heathen blackamoor but you’ve gotmore than bullock dung for brains, ain’t you? Here.” He tossed Sajitthree of the stones.“That keeps your tongue quiet, and if it don’t, I’ll cut it out andhave a feed on it. Partial to a plate of tongue, I am. Nice piece oftongue, knob of butter and some gravy.Proper food, that.” He pushed the rest of the stones into his pocket,then stared broodingly at Sharpe’s naked trussed body.
“He had more,” Hakeswill said with a frown, “I know he had more.” TheSergeant suddenly clicked his fingers.“What about his pack?“What pack?” Lowry asked.“The bleeding pack he carries, which he shouldn’t, being an officer,which he ain’t. Where’s his pack?“The privates shrugged. Sajit frowned.“He had no pack when he came to the Captain’s house.“You’re sure?“He came on a horse,” Lowry said helpfully.“It were a grey horse, and he didn’t have no pack.“So where’s the horse?” Hakeswill demanded angrily.
“We should look in its saddlebags!“Lowry frowned, trying to remember.“A bleeding kid had it,” he said at last.“So where’s the kid?“He ran off,” Sajit said.“Ran off?” Hakeswill said threateningly.“Why?“He saw you hit him,” Sajit said.“I saw it. He fell out of the tent.There was blood on his face.“You shouldn’t have hit him till he was right inside the tent,“Kendrick said chidingly.“45”Shut your bloody face,” Hakeswill said, then frowned.
“So where did the kid run?“Away,” Sajit said.“I chased him, but he climbed onto the horse.“Kid don’t speak English,” Kendrick said helpfully.“How the hell do you know that?“Cos I talked to him!“And who’s going to believe a heathen black kid what don’t speakEnglish?” Lowry asked.Hakeswill’s face was racked by a quick series of twitches. Hesuspected he was safe. Lowry was right. Who would believe the kid?Even so the Sergeant wished that Jama’s men were coming earlier tofetch Sharpe. Jama himself had gone away from the camp, reckoning thatif he was going to murder a British officer then it was best done along way from the British army. Hakeswill had warned Jama not toexpect Sharpe until the evening, and now he had to guard him untildusk.
“I told you to put a bandage on his eyes,” Hakeswill snapped.“Don’t want him to see us!“It don’t matter if he does,” Kendrick said.“He ain’t going to see the dawn, is he?“Got more lives than a basketful of bleeding cats, that one,” Hakeswillsaid.“If I had any sense I’d slit his throat now.“No!” Sajit said.“He was promised to my uncle.“And your uncle’s paying us, yes?“That too is agreed,” Sajit said.Hakeswill stood and walked to Sharpe’s unconscious body.“I put those stripes on his back,” he said proudly.“Lied through my teeth, I did, and had Sharpie flogged.
Now I’ll havehim killed.” He remembered how Sharpe had flung him among the tigersand his face twitched as he recalled the elephant trying to crush himto death, and in his sudden rage he kicked at Sharpe and went onkicking until Kendrick hauled him away.“If you kill him, Sarge,” Kendrick said, ‘then the blackies won’t payus, will they?“Hakeswill let himself be pulled away.“So how will your uncle kill him?” he asked Sajit.“His jet tis will do it.“I’ve seen them bastards at work,” Hakeswill said in a tone ofadmiration.“Just make it slow. Make it slow and make it bleeding painful.“It will be slow,” Sajit promised, ‘and very painful. My uncle is nota merciful man. “But I am,” Hakeswill said.“I am. Because I’m letting another man have the pleasure of killingSharpie.” He spat at Sharpe.“Dead by dawn, Sharpie. You’ll be down with Old Nick, where you oughtto be!“He settled against one of the tent poles and trickled jewels from onepalm to the other. Flies crawled among the crusting blood in Sharpe’shair. The Ensign would be dead by dawn, and Hakeswill was a rich man.Revenge, the Sergeant decided, was sweet as honey.Ahmed saw Sharpe fall back from the tent entrance, saw blood bright onhis forehead, then watched as hands seized Sharpe and dragged him intothe deep shadows.
Then Sajit, the clerk with the pink umbrella, turned towards him.“Boy,” he snapped, ‘come here!“Ahmed pretended not to understand, though he understood well enoughthat he was a witness to something deeply wrong. He backed away,tugging Major Stokes’s mare with him. He let the musket slip down fromhis shoulder and Sajit, seeing the threat, suddenly rushed at him, butAhmed was even faster. He jumped up to sprawl across the saddle and,without bothering to seat himself properly, kicked the horse intomotion. The startled mare leaped away as Ahmed hauled himself onto herback. The stirrups were too long for him, but Ahmed had been raisedwith horses and could have ridden the mare bareback, blindfolded andback to front. He swerved southwards, galloping between tents, firesand grazing bullocks, and leaving Sajit far behind. A woman shouted aprotest as he nearly galloped over her children. He slowed the mare ashe reached the edge of the encampment and looked back to see that hehad left Sajit far behind.
What the hell should he do? He knew no one in the British camp. Helooked up at the high summit where Gawilghur just showed. He supposedhis old comrades in Manu Bappoo’s Lions of Allah were up there, but hisuncle, with whom he had travelled from Arabia, was dead and buried inArgaum’s black earth. He knew other soldiers in the regiment, but healso feared them. Those other soldiers wanted Ahmed to be theirservant, and not just to cook for them and clean their weapons. Sharpealone had shown him friendliness, and Sharpe now needed help, but Ahmeddid not know how to provide it. He thought about the problem as heknotted the stirrup leathers.The plump, red-faced and white-haired man in the hills had beenfriendly, but how was Ahmed to talk to him? He decided he ought to tryand so he turned the horse, planning to ride her all about the campperimeter and then back up the road into the hills, but an officer ofthe camp picquets saw him. The man was riding a horse and he spurredit close to Ahmed and noted the British saddle cloth.“What are you doing, boy?” he asked.
The officer presumed Ahmed wasexercising the horse, but Ahmed took fright at the challenge and kickedback.“Thief!” the officer shouted and gave chase.“Stop! Thief!“A sepoy turned with his musket and Ahmed nudged the horse so that sheran the man down. There was a group of houses close by and Ahmedturned towards them, jumped a garden wall, thumped through some beds ofvegetables, jumped another wall, ducked under some fruit trees, jumpeda hedge and splashed through a muddy pond before kicking the horse up abank and into some trees. The officer had not dared follow him throughthe gardens, but Ahmed could hear the hue and cry beyond the houses. Hepatted the mare’s neck as she threaded through the trees, then curbedher at the wood’s edge. There was about a half-mile of open country,then more thick woods that promised safety if only the tired mare couldmake the distance without faltering.“If Allah wills it,” Ahmed said, then kicked the horse into a gallop.His pursuers were well behind, but they saw him break cover and now adozen horsemen were chasing him. Someone fired at him. He heard themusket shot, but the ball went nowhere near him. He leaned over themane and just let the horse run. He looked back once and saw thepursuers bunching in his path, and then he was in the trees and hetwisted northwards, cut back west, then went north again, going everdeeper into the woods until at last he slowed the blowing horse so thatthe sound of her thumping hooves would not betray him.He listened. He could hear other horses blundering through the leaves,but they were not coming any closer, and then he began to wonder if itwould not be better to let himself be caught after all, for surelysomeone among the British would speak his language? Maybe if he wentall the way to where the men were making the road in the hills he wouldbe too late to help Sharpe. He felt miserable, utterly unsure what heshould do, and then he decided he must go back and find help within theencampment and so he turned the horse back towards his pursuers.And saw a musket pointing straight at his throat.The man holding the musket was an Indian and had one of the spirallingbrass helmets that the Mahrattas wore. He was a cavalryman, but he hadpicketed his horse a few yards away and had crept up on Ahmed on foot.The man grinned. Ahmed wondered if he should just kick the tired mare and risk his luck,but then another Mahratta stepped from the leaves, and this one held acurved tulwar. A third man appeared, and then more men came, allmounted, to surround him.And Ahmed, who knew he had panicked and failed, wept.It seemed to Dodd that Prince Manu Bappoo’s policy of rewardingfreebooters with cash for weapons captured from the British was failingmiserably. So far they had fetched in three ancient matchlocks thatmust have belonged to shikarees, a broken musket of local manufacture,and a fine pistol and sword that had been taken from an engineerofficer. No scabbard for the sword, of course, but the two trophies,so far as Dodd was concerned, were the only evidence that the Mahrattashad tried to stop the British approach. He pestered Manu Bappoo,pleading to be allowed to take his Cobras down to where the pioneerswere driving the road, but the Rajah’s brother adamantly refused to letDodd’s men leave the fortress.Dodd himself was allowed to leave, but only to exercise his horse,which he did each day by riding west along the brink of the plateau. Hedid not go far. There was a tempting price on his head, and though noenemy cavalry had been seen on the plateau since the engineer had madehis reconnaissance, Dodd still feared that he might be captured, and sohe only rode until he could see the British works far beneath him.
Then, protected by a handful of Bappoo’s horsemen, he would starethrough a telescope at the ant-like figures labouring so far below.He watched the road widen, and lengthen, and one morning he saw thattwo battalions of infantry had camped in one of the high valleys, andnext day he saw the beginnings of an artillery park: three guns, aforage cart, a spare wheel wagon and four ammunition limbers.He cursed Bappoo, knowing that his Cobras could destroy that small parkand hurl the British into dazed confusion, yet the Prince was contentto let the enemy climb the escarpment unopposed. The road was beingremade, yet even so it was still steep enough in places to need ahundred men to haul one gun. Yet day by day Dodd saw the number ofguns increase in the artillery park, then inch up the hill and he knewit would not be long before the British reached the plateau and theirbesieging forces would seal off the narrow isthmus of rock that ledfrom the cliffs to the great fortress.And still Manu Bappoo made no proper effort to harry the redcoats.“We shall stop them here,” the Prince told Dodd, ‘here,” and he wouldgesture at Gawilghur’s walls, but William Dodd was not so sure that theredcoats would be stopped so easily. Bappoo might be convinced of thefortress’s strength, but Bappoo knew nothing of modern siege craft.Each morning, as he returned from his excursion along the cliff top,Dodd would dismount as he reached the isthmus and give his horse to oneof his escort so that he could walk the attackers’ route. He tried tosee the fortress as the redcoats would see it, tried to anticipatewhere their attack would come and how it would be made. It was, he had to admit, a brutal place to attack. Two great wallsprotected the Outer Fort, and though the British could undoubtedlybreach those walls with cannon fire, the two ramparts stood on a steepslope so that the attackers would need to fight their way uphill towhere the defenders would be waiting among the ruins of the breaches.And those breaches would be flanked by the massive round bastions thatwere too big to be collapsed by the twelve- or eighteen-pounder gunsDodd expected the British to deploy. The bastions would spit roundshot, musket balls and rockets down into the British who would bestruggling towards the nearer breach, their approach route getting evernarrower until it was finally constricted by the vast tank of waterthat blocked most of the approach. Dodd walked the route obsessivelyand could almost feel sorry for the men who would have to do it underfire.A hundred paces from the fort, where the defenders’ fire would be mostlethal, the attackers would be squeezed between the reservoir and thecliff edge, compressed into a space just twenty paces wide. Dodd stoodin that space each day and stared up at the double walls and countedthe artillery pieces. Twenty-two cannon were pointing at him and whenthe redcoats came those barrels would be loaded with canister, andbesides those heavy guns there was a mass of smaller weapons, themurderers and spitfires that could be held by one man and which couldblast out a fistful of stone scraps or pistol balls. True, the Britishwould have destroyed some of the larger guns, but the barrels could bemounted on new carriages and re sited behind the vast bastions so thatthe attackers, if they even succeeded in climbing up to the breach,would be enfiladed by cannon fire. And to reach that far they wouldneed to fight uphill against Bappoo’s Arabs, and against the massedmusketry of the garrison.
It was a prospect so daunting that Prince Manu Bappoo expected most ofthe attackers would sheer away from the breaches and run to the DelhiGate, the Outer Fort’s northern entrance. That gate would undoubtedlyhave been shattered by British cannon fire, but once inside its archthe attackers would find themselves in a trap. The road inside thegate curled up beside the wall, with another great wall outside it, sothat anyone on the cobbles was dwarfed by the stone ramparts on eitherside, and those would be lined with men firing down or else throwingthe great rocks that Bappoo had ordered piled onto the fire steps Inchby bloody inch the redcoats would fight their way up the narrow roadbetween the walls, only to turn the corner to see an even greater gatestanding in front of them, and one, moreover, that could not be reachedby the besiegers’ cannon fire. Thus, Bappoo reckoned, the Britishassault would be thwarted.Dodd was not so sure. The Prince was right in thinking that there wasno way in through the Delhi Gate, but Dodd suspected the breaches wouldbe less formidable. He had begun to see weaknesses in the ancientwalls, old cracks that were half hidden by weeds and lichen, and heknew the skill of the British gunners. The wall would break easily,and that meant the breaches would be big and wide, and Dodd reckonedthe British would fight their way through. It might be a hard fight,but they would win it. And that meant the British would capture theOuter Fort.
But Dodd did not express that opinion to Bappoo, nor did he urge thePrince to build an earthen glacis outside the wall to soak up the fireof the breaching batteries. Such a glacis would delay the British fordays, even weeks, but Dodd encouraged the Prince to believe that theOuter Fort was impregnable, for in that misapprehension lay Dodd’sopportunity.Manu Bappoo had once told Dodd that the Outer Fort was a trap.An enemy, if they captured the Outer Fort, would think their battlewon, but then they would come to Gawilghur’s central ravine and find asecond, even greater fort, waiting on its far side. But for Dodd theOuter Fort was Manu Bappoo’s trap. If Manu Bappoo lost the Outer Fortthen he, like the enemy, would have to cross the ravine and climb tothe Inner Fort, and it was there that Dodd commanded and, try as Doddmight, he could see no weaknesses in the Inner Fort’s de fencesNeither Manu Bappoo nor the British could ever cross the ravine, not ifDodd opposed them.The Inner Fort was quite separate from the Outer. No wall joined them,only a track that dropped steeply to the bed of the ravine and thenclimbed, even more steeply, to the intricate gateway of the Inner Fort.Dodd used that track each day, and he tried to imagine himself as anattacker. Twenty more guns faced him from the Inner Fort’s single wallas he descended the ravine, and none of those guns would have beendismounted by cannon fire.
Muskets would be pouring their shot downinto the rocky ravine and rockets would be slashing bloodily throughthe British ranks. The redcoats would die here like rats being poundedin a bucket, and even if some did survive to climb the track towardsthe gate, they would only reach Gawilghur’s last horror.That horror was the entrance, where four vast gates barred the InnerFort, four gates set one after another in a steep passage that wasflanked by towering walls. There was no other way in. Even if theBritish breached the Inner Fort’s wall it would not help, for the wallwas built on top of the precipice which formed the southern side of theravine, and no man could climb that slope and hope to survive.The only way in was through the gate, and Wellesley, Dodd had learned,did not like lengthy sieges. He had escaladed Ahmednuggur, surprisingits defenders by sending men with ladders against the unbreached walls,and Dodd was certain that Wellesley would similarly try to rush theInner Fort. He could not approach the wall, perched on its cliff, sohe would be forced to send his men into the ghastly entrance thattwisted as it climbed, and for every steep step of the way, betweeneach of the four great gates, they would be pounded by muskets, crushed by stones, blasted by cannon and savaged by rocketsdropped from the parapets. It could not be done. Dodd’s Cobras wouldbe on the fire steps and the redcoats would be beneath them, and theredcoats would die like cat deDodd had no great opinion of Indian rockets, but he had stockpiled morethan a thousand above the Inner Fort’s murderous entrance, for withinthe close confines of the walled road the weapons would prove lethal. The rockets were made of hammered tin, each one about sixteen incheslong and four or five inches in diameter, with a bamboo stick theheight of a man attached to each tin cylinder that was crammed withpowder. Dodd had experimented with the weapon and found that a litrocket tossed down into the gate passage would sear and bounce fromwall to wall, and even when it finally stopped careering madly aboutthe roadway, it went on belching out a torch of flame that would scorchtrapped men terribly. A dozen rockets dropped between two of the gatesmight kill a score of men and burn another score half to death. Justlet them come, Dodd prayed as he climbed each morning towards the InnerFort. Let them come! Let them come and let them take the Outer Fort,for then Manu Bappoo must die and the British would then come to Doddand die like the Prince.And afterwards the fugitives of their beaten army would be pursuedsouth across the Deccan Plain. Their bodies would rot in the heat andtheir bones whiten in the sun, and the British power in India would bebroken and Dodd would be Lord of Gawilghur.Just let the bastards come.That evening Sergeant Hakeswill pushed aside the folds of muslin toenter Captain Torrance’s quarters. The Captain was lying naked in hishammock where he was being fanned by a bamboo punk ah that had beenrigged to a ceiling beam.
His native servant kept the punk ah movingby tugging on a string, while Clare Wall trimmed the Captain’sfingernails.“Not too close, Brick,” Torrance said.“Leave me enough to scratch with, there’s a good girl.” He raised hiseyes to Hakeswill.“Did you knock, Sergeant?“Twice, sir,” Hakeswill lied, ‘loud and clear, sir.“Brick will have to ream out my ears. Say good evening to theSergeant, Brick. Where are our manners tonight?“Clare lifted her eyes briefly to acknowledge Hakeswill’s presence andmumbled something barely audible. Hakeswill snatched off his hat.“Pleasure to see you, Mrs. Wall,” he said eagerly, ‘a proper pleasure,my jewel.” He bobbed his head to her and winked at Torrance, whoflinched.“Brick,” Torrance said, ‘the Sergeant and I have military matters todiscuss. So take yourself to the garden.” He patted her hand andwatched her leave.“And no listening at the window!” he added archly.He waited until Clare had sidled past the muslin that hung over thekitchen entrance, then leaned precariously from the hammock to pick upa green silk robe that he draped over his crotch.“I would hate to shock you, Sergeant.“Beyond shock, sir, me, sir. Ain’t nothing living I ain’t seen naked,sir, all of ‘em naked as needles, and never once was I shocked, sir. Ever since they strung me up by the neck I’ve been beyond shock,sir.“And beyond sense, too, Torrance thought, but he suppressed thecomment.“Has Brick left the kitchen?“Hakeswill peered past the muslin.“She’s gone, sir.“She’s not at the window?“Hakeswill checked the window.“On the far side of the yard, sir, like a good girl.“I trust you’ve brought me news?“Better than news, sir, better than news.” The Sergeant crossed to thetable and emptied his pocket.“Your notes to Jama, sir, all of them.Ten thousand rupees, and all paid off.
You’re out of debt, sir, out ofdebt.“Relief seared through Torrance. Debt was a terrible thing, a dreadfulthing, yet seemingly inescapable if a man was to live to the full.Twelve hundred guineas! How could he ever have gambled that much away?It had been madness! Yet now it was paid, and paid in full.“Burn the notes,” he ordered Hakeswill.Hakeswill held the notes into a candle flame one by one, then let themshrivel and burn on the table. The draught from the punk ah disturbedthe smoke and scattered the little scraps of black ash that rose fromthe small fires.“And Jama, sir, being a gentleman, despite being an heathen bastardblackamoor, added a thankee,” Hakeswill said, putting some gold coinson the table.“How much?“Seven hundred rupees there, sir.“He gave us more, I know that. You’re cheating me, Sergeant.“Sir!” Hakeswill straightened indignantly.“On my life, sir, and I speak as a Christian, I ain’t ever cheated asoul in my life, sir, not unless they deserved it, in which case theygets it right and proper, sir, like it says in the scriptures.“Torrance stared at Hakeswill.“Jama will be back in the camp in a day or two. I can ask him.“And you will find, sir, that I have treated you foursquare andstraight, sir, on the nail, sir, on the drumhead, as one soldier toanother.“Hakeswill sniffed.“I’m hurt, sir.“Torrance yawned. “You have my sincerest, deepest and most fervent apologies, Sergeant.So tell me about Sharpe.“Hakeswill glanced at the punk ah boy.“Does that heathen speak English, sir?“Of course not.“Sharpie’s no more, sir.” Hakeswill’s face twitched as he rememberedthe pleasure of kicking his enemy.“Stripped the bastard naked, sir, gave him a headache he won’t everforget, not that he’s got long to remember anything now on account ofhim being on his way to meet his executioner, and I kept him trussed uptill Jama’s men came to fetch him. Which they did, sir, so now he’sgone, sir. Gone for bleeding ever, just as he deserves.“You stripped him?” Torrance asked, puzzled.
“Didn’t want the bastards dropping off a body all dressed up in anofficer’s coat, sir, even though the little bleeder should never haveworn one, him being nothing more than a jumped-up dribble of dried toadspittle sir. So we stripped him and burned the uniform, sir.“And nothing went wrong?“Hakeswill’s face twitched as he shrugged.“His boy got away, but he didn’t make no trouble. Just vanished.Probably went back to his mummy.“Torrance smiled. All was done, all was solved. Even better, he couldresume his trade with Jama, though perhaps with a little morecircumspection than in the past.“Did Sajit go with Sharpe?” he asked, knowing he would need anefficient clerk if he was to hide the treacherous transactions in theledger.
“No, sir. He’s with me, sir, outside, sir.” Hakeswill jerked his headtowards the front room.“He wanted to go, sir, but I gave him a thumping on account of usneeding him here, sir, and after that he was as good as gold, sir, evenif he is an heathen bit of scum.“Torrance smiled.“I am vastly in your debt, Sergeant Hakeswill,” he said.“Just doing my duty, sir.” Hakeswill’s face twitched as he grinned andgestured towards the garden window.“And hoping for a soldier’s reward, sir.“Brick, you mean?” Torrance asked.
“Me heart’s desire, sir,” Hakeswill said hoarsely.“Her and me, sir, made for each other. Says so in the scriptures.“Then the fruition of the prophecy must wait a while,” Torrance said,‘because I need Brick to look after me, and your duty, Sergeant, is toassume Mister Sharpe’s responsibilities. We shall wait till someonenotices that he’s missing, then claim that he must have been ambushedby Mahrattas while on his way here. Then you’ll go up the mountain tohelp the engineers.“Me, sir?” Hakeswill sounded alarmed at the prospect of having to dosome real work.“Up the mountain?“Someone has to be there. You can’t expect me to do it!” Torrancesaid indignantly.“Someone must stay here and shoulder the heavier responsibilities.
Itwon’t be for long, Sergeant, not for long. And once the campaign isover I can assure you that your heart’s desires will be fully met.” Butnot, he decided, before Hakeswill paid him the money Clare owed for herpassage out from England. That money could come from the cash thatJama had given Hakeswill this night which, Torrance was sure, was agreat deal more than the Sergeant had admitted.“Make yourself ready, Sergeant,” Torrance ordered.“Doubtless you will be needed up the road tomorrow.“Yes, sir,” Hakeswill said sullenly.“Well done, good and faithful Hakeswill,” Torrance said grandly.“Don’t let any moths in as you leave.“Hakeswill went. He had three thousand three hundred rupees in hispocket and a fortune in precious stones hidden in his cartridge box. Hewould have liked to have celebrated with Clare Wall, but he did notdoubt that his chance would come and so, for the moment, he was asatisfied man. He looked at the first stars pricking the sky aboveGawilghur’s plateau and reflected that he had rarely been morecontent.He had taken his revenge, he had become wealthy, and thus all was wellin Obadiah Hakeswill’s world. CHAPTER 6
Sharpe knew he was in an ox cart. He could tell that from the joltingmotion and from the terrible squeal of the ungreased axles. The oxcarts that followed the army made a noise like the shrieking of soulsin perdition.He was naked, bruised and in pain. It hurt even to breathe. His mouthwas gagged and his hands and feet were tied, but even if they had beenfree he doubted he could have moved for he was wrapped in a thick dustycarpet.
Hakeswill! The bastard had ambushed him, stripped him androbbed him. He knew it was Hakeswill, for Sharpe had heard theSergeant’s hoarse voice as he was rolled into the rug.Then he had been carried out of the tent and slung into the cart, andhe was not sure how long ago that had been because he was in too muchpain and he kept slipping in and out of a dreamlike daze. A nightmaredaze. There was blood in his mouth, a tooth was loose, a rib wasprobably cracked and the rest of him simply ached or hurt. His headthrobbed. He wanted to be sick, but knew he would choke on his vomitbecause of the gag and so he willed his belly to be calm.Calm! The only blessing was that he was alive, and he suspected thatwas no blessing at all. Why had Hakeswill not killed him? Not out ofmercy, that was for sure. So presumably he was to be killed somewhereelse, though why Hakeswill had run the terrible risk of having aBritish officer tied hand and foot and smuggled past the picquet lineSharpe could not tell. It made no sense. All he did know was that bynow Obadiah Hakeswill would have teased Sharpe’s gems from their hidingplaces. God damn it all to hell. First Simone, now Hakeswill, andHakeswill, Sharpe realized, could never have trapped Sharpe if Torrancehad not helped.But knowing his enemies would not help Sharpe now. He knew he had asmuch hope of living as those dogs who were hurled onto the mud flatsbeside the Thames in London with stones tied to their necks.The children used to laugh as they watched the dogs struggle. Some ofthe dogs had come from wealthy homes. They used to be snatched and iftheir owners did not produce the ransom money within a couple of days,the dogs were thrown to the river. Usually the ransom was paid,brought by a nervous footman to a sordid public house near the docks,but no one would ransom Sharpe. Who would care? Dust from the rug wasthick in his nose. Just let the end be quick, he prayed.He could hear almost nothing through the rug. The axle squealing wasthe loudest noise, and once he heard a thump on the cart’s side andthought he heard a man laugh. It was night-time. He was not sure howhe knew that, except that it would make sense, for no one would try tosmuggle a British officer out in daylight, and he knew he had lain inthe tent for a long time after Hakeswill had hit him. He rememberedducking under the tent’s canvas, remembered a glimpse of thebrass-bound musket butt, and then it was nothing but a jumble of painand oblivion. A weight pressed on his waist, and he guessed after awhile that a man was resting his feet on the rug. Sharpe tested theassumption by trying to move and the man kicked him. He lay stillagain. One dog had escaped, he remembered. It had somehow slipped therope over its neck and had paddled away downstream with the childrenshrieking along the bank and hurling stones at the frightened head. Didthe dog die? Sharpe could not remember. God, he thought, but he hadbeen a wild child, wild as a hawk. They had tried to beat the wildnessout of him, beat him till the blood ran, then told him he would come toa bad end. They had prophesied that he would be strung up by the neckat Tyburn Hill. Dick Sharpe dangling, pissing down his legs while therope burned into his gullet. But it had not happened. He was anofficer, a gentleman, and he was still alive, and he pulled at thetether about his wrists, but it would not shift.Was Hakeswill riding in the cart? That seemed possible, and suggestedthe Sergeant wanted somewhere safe and private to kill Sharpe. Buthow? Quick with a knife? That was a forlorn wish, for Hakeswill wasnot merciful. Perhaps he planned to repay Sharpe by putting himbeneath an elephant’s foot and he would scream and writhe until thegreat weight would not let him scream ever again and his bones wouldcrack and splinter like eggshells. Be sure your sin will find youout.How many times had he heard those words from the Bible? Usuallythumped into him at the foundling home with a blow across the skull forevery syllable, and the blows would keep coming as they chanted thereference. The Book of Numbers, chapter thirty-two, versetwenty-three, syllable by syllable, blow by blow, and now his sin wasfinding him out and he was to be punished for all the unpunished offences So die well, he told himself. Don’t cry out. Whatever wasabout to happen could not be worse than the flogging he had takenbecause of Hakeswill’s lies.That had hurt. Hurt like buggery, but he had not cried out. So takethe pain and go like a man. What had Sergeant Major Bywaters said ashe had thrust the leather gag into Sharpe’s mouth?“Be brave, boy. Don’t let the regiment down.” So he would be braveand die well, and then what?Hell, he supposed, and an eternity of torment at the hands of a legionof Hakeswills. Just like the army, really.The cart stopped. He heard feet thump on the wagon boards, the murmurof voices, then hands seized the rug and dragged him off. He bangedhard down onto the ground, then the rug was picked up and carried. Diewell, he told himself, die well, but that was easier said than done.Not all men died well. Sharpe had seen strong men reduced toshuddering despair as they waited for the cart to be run out from underthe gallows, just as he had seen others go into eternity with adefiance so brittle and hard that it had silenced the watching crowd. Yet all men, the brave and the cowardly, danced the gallows dance inthe end, jerking from a length of Bridport hemp, and the crowd wouldlaugh at their twitching antics. Best puppet show in London, theysaid. There was no good way to die, except in bed, asleep, unknowing.Or maybe in battle, at the cannon’s mouth, blown to kingdom come in aninstant of oblivion.He heard the footsteps of the men who carried him slap on stone, thenheard a loud murmur of voices. There were a lot of voices, allapparently talking at once and all excited, and he felt the rug beingjostled by a crowd and then he seemed to be carried down some steps andthe crowd was gone and he was thrown onto a hard floor. The voicesseemed louder now, as if he was indoors, and he was suddenly possessedby the absurd notion that he had been brought into a cock-fightingarena like the one off Vinegar Street where, as a child, he had earnedfarthings by carrying pots of porter to spectators who werealternatively morose or maniacally excited.He lay for a long time. He could hear the voices, even sometimes aburst of laughter. He remembered the fat man in Vinegar Street, whosetrade, rat-catching, took him to the great houses in west London thathe reconnoitred for his thieving friends.
“You’d make a good snaffler, Dicky,” he’d say to Sharpe, then he wouldclutch Sharpe’s arm and point to the cockerels waiting to fight.“Which one’ll win, lad, which one?“And Sharpe would make a haphazard choice and, as often as not, the birddid win.“He’s a lucky boy,” the rat-catcher would boast to his friends as hetossed Sharpe a farthing.“Nipper’s got the luck of the devil!“But not tonight, Sharpe thought, and suddenly the rug was seized,unwound, and Sharpe was spilt naked onto hard stones. A cheer greetedhis appearance. Light flared in Sharpe’s eyes, dazzling him, but aftera while he saw he was in a great stone courtyard lit by the flames oftorches mounted on pillars that surrounded the yard. Two white-robedmen seized him, dragged him upright and pushed him onto a stone benchwhere, to his surprise, his hands and feet were loosed and the gagtaken from his mouth. He sat flexing his fingers and gasping deepbreaths of humid air. He could see no sign of Hakeswill.He could see now that he was in a temple.
A kind of cloister ranaround the courtyard and, because the cloister was raised three or fourfeet, it made the stone-paved floor into a natural arena. He had notbeen so wrong about the cock-fighting pit, though Vinegar Street hadnever aspired to ornately carved stone arches smothered with writhinggods and snarling beasts. The raised cloister was packed with men whowere in obvious good humour. There were hundreds of them, allanticipating a night’s rare entertainment. Sharpe touched his swollenlip and winced at the pain. He was thirsty, and with every deep breathhis bruised or broken ribs hurt. There was a swelling on his foreheadthat was thick with dried blood. He looked about the crowd, seekingone friendly face and finding none. He just saw Indian peasants withdark eyes that reflected the flame light. They must have come fromevery village within ten miles to witness whatever was about tohappen. In the centre of the courtyard was a small stone building,fantastically carved with elephants and dancing girls, and crowned by astepped tower that had been sculpted with yet more gods and animalspainted red, yellow, green and black. The crowd’s noise subsided as aman showed at the doorway of the small shrine and raised his arms as asignal for silence. Sharpe recognized the man. He was the tall, thin,limping man in the green and black striped robe who had pleaded withTorrance for Naig’s life, and behind him came a pair ofjettis. So thatwas the sum of it. Revenge for Naig, and Sharpe realized thatHakeswill had never intended to kill him, only deliver him to thesemen.A murmur ran through the spectators as they admired the jet tis Vastbrutes, they were, who dedicated their extraordinary strength to somestrange Indian god. Although Sharpe had met jet tis before and hadkilled some in Seringapatam, he did not fancy his chances against thesetwo bearded brutes. He was too weak, too thirsty, too bruised, toohurt, while these two fanatics were tall and hugely muscled. Theirbronze skin had been oiled so that it gleamed in the flame light.
Theirlong hair was coiled about their skulls, and one had red lines paintedon his face, while the other, who was slightly shorter, carried a longspear. Each man wore a loincloth and nothing else. They glanced atSharpe, then the taller man prostrated himself before a small shrine. A dozen guards came from the courtyard’s rear and lined its edge.They carried muskets tipped with bayonets.The tall man in the striped robe clapped his hands to silence thecrowd’s last murmurs. It took a while, for still more spectators werepushing into the temple and there was scarce room in the cloister.Somewhere outside a horse neighed. Men shouted protests as thenewcomers shoved their way inside, but at last the commotion ended andthe tall man stepped to the edge of the stone platform on which thesmall shrine stood. He spoke for a long time, and every few momentshis words would provoke a growl of agreement, and then the crowd wouldlook at Sharpe and some would spit at him. Sharpe stared sullenly backat them. They were getting a rare night’s amusement, he reckoned. Acaptured Englishman was to be killed in front of them, and Sharpe couldnot blame them for relishing the prospect. But he was damned if hewould die easy. He could do some damage, he reckoned, maybe not much,but enough so that the jet tis remembered the night they were given aredcoat to kill.The tall man finished his speech, then limped down the short flight ofsteps and approached Sharpe. He carried himself with dignity, like aman who knows his own worth to be high. He stopped a few paces fromSharpe and his face showed derision as he stared at the Englishman’ssorry state.“My name,” he said in English, ‘is Jama.“Sharpe said nothing. “You killed my brother,” Jama said.“I’ve killed a lot of men,” Sharpe said, his voice hoarse so that itscarcely carried the few paces that separated the two men. He spat toclear his throat.“I’ve killed a lot of men,” he said again.“And Naig was one,” Jama said.“He deserved to die,” Sharpe said.Jama sneered at that answer.“If my brother deserved to die then so did the British who traded withhim.“That was probably true, Sharpe thought, but he said nothing. He couldsee some pointed helmets at the back of the crowd and he guessed thatsome of the Mahratta horsemen who still roamed the Deccan Plain hadcome to see his death.
Maybe the same Mahrattas who had bought the twothousand missing muskets, muskets that Hakeswill had supplied andTorrance had lied about to conceal the theft.“So now you will die,” Jama said simply.Sharpe shrugged. Run to the right, he was thinking, and grab thenearest musket, but he knew he would be slowed by the pain. Besides,the men on the cloister would jump down to overpower him. But he hadto do something. Anything! A man could not just be killed like adog.“You will die slowly,“Jama said, ‘to satisfy the debt of blood that isowed to my family.“You want a death,” Sharpe asked, ‘to balance your brother’s death?“Exactly so,“Jama said gravely.“Then kill a rat,” Sharpe said, ‘or strangle a toad. Your brotherdeserved to die. He was a thief.“And you English have come to steal all India,” Jama said equably.He looked again at Sharpe’s wounds, and seemed to get satisfaction fromthem.“You will soon be pleading for my mercy,” he said.“Do you know what jet tis are?“I know,” Sharpe said.“Prithviraj,” Jama said, gesturing towards the taller jetti who wasbowing before the small altar, ‘has castrated a man with his barehands.He will do that to you and more, for tonight I have promised thesepeople they will see the death of a hundred parts. You will be torn topieces, Englishman, but you will live as your body is divided, for thatis a jettfs skill. To kill a man slowly, without weapons, tearing himpiece by piece, and only when your screams have assuaged the pain of mybrother’s death will I show you mercy. “Jama gave Sharpe one last lookof disdain, then turned and walked back to the shrine’s steps.Prithviraj leaned forward and rang a tiny hand bell to draw the god’sattention, then put his hands together and bowed his head a lasttime.The second jetti, the one with the spear, watched Sharpe with anexpressionless face.Sharpe forced himself to stand. His back ached and his legs were weakso that he tottered, making the crowd laugh at him. He took a step tohis right, but the closest guard just edged away. A carved stool hadbeen fetched from the shrine and Jama was now sitting at the top of thesteps. A huge bat flickered in and out of the torchlight. Sharpewalked forward, testing his legs, and was amazed he could stand at all.The crowd jeered his faltering gait, and the sound made Prithviraj turnfrom his devotions. He saw that Sharpe posed no danger and so turnedback to the god.Sharpe staggered. He did it deliberately, making himself look weakerthan he really was. He swayed, pretending that he was about to fall,then took some slurred sideways steps to get close to one of theguards. Seize a musket, he told himself, then ram its muzzle intoJama’s face. He swayed sideways again, and the closest guard juststepped back and levelled the bayonet at Sharpe. The dozen sentriesplainly had orders to keep Sharpe inside thejettfs killing ground.Sharpe measured the distance, wondering if he could get past thebayonet to seize the musket, but a second guard came to reinforce thefirst.Then Prithviraj stood.He was a bloody giant, Snarpe thought, a giant with an oiled skin andupper arms as thick as most men’s thighs. The crowd murmured inadmiration again, and then Prithviraj undid his loincloth and let itfall so that he was naked like Sharpe. The gesture seemed to implythat he sought no advantage over his opponent, though as the huge mancame down from the shrine the second jetti took care to stay closebeside him.Two against one, and the second had a spear, and Sharpe had nothing.He glanced at the burning torches, wondering if he could seize one andbrandish it as a weapon, but they were mounted too high. Christ, hethought, but do something! Anything! Panic began to close in on him,fluttering like the bat which swooped into the flame light again.He backed away from the jet tis and the crowd jeered him. He did notcare. He was watching Prithviraj. A slow-moving man, too muscleboundto be quick, and Sharpe guessed that was why the second jetti waspresent. His job would be to herd Sharpe with the glittering spear,and afterwards to hold him still as Prithviraj tore off fingers, toesand ears. So take the spearman first, Sharpe told himself, put the bastard downand take his weapon. He edged to his left, circling the courtyard totry and position himself closer to the spear-carrying jetti. The crowdsighed as he moved, enjoying the thought that the Englishman would putup a fight.The spear followed Sharpe’s movements. He would have to be quick,Sharpe thought, desperately quick, and he doubted he could do it.HakeswilPs kicking had slowed him, but he had to try and so he kept oncircling, then abruptly charged in to attack the spearman, but theweapon was jabbed towards him and Prithviraj was much faster thanSharpe had expected and leaped to catch him, and Sharpe had to twistawkwardly away. The crowd laughed at his clumsiness.“Accept your death,” Jama called. A servant was fanning the merchant’sface.Sweat poured down Sharpe’s cheeks.
He had been forced towards thatpart of the courtyard nearest the temple’s entrance where there weretwo stone flights of stairs leading up to the cloister. The steps,jutting into the yard, formed a bay in which Sharpe suddenly realizedhe was trapped. He moved sideways, but the spear-carrying jetticovered him. The two men knew he was cornered now and came slowlytowards him and Sharpe could only back away until his spine touched thecloister’s edge.One of the spectators kicked him, but with more malice than force. Thejet tis came on slowly, wary in case he suddenly broke to right orleft.Prithviraj was flexing his huge fingers, making them supple for thenight’s work. Scraps of smouldering ash whirled away from the torches,one settling on Sharpe’s shoulder. He brushed it off.“Sahib?” a voice hissed from behind Sharpe. “Sahib?“Prithviraj looked calm and confident. No bloody wonder, Sharpethought. So kick the naked bugger in the crotch. He reckoned that washis last chance. One good kick, and hope that Prithviraj doubled over.Either that or run onto the spear and hope the blade killed himquickly.“Sahib!” the voice hissed again. Prithviraj was turning sideways sothat he would not expose his groin to Sharpe, then he beckoned for theother jetti to close in on the Englishman and drive him out from thewall with his spear.“You bugger!” the voice said impatiently.Sharpe turned to see that Ahmed was on hands and knees among the legsof the spectators, and what was more the child was pushing forward thehilt of the tulwar he had captured at Deogaum.
Sharpe leaned on thecloister edge and the crowd, seeing him rest against the stone,believed he had given up. Some groaned for they had been anticipatingmore of a fight, but most of the watching men just jeered at him forbeing a weakling.Sharpe winked at Ahmed, then reached for the tulwar. He seized thehandle, pushed away from the stone and turned, dragging the blade fromthe scabbard that was still in Ahmed’s grasp. He turned fast as astriking snake, the curved steel silver-red in the courtyard’s flamelight, and the jet tis thinking he was a beaten man, were not prepared.The man with the spear was closest, and the curved blade slashed acrosshis face, springing blood, and he instinctively clutched his eyes andlet the spear drop. Sharpe moved to the right, scooped up the fallenspear, and Prithviraj at last looked worried.The guards raised their muskets. Sharpe heard the clicks as the dogheads were hauled back. So let them shoot him, he thought, for thatwas a quicker death than being dismembered and gelded by a naked giant. Jama was standing, one hand in the air, reluctant to let his guardsshoot Sharpe before he had suffered pain. The wounded jetti was on hisknees, his hands clutched to his face which was streaming blood.Then a musket fired, its sound unnaturally loud in the confines of thecourtyard’s carved walls. One of the guards flinched as the musketball whipped past his head to chip a flake of stone from one of thedecorated arches. Then a voice shouted from the cloister by the templeentrance.The man spoke in an Indian language, and he spoke to Jama who wasstaring appalled as a group of armed men pushed their way to the veryfront of the crowd.It was Syud Sevajee who had fired, and who had spoken to Jama, and whonow grinned down at Sharpe.“I’ve told him it must be a fair fight, Ensign.“Me against him?” Sharpe jerked his chin at Prithviraj.“We came for entertainment,” Syud Sevajee said, ‘the least you can dois provide us with some.
“Why don’t you just shoot the bugger and have done with it?“Sevajee smiled.“This crowd will accept the result of a fair fight, Ensign. They mightnot like it if I simply rescue you. Besides, you don’t want to be inmy debt, do you?“I’m in your debt already,” Sharpe said, ‘up to my bloody eyeballs.” Heturned and looked at Prithviraj who was waiting for a sign from Jama.“Hey! Goliath!” Sharpe shouted.“Here!” He threw the tulwar at the man, keeping the spear.“You want a fair fight? So you’ve got a weapon now.“The pain seemed to have vanished and even the thirst had gone away.It was like that moment at Assaye when he had been surrounded byenemies, and suddenly the world had seemed a calm, clear-cut place fullof delicious opportunity.
He had a chance now. He had more than achance, he was going to put the big bastard down. It was a fair fight,and Sharpe had grown up fighting. He had been bred to it from thegutter, driven to it by poverty and inured to it by desperation. Hewas nothing if he was not a fighter, and now the crowd would get thebloody sport they wanted. He hefted the spear.“So come on, you bastard!“Prithviraj stooped and picked up the tulwar. He swung it in a clumsyarc, then looked again at Jama.“Don’t look at him, you great ox! Look at me!” Sharpe went forward,the spear low, then he raised the blade and lunged towards the bigman’s belly and Prithviraj made a clumsy parry that rang against thespear blade.“You’ll have to put more strength into it than that,” Sharpe said,pulling back the spear and standing still to tempt thejetti forward. Prithviraj stepped towards him, swung the blade and Sharpe stepped backso that the tulwar’s tip slashed inches from his chest.“You have to be quick,” Sharpe said, and he feinted right, spun awayand walked back to the left leaving Prithviraj off balance. Sharpeturned and lunged with the spear, pricking the big man’s back andleaving a trickle of blood.“Ain’t the same, is it, when the other fellow’s got a weapon?” Hesmiled at the jetti.“So come on, you daft pudding. Come on!“The crowd was silent now. Prithviraj seemed puzzled. He had notexpected to fight, not with a weapon, and it was plain he was notaccustomed to a tulwar.“You can give up,” Sharpe said.“You can kneel down and give up.
I won’t kill you if you do that, butif you stay on your feet I’ll pick you apart like a joint of bloodymeat.“Prithviraj did not understand a word, but he knew Sharpe was dangerousand he was trying to work out how best to kill him. He glanced at thespear, wishing he had that weapon instead of the tulwar, but Sharpeknew the point should always beat the edge, which was why he had keptthe spear.“You want it quick or slow, Sevajee?” Sharpe called.“Whichever you prefer, Ensign,” Sevajee said, smiling.“It is not for the audience to tell the actors how the play shouldgo.“Then I’ll make it quick,” Sharpe said, and he pointed at Prithvirajwith his free hand and motioned that thejetti could kneel down.“Just kneel,” he said, ‘and I’ll spare you. Tell him that, Sevajee!“Sevajee called out in an Indian language and Prithviraj must havedecided the offer was an insult, for he suddenly ran forward, tulwarswinging, and Sharpe had to step quickly aside and parry one of thecuts with the spear’s staff. The blade cut a sliver of wood from theshaft, but went nowhere near Sharpe. “No good doing that,” Sharpe said.“You’re not making hay, you great pudding, you’re trying to stayalive.“Prithviraj attacked again, but all he could think to do was make greatswings with the blade, any one of which might have slit Sharpe intotwo, but the attacks were clumsy and Sharpe backed away, alwayscircling around to the middle of the courtyard so that he was nottrapped against its edges. The crowd, sensing that Prithviraj mightwin, began to urge him on, but some noticed that the Englishman was noteven trying to fight yet. He was taunting thejetti, he was evading himand he was keeping his spear low.“I thought you said it would be quick,” Sevajee said.“You want it over?” Sharpe asked. He crouched, raising the spearblade, and the motion checked Prithviraj who stared at him warily.“What I’m going to do,” Sharpe said, ‘is cut your belly open, then slityour throat. Are you ready?” He went forward, jabbing the spear,still low, and Prithviraj backed away, trying to parry the smalllunges, but Sharpe dragged the spear back each time before the parrycould connect, and Prithviraj frowned.
He seemed hypnotized by theshining blade that flickered like a snake’s tongue, and behind itSharpe was grinning at him and taunting him, and Prithviraj tried tocounter-attack once, but the spear slashed up to within an inch of hisface and he went on stepping backwards. Then he backed into theblinded jettt who still crouched on the flagstones and Prithvirajstaggered as he lost his balance.Sharpe came up from the crouch, the spear lancing forward and the wildparry came far too late and suddenly the blade was punching and tearingthrough the skin and muscle of the jettfs stomach. Sharpe twisted theleaf-shaped steel so that it did not get trapped in the flesh and thenhe ripped it out, and blood washed across the temple floor andPrithviraj was bending forward as if he could seal the pain in hisbelly by folding over, and then the spear sliced from the side to slashacross his throat.The crowd sighed.Prithviraj was on the stones now, curled up with blood bubbling fromhis sliced belly and pulsing from his neck.Sharpe kicked the tulwar from the jettt’s unresisting hand, then turnedand looked at Jama.“You and your brother did business with Captain Torrance?“Jama said nothing.Sharpe walked towards the shrine. The guards moved to stop him, butSevajee’s men raised their muskets and some, grinning, jumped down intothe courtyard. Ahmed also jumped down and snatched the tulwar from theflagstones. Prithviraj was on his side now, dying.Jama stood as Sharpe reached the steps, but he could not move fast withhis limp and suddenly the spear was at his belly.“I asked you a question,” Sharpe said.Jama still said nothing.“You want to live?” Sharpe asked. Jama looked down at the spear bladethat was thick with blood.“Was it Torrance who gave me to you?” Sharpe asked.“Yes,” Jama said.“If I see you again,” Sharpe said, “I’ll kill you. If you go back tothe British camp I’ll hang you like your brother, and if you so much assend a message to Torrance, I’ll follow you to the last corner on God’searth and I’ll castrate you with my bare hands.” He jabbed the spearjust enough to prick Jama’s belly, then turned away. The crowd wassilent, cowed by Sevajee’s men and by the ferocity they had witnessedin the temple courtyard. Sharpe tossed away the spear, pulled Ahmedtowards him and patted the boy’s head.“You’re a good lad, Ahmed. A bloody good lad. And I need a drink. ByChrist, I’m thirsty.“But he was also alive.Which meant some other men would soon be dead. Because Sharpe was more than alive. He was angry. Angry as hell.And wanting revenge.Sharpe borrowed a cloak from one of Sevajee’s men, then pulled himselfup behind Ahmed onto Major Stokes’s horse. They rode slowly away fromthe village where the torches guttered in the temple towards the smearof red light that betrayed where the British encampment lay some milesto the west. Sevajee talked as they rode, telling Sharpe how Ahmed hadfled straight into the arms of his men.“Luckily for you, Ensign,” the Indian said, “I recognized him.“Which is why you sent for help, isn’t it?” Sharpe askedsarcastically.“It’s why you fetched some redcoats to get me out of that bloodytent.
“Your gratitude touches me deeply,” Sevajee said with a smile.“It took us a long time to make sense of what your boy was saying, andI confess we didn’t wholly believe him even then, and by the time wethought to take him seriously, you were already being carried away.So we followed. I thought we might fetch some entertainment from theevening, and so we did.“Glad to be of service, sahib,” Sharpe said.“I knew you could beat ajetti in a fair fight.“I beat three at once in Seringapatam,” Sharpe said, ‘but I don’t knowas it was a fair fight. I’m not much in favour of fair fights. I likethem to be unfair. Fair fights are for gentlemen who don’t know anybetter.
“Which is why you gave the sword to the jetti,” Sevajee observeddrily.“I knew he’d make a bollocks of it,” Sharpe said. He was tiredsuddenly, and all the aches and throbs and agony had come back.Above him the sky was brilliant with stars, while a thin sickle moonhung just above the faraway fortress. Dodd was up there, Sharpethought, another life to take. Dodd and Torrance, Hakeswill and histwo men. A debt to be paid by sending all the bastards to hell.“Where shall I take you?” Sevajee asked.“Take me?“You want to go to the General?“Christ, no.” Sharpe could not imagine complaining to Wellesley.
Thecold bugger would probably blame Sharpe for getting into trouble.Stokes, maybe? Or the cavalry? Sergeant Lockhart would doubtlesswelcome him, but then he had a better idea.“Take me to wherever you’re camped,” he told Sevajee.“And in the morning?“You’ve got a new recruit,” Sharpe said.“I’m one of your men for now.“Sevajee looked amused.“Why?“Why do you think? I want to hide.“But why?“Sharpe sighed.“D’you think Wellesley will believe me? If I go to Wellesley he’llthink I’ve got sunstroke, or he’ll reckon I’m drunk. And Torrance willstand there with a plum in his bloody mouth and deny everything, orelse he’ll blame Hakeswill. “Hakeswill?” Sevajee asked.“A bastard I’m going to kill,” Sharpe said.“And it’ll be easier if he doesn’t know I’m still alive.” And thistime, Sharpe vowed, he would make sure of the bastard.“My only worry,” he told Sevajee, ‘is Major Stokes’s horse. He’s agood man, Stokes.“That horse?” Sevajee asked, nodding at the grey mare.“You reckon a couple of your fellows could return it to him in themorning?“Of course.“Tell him I got thrown from the saddle and snatched up by the enemy,“Sharpe said.“Let him think I’m a prisoner in Gawilghur.
“And meanwhile you’ll be one of us?” Sevajee asked.“I’ve just become a Mahratta,” Sharpe said.“Welcome,” said Sevajee.“And what you need now, Sharpe, is some rest.“I’ve had plenty of rest,” Sharpe said.“What I need now are some clothes, and some darkness.“You need food too,” Sevajee insisted. He glanced up at the sliver ofmoon above the fort. It was waning.“Tomorrow night will be darker,” he promised, and Sharpe nodded.
Hewanted a deep darkness, a shadowed blackness, in which a living ghostcould hunt.Major Stokes was grateful for the return of his horse, but saddenedover Sharpe’s fate.“Captured!” he told Sir Arthur Wellesley.“And my own fault too.“Can’t see how that can be, Stokes.“I should never have let him ride off on his own. Should have made himwait till a group went back.“Won’t be the first prison cell he’s seen,” Wellesley said, ‘and Idaresay it won’t be the last.“I shall miss him,” Stokes said, ‘miss him deeply. A good man. “Wellesley grunted. He had ridden up the improved road to judge itsprogress for himself and he was impressed, though he took care not toshow his approval. The road now snaked up into the hills and one moreday’s work would see it reach the edge of the escarpment. Half thenecessary siege guns were already high on the road, parked in an uplandmeadow, while bullocks were trudging up the lower slopes with theirheavy burdens of round shot that would be needed to break openGawilghur’s walls. The Mahrattas had virtually ceased their raids onthe road-makers ever since Wellesley had sent two battalions of sepoysup into the hills to hunt the enemy down. Every once in a while amusket shot would be fired from a long distance, but the balls wereusually spent before they reached a target.“Your work won’t end with the road,” Wellesley told Stokes, as theGeneral and his staff followed the engineer on foot towards some higherground from where they could inspect the fortress.“I doubted it would, sir.”^ “You know Stevenson?“I’ve dined with the Colonel.“I’m sending him up here.
His troops will make the assault. My menwill stay below and climb the two roads.” Wellesley spoke curtly,almost offhandedly. He was proposing to divide his army into twoagain, just as it had been split for most of the war against theMahrattas. Stevenson’s part of the army would climb to the plateau andmake the main assault on the fortress. That attack would swarm acrossthe narrow neck of land to climb the breaches, but to stop the enemyfrom throwing all their strength into the defence of the broken wallWellesley proposed sending two columns of his own men up the steeptracks that led directly to the fortress. Those men would have toapproach unbroken walls up slopes too steep to permit artillery to bedeployed, and Wellesley knew those columns could never hope to breakinto Gawilghur. Their job was to spread the defenders thin, and toblock off the garrison’s escape routes while Colonel Stevenson’s mendid the bloody work.“You’ll have to establish Stevenson’s batteries,” Wellesley toldStokes.“Major Blackiston’s seen the ground’ he indicated his aide ‘and hereckons two eighteens and three iron twelves should suffice. MajorBlackiston, of course, will give you whatever advice he can.“No glacis?” Stokes directed the question to Blackiston.“Not when I was there,” Blackiston said, ‘though of course they couldhave made one since. I just saw curtain walls with a few bastions.Ancient work, by the look of it.“Fifteenth-century work,” Wellesley put in and, when he saw that thetwo engineers were impressed by his knowledge, he shrugged.“Syud Sevajee claims as much, anyway.“Old walls break fastest,” Stokes said cheerfully. The two big guns,with the three smaller cannon, would batter the wall head on to crumblethe ancient stone that was probably unprotected by a glacis of embankedearth to soak up the force of the bombardment, and the Major had yet tofind a fortress wall in India that could resist the strike of aneighteen-pounder shot travelling half a mile every two seconds.“But you’ll want some enfilading fire,” he warned Wellesley. “I’ll send you some more twelves,” Wellesley promised.“A battery of twelves and an howitzer,” Stokes suggested.“I’d like to drop some nasties over the wall. There’s nothing like anhowitzer for spreading gloom.“I’ll send an howitzer,” Wellesley promised. The enfilading batterieswould fire at an angle through the growing breaches to keep the enemyfrom making repairs, and the howitzer, which fired high in the air sothat its shells dropped steeply down, could bombard the repair partiesbehind the fortress ramparts.“And I want the batteries established quickly,” Wellesley said.“No dallying, Major.“I’m not a man to dally, Sir Arthur,” Stokes said cheerfully. TheMajor was leading the General and his staff up a particularly steeppatch of road where an elephant, supplemented by over sixty sweatingsepoys, forced an eighteen-pounder gun up the twisting road.
Theofficers dodged the sepoys, then climbed a knoll from where they couldstare across at Gawilghur.By now they were nearly as high as the stronghold itself and theprofile of the twin forts stood clear against the bright sky beyond. Itformed a double hump. The narrow neck of land led from the plateau tothe first, lower hump on which the Outer Fortress stood. It was thatfortress which would receive Stokes’s breaching fire, and that fortresswhich would be assailed by Stevenson’s men, but beyond it the grounddropped into a deep ravine, then climbed steeply to the much largersecond hump on which the Inner Fortress with its palace and its lakesand its houses stood. Sir Arthur spent a long time staring through hisglass, but said nothing.“I’ll warrant I can get you into the smaller fortress,” Stokes said,‘but how do you cross the central ravine into the main stronghold?“It was that question that Wellesley had yet to answer in his own mind,and he suspected there was no simple solution. He hoped that theattackers would simply surge across the ravine and flood up the secondslope like an irresistible wave that had broken through one barrier andwould now overcome everything in its path, but he dared not admit tosuch impractical optimism. He dared not confess that he was condemninghis men to an attack on an Inner Fortress that would have unbreachedwalls and well-prepared defenders.“If we can’t take it by escalade,” he said curtly, collapsing hisglass, ‘we’ll have to dig breaching batteries in the Outer Fortress anddo it the hard way. “In other words, Stokes thought, Sir Arthur had no idea how it was to bedone. Only that it must be done. By escalade or by breach, and byGod’s mercy, if they were lucky, for once they were into the centralravine the attackers would be in the devil’s hands.It was a hot December day, but Stokes shivered, for he feared for themen who must go up against Gawilghur Captain Torrance had enjoyed aremarkably lucky evening. Jama had still not returned to the camp, andhis big green tents with their varied delights stood empty, but therewere plenty of other diversions in the British camp. A group ofScottish officers, augmented by a sergeant who played the flute, gave aconcert, and though Torrance had no great taste for chamber music hefound the melodies were in tune with his jaunty mood. Sharpe was gone,Torrance’s debts were paid, he had survived, and he had strolled onfrom the concert to the cavalry lines where he knew he would find agame of whist. Torrance had succeeded in taking fifty-three guineasfrom an irascible major and another twelve from a whey-cheeked ensignwho kept scratching his groin.“If you’ve got the pox,” the Major had finally said, ‘then get the hellto a surgeon.“It’s lice, sir.
“Then for Christ’s sake stop wriggling. You’re distracting me.“Scratch on,” Torrance had said, laying down a winning hand. He hadyawned, scooped up the coins, and bid his partners a good night.“It’s devilish early,” the Major had grumbled, wanting a chance to winhis money back.“Duty,” Torrance had said vaguely, then he had strolled to the merchantencampment and inspected the women who fanned themselves in the torridnight heat. An hour later, well pleased with himself, he had returnedto his quarters. His servant squatted on the porch, but he waved theman away.Sajit was still at his candle-lit desk, unclogging his pen of the soggypaper scraps that collected on the nib. He stood, touched his inkyhands together and bowed as Torrance entered.
“Sahib.“All well?“All is well, sahib. Tomorrow’s chitties He pushed a pile of papersacross the desk.“I’m sure they’re in order,” Torrance said, quite confident that hespoke true. Sajit was proving to be an excellent clerk. He went tothe door of his quarters, then turned with a frown.“Your uncle hasn’t come back?“Tomorrow, sahib, I’m sure.“Tell him I’d like a word. But not if he comes tonight. I don’t wantto be disturbed tonight.
“Of course not, sahib.” Sajit offered another bow as Torrancenegotiated the door and the muslin screen.The Captain shot the iron bolt, then chased down the few moths that hadmanaged to get past the muslin. He lit a second lamp, piled thenight’s winnings on the table, then called for Clare. She came sleepyeyed from the kitchen.‘75”Arrack, Brick,” Torrance ordered, then peeled off his coat while Clareun stoppered a fresh jar of the fierce spirit. She kept her eyesaverted as Torrance stripped himself naked and lay back in hishammock.“You could light me a hookah, Brick,” he suggested, ‘then sponge medown. Is there a clean shirt for the morning?“Of course, sir.“Not the darned one?“No, sir.
“He turned his head to stare at the coins which glittered so prettily inthe smoky lamplight. In funds again! Winning! Perhaps his luck hadturned. It seemed so. He had lost so much money at cards in the lastmonth that he had thought nothing but ruin awaited him, but now thegoddess of fortune had turned her other cheek. Rule of halves, he toldhimself as he sucked on the hookah. Save half, gamble the otherhalf.Halve the winnings and save half again. Simple really. And now thatSharpe was gone he could begin some careful trading once more, thoughhow the market would hold up once the Mahrattas were defeated he couldnot tell. Still, with a slice of luck he might make sufficient moneyto set himself up in a comfortable civilian life in Madras.
Acarriage, a dozen horses and as many women servants. He would have anharem.He smiled at the thought, imagining his father’s disgust. An harem, acourtyard with a fountain, a wine cellar deep beneath his house thatshould be built close to the sea so that cooling breezes could waftthrough its windows. He would need to spend an hour or two at theoffice each week, but certainly not more for there were always Indiansto do the real work. The buggers would cheat him, of course, but thereseemed plenty of money to go around so long as a man did not gamble itaway. Rule of halves, he told himself again. The golden rule oflife.The sound of singing came from the camp beyond the village.Torrance did not recognize the tune, which was probably some Scottishsong. The sound drifted him back to his childhood when he had sung inthe cathedral choir. He grimaced, remembering the frosty mornings whenhe had run in the dark across the close and pushed open the cathedral’sgreat side door to be greeted by a clout over the ear because he waslate. The choristers’ cloudy breath had mingled with the smoke of theguttering candles. Lice under the robes, he remembered. He had caughthis first lice off a counter-tenor who had held him against a wallbehind a bishop’s tomb and hoisted his robe. I hope the bastard’sdead, he thought.Sajit yelped.“Quiet!” Torrance shouted, resenting being jarred from his reverie.There was silence again, and Torrance sucked on the hookah. He couldhear Clare pouring water in the yard and he smiled as he anticipatedthe soothing touch of the sponge. Someone, it had to be Sajit, tried to open the door from the frontroom.“Go away,” Torrance called, but then something hit the door a massiveblow. The bolt held, though dust sifted from crevices in the plasterwall either side of the frame. Torrance stared in shock, then twitchedwith alarm as another huge bang shook the door, and this time a chunkof plaster the size of a dinner plate fell from the wall.Torrance swung his bare legs out of the hammock. Where the devil werehis pistols?A third blow reverberated round the room, and this time the bracketholding the bolt was wrenched out of the wall and the door swung inonto the muslin screen. Torrance saw a robed figure sweep the screenaside, then he threw himself over the room and pawed through hisdiscarded clothes to find his guns.A hand gripped his wrist.“You won’t need that, sir,” a familiar voice said, and Torrance turned,wincing at the strength of the man’s grip.He saw a figure dressed in blood-spattered Indian robes, with a tulwarscabbarded at his waist and a face shrouded by a head cloth.
ButTorrance recognized his visitor and blanched.“Reporting for duty, sir,” Sharpe said, taking the pistol fromTorrance’s unresisting gripTorrance gaped. He could have sworn thatthe blood on the robe was fresh for it gleamed wetly. There was moreblood on a short-bladed knife in Sharpe’s hand. It dripped onto thefloor and Torrance gave a small pitiful mew.“It’s Sajit’s blood,” Sharpe said.“His penknife too.” He tossed the wet blade onto the table beside thegold coins.“Lost your tongue, sir?“Sharpe?“He’s dead, sir, Sharpe is,” Sharpe said.“He was sold to Jama, remember, sir? Is that the blood money?” Sharpeglanced at the rupees on the table. “Sharpe,” Torrance said again, somehow incapable of saying anythingelse.“I’m his ghost, sir,” Sharpe said, and Torrance did indeed look asthough a spectre had just broken through his door. Sharpe tutted andshook his head in self-reproof.“I’m not supposed to call you “sir”, am I, sir? On account of me beinga fellow officer and a gentleman. Where’s Sergeant Hakeswill?“Sharpe!” Torrance said once more, collapsing onto a chair.“We heard you’d been captured!“So I was, sir, but not by the enemy. Leastwise, not by any properenemy.” Sharpe examined the pistol.“This ain’t loaded. What were you hoping to do, sir? Beat me to deathwith the barrel?“My robe, Sharpe, please,” Torrance said, gesturing to where the silkrobe hung on a wooden peg.
“So where is Hakeswill, sir?” Sharpe asked. He had pushed back hishead cloth and now opened the pistol’s friz zen and blew dust off thepan before scraping at the layer of caked powder with a fingernail.“He’s on the road,” Torrance said.“Ah! Took over from me, did he? You should keep this pistol clean,sir. There’s rust on the spring, see? Shame to keep an expensive gunso shabbily. Are you sitting on your cartridge box?“Torrance meekly raised his bottom to take out his leather pouch whichheld the powder and bullets for his pistols. He gave the bag toSharpe, thought about fetching the robe himself, then decided that anyuntoward move might upset his visitor.“I’m delighted to see you’re alive, Sharpe,” he said.“Are you, sir?” Sharpe asked.“Of course.
“Then why did you sell me to Jama?“Sell you? Don’t be ridiculous, Sharpe. No!” The cry came as thepistol barrel whipped towards him, and it turned into a moan as thebarrel slashed across his cheek. Torrance touched his face and wincedat the blood on his fingers.“Sharpe’ he began.“Shut it, sir,” Sharpe said nastily. He perched on the table andpoured some powder into the pistol barrel.“I talked to Jama last night. He tried to have me killed by a coupleofjettis. You know what jet tis are, sir?Religious strongmen, sir, but they must have been praying to the wrongGod, for I cut one’s throat and left the other bugger blinded.” Hepaused to select a bullet from the pouch.
“And I had a chat withJama when I’d killed his thugs and he told me lots of interestingthings. Like that you traded with him and his brother. You’re atraitor, Torrance.“Sharpe-‘ “I said shut it!” Sharpe snapped. He pushed the bullet intothe pistol’s muzzle, then drew out the short ramrod and shoved it downthe barrel.“The thing is, Torrance,” he went on in a calmer tone, “I know thetruth. All of it. About you and Hakeswill and about you and Jama andabout you and Naig.” He smiled at Torrance, then slotted the shortramrod back into its hoops.“I used to think officers were above that sort of crime.
I knew themen were crooked, because I was crooked, but you don’t have muchchoice, do you, when you’ve got nothing?But you, sir, you had everything you wanted. Rich parents, properschooling.” Sharpe shook his head.“You don’t understand, Sharpe.“But I do, sir. Now look at me. My ma was a whore, and not a verygood one by all accounts, and she went and died and left me withnothing.Bloody nothing! And the thing is, sir, that when I go to GeneralWellesley and I tells him about you selling muskets to the enemy, who’she going to believe? You, with your proper education, or me with adead frow as a mother?” Sharpe looked at Torrance as though heexpected an answer, but none came.“He’s going to believe you, sir, isn’t he? He’d never believe me, onaccount of me not being a proper gentleman who knows his Latin. Andyou know what that means, sir?“Sharpe?“It means justice won’t be done, sir. But, on the other hand, you’re agentleman, so you knows your duty, don’t you?” Sharpe edged off thetable and gave the pistol, butt first, to Torrance.“Hold it just in front of your ear,” he advised Torrance, ‘or else putit in your mouth. Makes more mess that way, but it’s surer.“Sharpe!” Torrance said, and found he had nothing to say. The pistolfelt heavy in his hand.“It won’t hurt, sir,” Sharpe said comfortingly.“You’ll be dead in the blink of an eyelid.” He began scooping thecoins off the table into Torrance’s pouch. He heard the heavy click asthe pistol was cocked, then glanced round to see that the muzzle waspointing at his face.He frowned and shook his head in disappointment. “And I thought you were a gentleman, sir.“I’m not a fool, Sharpe,” Torrance said vengefully. He stood and tooka pace closer to the Ensign.“And I’m worth ten of you. Up from the ranks? You know what thatmakes you, Sharpe? It makes you a brute, a lucky brute, but it don’tmake you a real officer. You’re not going to be welcome anywhere,Sharpe. You’ll be endured, Sharpe, because officers have manners, butthey won’t welcome you because you ain’t a proper officer. You weren’tborn to it, Sharpe.” Torrance laughed at the look of horrified outrageon Sharpe’s face.“Christ, I despise you!” he said savagely.
“You’re like a dressed-up monkey, Sharpe, only you can’t even wearclothes properly! I could give you lace and braid, and you’d stilllook like a peasant, because that’s what you are, Sharpe. Officersshould have style! They should have wit!And all you can do is grunt. You know what you are, Sharpe? You’re anembarrassment, you’re ” He paused, trying to find the rightinsult, and shook his head in frustration as the words would notcome.“You’re a lump, Sharpe! That’s what you are, a lump! And the kindestthing is to finish you off.” Torrance smiled.“Goodbye, Mister Sharpe.” He pulled the trigger.The flint smashed down on the steel and the spark flashed into theempty pan.Sharpe reached out in the silence and took the pistol from Torrance’shand.“I loaded it, sir, but I didn’t prime it.
On account of the fact thatI might be a lump, but I ain’t any kind of fool.” He pushed Torranceback into the chair, and Torrance could only watch as Sharpe dropped apinch of powder into the pan. He flinched as Sharpe closed the frizzen then shuddered as Sharpe walked towards him.“No, Sharpe, no!“Sharpe stood behind Torrance.“You tried to have me killed, sir, and I don’t like that.” He pressedthe pistol into the side of the Captain’s head.“Sharpe!” Torrance pleaded. He was shaking, but he seemed powerlessto offer any resistance, then the muslin curtain from the kitchen wasswept aside and Clare Wall came into the room. She stopped and staredwith huge eyes at Sharpe.“Clare!” Torrance pleaded. “Fetch help! Quickly now!” Clare did not move.“Fetch help, my dear!” Torrance said.“She’ll be a witness against you, Sharpe.” Torrance had turned to lookat Sharpe and was babbling now.“So the best thing you can do is to put the gun down. I’ll say nothingabout this, nothing! Just a touch of fever in you, I expect. It’s alla misunderstanding and we shall forget it ever happened. Maybe wecould share a bottle of arrack? Clare, my dear, maybe you could find abottle?“Clare stepped towards Sharpe and held out her hand.“Fetch help, my dear,” Torrance said, ‘he’s not going to give you thegun.“He is,” Sharpe said, and he gave Clare the pistol.
Torrance breathed a great sigh of relief, then Clare clumsily turnedthe gun and pointed it at Torrance’s head. The Captain just stared ather.“Eyes front, Captain,” Sharpe said, and turned Torrance’s head so thatthe bullet would enter from the side, just as it might if Torrance hadcommitted suicide.“Are you sure?” he asked Clare.“God help me,” she said, ‘but I’ve dreamed of doing this.” Shestraightened her arm so that the pistol’s muzzle touched Torrance’stemple.“No!” he called.“No, please! No!“But she could not pull the trigger. Sharpe could see she wanted to,but her finger would not tighten and so Sharpe took the gun from her,edged her gently aside, then pushed the barrel into Torrance’s oiledhair.“No, please!” the Captain appealed.
He was weeping.“I beg you, Sharpe. Please!“Sharpe pulled the trigger, stepping back as a gush of blood spoutedfrom the shattered skull. The sound of the pistol had been hugely loudin the small room that was now hazed with smoke.Sharpe knelt and pushed the pistol into Torrance’s dead hand, thenpicked up the pouch with its gold and thrust it into Clare’s hands.“We’re going,” he told her, ‘right now.“She understood the haste and, without bothering to fetch any of herbelongings, followed him back into the outer room where Sajit’s bodylay slumped over the table. His blood had soaked the chitties Clarewhimpered when she saw the blood.“I didn’t really mean to kill him,” Sharpe explained, ‘then realizedhe’d be a witness if I didn’t.” He saw the fear on Clare’s face. “I trust you, love. You and me? We’re the same, aren’t we? So comeon, let’s get the hell out of here.“Sharpe had already taken the three jewels from Sajit and he added thoseto the pouch of gold, then went to the porch where Ahmed stood guard.No one seemed to have been alarmed by the shot, but it was not wise tolinger.“I’ve got you some gold, Ahmed,” Sharpe said.“Gold!“You know that word, you little bugger, don’t you?” Sharpe grinned,then took Clare’s hand and led her into the shadows. A dog barkedbriefly, a horse whinnied from the cavalry lines, and afterwards therewas silence.
CHAPTER 7
Dodd needed to practise with the rifle and so, on the day that theBritish reached the top of the high escarpment, he settled himself insome rocks at the top of the cliff and gauged the range to the party ofsepoys who were levelling the last few yards of the road. Unlike amusket, the rifle had proper sights, and he set the range at twohundred yards, then propped the barrel in a stone cleft and aimed at ablue-coated engineer who was standing just beneath the sweating sepoys.A gust of wind swept up the cliffs, driving some circling buzzards highup into the air.
Dodd waited until the wind settled, then squeezed the trigger.The rifle slammed into his shoulder with surprising force. The smokeblotted his view instantly, but another billow of wind carried it awayand he was rewarded by the sight of the engineer bent double. Hethought he must have hit the man, but then saw the engineer had beenpicking up his straw hat that must have fallen as he reacted to theclose passage of the spinning bullet. The engineer beat dust from thehat against his thigh and stared up at the drifting patch of smoke.Dodd wriggled back out of view and reloaded the rifle. It was hardwork. The barrel of a rifle, unlike a musket, had spiralling groovescast into the barrel to spin the bullet. The spin made the weaponextraordinarily accurate, but the grooves resisted the rammer, and theresistance was made worse because the bullet, if it was to be spun bythe grooves, had to fit the barrel tightly. Dodd wrapped a bullet inone of the small greased leather patches that gave the barrel purchase,then grunted as he shoved the ramrod hard down.
One of the Mahrattacavalrymen who escorted Dodd on his daily rides shouted a warning, andDodd peered over the rock to see that a company of sepoy infantry wasscrambling to the top of the slope. The first of them were already onthe plateau and coming towards him. He primed the rifle, settled it onthe makeshift fire step again and reckoned that he had not allowed forthe effect of the wind on the last bullet. He aimed at the sepoys’officer, a man whose small round spectacles reflected the sun, and,letting the barrel edge slightly windwards, he fired again.The rifle hammered back onto his shoulder. Smoke billowed as Dodd ranto his horse and clambered into the saddle. He slung the rifle, turnedthe horse and saw that the red-coated officer was on the ground withtwo of his men kneeling beside him. He grinned. Two hundred paces!A wild volley of musketry followed the Mahratta horsemen as they rodewestwards towards Gawilghur. The balls rattled on rocks or whistledoverhead, but none of the cavalrymen was touched. After half a mileDodd stopped, dismounted and reloaded the rifle. A troop of sepoycavalry was climbing the last few yards of the road, the men walking asthey led their horses around the final steep bend. Dodd found anotherplace to rest the rifle, then waited for the cavalry to approach alongthe cliff’s edge.He kept the sights at two hundred yards. He knew that was very longrange, even for a rifle, but if he could hit at two hundred yards thenhe was confident of killing at a hundred or at fifty.“Sahib!” The commander of his escort was worried by the more numeroussepoy cavalry who had now mounted and were trotting towards them.“In a minute,” Dodd called back. He picked his target, anotherofficer, and waited for the man to ride into the rifle’s sights. Thewind was fitful.It gusted, blowing dust into Dodd’s right eye and making him blink. Sweat trickled down his face. The approaching cavalry had sabres drawnand the blades glittered in the sun. One man carried a dusty pennanton a short staff. They came raggedly, twisting between the rocks andlow bushes. Their horses kept their heads low, tired after the effortof climbing the steep hill.The officer curbed his horse to let his men catch up. The wind died tonothing and Dodd squeezed the trigger and flinched as the heavy stockslammed into his bruised shoulder.“Sahib!“We’re going,” Dodd said, and he put his left foot into the stirrup andheaved himself into the saddle. A glance behind showed a riderlesshorse and a score of men spurring forward to take revenge. Doddlaughed, slung the rifle, and kicked his horse into a canter.
He hearda shout behind as the sepoy cavalry were urged into the pursuit, butDodd and his escort were mounted on fresh horses and easily outstrippedthe sepoys.Dodd curbed his horse on the neck of rocky land that led to Gawilghur’sOuter Fort. The walls were thick with men who watched the enemy’sapproach, and the sight of those spectators gave Dodd an idea. Hethrew the rifle to the commander of his escort.“Hold it for me!“he ordered, then turned his horse to face the pursuing horsemen. Hewaved his escort on towards the fortress and drew his sword. It was abeautiful weapon, European made, then sent to India where craftsmen hadgiven it a hilt of gold shaped like an elephant’s head. The escortcommander, charged with protecting Dodd’s life, wanted to stay, butDodd insisted he ride on.“I’ll join you in five minutes,” he promised.Dodd barred the road. He glanced behind him once, just to check thatthe Outer Fort’s ramparts were crowded with men, then he looked back tothe approaching cavalry. They slowed as they reached the rock isthmus.They could have kept galloping, and Dodd would then have turned hishorse and outrun them, but instead they curbed their sweating horsesand just stood watching him from a hundred paces away. They knew whathe wanted, but Dodd saluted them with his sword just to make certainthey understood his challenge. A havildar urged his horse forward, butthen an English voice summoned him back and the man reluctantlyturned.The English officer drew his sabre. He had lost his hat in the gallopalong the edge of the clifF and had long fair hair that was matted withsweat and dirt. He wore a black and scarlet jacket and was mounted ona tall bay gelding that was white with sweat. He saluted Dodd byholding his sabre up, hilt before his face, then he touched thegelding’s flanks with the tips of his spurs and the horse walkedforward. Dodd spurred his own horse and the two slowly closed. TheEnglishman went into a trot, then clapped his heels to drive his horseinto a canter and Dodd saw the puffs of dust spurting from thegelding’s hooves. He kept his horse at a walk, only touching it into atrot at the very last second as the Englishman stood in his stirrups todeliver a scything cut with the sabre.Dodd tweaked the rein and his horse swerved to the left, then he wasturning it back right, turning it all the way, and the sabre had missedhis head by a scant two inches and he had not even bothered to parrywith his sword. Now he spurred the horse on, following the officer whowas trying to turn back, and the Englishman was still half turned,still tugging on the reins, as Dodd attacked. The sabre made anawkward parry that just managed to deflect the sword’s thrust. Doddhacked back as he passed, felt the blade thump home, then he hauled onthe reins and was turning again, and the Englishman was also turning sothat the two horses seemed to curl around each other, nose to tail, andthe sabre and sword rang together. Dodd was taller than his opponent,but the young Englishman, who was a lieutenant and scarce looked a dayover eighteen, was strong, and Dodd’s blow had hardly broken the weaveof his coat. He gritted his teeth as he hacked at Dodd, and Doddparried, parried again and the two blades locked, hilt against hilt,and Dodd heaved to try and throw the young man off balance.“You’re Dodd, aren’t you?” the Lieutenant said.“Seven hundred guineas to you, boy. “Traitor,” the young Englishman spat.Dodd heaved, then kicked the Lieutenant’s horse so that it movedforward and he tried to slash back with his disengaged sword, but theLieutenant turned the horse in again. The men were too close to fightproperly, close enough to smell each other’s breath. The Lieutenant’sstank of tobacco. They could hit their opponent with their swordhilts, but not use the blades’ lengths. If either horse had beenproperly schooled they could have been walked sideways away from theimpasse, but the horses would only go forward and Dodd was the first totake the risk by using his spurs. He used them savagely, startling hishorse so that it leaped ahead, and even so he flinched from theexpected slash as the sabre whipped towards his spine, but theLieutenant was slow and the blow missed.Dodd rode twenty paces up the track towards the watching sepoys, thenturned again. The Lieutenant was gaining confidence and he grinned asthe tall man charged at him. He lowered the sabre, using its pointlike a spearhead, and urged his weary gelding into a trot.
Dodd alsohad his sword at the lunge, elbow locked, and the two horses closed atfrightening speed and then, at the very last second,Dodd hauled on his rein and his horse went right, to the Lieutenant’sunguarded side, and he brought the sword back across his body and thencut it forward in one fluid motion so that the blade raked across theLieutenant’s throat. The sabre was still coming across to the parrywhen the blood spurted. The Lieutenant faltered and his horse stopped.The young man’s sword arm fell, and Dodd was turning. He camealongside his opponent whose jacket was now dark with blood, and herammed the sword into the Lieutenant’s neck a second time, this timepoint first, and the young man seemed to shake like a rat in aterrier’s jaws.Dodd hauled his sword free, then scabbarded it. He leaned over andtook the sabre from the dying man’s unresisting hand, then pushed theLieutenant so that he toppled from the horse. One of his feet wastrapped in a stirrup, but as Dodd seized the gelding’s rein and hauledit round towards the fortress, the boot fell free and the young man wasleft sprawling amidst his blood on the dusty road as Dodd led histrophy homewards.The Indians on the ramparts cheered. The sepoys spurred forward andDodd hurried ahead of them, but the Madrassi cavalrymen only rode asfar as their officer’s body where they dismounted. Dodd rode on,waving the captured sabre aloft.A gun fired from the fort and the ball screamed over the rocky isthmusto crash home among the cavalrymen gathered about their officer. Asecond gun fired, and suddenly the British cavalry and their riderlesshorses were running away and the cheers on the wall redoubled. ManuBappoo was on the big buttress close to the gatehouse and he firstpointed an admonitory finger at Dodd, chiding him for taking such arisk, then he touched his hands together, in thanks for Dodd’s victory,and finally raised his arms above his head to salute the hero. Doddlaughed and bowed his head in acknowledgement and saw, to his surprise,that his white coat was red with the Lieutenant’s blood.“Who would have thought the young man had so much blood in him?” heasked the leader of his escort at the fortress gate.“Sahib?” the man answered, puzzled.“Never mind.” Dodd took the rifle back, then spurred his horse intoGawilghur’s Delhi Gate. The men on the ramparts that edged the pavedentranceway cheered him home. He did not pause to speak to Manu Bappoo, but instead rode through theOuter Fortress and out of its southern gate, then led his capturedhorse down the steep path which slanted across the face of the ravine.At the bottom the path turned sharply to the left before climbing tothe Inner Fort’s massive gateway. The four heavy gates that barred theentranceway were all opened for him, and the hooves of his two horsesechoed from the high walls as he clattered up the winding passage. Oneby one the gates crashed shut behind and the thick locking bars weredropped into their brackets.His groom waited beyond the last gate. Dodd swung down from his horseand gave both reins to the man, ordering him to water the capturedhorse before he rubbed it down. He handed his sword to his servant andtold him to clean the blood from the blade and only then did he turn toface Beny Singh who had come waddling from the palace garden. TheKilladar was dressed in a green silk robe and was attended by twoservants, one to hold a parasol above Beny Singh’s perfumed head andthe other clasping the Killadar’s small white lap dog.“The cheering,” Beny Singh asked anxiously, ‘what was it? The gunswere firing?” He stared in horror at the blood soaked into Dodd’scoat.“You’re wounded, Colonel?“There was a fight,” Dodd said, and waited while one of the servantstranslated for the Killadar.
Dodd spoke a crude Marathi, but it waseasier to use interpreters.“The djinns are here!” Beny Singh wailed. The dog whimpered and thetwo servants looked nervous.“I killed a djinn,” Dodd snarled. He reached out and took hold of BenySingh’s plump hand and forced it against his wet coat.“It isn’t my blood.But it is fresh.” He rubbed the Killadar’s hand into the gory patch,then raised the plump fingers to his mouth. Keeping his eyes on BenySingh’s eyes, he licked the blood from the Killadar’s hand.“I am a djinn, Killadar,” Dodd said, letting go of the hand, ‘and I lapthe blood of my enemies. “Beny Singh recoiled from the clammy touch of the blood. He shuddered,then wiped his hand on his silk robe.“When will they assault?“A week?” Dodd guessed.“And then they will be defeated.“But what if they get in?” Beny Singh asked anxiously.“Then they will kill you,” Dodd said, ‘and afterwards rape your wife,your concubines and your daughters. They’ll line up for the pleasure,Killadar. They’ll rut like hogs,” and Dodd grunted like a pig andjerked his groin forward, driving Beny Singh back.“They won’t!” the Killadar declared.“Because they won’t get in,” Dodd said, ‘because some of us are men,and we will fight.
“I have poison!” Beny Singh said, not comprehending Dodd’s lastwords.“If they look like winning, Colonel, you’ll send me word?“Dodd smiled.“You have my promise, sahib,” he said with a pretended humility.“Better my women should die,” Beny Singh insisted.“Better that you should die,” Dodd said, ‘unless you want to be forcedto watch the white djinns take their pleasure on your dying women.“They wouldn’t!“What else do they want in here?” Dodd asked.“Have they not heard of the beauty of your women? Each night they talkof them around their fires, and every day they dream of their thighsand their breasts. They can’t wait, Killadar. The pleasures of yourwomen pull the redcoats towards us.“Beny Singh fled from the horrid words and Dodd smiled.
He had come torealize that only one man could command here. Beny Singh was thefortress commander and though he was a despicable coward he was also afriend of the Rajah’s, and that friendship ensured the loyalty of muchof Gawilghur’s standing garrison. The rest of the fortress defenderswere divided into two camps. There were Manu Bappoo’s soldiers, led bythe remnants of the Lions of Allah and loyal to the Prince, and Dodd’sCobras. But if only one of the three leaders was left, then that manwould rule Gawilghur, and whoever ruled Gawilghur could rule allIndia.Dodd touched the stock of the rifle. That would help, and Beny Singh’sabject terror would render the Killadar harmless. Dodd smiled andclimbed to the ramparts from where, with a telescope, he watched theBritish heave the first gun up to the edge of the plateau. A week, hethought, maybe a day more, and then the British would come to hisslaughter. And make his wildly ambitious dreams come true. “The fellow was using a rifle!” Major Stokes said in wonderment. “Ido declare, a rifle! Can’t have been anything else at that range. Twohundred paces if it was an inch, and he fanned my head! A muchunderestimated weapon, the rifle, don’t you think?“A toy,” Captain Morris said.“Nothing will replace muskets.“But the accuracy!” Stokes declared.“Soldiers can’t use rifles,” Morris said.“It would be like giving knives and forks to hogs.” He twisted in thecamp chair and gestured at his men, the 33rd’s Light Company.“Look at them! Half of them can’t work out which end of a musket iswhich. Useless buggers.
Might as well arm the bastards with pikes.“If you say so,” Stokes said disapprovingly. His road had reached theplateau and now he had to begin the construction of the breachingbatteries, and the 33rd’s Light Company, which had escorted Stokesnorth from Mysore, had been charged with the job of protecting thesappers who would build the batteries. Captain Morris had been unhappywith the orders, for he would have much preferred to have been sentback south rather than be camped by the rock isthmus that promised tobe such a lively place in these next few days. There was a chance thatGawilghur’s garrison might sally out to destroy the batteries, and evenif that danger did not materialize, it was a certainty that theMahratta gunners on the Outer Fort’s walls would try to break down thenew works with cannon fire.Sergeant Hakeswill approached Stokes’s tent. He looked distracted, somuch so that his salute was perfunctory.“You heard the news, sir?” He spoke to Morris.Morris squinted up at the Sergeant.“News,” he said heavily, ‘news?Can’t say I have, Sergeant. The enemy has surrendered, perhaps?“Nothing so good, sir, nothing so good.“You look pale, man!” Stokes said.“Are you sickening?“Heart-sick, sir, that’s what I am in my own self, sir, heart-sick.“Sergeant Hakeswill sniffed heavily, and even cuffed at a non-existenttear on his twitching cheek.“Captain Torrance,” he announced, ‘is dead, sir.” The Sergeant tookoff his shako and held it against his breast.“Dead, sir.“Dead?” Stokes said lightly. He had not met Torrance.“Took his own life, sir, that’s what they do say. He killed his clerkwith a knife, then turned his pistol on himself The Sergeantdemonstrated the action by pretending to point a pistol at his own headand pulling the trigger. He sniffed again.“And he was as good an officer as ever I did meet, and I’ve known manyin my time. Officers and gentlemen, like your own good self, sir,” hesaid to Morris.Morris, as unmoved by Torrance’s death as Stokes, smirked.“Killed his clerk, eh? That’ll teach the bugger to keep a tidyledger.“They do say, sir,” Hakeswill lowered his voice, ‘that he must havebeen unnatural.“Unnatural?” Stokes asked.“With his clerk, sir, pardon me for breathing such a filthy thing.Him and the clerk, sir. “Cos he was naked, see, the Captain was, and the clerk was a handsomeboy, even if he was a blackamoor. He washed a lot, and the Captainliked that.“Are you suggesting it was a lovers’ tiff?” Morris asked, thenlaughed.“No, sir,” Hakeswill said, turning to stare across the plateau’s edgeinto the immense sky above the Deccan Plain, ‘because it weren’t. TheCaptain weren’t ever unnatural, not like that. It weren’t a lovers’tiff, sir, not even if he was naked as a needle. The Captain, sir, heliked to go naked. Kept him cool, he said, and kept his clothes clean,but there weren’t nothing strange in it. Not in him. And he weren’t aman to be filthy and unnatural.
He liked the bibb is he did. He was aChristian. A Christian gentleman, that’s what he was, and he didn’tkill himself. I knows who killed him, I do.“Morris gave Stokes a shrug, as if Hakeswill’s maunderings were beyondunderstanding.“But the nub of the thing is, sir’ – Hakeswill turned back to faceMorris and stood to attention ‘that I ain’t with the bullocks no more,sir. I’ve got orders, sir, to be back with you where I belongs, sir,seeing as some other officer has got Captain Torrance’s duties and hedidn’t want me no more on account of having his own sergeant.” Hereplaced his shako, then saluted Morris.“Under orders, sir! With Privates Kendrick and Lowry, sir. Othershave taken over our bullocking duties, sir, and we is back with youlike we always wanted to be. Sir!“Welcome back, Sergeant,” Morris said laconically.“I’m sure the company will be overjoyed at your return.“I knows they will, sir,” Hakeswill said.“I’m like a father to them, sir, I am,” Hakeswill added to Stokes.Stokes frowned.“Who do you think killed Captain Torrance, Sergeant?” he asked, andwhen Hakeswill said nothing, but just stood with his face twitching,the Major became insistent.“If you know, man, you must speak! This is a crime! You have a dutyto speak.“Hakeswill’s face wrenched itself.“It were him, sir.” The Sergeant’s eyes widened. “It were Sharpie, sir!“Stokes laughed.“Don’t be so absurd, man. Poor Sharpe is a prisoner!He’s locked away in the fortress, I’ve no doubt.“That’s what we all hear, sir,” Hakeswill said, ‘but I knows better.“A touch of the sun,” Morris explained to Stokes, then waved theSergeant away.“Put your kit with the company, Sergeant. And I’m glad you’re back.“Touched by your words, sir,” Hakeswill said fervently, ‘and I’m gladto be home, sir, back in me own kind where I belong.” He salutedagain, then swivelled on his heel and marched away.:“Salt of the earth,” Morris said.
Major Stokes, from his brief acquaintance with Hakeswill, was not sure of that verdict, but he said nothing. Instead he wandered a few paces northwards to watch the sappers who were busy scraping at the plateau’s thin soil to fill gabions that had been newly woven fromgreen bamboo. The gab ions great wicker baskets stuffed with earth,would be stacked as a screen to soak up the enemy gunfire while thebattery sites were being levelled. Stokes had already decided to dothe initial work at night, for the vulnerable time for making batteriesclose to a fortress was the first few hours, and at night the enemygunfire was, likely to be inaccurate.The Major was making four batteries. Two, the breaching ones, would beconstructed far down the isthmus among an outcrop of great blackboulders that lay less than a quarter-mile from the fortress. Therocks, with the gab ions would provide the gunners some protection:from the fortress’s counter-fire. Sappers, hidden from the fort by thelie of the land, were already driving a road to the proposed site ofthe breaching guns. Two other batteries would be constructed to theeast of the isthmus, on the edge of the plateau, and those guns wouldenfilade the growing breaches.There would be three breaches.
That decision had been made whenStokes, early in the dawn, had crept as close to the fortress as he haddared and, hidden among the tumbled rocks above the half-filled tank,had examined the Outer Fort’s wall through his telescope. He hadstared a long time, counting the gun embrasures and trying to estimatehow many men were stationed on the bastions and fire steps Those weredetails that did not really concern him for Stokes’s business wasconfined to breaking the walls, but what he saw encouraged him.There were two walls, both built on the steep slope which faced the, plateau. The slope was so steep that the base of the inner wallshowed high above the parapet of the outer wall, and that was excellentnews, for making a breach depended on being able to batter the base ofa wall.These walls, built so long ago, had never been designed to stopartillery, but to deter men. Stokes knew he could lay his guns so thatthey would hammer both walls at once, and that when the ancientstonework crumbled, the rubble would spill forward down the slope tomake natural ramps up which the attackers could climb.The masonry seemed to have stayed largely unrepaired since it had beenbuilt. Stokes could tell that, for the dark stones were covered withgrey lichen and thick with weeds growing from the gaps between theblocks. The walls looked formidable, for they were high and wellprovided with massive bastions that would let the defenders provideflanking fire, but Stokes knew that the dressed stone of the two walls’outer faces merely disguised a thick heart of piled rubble, and oncethe facing masonry was shattered the rubble would spill out. A fewshots would then suffice to break the inner faces. Two days’ work, hereckoned. Two days of hard gunnery should bring the walls tumblingdown.Stokes had not made his reconnaissance alone, but had been accompaniedby Lieutenant Colonel William Kenny of the East India Company who wouldlead the assault on the breaches. Kenny, a lantern jawed and taciturnman, had lain beside Stokes.“Well?” he had finally asked after Stokes had spent a silent fiveminutes examining the walls.“Two days’ work, sir,” Stokes said. If the Mahrattas had taken thetrouble to build a glacis it would have been two weeks’ work, but suchwas their confidence that they had not bothered to protect the base ofthe outer wall.Kenny grunted.“If it’s that easy, then give me two holes in the inner wall.“Not the outer?” Stokes asked. “One will serve me there,” Kenny said, putting an eye to his owntelescope.“A good wide gap in the nearer wall, Stokes, but not too near the maingate.“We shall avoid that,” the Major said. The main gate lay to the leftso that the approach to the fortress was faced by high walls andbastions rather than by a gate vulnerable to artillery fire. However,this gate was massively defended by bastions and towers, whichsuggested it would be thick with defenders.“Straight up the middle,” Kenny said, wriggling back from hisviewpoint.“Give me a breach to the right of that main bastion, and two on eitherside of it through the inner wall, and we’ll do the rest.“It would be easy enough to break down the walls, but Stokes stillfeared for Kenny’s men. Their approach was limited by the existence ofthe great reservoir that lay on the right of the isthmus. The waterlevel was low, and scummed green, but the tank still constricted theassault route so that Kenny’s men would be squeezed between the waterand the sheer drop to the left.
That slender space, scarce more thanfifty feet at its narrowest, would be furious with gunfire, much of itcoming from the fire steps above and around the main gate that flankedthe approach.Stokes had already determined that his enfilading batteries shouldspare some shot for that gate in an attempt to unseat its cannon andunsettle its defenders.Now, under the midday sun, the Major wandered among the sappers fillingthe gab ions He tested each one, making certain that the sepoys i,were ramming the earth hard into the wicker baskets, for a looselyfilled gabion was no use. The finished gab ions were being stacked onox carts, while other carts piled with powder and shot waited nearby.All was being done properly, and the Major stared out across theplateau where the newly arrived troops were making their camp. The |closest tents, ragged and makeshift, belonged to a troop of Mahratta jhorsemen who had allied themselves with the British. Stokes, watchingi the robed guards who sat close to the tents, decided it would be bestif he locked his valuables away and made sure his servant kept an eyeon the trunk. The rest of the Mahratta horsemen had trottednorthwards, going to seek springs or wells, for it was dry up here onthe plateau. Dry and cooler than on the plain, though it was stilldamned hot. Dust devils whirled between the farther tent rows wheremuskets were stacked in neat tripods. Some shirt sleeved officers,presumably from the East India Company battalions, were playing cricketon a smoother stretch of turf, watched by bemused sepoys and men fromthe Scotch Brigade.“Not their game, sir, is it, sir?” Hakeswill’s voice disturbedStokes.The Major turned.“Eh?“Cricket, sir. Too complicated for blackamoors and Scotchmen, sir, onaccount of it being a game that needs brains, sir.“Do you play, Sergeant?“Me, sir? No, sir. No time for frittering, sir, being as I’m asoldier back to front, sir.“It does a man good to have a pastime,” Stokes said.“Your Colonel, now, he plays the violin.“Sir Arthur does, sir?” Hakeswill said, plainly not believingStokes. “He’s never done it near me, sir.“I assure you he does,” Stokes said. He was irritated by Hakeswill’spresence. He disliked the man intensely, even though Hakeswill hadspent only a short time as Sharpe’s substitute.“So what is it, Sergeant?“Hakeswill’s face twitched.“Come to be of use to you, sir.“The reply puzzled Stokes.“I thought you’d been returned to company duties?“That I am, sir, and not before time. But I was thinking of poorSharpie, sir, as you tell me he languishes in the heathens’ jail, sir,which I did not know, sir, until you told me.“Stokes shrugged.
“He’s probably being fairly treated. The Mahrattas aren’t renowned forbeing unduly cruel to prisoners.“I was wondering if he left his pack with you, sir?“Why would he do that?” Stokes asked.“I was just wondering, sir. Officers don’t like carrying their baggageeverywhere, sir, not if they want to keep their dignity, and if he didleave his pack with you, sir, then I thought as how we might relieveyou of the responsibility, sir, seeing as how Mister Sharpe was acomrade of ours for so long. That’s what I was thinking, sir.“Stokes bridled, but was not certain why.“It isn’t a heavy responsibility, Sergeant.“Never thought it was, sir, but it might be a nuisance to you, sir,seeing as how you’re charged with other duties, and I would relieve youof the responsibility, sir.“Stokes shook his head.
“As it happens, Sergeant, Mister Sharpe did leave his pack with me, andI promised him I would keep it safe, and I’m not a man to breakpromises, Sergeant. I shall keep it.“As you chooses, sir!” Hakeswill said sourly.“Just thought it was a Christian act, sir.” He turned and marchedaway. Stokes watched him, then shook his head and turned back to gazeat the growing encampment.Tonight, he thought, tonight we shall make the batteries, and tomorrowthe big guns will be hauled forward. Another day to fill the magazineswith powder and shot and then the stone-breaking could begin. Two daysof battering, of dust and rubble and smoke, and then the cricketerscould lead the charge across the isthmus. Poor men, Stokes thought,poor men.
“I hate night actions,” Captain Morris complained to Hakeswill.“Because of Serry-apatam, sir? A right dog’s mess, that was.” Thebattalion had attacked a wood outside Seringapatam by night and thecompanies had become separated, some became lost, and the enemy hadpunished them.Morris attached his scabbard to its slings and pulled his hat on. Itwas dark outside, and soon the oxen would drag the gab ions forward tothe position Stokes had chosen for the breaching batteries. It wouldbe a prime moment for the enemy to sally out of the fortress, so Morrisand his company must form a picquet line ahead of the proposedbatteries.They must watch the fortress and, if an attack was made, they mustresist it, then slowly fall back, protecting the sappers until thereserve troops, a battalion of sepoys, could be brought forward fromthe plateau. With any luck, Morris fervently hoped, the enemy wouldstay in bed.“Evening, Morris!” Major Stokes was indecently cheerful.“Your lads are ready?“They are, sir.
“Stokes led Morris a few yards from his tent and stared towards thefortress that was nothing but a dark shape in the night beyond thecloser blackness of the rocks.“The thing is,” Stokes said, ‘that they’re bound to see our lanternsand must hear the carts, so they’re liable to unleash a pretty furiousartillery barrage. Maybe rockets as well. But take no heed of it.Your only job is to watch for infantry coming from the gate.“I know, sir.“So don’t use your muskets! I hear musket fire, Captain, and I thinkinfantry. Then I send for the Madrassi lads, and the next moment thewhole place is swarming with redcoats who can’t tell who’s who in thedark. So no firing, you understand? Unless you see enemy infantry.Then send a message to me, fight the good fight and wait forsupport.
“Morris grunted. He had been told this twice already, and did not needthe instructions a third time, but he still turned to the company whichwas paraded and ready.“No one’s to fire without my express permission, you understand?“They understands, sir,” Hakeswill answered for the company.“One musket shot without permission and the culprit’s earned himself askinned back, sir.“Morris took the company forward, following the old road that leddirectly to the gateway of the Outer Fort. The night was horriblydark, and within a few paces of leaving the engineers’ encampment,Morris could hardly see the road at all. His men’s boots scuffed loudon the hard-packed stones. They went slowly, feeling their way andusing what small light came from the merest sliver of moon that hunglike a silver blade above Gawilghur.“Permission to speak, sir?” Hakeswill’s hoarse voice sounded close toMorris.“Not too loud, Sergeant.
“Like a mouse, sir, quiet I will be, but, sir, if we’re here, does thatmean we’ll be joining the assault on the fort, sir?“God, no,” Morris said fervently.Hakeswill chuckled.“I thought I should ask, sir, on account of making a will.“A will?” Morris asked.“You need a will?“I have some wealth,” Hakeswill said defensively. And soon, hereckoned, he would have even more, for he had cleverly confirmed hissurmise that Sharpe’s missing pack was in Major Stokes’s keeping.“You have some wealth, do you?” Morris asked sarcastically.“And who the hell will you leave it to?“Your own self, sir, if you’ll forgive me, sir. No family, apart fromthe army, sir, which is mother’s milk to me.“By all means make your will,” Morris said.
“Connors can draw one up for you.” Connors was the company clerk.“I trust, of course, that the document proves redundant.“Whatever that means, sir, I hopes the same.“The two men fell silent. The dark loom of the fortress was much closernow, and Morris was nervous. What was the point of this futileexercise anyway? He would be damned if he would be able to see anyenemy infantrymen, not in this pitch black, unless the fools decided tocarry a lantern. Some lights showed in Gawilghur. There was a glowabove the Outer Fort that must have been cast by the fires and lightsin the Inner Fort, while closer Morris could see a couple of flickeringpatches where fires or torches burned inside the nearer de fences Butthose scattered lights would not help him see an enemy force debouchingfrom the gate.“Far enough,” he called.
He was not really sure if he had gone closeenough to the fort, but he had no fancy to go further, and so hestopped and hissed at Hakeswill to spread the men westwards across theisthmus.“Five paces between each pair of men, Sergeant.“Five paces it is, sir.“If anyone sees or hears anything, they’re to pass the message backhere to me.“They’ll do so, sir.“And no fool’s to light a pipe, you hear me? Don’t want the enemyspraying us with canister because some blockhead needs tobacco.“Your orders is noted, sir. And where would you want me, sir?“Far end of the line, Sergeant.” Morris was the sole officer with thecompany, for both his lieutenant and ensign had the fever and so hadstayed in Mysore. But Hakeswill, he reckoned, was as good as anylieutenant. “You can order men to fire if you’re certain you see the enemy, but Godhelp you if you’re wrong.“Very good, sir,” Hakeswill said, then hissed at the men to spread out.They vanished into the blackness. For a moment there was the sound ofboots, the thump of musket stocks hitting rocks and the grunts as theredcoats settled, but then there was silence. Or near silence. Thewind sighed at the cliff’s edge while, from the fort, there drifted aplangent and discordant music that rose and fell with the wind’svagaries. Worse than bagpipes, Morris thought sourly.The first axle squeals sounded as the oxen dragged the gab ionsforward. The noise would be continuous now and, sooner or later, theenemy must react by opening fire. And what chance would he have ofseeing anything then, Morris wondered.
The gun flashes would blindhim.The first he would see of an enemy would be the glint of starlight on ablade. He spat. Waste of time.“Morris!” a voice hissed from the dark.“Captain Morris!“Here!” He turned towards the voice, which had come from behind him onthe road back to the plateau.“Here!“Colonel Kenny,” the voice said, still in a sibilant whisper.“Don’t mind me prowling around.“Of course not, sir.” Morris did not like the idea of a senior officercoming to the picquet line, but he could hardly send the man away. “Honoured to have you, sir,” he said, then hissed a warning to hismen.“Senior officer present, don’t be startled. Pass the word on.“Morris heard Kenny’s footsteps fade to his right. There was the lowmurmur of a brief conversation, then silence again, except for thedemonic squeal of the ox-cart axles. A moment later a lantern lightshowed from behind the rocks where Stokes was making one of his mainbatteries. Morris braced himself for the enemy reaction, but thefortress stayed silent.The noise grew louder as the sappers heaved the gab ions from the cartsand manhandled them up onto the rocks to form the thick bastion. A manswore, others grunted and the great baskets thumped on stone.Another lantern was unmasked, and this time the man carrying it steppedup onto the rocks to see where the gab ions were being laid.
A voiceordered him to get down.The fort at last woke up. Morris could hear footsteps hurrying alongthe nearer fire step and he saw a brief glow as a linstock was pluckedfrom a barrel and blown into red life.“Jesus,” he said under his breath, and a moment later the first gunfired. The flame stabbed bright as a lance from the walls, its glaremomentarily lighting all the rocky isthmus and the green-scummedsurface of the tank, before it was blotted out by the rolling smoke.The round shot screamed overhead, struck a rock and ricocheted wildlyup into the sky. A second gun fired, its flame lighting the firstsmoke cloud from within so that it seemed as if the wall of the fortwas edged with a brief vaporous luminance. The ball struck a gabion,breaking it apart in a spray of earth. A man groaned. Dogs werebarking in the British camp and inside the fortress. Morris stared towards the dark gateway. He could see nothing, becausethe guns’ flames had robbed him of his night vision. Or rather hecould see wraithlike shapes which he knew were more likely to be hisimagination than the approach of some savage enemy. The guns werefiring steadily now, aiming at the small patch of lantern light, butthen more lights, brighter ones, appeared to the west of the isthmus,‘99and some of the gunners switched their aim, not knowing that Stokes hadunveiled the second lights as a feint.Then the first rockets were fired, and they were even more dazzlingthan the guns. The fiery trails seemed to limp up from the fort’sbastions, seething smoke and sparks, then they leaped up into the air,wobbling in their flight, to sear over Morris’s head and slash northtowards the camp. None went near their targets, but their sound andthe flaming exhausts were nerve-racking. The first shells were fired,and they added to the night’s din as they cracked apart among the rocksto whistle shards of shattered casing over the struggling sappers. Thefiring was deliberate as the gun captains took care to lay their piecesbefore firing, but still there were six or seven shots every minute,while the rockets were more constant. Morris tried to use thebrightness of the rocket trails to see the ground between his hidingplace and the fort, but there was too much smoke, the shadows flickeredwildly, and his imagination made movement where there was none.
Heheld his fire, reckoning he would hear the gate open or the sound ofenemy footsteps. He could hear the defenders shouting on the wall,either calling insults to the enemy hidden in the dark or elseencouraging each other.Hakeswill, at the very right-hand end of the line, cowered among therocks. He had been sheltering with Kendrick and Lowry, but the enemycannonade had driven him still further right to where there was a deepcleft. He knew he was safe there, but even so every screaming rocketmade him flinch, while the sound of the shells exploding and the roundshots cracking against stone made him draw his knees up into his chest.He knew there was a senior officer visiting the picquet line becausethe message telling of the Colonel’s presence had been passed down theline. Kenny’s visit struck Hakeswill as a daft thing for any man withgold braid on his coat to do, but when the Colonel hissed his namealoud he kept silent. At least he assumed it was the visiting officer,for the summons was insistent and authoritative, but Hakeswill ignoredit. He did not want to draw attention to himself in case the heathenblackamoor gunners aimed their cannon at him. Let the officer hissaway, he decided, and a moment later the man went away. “Who are you?” a low voice asked Private Kendrick just a few yardsfrom Hakeswill’s hiding place.“Kendrick, sir.“To me, Private. I need your help.“Kendrick slipped back towards the voice. Bastard interfering officer,he thought, but he had to obey.“Where are you, sir?” he asked.“Here, man! Hurry, now, hurry!“Kendrick slipped on a slanting stone and sat down with a bump. Arocket slashed overhead, spewing fire and sparks, and in its brieflight he saw a shadow above him, then felt a blade at his throat.“One noise,” the voice hissed, ‘and you’re dead.
“Kendrick went very still. He did not make any noise at all, but hestill died.A lucky shell struck a pair of oxen, disembowelling the beasts thatlowed pitifully as they collapsed onto the road.“Get them out of the way!” a voice roared, and sepoys struggled withthe massive animals, cutting their harnesses and pulling the dyingbeasts into the rocks.Other men ran the empty cart back to the encampment, making way for thenext wagon to drag more gab ions forward.“Kill them!” the officer ordered.“Use your bayonets! No musket fire!” The sepoys finished off theoxen, stabbing again and again into their thick necks while the bloodyhooves thrashed violently. Another shell landed nearby, slicing itsfragments among the rocks. The road was slippery with spilled gutsover which the next cart rolled impassively, its axle screeching like ademon.“All well, soldier?” a voice asked Private Lowry.
“Yes, sir.“I’m Colonel Kenny,” the man said, dropping down beside Lowry.“Yes, sir,” Lowry acknowledged nervously.“See anything?“Nothing, sir,” Lowry said, then gasped as he felt a blade at histhroat.“Where’s Hakeswill?” the voice hissed in his ear, and Lowry suddenlyknew this was not Colonel Kenny who had him in a tight grip.“Dunno, sir,” Lowry said, then began to cry out, but the cry was cutoff as the blade sawed deep into his gullet.A ball, fired low, struck plumb on the great boulder that shelteredHakeswill and the Sergeant whimpered as he tried to wriggle deeper intothe cleft. A rocket landed thirty paces behind him and began to chaseits tail, whirling about on the turf, scattering sparks, until itfinally lodged against a rock and burned itself out in a display ofsmall blue flames. Another round shot hammered into the gab ions butnow they were well stacked and the ball’s impact was soaked up by thetight packed soil.A whistle blew from the battery site, then blew twice more.
Morris,relieved by the sound, called to the men to his right.“Back to the road!Pass it on! Back to the road!” Thank God the worst of the ordeal wasover! Now he was supposed to withdraw to the battery, ready to protectit through the remaining hours of the dark night, but Morris knew hewould feel a good deal safer once he was behind the gab ions just as heknew that the cessation of the work would probably persuade theMahrattas to cease fire.“Close on me!” he called to his company.“Hurry!“The message was passed along the picquet line and the men ran at acrouch back to where Morris waited. They bumped into each other asthey gathered, then squatted as Morris called for Hakeswill.“Not here, sir,” Sergeant Green finally decided.“Count the men, Sergeant,” Morris ordered.Sergeant Green numbered the men off.“Three missing, sir,” he reported.“Hakeswill, Lowry and Kendrick. “Damn them,” Morris said. A rocket hissed up from the gatehouse,twisted in the night to leave a crazy trail of flame-edged smoke, thendived down to the left, far down, plunging into the ravine that edgedthe isthmus. The light of the exhaust flashed down the steep cliffs,finally vanishing a thousand feet below Morris. Two guns firedtogether, their balls hammering towards the fake lanterns. The batterylanterns had vanished, evidence that the sappers had finished theirwork.“Take the men to the battery,” Morris ordered Green.“Garrard? You stay with me.“Morris did not want to do anything heroic, but he knew he could notreport that he had simply lost three men, so he took Private TomGarrard west across the tumbled ground where the picquet line had beenstretched. They called out the names of the missing men, but no replycame.It was Garrard who stumbled over the first body.
“Don’t know who it is, sir, but he’s dead. Bloody mess, he is.“Morris swore and crouched beside the body. A rocket’s bright passageshowed him a slit throat and a spill of blood. It also revealed thatthe man had been stripped of his coat which lay discarded beside thecorpse. The sight of the gaping throat made Morris gag.“There’s another here, sir,” Garrard called from a few paces away.“Jesus!” Morris twisted aside, willing himself not to throw up, butthe bile was sour in his throat. He shuddered, then managed to take adeep breath.“We’re going.
“You want me to look for the other fellow, sir?” Garrard asked.“Come on!” Morris fled, not wanting to stay in this dark charnelhouse.Garrard followed.The gunfire died. A last rocket stitched sparks across the stars, thenGawilghur was silent again.Hakeswill cowered in his hiding place, shuddering as the occasionalflare of an exploding shell or passing rocket cast lurid shadows intothe narrow cleft. He thought he heard Lowry call aloud, but the soundwas so unexpected, and so quickly over, he decided it was his nerves.Then, blessedly, he heard the whistle that signalled that the sapperswere done with their work, and a moment later he heard the messagebeing called along the line.“Back to the road! Back to the road!“The rockets and guns were still battering the night, so Hakeswillstayed where he was until he sensed that the fury of the fire wasdiminishing, then he crept out of his cleft and, still keeping low,scuttled eastwards.“Hakeswill!” a voice called nearby.
He froze.“Hakeswill?” The voice was insistent.Some instinct told the Sergeant that there was mischief in the dark,and so Hakeswill crouched lower still. He heard something moving inthe night, the scrape of leather on stone, the sound of breathing, butthe man did not come close to Hakeswill who, petrified, edged onanother pace. His hand, feeling the ground ahead of him, suddenlyfound something wet and sticky. He flinched, brought his fingers tohis nose and smelt blood.“Jesus,” he swore under his breath. He groped again, and this timefound a corpse. His hands explored the face, the open mouth, thenfound the gaping wound in the neck. He jerked his hand back.
It had to be Lowry or Kendrick, for this was about where he had leftthe two privates, and if they were dead, or even if only one of themwas dead, then it meant that Captain Torrance’s death had been nolovers’ tiff. Not that Hakeswill had ever believed it was. He knewwho it was. Bloody Sharpe was alive. Bloody Sharpe was hunting hisenemies, and three, maybe four, were already dead. And Hakeswill knewhe would be next.“Hakeswill!” the voice hissed, but farther away now.A gun fired from the fort and in its flash Hakeswill saw a cloakedshape to his north. The man was crossing the skyline, not far fromHakeswill, but at least he was going away. Sharpe! It had to beSharpe!And a terror grew in Hakeswill so that his face twitched and his handsshook.
“Think, you bugger,” he told himself, ‘think!“And the answer came, a sweet answer, so obvious that he wondered why hehad taken so long to find it.Sharpe was alive, he was not a prisoner in Gawilghur, but haunting theBritish camp, which meant that there was one place that would beutterly safe for Hakeswill to go. He could go to the fortress, andSharpe would never reach him there for the rumour in the camp was thatthe assault on Gawilghur was likely to be a desperate and bloodybusiness.Likely to fail, some men said, and even if it did not, Hakeswill couldalways pretend he had been taken prisoner. All he wanted at thismoment was to be away from Sharpe and so he sidled southwards, down thehill, and once he reached the flatter ground, he ran towards the nowdark walls of the fort through the drifting skeins of foul-smellingpowder smoke.He ran past the tank, along the approach road, and round to the leftwhere the great gatehouse loomed above him in the dark. And once therehe pounded on the massive, iron-studded doors.No one responded.He pounded again, using the butt of his musket, scared witless that thesound would bring an avenging horror from the dark behind, and suddenlya small wicket gate in the larger door was pulled open to flood flamelight into the night.“I’m a deserter!” Hakeswill hissed.
“I’m on your side!“Hands seized him and pulled him through the small doorway. A smokingtorch burned high on the wall to show Hakeswill the long, narrowentranceway, the dark ramparts, and the dark faces of the men who hadhim prisoner.“I’m on your side!” he shouted as the gate was closed behind him andhis musket was snatched away.“I’m on your side!“A tall, hawk-faced man strode down the stone road.“Who are you?“he asked in English.“I’m someone willing to fight for you, sir. Willing and able, sir. Oldsoldier, sir.“My name is Manu Bappoo,” the man said in a sibilant voice, ‘and Icommand here.“Very good, sir.
Sahib, I mean, very good.” Hakeswill bobbed hishead.“Hakeswill, sir, is my name. Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill.“Manu Bappoo stared at the redcoat. He disliked deserters. A man whodeserted his flag could not be trusted under any other flag, but thenews that a white soldier had run from the enemy ranks could onlyhearten his garrison. Better, he decided, to leave this man alive as awitness to the enemy’s crumbling morale than shoot him out of hand.“Take him to Colonel Dodd,” he ordered one of his men.“Give him back his firelock. He’s on our side.“So Hakeswill was inside Gawilghur and among the enemy. But he was safefrom the terror that had turned his life to sudden nightmare.He was safe from Sharpe. CHAPTER 8
The sappers who had em placed the gab ions were too excited to go tosleep and instead were milling about a pair of smoky fires. Theirlaughter rose and fell on the night wind. Major Stokes, pleased withtheir work, had produced three jars of arrack as a reward, and the jugswere being passed from hand to hand.Sharpe watched the small celebration and then, keeping to the shadowsamong Syud Sevajee’s encampment, he went to a small tent where hestripped off his borrowed Indian robes before crawling under the flap.In the dark he blundered into Clare who, kept awake by the sound of thebombardment and then by the voices of the sappers, put up a hand andfelt bare flesh.“You’re undressed!” She sounded alarmed.
“Not quite,” Sharpe said, then understood her fear.“My clothes were soaking,” he explained, ‘so I took them off. Didn’twant to wet the bed, eh? And I’ve still got my shirt on.“Is it raining? I didn’t hear it.“It was blood,” he said, then rummaged under the blanket he hadborrowed from Syud Sevajee and found Torrance’s pouch.Clare heard the rattle of stones.“What is it?“Just stones,” he said, ‘pebbles.” He put the twenty jewels he hadretrieved from Kendrick and Lowry into the pouch, stowed it safe underthe blanket, then lay down. He doubted he had found every stone, buthe reckoned he had retrieved most of them. They had been loose in thetwo privates’ pockets, not even hidden away in their coat seams.
God,he felt tired and his body had still not recovered from Hakeswill’skicking. It hurt to breathe, the bruises were tender and a tooth wasstill loose.“What happened out there?” Clare asked.“The engineers put the gab ions in place. When it’s light they’llscrape the gun platform and make the magazines, and tomorrow nightthey’ll bring up the guns.“What happened to you?” Clare amended her question.Sharpe was silent for a while.“I looked up some old friends,” he said.But he had missed Hakeswill, damn it, and Hakeswill would be doublyalert now. Still, a chance would come. He grinned as he rememberedMorris’s scared voice. The Captain was a bully to his men and a toadie to his superiors.“Did you kill someone?” Clare asked.“Two men,” he admitted, ‘but it should have been three.“Why?“He sighed.“Because they were bad men,” he said simply, then reflected it was atrue answer.“And because they tried to kill me,” he added, ‘and they robbed me. Youknew them,” he went on.“Kendrick and Lowry.“They were horrid,” Clare said softly. “They used to stare at me.“Can’t blame them for that, love.“She was silent for a while. The laughter of the sappers was subsidingas men drifted towards their tents. The wind gusted at the tent’sentrance and brought the smell of burnt powder from the rocky isthmuswhere patches of grass still flamed around the exhausted rockettubes.“Everything’s gone wrong, hasn’t it?” Clare said.“It’s being put right,” Sharpe replied.“For you,” she said.Again she was silent, and Sharpe suspected she was crying.“I’ll get you home to Madras,” he said.
“And what’ll happen to me there?“You’ll be all right, lass. I’ll give you a pair of my magicpebbles.“What I want,” she said softly, ‘is to go home. But I can’t affordit.“Marry a soldier,” Sharpe said, ‘and be carried home with him.” Hethought of Eli Lockhart who had been admiring Clare from a distance.They would suit each other, Sharpe thought.She was crying very softly.“Torrance said he’d pay my way home when I’d paid off the debt,” shesaid.“Why would he make you work for one passage, then give you another?“Sharpe asked.
“He was a lying bastard.“He seemed so kind at first.“We’re all like that,” Sharpe said.“Soft as lights when you first meet a woman, then you get what you wantand it changes. I don’t know.Maybe not every time.“Charlie wasn’t like that,” Clare said.“Charlie? Your husband?“He was always good to me.“Sharpe lay back. The light of the dying fires nickered in the tent’sloose weave.
If it rained, he thought, the cloth would leak like apepper pot.“There are good men and bad,” he said.“What are you?” Clare asked.“I think I’m good,” he said, ‘but I don’t know. All the time I getinto trouble, and I only know one way out. I can fight. I can do thatall right.“Is that what you want? To fight?“God knows what I want.” He laughed softly.“I wanted to be an officer more than I’d wanted anything in my life! Idreamed of it, I did. I wanted it so bad that it hurt, and then thedream came true and it woke me up and I wondered why I’d wanted it somuch.” He paused.Syud Sevajee’s horses stamped their feet softly behind the tent.“Some buggers are trying to persuade me to leave the army. Sell thecommission, see? They don’t want me.“Why not?“Because I piss in their soup, lass.“So will you leave?“He shrugged.“Don’t want to.” He thought about it.“It’s like a club, a society. They don’t really want me, so they chuckme out, and then I have to fight my way back in. But why do I do it ifthey don’t want me? I don’t know. Maybe it’ll be different in theRifles. I’ll try ‘em, anyway, and see if they’re different.“You want to go on fighting?” Clare asked.“It’s what I’m good at,” Sharpe said.“And I do enjoy it. I mean I know you shouldn’t, but there ain’t anyother excitement like it.“None?“Well, one.” He grinned in the dark. There was a long silence, and he thought Clare had fallen asleep, butthen she spoke again.“How about your French widow?“She’s gone,” Sharpe said flatly.“Gone?“She buggered off, love. Took some money of mine and went. Gone toAmerica, I’m told.“Clare lay in silence again.“Don’t you worry about being alone?” she asked after a while.“No.“I do.“He turned towards her, propped himself on an elbow and stroked herhair.
She stiffened as he touched her, then relaxed to the gentlepressure of his hand.“You ain’t alone, lass,” Sharpe said.“Or only if you want to be. You got trapped, that’s all. It happensto everyone. But you’re out now. You’re free.” He stroked her hairdown to her neck and felt warm bare skin under his hand. She did notmove and he softly stroked farther down.“You’re undressed,” he said. “I was warm,” she said in a small voice.“What’s worse?” Sharpe asked.“Being warm or being lonely?“He thought she smiled. He could not tell in the dark, but he thoughtshe smiled.“Being lonely,” she said very softly.“We can look after that,” he said, lifting the thin blanket and movingto her side.She had stopped crying. Somewhere outside a cock crowed and theeastern cliffs were touched with the first gold of the day. The fireson the rocky neck of land flickered and died, their smoke drifting likepatches of thin mist. Bugles called from the main encampment,summoning the redcoats to the morning parade.
The night picquets wererelieved as the sun rose to flood the world with light.Where Sharpe and Clare slept.“You abandoned the dead men?” Wellesley growled.Captain Morris blinked as a gust of wind blew dust into one of hiseyes.“I tried to bring the bodies in,” he lied, ‘but it was dark, sir. Verydark. Colonel Kenny can vouch for that, sir. He visited us.“I visited you?” Kenny, lean, tall and irascible, was standing besidethe General.“I visited you?” he asked again, his inflection rising to outrage. “Last night, sir,” Morris answered in plaintive indignation.“On the picquet line.“I did no such thing. Sun’s gone to your head.” Kenny glowered atMorris, then took a snuff box from a pocket and placed a pinch on hishand.“Who the devil are you, anyway?” he added.“Morris, sir. 33rd.“I thought we had nothing but Scots and sepoys here,” Kenny said toWellesley.“Captain Morris’s company escorted a convoy here,” Wellesleyanswered.
“A light company, eh?” Kenny said, glancing at Morris’s epaulettes.“You might even be useful. I could do with another company in theassault party.” He snorted the snuff, stopping one nostril at atime.“It cheers my boys up,” he added, ‘seeing white men killed.” Kennycommanded the first battalion of the tenth Madrassi Regiment.“What’s in your assault unit now?” Wellesley asked.“Nine companies,” Kenny said.“The grenadiers and two others from the Scotch Brigade, the flankersfrom my regiment and four others.Good boys, all of them, but I daresay they won’t mind sharing thehonours with an English light company.
“And I’ve no doubt you’ll welcome a chance to assault a breach,Morris?” Wellesley asked drily.“Of course, sir,” Morris said, cursing Kenny inwardly.“But in the meantime,” Wellesley went on coldly, ‘bring your men’sbodies in.“Yes, sir.“Do it now.“Sergeant Green took a half-dozen men down the neck of land, but theyonly found two bodies. They were expecting three, but SergeantHakeswill was missing. The enemy, seeing the redcoats among the rocksabove the reservoir, opened fire and the musket balls smacked intostones and ricocheted up into the air. Green took a bullet in the heelof his boot. It did not break the skin of his foot, but the blow hurtand he hopped on the short, dry grass.
“Just grab the buggers and drag them away,” he said. He wondered whythe enemy did not fire their cannon, and just then a gun discharged abarrel of canister at his squad.The balls hissed all about the men, but miraculously none was hit asthe soldiers seized Kendrick and Lowry by their feet and ran backtowards the half-completed battery where Captain Morris waited. Boththe dead men had slit throats.Once safe behind the gab ions the corpses were treated more decorouslyby being placed on makeshift stretchers. Colonel Kenny intercepted thestretcher-bearers to examine the corpses which were already smellingfoul.“They must have sent a dozen cut-throats out of the fort,” hereckoned.“You say there’s a sergeant missing?“Yes, sir,” Morris answered.“Poor fellow must be a prisoner. Be careful tonight, Captain! They’llprobably try again.
And I assure you, Captain, if I decide to take astroll this evening, it won’t be to your picquet line.“That night the 33rd’s Light Company again formed a screen in front ofthe new batteries, this time to protect the men dragging up the guns.It was a nervous night, for the company was expecting throat-slittingMahrattas to come silently through the darkness, but nothing stirred.The fortress stayed silent and dark. Not a gun fired and not a rocketflew as the British cannon were hauled to their new emplacements and aspowder charges and round shot were stacked in the newly made readymagazines.Then the gunners waited.The first sign of dawn was a grey lightening of the east, followed bythe flare of reflected sun as the first rays lanced over the world’srim to touch the summit of the eastern cliffs. The fortress wallsshowed grey black Still the gunners waited. A solitary cloud glowedlivid pink on the horizon. Smoke rose from the cooking fires insidethe fortress where the flags hung limp in the windless air. Buglesroused the British camp which lay a half-mile behind the batterieswhere officers trained telescopes on Gawilghur’s northern wall.Major Stokes’s job was almost finished. He had made the batteries, andnow the gunners must unmake the walls, but first Stokes wanted to becertain that the outermost breach would be made in the right place.He had fixed a telescope to a tripod and now he edged it from side toside, searching the lichen-covered stones just to the right of abastion in the centre of the wall. The wall sloped back slightly, buthe was sure he could see a place where the old stones bulged out ofalignment, and he watched that spot as the sun rose and cast a hint ofshadow where the stones were not quite true. Finally he screwed thetelescope’s mount tight shut, so that the tube could not move, thensummoned the gun captain of the battery’s eighteen-pounder. A majoractually commanded this battery, but he insisted that his sergeant goto the spyglass.“That’s your target,” Stokes told the Sergeant.The Sergeant stooped to the telescope, then straightened to see overthe glass, then stooped again. He was chewing a wad of tobacco and hadno lower front teeth so that the yellow spittle ran down his chin in acontinuous dribble. He straightened, then stooped a third time. Thetelescope was powerful, and all he could see in the glass circle was avertical joint between two great stones. The joint was some four feetabove the wall’s base, and when it gave way the wall would spillforward down the slope to make the ramp up which the attackers couldswarm.“Smack on the joint, sir?” the Sergeant asked in a Northumbrian accentso pronounced that Stokes did not at first understand him.“Low on the joint,” Stokes said.“Low it is, sir,” the Sergeant said, and stooped to squint through theglass once more.“The joint gapes a bit, don’t it?“It does,” Stokes said.The Sergeant grunted. For a while, he reckoned, the battering woulddrive the stones in, sealing the gap, but there was pressure there andthe wall must eventually give way as the battered stones weakened.“That bugger’ll burst like an abscess,” the Sergeant said happily,straightening from the telescope. He returned to his gun and barked athis men to make some minute adjustments to its trail. He himselfheaved on the elevating screw, though as yet the gun was still maskedby some half filled gab ions that blocked the embrasure. Every fewseconds the Sergeant climbed onto the trail to see over the gab ionsthen he would demand that the gun was shifted a half-inch left or afinger’s breadth to the right as he made another finicky adjustment tothe screw. He tossed grass in the air to gauge the wind, then twistedthe elevation again to raise the barrel a tiny amount.“Stone cold shot,” he explained to Stokes, ‘so I’m pointing her a bithigh. Maybe a half turn more.” He hammered the screw with the heel ofhis hand.“Perfect,” he said.The pucka lees were bringing water which they poured into great woodentubs. The water was not just to slake the gunners’ thirst and soak thesponges that cleaned out the barrels between shots, but was alsointended to cool the great weapons. The sun was climbing, it promisedto be a searing hot day, and if the huge guns were not drenchedintermittently with water they could overheat and explode the powdercharges prematurely. The Sergeant was choosing his shot now, rollingtwo eighteen-pounder balls up and down a stretch of bare earth to judgewhich was the more perfect sphere.“That one,” he said, spitting tobacco juice onto his chosen missile.Morris’s Light Company trailed back up the road, going to the campwhere they would sleep. Stokes watched them pass and thought ofSharpe. Poor Sharpe, but at least, from wherever he was imprisonedinside the fortress, he would hear the siege guns and know that theredcoats were coming. If they got through the breach, Stokes thoughtgloomily, or if they ever managed to cross the fortress’s centralravine.He tried to suppress his pessimism, telling himself that his job wassimply to make the breach, not win the whole victory.The chosen shot was rolled into the gun’s muzzle, then rammed down ontothe canvas bags of powder. The Sergeant took a length of wire thathung looped on his belt and rammed it through the cannon’s touch-hole,piercing the canvas bag beneath, then selected a priming tube, a reedfilled with finely milled powder, and slid it down into the powdercharge, but leaving a half-inch of the reed protruding above thetouchhole. “Ready when you are, sir,” he told the Major commanding the batterywho, in turn, looked at Stokes.Stokes shrugged.“I imagine we wait for Colonel Stevenson’s permission.“The gunners in the second breaching battery which lay fifty yards westof the first had trained their telescopes over the gab ions to watchwhere the first shot fell. The scar it left in the wall would be theiraiming mark. The two enfilading batteries also watched. Their workwould begin properly when the first of the three breaches was made, buttill then their twelve-pounders would be aimed at the cannon mounted onGawilghur’s ramparts, trying to dismount them or tumble theirembrasures into rubble.“That wall won’t last long,” the battery Major, whose name was Plummer,opined. He was staring at the wall through Stokes’s telescope.“We’ll have it opened up today,” Stokes agreed.
“Thank God there ain’t a glacis,” Plummer said.“Thank God, indeed,” Stokes echoed piously, but he had been thinkingabout that lack and was not so sure now that it was a blessing. Perhapsthe Mahrattas understood that their real defence was the great centralravine, and so were offering nothing but a token defence of the OuterFort. And how was that ravine to be crossed? Stokes feared that hewould be asked for an engineering solution, but what could he do? Fillthe thing with soil? That would take months.Stokes’s gloomy presentiments were interrupted by an aide who had beensent by Colonel Stevenson to enquire why the batteries were silent.“I suspect those are your orders to open fire, Plummer,” Stokes said.“Unmask!” Plummer shouted.Four gunners clambered up onto the bastion and manhandled thehalf-filled gab ions out of the cannon’s way. The Sergeant squinteddown the barrel a last time, nodded to himself, then stepped aside.The other gunners had their hands over their ears.
“You can fire, Ned!“Plummer called to the Sergeant, who took a glowing linstock from aprotective barrel, reached across the gun’s high wheel and touched thefire to the reed.The cannon hammered back a full five yards as the battery filled withacrid smoke. The ball screamed low across the stony neck of land tocrack against the fort’s wall. There was a pause. Defenders wererunning along the ramparts. Stokes was peering through the glass,waiting for the smoke to thin. It took a full minute, but then he sawthat a slab of stone about the size of a soup plate had been chippedfrom the wall.“Two inches to the right, Sergeant,” he called chidingly.“Must have been a puff of wind, sir,” the Sergeant said, ‘puff ofbloody wind, ‘cos there weren’t a thing wrong with gun’s laying,begging your pardon, sir.“You did well,” Stokes said with a smile, ‘very well.
” He cupped hishands and shouted at the second breaching battery.“You have your mark! Fire on!” A billow of smoke erupted from thefortress wall, followed by the bang of a gun and a howl as a round shotwhipped overhead. Stokes jumped down into the battery, clutching hishat.“It seems we’ve woken them up,” he remarked as a dozen more Mahrattaguns fired. The enemy’s shots smacked into the gab ions or ricochetedwildly along the rocky ground. The second British battery fired, thenoise of its guns echoing off the cliff face to tell the camp farbeneath that the siege of Gawilghur had properly begun.Private Tom Garrard of the 33rd’s Light Company had wandered to theedge of the cliff to watch the bombardment of the fortress. Not thatthere was much to see other than the constantly replenished cloud ofsmoke that shrouded the rocky neck of land between the batteries andthe fortress, but every now and then a large piece of stone would fallfrom Gawilghur’s wall. The fire from the de fences was furious, but itseemed to Garrard that it was ill aimed. Many of the shots bouncedover the batteries, or else buried themselves in the great piles ofprotective gab ions The British fire, on the other hand, was slow andsure.
The eighteen-pound round shots gnawed at the wall and not onewas wasted. The sky was cloudless, the sun rising ever higher and theguns were heating so that after every second shot the gunners pouredbuckets of water on the long barrels. The metal hissed and steamed,and sweating puckakes hurried up the battery road with yet more skinsof water to replenish the great vats.Garrard was sitting by himself, but he had noticed a ragged Indian waswatching him. He ignored the man, hoping he would go away, but theIndian edged closer. Garrard picked up a fist-sized stone and tossedit up and down in his right hand as a hint that the man should go away,but the threat of the stone only made the Indian edge closer.“Sahib!” the Indian hissed.“Bugger off,” Garrard growled.“Sahib! Please!“I’ve got nothing worth stealing, I don’t want to buy anything, and Idon’t want to roger your sister.“I’ll roger your sister instead, sahib,” the Indian said, and Garrardtwisted round, the stone drawn back ready to throw, then he saw thatthe dirty robed man had pushed back his grubby white head cloth and wasgrinning at him. “You ain’t supposed to chuck rocks at officers, Tom,” Sharpe said.“Mind you, I always wanted to, so I can’t blame you.“Bloody hell!” Garrard dropped the stone and held out his righthand.“Dick Sharpe!” He suddenly checked his outstretched hand.“Do I have to call you “sir”?“Of course you don’t,” Sharpe said, taking Garrard’s hand.“You and me? Friends from way back, eh? Red sash won’t change that,Tom.How are you?“Been worse. Yourself?“Been better.“Garrard frowned.“Didn’t I hear that you’d been captured?“Got away, I did.
Ain’t a bugger born who can hold me, Tom. Nor you.“Sharpe sat next to his friend, a man with whom he had marched in theranks for six years.“Here.” He gave Garrard a strip of dried meat.“What is it?“Goat. Tastes all right, though.“The two sat and watched the gunners at work. The closest guns were inthe two enfilading batteries, and the gunners were using their twelvepounders to systematically bring down the parapets of the rampartsabove Gawilghur’s gate. They had already unseated a pair of enemy gunsand were now working on the next two embrasures. An ox-drawn limberhad just delivered more ammunition, but, on leaving the battery, thelimber’s wheel had loosened and five men were now standing about thecanted wheel arguing how best to mend it. Garrard pulled a piece ofstringy meat from between his teeth.“Pull the broken wheel off and put on a new one,” he said scornfully.“It don’t take a major and two lieutenants to work that out.“They’re officers, Tom,” Sharpe said chidingly, ‘only half brained.“You should know.” Garrard grinned.“Buggers make an inviting target, though.” He pointed across theplunging chasm which separated the plateau from the Inner Fort.“There’s a bloody great gun over there. Size of a bloody hay wain, it is. Buggers have been fussing about itfor a half-hour now.“Sharpe stared past the beleaguered Outer Fort to the distant cliffs.He thought he could see a wall where a gun might be mounted, but he wasnot sure.“I need a bloody telescope.“You need a bloody uniform.“I’m doing something about that,” Sharpe said mysteriously.Garrard slapped at a fly.“What’s it like then?“What’s what like?“Being a Jack-pudding?“Sharpe shrugged, thought for a while, then shrugged again.“Don’t seem real.
Well, it does. I dunno.” He sighed.“I mean I wanted it, Tom, I wanted it real bad, but I should have knownthe bastards wouldn’t want me. Some are all right. Major Stokes, he’sa fine fellow, and there are others. But most of them? God knows.They don’t like me, anyway.“You got ‘em worried, that’s why,” Garrard said.“If you can become an officer, so can others. ” He saw the unhappinesson Sharpe’s face.“Wishing you’d stayed a sergeant, are you?“No,” Sharpe said, and surprised himself by saying it so firmly.“Ican do the job, Tom.“What job’s that, for Christ’s sake? Sitting around while we do allthe bloody work? Having a servant to clean your boots and scrub yourarse?“No,” Sharpe said, and he pointed across the shadowed chasm to theInner Fort.“When we go in there, Tom, we’re going to need fellows who know whatthe hell they’re doing. That’s the job. It’s beating hell out of theother side and keeping your own men alive, and I can do that.“Garrard looked sceptical.“If they let you.“Aye, if they let me,” Sharpe agreed.
He sat in silence for a while,watching the far gun emplacement. He could see men there, but was notsure what they were doing.“Where’s Hakeswill?” he asked.“I looked for him yesterday, and the bugger wasn’t on parade with therest of you.“Captured,” Garrard said.“Captured?“That’s what Morris says. Me, I think the bugger ran. Either ways,he’s in the fort now.“You think he ran?“We had two fellows murdered the other night. Morris says it were theenemy, but I didn’t see any of the buggers, but there was some fellowcreeping round saying he was a Company colonel, only he weren’t. “Garrard stared at Sharpe and a slow grin came to his face.“It were you, Dick.“Me?” Sharpe asked straight-faced.“I was captured, Tom. Only escaped yesterday.“And I’m the king of bloody Persia. Lowry and Kendrick were meant toarrest you, weren’t they?“It was them who died?” Sharpe asked innocently.Garrard laughed.“Serve them bloody right. Bastards, both of them.
“An enormous blossom of smoke showed at the distant wall on the top ofthe cliffs. Two seconds later the sound of the great gun bellowed allaround Sharpe and Garrard, while the massive round shot struck thestalled limber just behind the enfilading battery. The wooden vehicleshattered into splinters and all five men were hurled to the groundwhere they jerked bloodily for a few seconds and then were still.Fragments of stone and wood hissed past Sharpe.“Bloody hell,” Garrard said admiringly, ‘five men with one shot!“That’ll teach ‘em to keep their heads down,” Sharpe said. The soundof the enormous gun had drawn men from their tents towards theplateau’s edge. Sharpe looked round and saw that Captain Morris wasamong them. The Captain was in his shirtsleeves, staring at the greatcloud of smoke through a telescope.“I’m going to stand up in a minute,” Sharpe said, ‘and you’re going tohit me.“I’m going to do what?” Garrard asked.
“You’re going to thump me. Then I’m going to run, and you’re going tochase me. But you’re not to catch me.“Garrard offered his friend a puzzled look.“What are you up to, Dick?“Sharpe grinned.“Don’t ask, Tom, just do it.“You are a bloody officer, aren’t you?” Garrard said, grinning back.“Don’t ask, just do it.“Are you ready?” Sharpe asked “I’ve always wanted to clobber anofficer.“On your feet then.
” They stood.“So hit me,” Sharpe said.“I’ve tried to pinch some cartridges off you, right? So give me athump in the belly.“Bloody hell,” Garrard said.“Go on, do it!“Garrard gave Sharpe a half-hearted punch, and Sharpe shoved him back,making him fall, then he turned and ran along the cliff’s edge.Garrard shouted, scrambled to his feet and began to pursue. Some ofthe men who had gone to fetch the five bodies moved to interceptSharpe, but he dodged to his left and disappeared among some bushes.The rest of the 33rd’s Light Company was whooping and shouting inpursuit, but Sharpe had a long lead on them and he twisted in and outof the shrubs to where he had picketed one of Syud Sevajee’s horses. Hepulled the peg loose, hauled himself into the saddle and kicked backhis heels. Someone yelled an insult at him, but he was clear of thecamp now and there were no mounted picquets to pursue him.
A half-hour later Sharpe returned, trotting with a group of nativehorsemen coming back from a reconnaissance. He peeled away from themand dismounted by his tent where Ahmed waited for him While Sharpe andGarrard had made the diversion the boy had been thieving and he grinnedbroadly as Sharpe ducked into the hot tent.“I have every things,” Ahmed said proudly.He had taken Captain Morris’s red coat, his sash and his sword-beltwith its sabre.“You’re a good lad,” Sharpe said. He needed a red coat, for ColonelStevenson had given orders that every man who went into Gawilghur withthe attackers must be in uniform so that they were not mistaken for theenemy. Syud Sevajee’s men, who planned to hunt down Beny Singh, hadbeen issued with some threadbare old sepoys’ jackets, some of themstill stained with the blood of their previous owners, but none of thejackets had fitted Sharpe. Even Morris’s coat would be a tight fit,but at least he had a uniform now.“No trouble?“Sharpe asked Ahmed.“No bugger saw me,” the boy said proudly.
His English was improvingevery day, though Sharpe worried that it was not quite the King’sEnglish. Ahmed grinned again as Sharpe gave him a coin that he stuffedinto his robes.Sharpe folded the jacket over his arm and stooped out of the tent.He was looking for Clare and saw her a hundred paces away, walking witha tall soldier who was dressed in a shirt, black trousers and spurredboots. She was deep in conversation, and Sharpe felt a curious pang ofjealousy as he approached, but then the soldier turned round, frownedat Sharpe’s ragged appearance, then recognized the man under the headcloth. He grinned.“Mister Sharpe,” he said.“Eli Lockhart,” Sharpe said.“What the hell are the cavalry doing here?” He jerked his thumbtowards the fort that was edged with white smoke as the defenders triedto hammer the British batteries.“This is a job for real soldiers. “Our Colonel persuaded the General that Mister Dodd might make a runfor it. He reckoned a dozen cavalrymen could head him off.“Dodd won’t run,” Sharpe said.“He won’t have space to get a horse out.“So we’ll go in with you,” Lockhart said.“We’ve got a quarrel with Mister Dodd, remember?“Clare was looking shy and alarmed, and Sharpe reckoned she did not wantSergeant Lockhart to know that she had spent time with Ensign Sharpe.“I was looking for Mrs. Wall,” he explained to Lockhart.“If you can spare me a few minutes, Ma’am?“Clare shot Sharpe a look of gratitude.“Of course, Mister Sharpe.
“It’s this jacket, see?” He held out Morris’s coat.“It’s got red facings and turn backs and I need white ones He took offhis head cloth.“Iwondered if you could use this. I know it’s a bit filthy, and I hateto trouble you, Ma’am, but I don’t reckon my sewing’s up to making turnbacks cuffs and collars.“You could take that captain’s badge off while you’re about it, love,“Lockhart suggested to Clare, ‘and the skirmisher’s wings. Don’t reckonMister Sharpe wants that coat’s real owner to recognize it.“I’d rather he didn’t,” Sharpe admitted.Clare took the coat, gave Sharpe another grateful look, then hurriedtowards Sevajee’s tents. Lockhart watched her go.“Been wanting a chance to talk to her for three years,” he saidwonderingly.
“So you found it, eh?“Lockhart still watched her.“A rare-looking woman, that.“Is she? I hadn’t really noticed,” Sharpe lied.“She said you’d been kind to her,” Lockhart said.“Well, I tried to help, you know how it is,” Sharpe said awkwardly.“That bloody man Torrance killed himself and she had nowhere to go. Andyou found her, eh? Most officers would try to take advantage of awoman like that,” Lockhart said.“I’m not a proper officer, am I?” Sharpe replied. He had seen the waythat Clare looked at the tall cavalryman, and how Lockhart had staredat her, and Sharpe reckoned that it was best to stand aside.“I had a wife,” Lockhart said, ‘only she died on the voyage out.
Goodlittle woman, she was.“I’m sorry,” Sharpe said.“And Mrs. Wall,” Lockhart went on, ‘lost her husband.” Widow meetswidower. Any minute now, Sharpe thought, and the word fate would beused.“It’s destiny,” Lockhart said in a tone of wonderment.“So what are you going to do about her?” Sharpe asked.“She says she ain’t got a proper home now,” Lockhart said, ‘except thetent you lent her, and my Colonel won’t mind me taking a wife.“Have you asked her?“More or less,” Lockhart said, blushing. “And she said yes?“More or less,” Lockhart said again, blushing more deeply.“Bloody hell,” Sharpe said admiringly, ‘that’s quick!“Real soldiers don’t wait,” Lockhart said, then frowned.“I heard a rumour you’d been snaffled by the enemy?“Got away,” Sharpe said vaguely.“Buggers were careless.” He turned and watched as an errant rocketfrom the fort soared up into the cloudless sky to leave a thickeningpile of smoke through which, eventually, it tumbled harmlessly toearth.“Are you really joining the attack?” he asked Lockhart.“Not in the front rank,” Lockhart said.“I ain’t a fool. But Colonel Huddlestone says we can go in and lookfor Dodd. So we’ll wait for you boys to do the hard work, thenfollow.
“I’ll look out for you.“And we’ll keep an eye on you,” Lockhart promised.“But in the meantime I’ll go and see if someone needs a needlethreaded.“You do that,” Sharpe said. He watched the cavalryman walk away, andsaw, at the same time, that Ahmed had been evicted from Clare’s tentwith Sharpe’s few belongings. The boy looked indignant, but Sharpeguessed their exile from the tent would not last long, for Clare wouldsurely move to the cavalryman’s quarters before nightfall. Ding dong,he thought, wedding bells. He took the pouch with its jewels fromAhmed, then, while his uniform was being tailored, he went to watch theguns gnaw and batter at the fort.The young horseman who presented himself at the gate of Gawilghur’sInner Fort was tall, arrogant and self-assured. He was dressed in awhite silk robe that was tied at the waist with a red leather belt fromwhich a golden-hilted tulwar hung in a gem-encrusted scabbard, and hedid not request that the gates be opened, but rather demanded it.
Therewas, in truth, no good reason to deny his orders, for men wereconstantly traversing the ravine between the two forts and Dodd’sCobras were accustomed to opening and closing the gates a score oftimes each day, but there was something in the young man’s demeanourthat annoyed Gopal. So he sent for Colonel Dodd.Dodd arrived a few moments later with the twitching English Sergeant athis side. The horseman rounded on Dodd, shouting at him to punishGopal, but Dodd just spat, then turned to Hakeswill.“Why would a man be riding a horse out of this gate?“Wouldn’t know, sir,” Hakeswill said. The Sergeant was now dressed ina white coat that was crossed with a black sash as a sign of rank,though quite what rank the sash denoted was uncertain.“There’s nowhere to exercise a horse,” Dodd said, ‘not unless he plansto ride through the Outer Fort into the English camp. Ask him hisbusiness, Gopal.“The young man refused to answer. Dodd shrugged, drew his pistol andaimed it at the horseman’s head. He cocked the gun and the sound ofthe hammer engaging echoed loudly from the ramparts. The young manblanched and shouted at Gopal.“He says, sahib, that he is on an errand for the Killadar,” Gopalexplained to Dodd.“What errand?” Dodd demanded. The young man plainly did not want toanswer, but Dodd’s grim face and the levelled pistol persuaded him totake a sealed packet from the pouch that hung from his belt.He showed Dodd the Killadar’s seal, but Dodd was not impressed by thered wax with its impression of a snake curled about a knife blade.“Who is it addressed to?” he demanded, gesturing that the young manturn the package over.The horseman obeyed and Dodd saw that the packet was addressed to thecommanding officer of the British camp. It must have been written by aclerk who was unfamiliar with the English language, for it wasatrociously spelt, but the words were unmistakable and Dodd steppedforward and seized the horse’s bridle.“Haul him out of the saddle, Gopal,” Dodd ordered, ‘hold him in theguardroom and send a man to fetch Manu Bappoo. “The young man attempted a momentary resistance, even half drawing histulwar from its precious scabbard, but a dozen of Dodd’s men easilyoverpowered him. Dodd himself turned away and climbed the steps to therampart, motioning Hakeswill to follow him.“It’s obvious what the Killadar is doing,” Dodd growled.“He’s trying to make peace.“I thought we couldn’t be defeated here, sir,” Hakeswill said in somealarm.“We can’t,” Dodd said, ‘but Beny Singh is a coward. He thinks lifeshould be nothing but women, music and games.“Which sounded just splendid to Obadiah Hakeswill, but he said nothing.He had presented himself to Dodd as an aggrieved British soldier whobelieved the war against the Mahrattas was unfair.“We ain’t got no business here, sir,” he had said, ‘not in heathenland.
It belongs to the blackamoors, don’t it? And there ain’tnothing here for a redcoat.“Dodd had not believed a word of it. He suspected Hakeswill had fledthe British army to avoid trouble, but he could hardly blame theSergeant for that. Dodd himself had done the same, and Dodd did notcare about Hakeswill’s motives, only that the Sergeant was willing tofight. And Dodd believed his men fought better when white men gavethem orders.“There’s a steadiness about the English, Sergeant,” he had toldHakeswill, ‘and it gives the natives bottom.“It gives them what, sir?” Hakeswill had asked.Dodd had frowned at the Sergeant’s obtuseness.“You ain’t Scotch, are you?“Christ no, sir! I ain’t a bleeding Scotchman, nor a Welshman.English, sir, I am, through and through, sir. ” His face twitched.“English, sir, and proud of it.“So Dodd had given Hakeswill a white jacket and a black sash, then puthim in charge of a company of his Cobras.“Fight well for me here, Sergeant,” he told Hakeswill when the two menreached the top of the rampart, ‘and I’ll make you an officer.“I shall fight, sir, never you mind, sir. Fight like a demon, Iwill.“And Dodd believed him, for if Hakeswill did not fight then he riskedbeing captured by the British, and God alone knew what trouble he wouldthen face. Though in truth Dodd did not see how the British couldpenetrate the Inner Fort. He expected them to take the Outer Fort, forthere they had a flat approach and their guns were already blastingdown the breaches, but they would have a far greater problem incapturing the Inner Fort. He showed that problem now to Hakeswill.
“There’s only one way in, Sergeant, and that’s through this gate. Theycan’t assault the walls, because the slope of the ravine is too steep.See?“Hakeswill looked to his left and saw that the wall of the Inner Fortwas built on an almost sheer slope. No man could climb that and hopeto assail a wall, even a breached wall, which meant that Dodd was rightand the attackers would have to try -and batter down the four gatesthat barred the entranceway, and those gates were defended by Dodd’sCobras.“And my men have never known defeat, Sergeant,” Dodd said.“They’ve watched other men beaten, but they’ve not been outfoughtthemselves. And here the enemy will have to beat us. Have to! Butthey can’t. They can’t.” He fell silent, his clenched fists restingon the fire stepThe sound of the guns was constant, but the only sign of thebombardment was the misting smoke that hung over the far side of theOuter Fort.
Manu Bappoo, who commanded there, was now hurrying backtowards the Inner Fort and Dodd watched the Prince climb the steep pathto the gates. The hinges squealed as, one after the other, the gateswere opened to let Bappoo and his aides in. Dodd smiled as the lastgate was unbarred.“Let’s go and make some mischief,” he said, turning back to thesteps.Manu Bappoo had already opened the letter that Gopal had given to him.He looked up as Dodd approached.“Read it,” he said simply, thrusting the folded paper towards theColonel.“He wants to surrender?” Dodd asked, taking the letter.“Just read it,” Bappoo said grimly.The letter was clumsily written, but intelligible. Beny Singh, asKilla-dar of the Rajah of Berar’s fortress of Gawilghur, was offeringto yield the fort to the British on the sole condition that the livesof all the garrison and their dependants were spared. None was to behurt, none was to be imprisoned. The British were welcome toconfiscate all the weaponry in the fort, but they were to allowGawilghur’s inhabitants to leave with such personal property as couldbe carried away on foot or horseback.“Of course the British will accept!” Manu Bappoo said.“They don’t want to die in the breaches!“Has Beny Singh the authority to send this?” Dodd asked.Bappoo shrugged, “He’s Killadar.“You’re the general of the army. And the Rajah’s brother.“Bappoo stared up at the sky between the high walls of theentranceway.“One can never tell with my brother,” he said. “Maybe he wants to surrender? But he hasn’t told me. Maybe, if welose, he can blame me, saying he always wanted to yield.“But you won’t yield?“We can win here!” Bappoo said fiercely, then turned towards thepalace as Gopal announced that the Killadar himself was approaching.Beny Singh must have been watching his messenger’s progress from thepalace, for now he hurried down the path and behind him came his wives,concubines and daughters. Bappoo walked towards him, followed by Doddand a score of his white-coated soldiers. The Killadar must havereckoned that the sight of the women would soften Bappoo’s heart, butthe Prince’s face just became harder.“If you want to surrender,” he shouted at Beny Singh, ‘then talk to mefirst!“I have authority here,” Beny Singh squeaked. His little lap dog wasin his arms, its small tongue hanging out as it panted in the heat.“You have nothing!” Bappoo retorted. The women, pretty in their silkand cotton, huddled together as the two men met beside the snake pit.
“The British are making their breaches,” Beny Singh protested, ‘andtomorrow or the day after they’ll come through! We shall all bekilled!“He wailed the prophecy.“My daughters will be their playthings and my wives their servants.“The women shuddered.“The British will die in the breaches,” Bappoo retorted.“They cannot be stopped!” Beny Singh insisted.“They are djinns.“Bappoo suddenly shoved Beny Singh back towards the rock pit where thesnakes were kept. The Killadar cried aloud as he tripped and fellbackwards, but Bappoo had kept hold of Beny Singh’s yellow silk robeand now he held on tight so that the Killadar did not fall.Hakeswill sidled to the pit’s edge and saw the monkey bones. Then hesaw a curving, nickering shape slither across the pit’s shadowed floorand he quickly stepped back.
Beny Singh whimpered.“I am the Killadar! I am trying to save lives!“You’re supposed to be a soldier,” Bappoo said in his hissing voice,‘and your job is to kill my brother’s enemies.” The women screamed,expecting to see their man fall to the pit’s floor, but Manu Bappookept a firm grip on the silk.“And when the British die in the breaches,” he said to Beny Singh, ‘andwhen their survivors are harried south across the plain, who do youthink will get the credit for the victory? The Killadar of the fort,that is who! And you would throw that glory away?“They are djinns,” Beny Singh said, and he looked sideways at ObadiahHakeswill whose face was twitching, and he screamed.“They are djinnsl’ “They are men, as feeble as other men,” Bappoo said.He reached out with his free hand and took hold of the white dog by thescruff of its neck. Beny Singh whimpered, but did not resist. The dogstruggled in Manu Bappoo’s grip.“If you try to surrender the fortress again,” Manu Bappoo said, ‘thenthis will be your fate.” He let the dog drop.
It yelped as it fellinto the pit, then howled piteously as it struck the rock floor.There was a hiss, a scrabble of paws, a last howl, then silence. BenySingh uttered a shriek of pity for his dog before babbling that hewould rather give his women poison to drink than risk that they shouldbecome prey to the terrible besiegers.Manu Bappoo shook the hapless Killadar.“Do you understand me?” he demanded.“I understand!” Beny Singh said desperately.Manu Bappoo hauled the Killadar safely back from the pit’s edge.“You will go to the palace, Beny Singh,” he ordered, ‘and you will staythere, and you will send no more messages to the enemy.” He pushed theKilladar away, then turned his back on him.“Colonel Dodd?“Sahib?“A dozen of your men will make certain that the Killadar sends nomessages from the palace. If he does, you may kill the messenger.“Dodd smiled.“Of course, sahib.“Bappoo went back to the beleaguered Outer Fort while the Killadar slunkback to the hilltop palace above its green-scummed lake. Dodd detaileda dozen men to guard the palace’s entrance, then went back to therampart to brood over the ravine. Hakeswill followed him there.“Why’s the Killadar so scared, sir? Does he know something wedon’t?“He’s a coward, Sergeant.“But Beny Singh’s fear had infected Hakeswill who imagined a vengefulSharpe come back from the dead to pursue him through the nightmare of afortress fallen.“The bastards can’t get in, sir, can they?” he asked anxiously.Dodd recognized Hakeswill’s fear, the same fear he felt himself, thefear of the ignominy and shame of being recaptured by the British andthen condemned by a merciless court. He smiled.“They will probably take the Outer Fort, Sergeant, because they’re verygood, and because our old comrades do indeed fight like djinns, butthey cannot cross the ravine. Not if all the powers of darkness helpthem, not if they besiege us for a year, not if they batter down allthese walls and destroy the gates and flatten the palace by gunfire,because they will still have to cross the ravine, and it cannot bedone. It cannot be done.“And who rules Gawilghur, Dodd thought, reigns in India.And within a week he would be Rajah here.Gawilghur’s walls, as Stokes had guessed, were rotten. The firstbreach, in the outer wall, took less than a day to make. Inmid-afternoon the wall had still been standing, though a cave had beenexcavated into the dusty rubble where Stokes had pointed the guns, butquite suddenly the whole rampart collapsed. It slid down the briefslope in a cloud of dust which slowly settled to reveal a steep ramp ofjumbled stone leading into the space between the two walls. A low stubof the wall’s rear face still survived, but an hour’s work served tothrow that remnant down.The gunners changed their aim, starting the two breaches in the higherinner wall, while the enfilading batteries, which had been gnawing atthe embrasures to dismount the enemy’s guns, began firing slantwiseinto the first breach to dissuade the defenders from building obstaclesat the head of the ramp. The enemy guns, those which survived,redoubled their efforts to disable the British batteries, but theirshots were wasted in the gab ions or overhead. The big gun which hadinflicted such slaughter fired three times more, but its balls crackeduselessly into the cliff face, after which the Mahratta gunnersmysteriously gave up.Next day the two inner breaches were made, and now the big gunsconcentrated on widening all three gaps in the walls. The eighteenpounder shots slammed into rotten stone, gouging out the wall’s fill toadd to the ramps. By evening the breaches were clearly big enough andnow the gunners aimed their pieces at the enemy’s remaining cannon.One by one they were unseated or their embrasures shattered. Aconstant shroud of smoke hung over the rocky neck of land. It hungthick and pungent, twitching every time a shot whipped through. Theenfilading twelve-pounders fired shells into the breaches, while thehowitzer lobbed more shells over the walls.The British guns fired deep into dusk, and minute by minute the enemyresponse grew feebler as their guns were wrecked or thrown off the firesteps Only as black night dropped did the besiegers’ hot guns ceasefire, but even now there would be no respite for the enemy. It was atnight that the defenders could turn the breaches into deathtraps. Theycould bury mines in the stony ramps, or dig wide trenches across thebreach summits or make new walls behind the raw new openings, but theBritish kept one heavy gUn firing throughout the darkness. They loadedthe eighteen-pounder with canister and,three times an hour, sprayed the area of the breaches with a cloud ofmusket balls to deter any Mahratta from risking his life on the rubbled slopes.Few slept well that night. The cough of the gun seemed unnaturallyloud, and even in the British camp men could hear the rattle as themusket balls whipped against Gawilghur’s wounded walls. And in themorning, the soldiers knew, they would be asked to go to those wallsand climb the tumbled ramps and fight their way through the shatteredstones. And what would wait for them? At the very least, theysuspected, the enemy would have mounted guns athwart the breaches tofire across the attack route. They expected blood and pain anddeath. “I’ve never been into a breach,” Garrard told Sharpe. The two men metat Syud Sevajee’s tents, and Sharpe had given his old friend a bottleof arrack.“Nor me,” Sharpe said.“They say it’s bad.“They do,” Sharpe agreed bleakly. It was supposedly the worst ordealthat any soldier could face.Garrard drank from the stone bottle, wiped its lip, then handed it toSharpe. He admired Sharpe’s coat in the light of the small campfire.“Smart bit of cloth, Mister Sharpe.“The coat had been given new white turn backs and cuffs by Clare Wall,and Sharpe had done his best to make the jacket wrinkled and dusty, butit still looked expensive.
“Just an old coat, Tom,” he said dismissively.“Funny, isn’t it? Mister Morris lost a coat.“Did he?” Sharpe asked.“He should be more careful.” He gave Garrard the bottle, then climbedto his feet.“I’ve got an errand, Tom.” He held out his hand.“I’ll look for you tomorrow.“I’ll look out for you, Dick.“Sharpe led Ahmed through the camp.
Some men sang around their fires,others obsessively honed bayonets that were already razor sharp. Acavalryman had set up a grinding stone and a succession of officers’servants brought swords and sabres to be given a wicked edge. Sparkswhipped off the stone. The sappers were doing their last job, makingladders from bamboo that had been carried up from the plain. MajorStokes supervised the job, and his eyes widened in joy as he saw Sharpeapproaching through the firelight.“Richard! Is it you? Dear me, it is!Well, I never! And I thought you were locked up in the enemy’sdungeons! You escaped?“Sharpe shook Stokes’s hand.“I never got taken to Gawilghur. I was held by some horsemen,” helied, ‘but they didn’t seem to know what to do with me, so the buggersjust let me go.“I’m delighted, delighted!“Sharpe turned and looked at the ladders.“I didn’t think we were making an escalade tomorrow?“We’re not,” Stokes said, ‘but you never know what obstacles have to beovercome inside a fortress. Sensible to carry ladders.” He peered atAhmed who was now dressed in one of the sepoy’s coats that had beengiven to Syud Sevajee. The boy wore the red jacket proudly, eventhough it was a poor, threadbare and bloodstained thing.“I say,” Stokes admired the boy, ‘but you do look like a propersoldier. Don’t he just?“Ahmed stood to attention, shouldered his musket and made a smartabout-turn. Major Stokes applauded.“Well done, lad. I’m afraid you’ve missed all the excitement,Sharpe.“Excitement?“Your Captain Torrance died. Shot himself, by the look of things. Terrible way to go. I feel sorry for his father. He’s a cleric, didyou know? Poor man, poor man. Would you like some tea, Sharpe? Or doyou need to sleep?“I’d like some tea, sir.“We’ll go to my tent,” Stokes said, leading the way.“I’ve still got your pack, by the way. You can take it with you.“I’d rather you kept it another day,” Sharpe said, “I’ll be busytomorrow.“Busy?” Stokes asked.“I’m going in with Kenny’s troops, sir.
“Dear God,” Stokes said. He stopped and frowned. “I’ve no doubt we’llget through the breaches, Richard, for they’re good breaches. A bitsteep, perhaps, but we should get through, but God only knows whatwaits beyond. And I fear that the Inner Fort may be a much biggerobstacle than any of us have anticipated.” He shook his head.“Iain’t sanguine, Sharpe, I truly ain’t.“Sharpe had no idea what sanguine meant, though he did not doubt thatStokes’s lack of it did not augur well for the attack.“I have to go into the fort, sir. I have to.
But I wondered if you’dkeep an eye onAhmed here.” He took hold of the boy’s shoulder and pulled himforward.“The little bugger will insist on coming with me,” Sharpe said, ‘but ifyou keep him out of trouble then he might survive another day.“He can be my assistant,” Stokes said happily.“But, Richard, can’t I persuade you to the same employment? Are youordered to accompany Kenny?“I’m not ordered, sir, but I have to go. It’s personal business.“It will be bloody in there,” Stokes warned. He walked on to his tentand shouted for his servant.Sharpe pushed Ahmed towards Stokes’s tent.“You stay here, Ahmed, you hear me? You stay here!“I come with you,” Ahmed insisted. “You bloody well stay,” Sharpe said. He twitched Ahmed’s red coat.“You’re a soldier now. That means you take orders, understand? Youobey. And I’m ordering you to stay here.“The boy scowled, but he seemed to accept the orders, and Stokes showedhim a place where he could sleep. Afterwards the two men talked, orrather Sharpe listened as Stokes enthused about some fine quartz he haddiscovered in rocks broken open by the enemy’s counter battery fire.Eventually the Major began yawning. Sharpe finished his tea, said hisgood night and then, making certain that Ahmed did not see him go, heslipped away into the dark.He still could not sleep.
He wished Clare had not gone to EliLockhart, although he was glad for the cavalryman that she had, but herabsence made Sharpe feel lonely. He walked to the cliff’s edge and hestood staring across the great gulf towards the fortress. A few lightsshowed in Gawilghur, and every twenty minutes or so the rocky isthmuswould be lit by the monstrous flame of the eighteen-pounder gun. Theballs would rattle against stone, then there would be silence exceptfor the distant sound of singing, the crackle of insects and the softsigh of the wind against the cliffs. Once, when the great gun fired,Sharpe distinctly saw the three ragged holes in the two walls. Andwhy, he wondered, was he so intent on going into those deathtraps? Wasit revenge? Just to find Hakeswill and Dodd? He could wait for theattackers to do their work, then stroll into the fort unopposed, but heknew he would not choose that easy path. He would go with Kenny’s menand he would fight his way into Gawilghur for no other reason thanpride. He was failing as an officer. The 74th had rejected him,the Rifles did not yet know him, so Sharpe must take a reputation backto England if he was to stand any chance of success.So tomorrow he must fight. Or else he must sell his commission andleave the army. He had thought about that, but he wanted to stay inuniform. He enjoyed the army, he even suspected he was good at thearmy’s business of fighting the King’s enemies. So tomorrow he woulddo it again, and thus demonstrate that he deserved the red sash and thesword.So in the morning, when the drums beat and the enemy guns beat evenharder, Sharpe would go into Gawilghur. CHAPTER 9
At dawn there was a mist in Deogaum, a mist that sifted through therain trees and pooled in the valleys and beaded on the tents.“A touch of winter, don’t you think?” Sir Arthur Wellesley commentedto his aide, Campbell.“The thermometer’s showing seventy-eight degrees, sir,” the youngScotsman answered drily.“Only a touch of winter, Campbell, only a touch,” the General said.He was standing outside his tent, a cup and saucer in one hand, staringup through the wisps of mist to where the rising sun threw a brilliantlight on Gawilghur’s soaring cliffs.
A servant stood behind withWellesley’s coat, hat and sword, a second servant held his horse, whilea third waited to take the cup and saucer.“How’s Harness?” the General asked Campbell.“I believe he now sleeps most of the time, sir,” Campbell replied.Colonel Harness had been relieved of the command of his brigade.He had been found ranting in the camp, demanding that his Highlandersform fours and follow him southwards to fight against dragons, papistsand Whigs.“Sleeps?” the General asked.“What are the doctors doing? Pouring rum down his gullet?“I believe it is tincture of opium, sir, but most likely flavoured withrum.“Poor Harness,” Wellesley grunted, then sipped his tea. From highabove him there came the sound of a pair of twelve-pounder guns thathad been hauled to the summit of the conical hill that reared justsouth of the fortress. Wellesley knew those guns were doing no good,but he had stubbornly insisted that they fire at the fortress gate thatlooked out across the vast plain. The gunners had warned the Generalthat the weapons would be ineffective, that they would be firing toofar and too high above them, but Wellesley had wanted the fortress toknow that an assault might come from the south as well as across therocky isthmus to the north, and so he had ordered the sappers to dragthe two weapons up through the entangling jungle and to make a batteryon the hill top. The guns, firing at their maximum elevation, werejust able to throw their missiles to Gawilghur’s southern entrance, butby the time the round shot reached the gate it was spent of all forceand simply bounced back down the steep slope. But that was not thepoint. The point was to keep some of the garrison looking southwards,so that not every man could be thrown against the assault on thebreaches.That assault would not start for five hours yet, for before LieutenantColonel Kenny led his men against the breaches, Wellesley wanted hisother attackers to be in place. Those were two columns of redcoatsthat were even now climbing the two steep roads that twisted up thegreat cliffs. Colonel Wallace, with his own 74th and a battalion ofsepoys, would approach the Southern Gate, while the 78th and anothernative battalion would climb the road which led to the ravine betweenthe forts. Both columns could expect to come under heavy artilleryfire, and neither could hope to break into the fortress, but their jobwas only to distract the defenders while Kenny’s men made for thebreaches.Wellesley drained the tea, made a wry face at its bitter taste and heldout the cup and saucer for the servant.“Time to go, Campbell. “Yes, sir.“Wellesley had thought about riding to the plateau and entering thefortress behind Kenny, but he guessed his presence would merelydistract men who had enough problems to face without worrying abouttheir commander’s approval. Instead he would ride the steep southernroad and join Wallace and the 74th. All those men could hope for wasthat the other attackers got inside the Inner Fort and opened theSouthern Gate, or else they would have to march ignominiously back downthe hill to their encampment. It was all or nothing, Wellesleythought. Victory or disgrace.He mounted, waited for his aides to assemble, then touched his horse’sflank with his spurs. God help us now, he prayed, God help us now.Lieutenant Colonel Kenny examined the breaches through a telescope thathe had propped on a rock close to one of the breaching batteries.The guns were firing, but he ignored the vast noise as he gazed at thestone ramps which his men must climb.
“They’re steep, man,” he grumbled, ‘damned steep.“The walls are built on a slope,” Major Stokes pointed out, ‘so thebreaches are steep of necessity.“Damned hard to climb though,” Kenny said.“They’re practical,” Stokes declared. He knew the breaches were steep,and that was why the guns were still firing. There was no hope ofmaking the breaches less steep, the slope of the hill saw to that, butat least the continued bombardment gave the attacking infantry theimpression that the gunners were attempting to alleviate thedifficulties.“You’ve made holes in the walls,” Kenny said, “I’ll grant you that.You’ve made holes, but that don’t make them practical holes, Stokes.They’re damned steep.“Of necessity,” Stokes repeated patiently.
“We ain’t monkeys, you know,” Kenny complained.“I think you’ll find them practical, sir,” Stokes said emolliently. Heknew, and Kenny knew, that the breaches could not be improved and musttherefore be attempted. Kenny’s grumbling, Stokes suspected, was adisguise for nerves, and Stokes could not blame the man. He would nothave wanted to carry a sword or musket up those rugged stone slopes towhatever horrors the enemy had prepared on the other side.Kenny grunted.“I suppose they’ll have to suffice,” he said grudgingly, snapping histelescope shut. He flinched as one of the eighteen pounders roared andbillowed smoke all about the battery, then he strode into the acridcloud, shouting for Major Plummer, the gunner officer.Plummer, powder-stained and sweating, loomed out of the smoke.“Sir?“You’ll keep your pieces firing till we’re well on the breaches?“I will, sir.
“That should keep their damned heads down,” Kenny said, then fished awatch from his fob.“I make it ten minutes after nine.“Eight minutes after,” Plummer said.“Exactly nine o’clock,” Stokes said, tapping his watch to see if thehands were stuck.“We’ll use my timepiece,” Kenny decreed, ‘and we’ll move forward on thestrike of ten o’clock. And remember, Plummer, keep firing till we’rethere! Don’t be chary, man, don’t stop just because we’re close to thesummit. Batter the bastards! Batter the bastards!” He frowned atAhmed who was staying close to Stokes. The boy was wearing his redcoat which was far too big for him, and Kenny seemed on the point ofdemanding an explanation for the boy’s odd garb, then abruptly shruggedand walked away.He went to where his men crouched on the track that led to the fortressgate. They were sheltered from the defenders by the lie of the land,but the moment they advanced over a small rocky rise they would becometargets.
They then had three hundred yards of open ground to cross,and as they neared the broken walls they would be squeezed into thenarrow space between the tank and the precipice where they could expectthe fire of the defenders to be at its fiercest. After that it was aclimb to the breaches and to whatever horrors waited out of sight.The men sat, trying to find what small shade was offered by bushes orrocks. Many were half drunk, for their officers had issued extrarations of arrack and rum. None carried a pack, they had only theirmuskets, their ammunition and bayonets. A few, not many, prayed. Anofficer of the Scotch Brigade knelt bare-headed amongst a group of hismen, and Kenny, intrigued by the sight, swerved towards the kneelingsoldiers to hear them softly repeating the twenty-third psalm. Mostmen just sat, heads low, consumed by their thoughts. The officersforced conversation.Behind Kenny’s thousand men was a second assault force, also composedof sepoys and Scotsmen, which would follow Kenny into the breach. IfKenny failed then the second storming party would try to go farther,but if Kenny succeeded they would secure the Outer Fort while Kenny’stroops went on to assault the Inner. Small groups of gunners wereincluded in both assault groups. Their orders were to find whateverserviceable cannon still existed in the Outer Fort and turn themagainst the defenders beyond the ravine.An officer wearing the white facings of the 74th picked his way up thetrack between the waiting troops. The man had a cheap Indian sabre athis waist and, unusually for an officer, was carrying a musket andcartridge box. Kenny hailed him.“Who the devil are you?“Sharpe, sir.“The name rang a bell in Kenny’s mind.“Wellesley’s man?“Don’t know about that, sir.“Kenny scowled at the evasion. “You were at Assaye, yes?“Yes, sir,” Sharpe admitted.Kenny’s expression softened. He knew of Sharpe and he admired a braveman.“So what the devil are you doing here, Sharpe? Your regiment is milesaway! They’re climbing the road from Deogaum.“I was stranded here, sir,” Sharpe said, deciding there was no point intrying to deliver a longer explanation, ‘and there wasn’t time to jointhe 74th, sir, so I was hoping to go with my old company. That’sCaptain Morris’s men, sir.” He nodded up the track to where the 33rd’sLight Company was gathered among some boulders.“With your permission of course, sir.“No doubt Morris will be glad of your help, Sharpe,” Kenny said, ‘aswill I.” He was impressed by Sharpe’s appearance, for the Ensign wastall, evidently strong and had a roguish fierceness about his face.
Inthe breach, the Colonel knew, victory or defeat as often as not camedown to a man’s skill and strength, and Sharpe looked as if he knew howto use his weapons.“Good luck to you, Sharpe.“And the best to you, sir,” Sharpe said warmly.He walked on, his borrowed musket heavy on his shoulder. Eli Lockhartand Syud Sevajee were waiting with their men among the third group, thesoldiers who would occupy the fort after the assault troops had donetheir work, if, indeed, the leading two thousand men managed to getthrough the walls. A rumour was spreading that the breaches were toosteep and that no one could carry a weapon and climb the ramps at thesame time. The men believed they would need to use their hands toscramble up the stony piles, and so they would be easy targets for anydefenders at the top of the breaches. The gunners, they grumbled,should have brought down more of the wall, if not all of it, and theproof of that assertion was the guns’ continual firing. Why would theguns go on gnawing at the wall if the breaches were already practical?They could hear the strike of round shot on stone, hear the occasionaltumble of rubble, but what they could not hear was any fire from thefortress. The bastards were saving their fire for the assault. Sharpe edged among sepoys who were carrying one of Major Stokes’sbamboo ladders. The dark faces grinned at him, and one man offeredSharpe a canteen which proved to contain a strongly spiced arrack.Sharpe took a small sip, then amused the sepoys by pretending to beastonished by the liquor’s fierceness.“That’s rare stuff, lads,” Sharpe said, then walked on towards his oldcomrades. They watched his approach with a mixture of surprise,welcome and apprehension. When the 33rd’s Light Company had last seenSharpe he had been a sergeant, and not long before that he had been aprivate strapped to the punishment triangle; now he wore a sword andsash. Although officers promoted from the ranks were not supposed toserve with their old units, Sharpe had friends among these men and ifhe was to climb the steep rubble of Gawilghur’s breaches then he wouldrather do it among friends.Captain Morris was no friend, and he watched Sharpe’s approach withforeboding. Sharpe headed straight for his old company commander.“Good to see you, Charles,” he said, knowing that his use of theChristian name would irritate Morris.
“Nice morning, eh?“Morris looked left and right as though seeking someone who could helphim confront this upstart from his past. Morris had never likedSharpe, indeed he had conspired with Obadiah Hakeswill to have Sharpeflogged in the hope that the punishment would end in death, but Sharpehad survived and had been commissioned. Now the bastard was beingfamiliar, and there was nothing Morris could do about it.“Sharpe,” he managed to say.“Thought I’d join you, Charles,” Sharpe said airily.“I’ve been stranded up here, and Kenny reckoned I might be useful toyou.“Of course,” Morris said, conscious of his men’s gaze. Morris wouldhave liked to tell Sharpe to bugger a long way off, but he could notcommit such impolite ness to a fellow officer in front of his men.“Inever congratulated you,” he forced himself to say.“No time like the present,” Sharpe said.
Morris blushed.“Congratulations.“Thank you, Charles,” Sharpe said, then turned and looked at thecompany. Most grinned at him, but a few men avoided his gaze.“No Sergeant Hakeswill?” Sharpe asked guilelessly.“He was captured by the enemy,” Morris said. The Captain was staringat Sharpe’s coat which was not quite big enough and looked, somehow,familiar.Sharpe saw Morris frowning at the jacket.“You like the coat?” he asked.“What?” Morris asked, confused by his suspicions and by Sharpe’s easymanner.
Morris himself was wearing an old coat that was disfigured bybrown cloth patches.“I bought the coat after Assaye,” Sharpe said.“You weren’t there, were you?“No.“Nor at Argaum?“No,” Morris said, stiffening slightly. He resented the fact thatSharpe had survived those battles and was now suggesting, howeverdelicately, that the experience gave him an advantage. The truth wasthat it did, but Morris could not admit that any more than he couldadmit his jealousy of Sharpe’s reputation.“So what are our orders today?” Sharpe asked.Morris could not accustom himself to this confident Sharpe who treatedhim as an equal and he was tempted not to answer, but the question wasreasonable and Sharpe was undoubtedly an officer, if merely anensign.“Once we’re through the first wall,” Morris answered unhappily,“Kenny’s going to attack the left-hand upper breach and he wants us toseal off the right upper breach.“Sounds like a decent morning’s work,” Sharpe said happily, then raiseda hand to Garrard. “How are you, Tom?“Pleased you’re here, sir.“Couldn’t let you babies go into a breach without some help,” Sharpesaid, then held out his hand to Sergeant Green.“Good to see you, Sergeant.“Grand to see you too, sir,” Green said, shaking Sharpe’s hand.“Iheard you’d been commissioned and I hardly dared believe it!“You know what they say about scum, Sergeant,” Sharpe said.“Always floats to the top, eh?” Some of the men laughed, especiallywhen Sharpe glanced at Morris who had, indeed, expressed that veryopinion not long before. Others scowled, for there were plenty in thecompany who resented Sharpe’s good fortune.One of them, a dark-faced man called Growley, spat.“You always were a lucky bastard, Sharpie.“Sharpe seemed to ignore the remark as he stepped through the seatedcompany and greeted more of his old friends, but when he was behindCrowley he turned abruptly and pushed out the butt of his slung musketso that the heavy stock thumped into the private’s head.
Crowley letout a yelp and turned to see Sharpe standing above him.“The word, Crowley,” Sharpe said menacingly, ‘is “sir”.“Crowley met Sharpe’s gaze, but could not hold it.“Yes, sir,” he said meekly.“I’m sorry I was careless with the musket, Crowley,” Sharpe said.There was another burst of laughter, making Morris scowl, but he wasquite uncertain of how to deal with Sharpe and so he said nothing.Watson, a Welsh private who had joined the regiment rather than face anassize court, jerked a thumb towards the fort.“They say the breaches are too steep, Mister Sharpe.“Nothing to what you Welsh boys climb every day in the mountains,“Sharpe said. He had borrowed Major Stokes’s telescope shortly afterdawn and stared at the breaches, and he had not much liked what he hadseen, but this was no time to tell the truth. “We’re going to give the buggers a right bloody thrashing, lads,” hesaid instead.“I’ve fought these Mahrattas twice now and they don’t stand. They lookgood, but press home on the bastards and they turn and run like jackrabbits. Just keep going, boys, keep fighting, and the buggers’ll giveup.“It was the speech Morris should have made to them, and Sharpe had noteven known he was going to make any kind of speech when he opened hismouth, but somehow the words had come. And he was glad, for the menlooked relieved at his confidence, then some of them looked nervousagain as they watched a sepoy coming up the track with a British flagin his hands. Colonel Kenny and his aides walked behind the man, allwith drawn swords. Captain Morris drank deep from his canteen, and thesmell of rum wafted to Sharpe.The guns fired on, crumbling the breaches’ shoulders and filling theair with smoke and dust as they tried to make the rough way smooth.Soldiers, sensing that the order to advance was about to be given,stood and hefted their weapons.
Some touched rabbits’ feet hidden inpockets, or whatever other small token gave them a finger hold onlife.One man vomited, another trembled. Sweat poured down their faces.“Four ranks,” Morris said.“Into ranks! Quick now!” Sergeant Green snapped. An howitzer shellarced overhead then plummeted towards the fort trailing its wisp offuse smoke. Sharpe heard the shell explode, then watched another shellfollow. A man dashed out of the ranks into the rocks, lowered histrousers and emptied his bowels. Everyone pretended not to noticeuntil the smell struck them, then they jeered as the embarrassed manwent back to his place.“That’s enough!” Green said. A sepoy drummer with an old-fashioned mitred shako on his head gave hisdrum a couple of taps, while a piper from the Scotch Brigade filled hisbag then settled the instrument under his elbow. Colonel Kenny waslooking at his watch. The guns fired on, their smoke drifting down tothe waiting men. The sepoy with the flag was at the front of theforming column, and Sharpe guessed the enemy must be able to see thebright tip of the colour above the rocky crest.Sharpe took the bayonet from his belt and slotted it onto the musket.He was not wearing the sabre that Ahmed had stolen from Morris, for heknew the weapon would be identifiable, and so he had a tulwar that hehad borrowed from Syud Sevajee. He did not trust the weapon. He hadseen too many Indian blades break in combat. Besides he was used to amusket and bayonet.“Fix bayonets!” Morris ordered, prompted by the sight of Sharpe’sblade.
“And save your fire till you’re hard in the breach,” Sharpe added.“You’ve got one shot, lads, so don’t waste it. You won’t have time toreload till you’re through both walls.“Morris scowled at this unasked-for advice, but the men seemed gratefulfor it, just as they were grateful that they were not in the frontranks of Kenny’s force. That honour had gone to the Grenadier Companyof the 94th who thus formed the Forlorn Hope. Usually the Hope, thatgroup of men who went first into a breach to spring the enemy traps andfight down the immediate defenders, was composed of volunteers, butKenny had decided to do without a proper Forlorn Hope. He wanted tofill the breaches quickly and so overwhelm the de fences by numbers,and thus hard behind the Scotch Brigade’s grenadiers were two morecompanies of Scots, then came the sepoys and Morris’s men. Hard andfast, Kenny had told them, hard and fast.Leave the wounded behind you, he had ordered, and just get up thedamned breaches and start killing.The Colonel looked at his watch a last time, then snapped its lid shutand put it into a pocket.
He took a breath, hefted his sword, thenshouted one word.“Now!“And the flag went forward across the crest and behind it came a wave ofmen who hurried towards the walls.For a few seconds the fortress was silent, then the first rocket wasfired. It seared towards the advancing troops, trailing its plume ofthick smoke, then abruptly twisted and climbed into the clear sky.Then the guns began.Colonel William Dodd saw the errant rocket twist into the sky, falteramidst a growing tumult of its own smoke, then fall. Manu Bappoo’sguns began to fire and Dodd knew, though he could not see over the loomof the Outer Fort, that the British attack was coming.“Gopal!” he called to his second in command.“Sahib?“Close the gates.“Sahib?” Gopal frowned at the Colonel. It had been agreed with ManuBappoo that the four gates that barred the entranceway to the InnerFort would be left open so that the defenders of the Outer Fort couldretreat swiftly if it was necessary. Dodd had even posted a company toguard the outermost gate to make sure that no British pursuers couldget in behind Manu Bappoo’s men, yet now he was suggesting that thegates should be shut?“You want me to close them, sahib?” Gopal asked, wondering if he hadmisheard.“Close them, bar them and forget them,” Dodd said happily, ‘and pullthe platoon back inside the fort. I have another job for them.“But, sahib, if-‘ “You heard me, Jemadar! Move!“Gopal ran to do Dodd’s bidding, while the Colonel himself walked alongthe fire step that edged the entranceway to make certain that hisorders were being obeyed. He watched, satisfied, as the troopsguarding the outer gate were brought back into the fortress and thenas, one by one, the four vast gates were pushed shut. The greatlocking bars, each as thick as a man’s thigh, were dropped into theirmetal brackets. The Outer Fort was now isolated. If Manu Bappoorepelled the British then it would be a simple matter to open the gatesagain, but if he lost, and if he fled, then he would find himselftrapped between Dodd’s Cobras and the advancing British.Dodd walked to the centre of the fire step and there climbed onto anembrasure so that he could talk to as many of his men as possible. “You will see that I have shut the gates,” he shouted, ‘and they willstay shut!They will not be opened except by my express permission. Not if allthe maharajahs of India stand out there and demand entrance! The gatesstay shut. Do you understand?“The white-coated soldiers, or at least those few who spoke someEnglish, nodded while the rest had Dodd’s orders translated. Noneshowed much interest in the decision. They trusted their Colonel, andif he wanted the gates kept closed, then so be it.Dodd watched the smoke thicken on the far side of the Outer Fort. Agrim struggle was being waged there, but it was nothing to do withhim.He would only begin to fight when the British attacked across theravine, but their attacks would achieve nothing. The only way into theInner Fort was through the gates, and that was impossible. The Britishmight batter down the first gate with cannon fire, but once through thearch they would discover that the entranceway turned sharply to theleft, so their gun could not fire through the passage to batter downthe three other doors.
They would have to fight their way up thenarrow passage, try to destroy the successive gates with axes, and allthe while his men would be pouring slaughter on them from the flankingwalls.“Sahib?” Gopal called, and Dodd turned to see that the Jemadar waspointing up the path that led to the palace. Beny Singh had appearedon the path, flanked by a servant carrying a parasol to protect theKilladar from the hot sun.“Send him up here, Jemadar!” Dodd shouted back.Dodd felt a quiet exaltation at the neatness of his tactics. ManuBappoo was already cut off from safety, and only Beny Singh was nowleft as a rival to Dodd’s supremacy. Dodd was tempted to cut theKilladar down here and now, but the murder would have been witnessed bymembers of the garrison who were still loyal to Beny Singh, and soinstead Dodd greeted the Killadar with a respectful bow.“What’s happening?” Beny Singh demanded. He was breathing hard fromthe effort of climbing to the fire step then he cried out in dismaybecause the guns on the southern wall of the Outer Fort, those gunsthat overlooked the ravine, had suddenly opened fire to pump gouts ofgrey white smoke.“I fear, sahib,” Dodd said, ‘that the enemy are overwhelming thefort. “They’re doing what?” The Killadar, who was dressed for battle in aclean white robe girdled by a red cummerbund and hung with a jewelledscabbard, looked horrified. He watched the smoke spread across theravine. He was puzzled because it was not at all clear what the nearerguns were firing at.“But the enemy can’t get in here!“There are other British soldiers approaching, sahib,” Dodd said, andhe pointed to the smoke cloud above the ravine. The guns on the nearside of the Outer Fort, most of them small three- and five-poundercannon, were aiming their pieces westwards, which meant that Britishtroops must be approaching up the steep road which led from theplain.Those troops were still out of Dodd’s sight, but the gunnery from theOuter Fort was eloquent proof of their presence.“There must be redcoats coming towards the ravine,” Dodd explained,‘and we never foresaw that the British might assault in more than oneplace.” Dodd told the lie smoothly. “I have no doubt they have mencoming up the southern road too.“They do,” the Killadar confirmed.
Dodd shuddered, as though the news overwhelmed him with despair.“We shall do our best,” he promised, ‘but I cannot defend everything atonce. I fear the British will gain the victory this day.” He bowed tothe Killadar again.“I am so very sorry, sahib. But you can gain an immortal reputation byjoining the fight. We might lose today’s battle, but in years to comemen will sing songs about the defiance of Beny Singh. And how betterfor a soldier to die, sahib, than with a sword in his hand and hisenemies dead about his feet?“Beny Singh blanched at the thought.“My daughters!” he croaked.“Alas,” Dodd said gravely, ‘they will become soldiers’ toys.
But youshould not worry, sahib. In my experience the prettiest girls usuallyfind a soldier to defend them. He is usually a big man, crude andforceful, but he stops the other men from raping his woman, except hisfriends, of course, who will be allowed some liberties. I am sure yourwives and daughters will find men eager to protect them.“Beny Singh fled from Dodd’s reassurances. Dodd smiled as theKilladar ran, then turned and walked towards Hakeswill who was postedin the bastion above the innermost gate. The Sergeant had been issuedwith a sword to accompany his black sash. He slammed to attention asDodd approached him.“Stand easy, Mister Hakeswill,” Dodd said. Hakeswill relaxed slightly. He liked being called “Mister’, it somehow seemed appropriate. If thatlittle bastard Sharpe could be a mister and wear a sword, then so couldhe.“I shall have a job for you in a few minutes, Mister Hakeswill,” Doddsaid.“I shall be honoured, sir,” Hakeswill replied.Dodd watched the Killadar hurry up the path towards the palace.“Our honoured commander,” he said sarcastically, ‘is taking some badnews to the palace. We must give the news time to take root there.“Bad news, sir?“He thinks we’re going to lose,” Dodd explained.“I pray not, sir.“As do I, Mister Hakeswill, as do I.
Fervently!” Dodd turned to watchthe gunners in the Outer Fort and he saw how puny their small cannonwere and he reckoned that such fire would not hold up the redcoats forlong. The British would be in the ravine in half an hour, maybeless.“In ten minutes, Mister Hakeswill, you will lead your company to thepalace and you will order the Arab guards to come and defend thewalls.“Hakeswill’s face twitched.“Don’t speak their heathen language, sir, begging your pardon, sir.“You don’t need their language. You’ve got a musket, use it. And ifanyone questions your authority, Mister Hakeswill, you have mypermission to shoot them.“Shoot them, sir? Yes, sir. With pleasure, sir. “Anyone at all, Mister Hakeswill.“Hakeswill’s face twitched again.“That fat little bugger, sir, him what was just here with the curlymoustache “The Killadar? If he questions you “I shoot the bugger, sir.“Exactly.” Dodd smiled. He had seen into Hakeswill’s soul anddiscovered it was black as filth, and perfect for his purposes.“Do it for me, Mister Hakeswill, and I shall gazette you as a captainin the Cobras. Your havildar speaks some English, doesn’t he?“A kind of English, sir,” Hakeswill said.“Make sure he understands you. The palace guards are to be despatchedto the walls.
“They will, sir, or else they’ll be dead ‘uns.“Very good,” Dodd said.“But wait ten minutes.“I shall, sir. And good day to you, sir.” Hakeswill saluted, aboutturned and marched down the ramparts.Dodd turned back to the Outer Fort. Rockets seared out of the smokecloud above which Manu Bappoo’s flag still hung. Faintly, veryfaintly, Dodd could hear men shouting, but the sound was being drownedby the roar of the guns which unsettled the silver-grey monkeys in theravine. The beasts turned puzzled black faces up towards the men onthe Inner Fort’s walls as though they could find an answer to the noiseand stink that was consuming the day.
A day which, to Dodd’s way of thinking, was going perfectly.The 33rd’s Light Company had been waiting a little to the side of thetrack and Captain Morris deliberately stayed there, allowing almost allof Kenny’s assault troops to go past before he led his men out of therocks. He thus ensured that he was at the rear of the assault, a placewhich offered the greatest measure of safety.Once Morris moved his men onto the fort’s approach road he deliberatelyfell in behind a sepoy ladder party so that his progress was impeded.He walked at the head of his men, but turned repeatedly.“Keep in files, Sergeant!” he snapped at Green more than once.Sharpe walked alongside the company, curbing his long stride to theslow pace set by Morris. It took a moment to reach the small crest inthe road, but then they were in sight of the fortress and Sharpe couldonly stare in awe at the weight of fire that seemed to pour from thebattered walls.The Mahrattas’ bigger guns had been unseated, but they possessed amyriad of smaller cannon, some little larger than blunderbusses, andthose weapons now roared and coughed and spat their flames towards theadvancing troops so that the black walls were half obscured behind thepatchwork of smoke that vented from every embrasure. Rockets added tothe confusion.
Some hissed up into the sky, but others seared into theadvancing men to slice fiery passages through the ranks.The leading company had not yet reached the outer breach, but washurrying into the narrow space between the precipice to the east andthe tank to the west. They jostled as their files were compressed, andthen the gunfire seemed to concentrate on those men and Sharpe had animpression of blood misting the air as the round shot slammed home at arange of a mere hundred paces. There were big round bastions on eitherflank of the breach, and their summits were edged with perpetual flameas the defenders took turns to blast muskets down into the mass ofattackers. The British guns were still firing, their shots explodingbursts of dust and stone from the breach, or else hammering into theembrasures in an effort to dull the enemy’s fire.An aide came running back down the path.“Hurry!” he called.“Hurry!“Morris made no effort to hasten his pace. The leading Scots were pastthe tank now and climbing the gentle slope towards the walls, but thatslope became ever steeper as it neared the breach. The man with theflag was in front, then he was engulfed by Highlanders racing to reachthe stones. Kenny led them, sword in hand. Muskets suddenly flamedfrom the breach summit, obscuring it with smoke, and then aneighteen-pounder shot churned up the smoke and threw up a barrow loadof broken stone amidst which an enemy musket wheeled.Sharpe quickened his pace. He could feel a kind of rage inside, and hewondered if that was fear, but there was an excitement too, and ananxiety that he would miss the fight.He could see the fight clearly enough, for the breach was high abovethe approach road and the Scots, scrambling up using their hands, wereclearly visible. The British gunners were still firing, hammeringround shot just inches over the Scotsmen’s heads to keep the summit ofthe breach clear of the enemy, and then, abruptly, the guns stopped andthe redcoats climbed into the dust that hung thick above the shatteredstones. A mass of Arabs climbed the breach’s inner slope, coming tooppose the Scots, and scimitars rang against bayonets. The red coatsof the attackers were turned pink by the stone dust. Colonel Kenny wasin the front rank, straddling a chunk of masonry as he parried ascimitar.He lunged, piercing an enemy’s throat, then stepped forward, downwards,knowing he was across the summit and oblivious of the muskets thatflamed above him from the upper wall. The British gunners, theirweapons re laid started to fire at the upper wall, driving thedefenders away from the fire step The Scots rammed their bayonetsforward, kicked the dead off the blades, stepped over the corpses andfollowed Kenny down to the space inside the walls.“This way!” Kenny shouted.“This way!” He led the rush of men to the left, to where the innerbreach waited, its slope twitching as the round shot slammed home. SomeArabs, fleeing the Scotsmen’s snarling rage, died as they tried toclimb the inner breach and were struck by the cannonballs.Blood spattered across the inner wall, smeared the ramp, then waswhitened by the dust.Kenny glanced behind to make sure that the column was close behindhim.“Keep them coming,” he shouted to an aide who stood on the summit ofthe first breach.“Keep them coming!” Kenny spat a mouthful of dust, then shouted at theScots to start the ascent of the second breach.“Hurry! Hurry!” Kenny’s aides who were still outside the walls urgedon the column. The rearmost ranks of the Colonel’s assault party werestringing out, and the second storming group was not far behind. “Close up!” the aides urged the laggards.“Close up!“Morris reluctantly quickened. The sepoys carrying the ladders wererunning down the slight slope which led to the narrow space beside thetank where the enemy’s guns were aimed. All along Gawilghur’s wallsthe smoke jetted, the flames spat and the rockets blasted out in goutsof smoke and streams of sparks. Even arrows were being fired. Oneclattered on a rock near Sharpe, then spun into the grass.The Scots were climbing the inner breach now, and a stream of men wasvanishing over the rocky summit of the outer breach. No mines hadawaited the attackers, and no cannon had been placed athwart the breachto blast them as they flooded through the wall. Sepoys scrambled upthe stones.“Hurry!” the aides shouted.
“Hurry!“Sharpe ran down the slope towards the tank. His canteen and haversackthumped on his waist, and sweat poured down his face.“Slow down!“Morris shouted at him, but Sharpe ignored the call. The company wasbreaking apart as the more eager of the men hurried to catch up withSharpe and the others dallied with Morris.“Slow down, damn you!“Morris called to Sharpe again.“Keep going!” Kenny’s aides shouted. Two of them had been postedbeside the tank and they gestured the men on. The round shot of thebreaching batteries hammered above their heads making a noise likegreat barrels rolling across floorboards, then cracked into the smokerimmed upper wall. A green and red flag waved there. Sharpe saw anArab aim a musket, then smoke obscured the sight.
A small cannonballstruck a sepoy, throwing him back and smearing the stony road withblood and guts. Sharpe leaped the sprawling body and saw he hadreached the reservoir. The water was low and scummed green. Two Scotsand a sepoy lay on the sun-baked mud, their blood seeping into thecracks that crazed the bank. A musket ball hammered into the mud, thena small round shot lashed into the rear of Morris’s company and bowledover two men.“Leave them!” an aide shouted.“Just leave them!” A rocket smashed close by Sharpe’s head, envelopinghim in smoke and sparks. A wounded man crawled back beside the road,trailing a shattered leg.Another, blood oozing from his belly, collapsed on the mud and lappedat the filthy water.Sharpe half choked on the thick smoke as he stumbled up the risingground. Big black round shot lay here, left from the cannonade thathad made the first breach. Two redcoat bodies had been heaved aside,three others twitched and called for help, but Kenny had posted anotheraide here to keep the troops moving. Dust spurted where musket ballslashed into the ground, then Sharpe was on the breach itself, half losthis balance as he climbed the ramp, and then was pushed from behind.Men jostled up the stones, clambered up, hauled themselves up with onehand while the other gripped their musket. Sharpe put his hand on asmear of blood. The dusty rubble was almost too hot to touch, and theramp was much longer than Sharpe had anticipated. Men shouted hoarselyas they climbed, and still the bullets thudded down. An arrow struckand quivered in a musket stock. A rocket crashed into the flood ofmen, parting it momentarily as the carcass flamed madly where it hadlodged between a boulder and a cannonball. Someone unceremoniouslydumped a dead Scotsman on top of the hissing rocket and the press ofmen clambered on up over the corpse. Once at the summit the attackers turned to their left and ran down theinside of the breach to the dry grass that separated the two walls. Afight was going on in the left-hand breach, and men were bunchingbehind it, but Sharpe could see the Scots were gradually inching up theslope. By God, he thought, but they were almost in! The British gunshad ceased firing for fear of hitting their own men.Sharpe turned right, going to the second inner breach that Morris’scompany was supposed to seal off. High above him, from the fire stepof the inner wall, defenders leaned over to fire down into the spacebetween the ramparts. Sharpe seemed to be running through a hail ofbullets that magically did not touch him. Smoke wreathed about him,then he saw the broken stones of the breach in front and he leaped ontothem and clambered upwards.“I’m with you, Dick!” Tom Garrard shouted just behind, then a manappeared in the smoke above Sharpe and heaved down a baulk of wood.The timber struck Sharpe on the chest, throwing him back onto Garrardwho clutched at him as the two men fell on the stones. Sharpe swore asa fusillade of musket fire came down from the breach summit.
A handfulof men was with him, maybe six or seven, but none seemed to be hit.They crouched behind him, waiting for orders.“No farther!“Morris shouted.“No farther!“Bugger him,” Sharpe said, and he picked up his musket. Just then theBritish guns, seeing that the right-hand breach was still occupied bythe Mahrattas, opened fire again and the balls hammered into the stonesjust a few feet over Sharpe’s head. One defender was caught smack inthe belly by an eighteen-pounder shot and it seemed to Sharpe that theman simply disintegrated in a red shower. Sharpe ducked as the bloodpoured down the stones, trickling past him and Garrard in smalltorrents.“Jesus,” Sharpe said. Another round shot slammed into the breach, thesound of the ball’s strike as loud as thunder. Shards of stone whippedpast Sharpe, and he seemed to be breathing nothing but hot dust. “No farther!” Morris said.“Here! To me! Rally! Rally!” He was crouched under the inner wall,safe from the defenders on the breach, though high above him, on theundamaged fire step Arab soldiers still leaned out to fire straightdown.“Sharpe! Come here!” Morris ordered.“Come on!” Sharpe shouted. Bugger Morris, and bugger all the otherofficers who said you could put a racing saddle on a cart horse but thebeast would not go quick.“Come on!” he shouted again as he clambered up the stones, andsuddenly there were more men to his right, but they were Scots, and hesaw that the leading men of the second assault group had reached thefortress. A red-haired lieutenant led them, a claymore in his hand.The Lieutenant was climbing the centre of the breach, while Sharpe wastrying to clamber up the steeper flank. The Highlanders went pastSharpe, screaming at the enemy, and the sight of their red coats madethe British gunners cease fire, and immediately the breach summitfilled with robed men who carried curved swords with blades as thick ascleavers. Swords clashed, muskets crashed, and the red-hairedLieutenant shook like a gaffed eel as a scimitar sliced into his belly.
He turned and fell towards Sharpe, dropping his claymore. A line ofdefenders was now firing down the breach, while a huge Arab, who lookedseven feet tall to Sharpe, stood in the centre with a reddened scimitarand dared any man to challenge him. Two did, and both he threw back ina shower of blood.“Light Company!” Sharpe shouted.“Give those bastards fire! Fire!“Some muskets banged behind him and the row of defenders seemed tostagger back, but they closed up again, rallied by the huge man withthe bloodstained scimitar. Sharpe had his left hand on the brokenshoulder of the wall and he used it to haul himself up, then twistedaside as the closest Arabs turned and fired at him. The ballswhiplashed past as a naming lump of wadding struck Sharpe on the cheek.He let go of the wall and fell backwards as a grinning man tried tostab him with a bayonet. Dear God, but the breach was steep! Hischeek was burnt and his new coat scorched. The Scots tried again,surging up the centre of the breach to be met by a line of Arab blades.
More Arabs came from inside the fortress and poured a volley of musketfire down the face of the ramp. Sharpe aimed his musket at the tallArab and pulled the trigger. The gun hammered into his shoulder, butwhen the smoke cleared the big man was still standing and stillfighting. The Arabs were winning here, they were pressing down theface of the breach and chanting a blood-curdling war cry as theykilled. A man rammed a bayonet at Sharpe, he parried it with his own,but then an enemy grasped Sharpe’s musket by the muzzle and tugged itupwards. Sharpe cursed, but held on, then saw a scimitar slashingtowards him and so he let go of the musket and fell back again.“Bastards,” he swore, then saw the dead Scottish Lieutenant’s claymorelying on the stones. He picked it up and swept it at the ankles of theArabs above him, and the blade bit home and threw one man down, and theScots were charging up the breach again, climbing over their own deadand screaming a raw shout of hate that was matched by the Arabs’ criesof victory.Sharpe climbed again. He balanced on the steep stones and hacked withthe claymore, driving the enemy back.
He scrambled up two more feet,wreathed in bitter smoke, and reached the spot where he could grip thewall at the edge of the breach. All he could do now was hold onto thestone with his left hand and thrust and swing with the sword. He drovemen back, but then the big Arab saw him and came across the breach,bellowing at his comrades to leave the redcoat’s death to his scimitar.He raised the sword high over his head, like an executioner taking aim,and Sharpe was off balance.“Push me, Tom!” he shouted, and Garrard put a hand on Sharpe’s arseand shoved him hard upwards just as the scimitar started downwards, butSharpe had let go of the wall and reached out to hook his left handbehind the tall man’s ankle. He tugged hard and the man shouted inalarm as his feet slid out from under him and as he bumped down thebreach’s flank.“Now kill him!” Sharpe bellowed and a half-dozen redcoats attacked thefallen man with bayonets as Sharpe hacked at the Arabs coming to thebig man’s rescue.His claymore clashed with scimitars, the blades ringing likeblacksmith’s hammers on anvils. The big man was twisting and twitchingas the bayonets stabbed again and again through his robes. The Scotswere back, thrusting and snarling up the centre, and Sharpe forcedhimself up another step. Garrard was beside him now, and the two wereonly a step from the summit of the breach.“Bastards! Bastards!” Sharpe was panting as he hacked and lunged, butthe Arabs’ robes seemed to soak up the blows, then suddenly, almostmiraculously, they backed away from him.A musket fired from inside the fortress and one of the Arabs crumpleddown onto the breach’s inner ramp, and Sharpe realized that the men whohad fought their way through the left-hand breach must have turned andcome to attack this breach from the inside.“Come on!” he roared, and he was on the summit at last and there wereScots and Light Company men all about him as they spilt down into theOuter Fortress where a company of the Scotch Brigade waited to welcomethem. The defenders were fleeing to the southern gate which would leadthem to the refuge of the Inner Fort.“Jesus,” Tom Garrard said, leaning over to catch his breath.“Are you hurt?” Sharpe asked.Garrard shook his head.“Jesus,” he said again. Some enemy gunners, who had stayed with theirweapons till the last minute, jumped down from the fire step dodgedpast the tired redcoats scattered inside the wall and fled southwards. Most of the Scots and sepoys were too 25’breathless to pursue them and contented themselves with some musketshots. A dog barked madly until a sepoy kicked the beast intosilence.Sharpe stopped. It seemed suddenly quiet, for the big guns were silentat last and the only muskets firing were from the Mahrattas defendingthe gatehouse. A few small cannon were firing to the south, but Sharpecould not see them, nor guess what their target was. The highest partof the fort lay to his right, and there was nothing on the low summitbut dry grassland and a few thorny trees. No defenders gathered there.To his left he could see Kenny’s men assaulting the gatehouse. Theywere storming the steps to the parapet where a handful of Arabs weremaking a stand, though they stood no chance, for over a hundredredcoats now gathered under the wall and were firing up at the firestep The defenders’ robes turned red. They were trapped now betweenthe musket balls and the bayonets of the men climbing the steps, andthough some tried to surrender, they were all killed.
The otherMahrattas had fled, gone over the high ground in the centre of theOuter Fort to the ravine and to the larger fort beyond.A vat stood in an embrasure of the wall and Sharpe heaved himself upand found, as he had hoped, that the barrel contained water for theabandoned guns. They were very small cannon, mostly mounted on irontripods, but they had inflicted a hard punishment on the men crammedalong the fort’s approach. The dead and wounded had been pushed asideto make way for the stream of men approaching the breaches. MajorStokes was among them, Ahmed at his side, and Sharpe waved to them,though they did not see him. He dipped his hands in the water, slungit over his face and hair, then stooped and drank. It was filthystuff, stagnant and bitter with powder debris, but he was desperatelythirsty.A cheer sounded as Colonel Kenny’s men hoisted the British flag abovethe captured Delhi Gate. Manu Bappoo’s flag was being folded by anaide, to be carried back to Britain. A squad of Scotsmen unbarred thebig inner gate, then the outer one, to let even more redcoats into thefort that had fallen so quickly. Exhausted men slumped in the wall’sshade, but Kenny’s officers were shouting at them to find their units,to load their muskets and move on south.“I think our orders are to guard the breach,” Morris suggested asSharpe jumped down from the fire step”We go on,” Sharpe said savagely.“We ‘ “We go on, sir,” Sharpe said, investing the ‘sir’ with a savagescorn.“Move, move, move!” a major shouted at Morris.“The job ain’t done yet! Move on!” He waved southwards.“Sergeant Green,” Morris said reluct andy ‘gather the men.“Sharpe walked up the hill, going to the high spot in the fort, and oncethere he stared southwards. Beneath him the ground fell away, gentlyat first, then steeply until it disappeared in a rocky ravine that wasdeep in shadow. But the far slope was sunlit, and that slope was aprecipitous climb to an unbreached wall, and at the wall’s eastern endwas a massive gatehouse, far bigger than the one that had just beencaptured, and that far gatehouse was thick with soldiers. Some hadwhite coats, and Sharpe knew those men. He had fought them before.“Bloody hell,” he said softly.“What is it?“Sharpe turned and saw Garrard had followed him.“Looks bloody nasty to me, Tom.“Garrard stared at the Inner Fort. From here he could see the palace,the gardens and the de fences and suddenly those de fences were blottedout by smoke as the guns across the ravine opened fire on the redcoatswho now spread across the Outer Fort. The round shot screamed pastSharpe and Garrard.“Bloody hell,” Sharpe said again. He had just fought his way through abreach to help capture a fort, only to find that the day’s real workhad scarcely begun.Manu Bappoo had hoped to defend the breaches by concentrating his bestfighters, the Lions of Allah, at their summits, but that hope had beendefeated by the British guns that had continued to fire at the breachesuntil the redcoats were almost at the top of the ramps. No defendercould stand in the breach and hope to live, not until the guns ceasedfire, and by then the leading attackers were almost at the summit andso the Lions of Allah had been denied the advantage of higher ground.The attackers and defenders had clashed amidst the dust and smoke atthe top of the breach and there the greater height and strength of theScotsmen had prevailed. Manu Bappoo had raged at his men, he hadfought in their front rank and taken a wound in his shoulder, but hisArabs had retreated. They had gone back to the upper breaches, andthere the redcoats, helped by their remorseless cannon, had prevailedagain, and Bappoo knew the Outer Fort was lost. In itself that was nogreat loss. Nothing precious was stored in the Outer Fort, it wasmerely an elaborate defence to slow an attacker as he approached theravine, but Bappoo was galled by the swiftness of the British victory.For a while he swore at the redcoats and tried to rally his men todefend the gatehouse, but the British were now swarming over thebreaches, the gunners on the walls were abandoning their weapons, andBappoo knew it was time to pull back into the stronghold of the InnerFort.“Go back!” he shouted.“Go back!” His white tunic was soaked in his own blood, but the woundwas to his left shoulder and he could still wield the gold-hiltedtulwar that had been a gift from his brother.“Go back!“The defenders retreated swiftly and the attackers seemed too spent topursue. Bappoo waited until the last, and then he walked backwards,facing the enemy and daring them to come and kill him, but they simplywatched him go. In a moment, he knew, they would reorganize themselvesand advance to the ravine, but by then he and his troops would besafely locked within the greater fortress.The last sight Bappoo had of the Delhi Gate was of an enemy flag beinghauled to the top of the pole that had held his own flag, then hedropped down the steep slope and was hustled through the south gate byhis bodyguard. The path now ran obliquely down the steep side of theravine before turning a hairpin bend to climb to the Inner Fort. Thefirst of his men were already scrambling up that farther path. Thegunners on the southern wall, who had been trying to stop the redcoatsapproaching on the road from the plain, now abandoned their smallcannon and joined the retreat. Bappoo could only follow them withtears in his eyes. It did not matter that the battle was not lost,that the Inner Fort still stood and was likely to stand through alleternity, he had been humiliated by the swiftness of the defeat.“Hurry, sahib,” one of his aides said.“The British aren’t following,” Bappoo said tiredly, ‘not yet. “Those British,” the aide said, and pointed west to where the road fromthe plain climbed to the ravine. And there, at the bend where the roaddisappeared about the flank of the steep slope, was a company ofredcoats. They wore kilts, and Bappoo remembered them fromArgaum. If those men hurried, they might cut off Bappoo’s retreat andso he quickened his pace.It was not till he reached the bottom of the ravine that he realizedsomething was wrong. The leading groups of his men had reached theInner Fort, but instead of streaming into the gate they were millingabout on the slope beneath.“What’s happening?” he asked.“The gates are shut, sahib,” his aide said in wonderment.“They’ll open any minute,” Bappoo said, and turned as a musket bulletwhistled down from the slope behind him. The British who had capturedthe Outer Fort had at last advanced to the edge of the ravine andbeneath them they saw the mass of retreating enemy, so they began tofire down.
“Hurry!” Bappoo shouted, and his men pushed on up the hill, but stillthe gates did not open.The British fire became heavier. Redcoats were lining the hilltop nowand pouring musket fire into the ravine. Bullets ricocheted from thestone sides and flicked down into the press of men. Panic began toinfect them, and Bappoo shouted at them to be calm and return the fire,while he pushed through the throng to discover why the Inner Fort’sgates were closed.“Dodd!” he shouted as he came close.“Dodd!“Colonel Dodd’s face appeared above the rampart. He looked quite calm,though he said nothing.“Open the gate!” Bappoo shouted angrily.Dodd’s response was to raise the rifle to his shoulder.
Bappoo stared up into the muzzle. He knew he should run or twist away,but the horror of fate kept him rooted to the path.“Dodd?” he said in puzzlement, and then the rifle was blotted out bythe smoke of its discharge.The bullet struck Bappoo on the breastbone, shattering it and drivingscraps of bone deep into his heart. The Prince took two shudderingbreaths and then was dead.His men gave a great wail as the news of their Prince’s death spread,and then, unable to endure the plunging fire from the Outer Fort, anddenied entrance to the Inner, they fled west towards the road whichdropped to the plain.But the road was blocked. The Highlanders of the 78th were nearing itssummit and they now saw a great panicked mass surging towards them.The Scotsmen had endured the artillery fire of the Outer Fort duringtheir long climb, but now those guns had been abandoned. To theirright the cliffs soared up to the Inner Fort, while to their left was aprecipice above a dizzying gorge.
There was only room for twelve men to stand abreast on the road, butColonel Chalmers, who led the 78th, knew that was space enough. Heformed his leading half-company into three ranks with the front rowkneeling.“You’ll fire by ranks,” he said quietly.The panicked defenders ran towards the kilted Highlanders, who waiteduntil every shot could kill.“Front rank, fire!” Chalmers said.The muskets started, and one by one the three ranks fired, and thesteady fusillade tore into the approaching fugitives. Some tried toturn and retreat, but the press behind was too great, and still therelentless fire ripped into them, while behind them redcoats came downfrom the Outer Fort to attack their rear.The first men jumped off the cliff, and their terrible screams faded asthey plunged down to the rocks far beneath. The road was thick withbodies and running with blood.“Advance twenty paces!” Chalmers ordered.
The Highlanders marched, halted, knelt and began firing again.Bappoo’s survivors, betrayed by Dodd, were trapped between two forces.They were stranded in a hell above emptiness, a slaughter in the highhills. There were screams as men tumbled to their deaths far beneathand still the fire kept coming. It kept coming until there was nothingleft but quivering men crouching in terror on a road that was rank withthe stench of blood, and then the redcoats moved forward withbayonets.The Outer Fort had fallen and its garrison had been massacred.And William Dodd, renegade, was Lord of Gawilghur.
CHAPTER 10
Mister Hakeswill was not sure whether he was a lieutenant in WilliamDodd’s eyes, but he knew he was a Mister and he dimly apprehended thathe could be much more. William Dodd was going to win, and his victorywould make him ruler of Gawilghur and tyrant of all the wide land thatcould be seen from its soaring battlements. Mister Hakeswill wastherefore well placed, as Dodd’s only white officer, to profit from thevictory and, as he approached the palace on Gawilghur’s summit,Hakeswill was already imagining a future that was limited only by thebounds of his fancy.
He could be a rajah, he decided.“I shall have an harem,” he said aloud, earning a worried look from hisHavildar.“An harem I’ll have, all of me own. Bibbis in silk, but only when it’scold, eh? Rest of the time they’ll have to be naked as needles.” Helaughed, scratched at the lice in his crotch, then lunged with hissword at one of the peacocks that decorated the palace gardens.“Bad luck, them birds,” Hakeswill told the Havildar as the bird fled ina flurry of bright severed feathers.“Bad luck, they are. Got the evil eye, they do. Know what you shoulddo with a peacock? Roast the bugger. Roast it and serve it with’taters.
Very nice, that.“Yes, sahib,” the Havildar said nervously. He was not certain he likedthis new white officer whose face twitched so compulsively, but ColonelDodd had appointed him and the Colonel could do no wrong as far as theHavildar was concerned.“Haven’t tasted a ‘tater in months,” Hakeswill said wistfully.“Christian food, that, see? Makes us white.“Yes, sahib.“And I won’t be sahib, will I? Your highness, that’s what I’ll be.Your bleeding highness with a bedful of bare bibb is His face twitchedas a bright idea occurred to him.“I could have Sharpie as a servant.Cut off his goo lies first, though.
Snip snip.” He boundedenthusiastically up a stone staircase, oblivious of the sound ofgunfire that had erupted in the ravine just north of the Inner Fort.Two Arab guards moved to bar the way, but Hakeswill shouted at them.“Off to the walls, you scum! No more shirking! You ain’t guarding theroyal pisspot any longer, but has to be soldiers. So piss off!“The Havildar ordered the two men away and, though they were reluctantto abandon their post, they were overawed by the number of bayonetsthat faced them. So, just like the guards who had stood at the gardengate, they fled.“So now we look for the little fat man,” Hakeswill said, ‘and give hima bloodletting.“We must hurry, sahib,” the Havildar said, glancing back at the wallabove the ravine where the gunners were suddenly at work.“God’s work can’t be hurried,” Hakeswill answered, pulling at one ofthe latticed doors that led into the palace, ‘and Colonel Dodd will dieof old age on that wall, sonny. Ain’t a man alive who can get throughthat gate, and certainly not a pack of bleeding Scotchmen.
Bugger thisdoor.“He raised his right foot and battered down the locked lattice with hisboot.Hakeswill had expected a palace dripping with gold, festooned with silkand paved with polished marble, but Gawilghur had only ever been asummer refuge, and Berar had never been as wealthy as other Indianstates, and so the floors were common stone, the walls were painted inlime wash and the curtains were of cotton. Some fine furniture ofebony inlaid with ivory stood in the hallway, but Hakeswill had no eyefor such chairs, only for jewels, and he saw none. Two bronze jars andan iron cuspidor stood by the walls where lizards waited motionless,while a brass poker, tongs and fire shovel, cast in Birmingham, mountedon a stand and long bereft of any hearth, had pride of place in aniche. The hallway had no guards, indeed no one was in sight and thepalace seemed silent except for a faint sound of choking and moaningthat came from a curtained doorway at the far end of the hall. Thenoise of the guns was muffled. Hakeswill hefted his sword and edgedtowards the curtain.His men followed slowly, bayonets ready, eyes peering into everyshadow.Hakeswill swept the curtain aside with the blade, and gasped.
The Killadar, with a tulwar slung at his side and a small round shieldstrapped to his left arm, stared at Hakeswill above the bodies of hiswives, concubines and daughters. Eighteen women were on the floor.Most were motionless, but some still writhed as the slow pain of thepoison worked its horrors. The Killadar was in tears.“I could not leave them for the English,” he said.“What did he say?” Hakeswill demanded.“He preferred they should die than be dishonoured,” the Havildartranslated.“Bleeding hell,” Hakeswill commented. He stepped down into the sunkenfloor where the women lay. The dead had greenish dribbles coming fromtheir mouths and their glassy eyes stared up at the lotuses painted onthe ceiling, while the living jerked spasmodically.
The cups fromwhich they had drunk the poison lay on the tiled floor.“Some nice bibb is here,” Hakeswill said ruefully.“A waste!” He stared at a child, no more than six or seven. There wasa jewel about her neck and Hakeswill stooped, grasped the pendant andsnapped the chain.“Bleeding waste,” he said in disgust, then used his sword blade to liftthe said of a dying woman. He raised the silk to her waist, then shookhis head.“Look at that!” he said.“Just look at that! What a bleeding waste!“The Killadar roared in anger, drew his tulwar and ran down the steps todrive Hakeswill from his women. Hakeswill, alarmed, backed away, thenremembered he was to be a rajah and could not show timidity in front ofthe Havildar and his men, so he stepped forward again and thrust thesword forward in a clumsy lunge. It might have been clumsy, but it wasalso lucky, for the Killadar had stumbled on a body and was lurchingforward, his tulwar flailing as he sought his balance, and the tip ofHakeswill’s blade ripped into his throat so that a spray of bloodpulsed onto the dead and the dying.
The Killadar gasped as he fell.His legs twitched as he tried to bring the tulwar round to strike atHakeswill, but his strength was going and the Englishman was above himnow.“You’re a djinnl” the Killadar said hoarsely.The sword stabbed into Beny Singh’s neck.“I ain’t drunk, you bastard,” Hakeswill said indignantly.“Ain’t seen a drop of mother’s milk in three years!” He twisted thesword blade, fascinated by the way the blood pulsed past the steel. Hewatched until the blood finally died to a trickle, then jerked theblade free.“That’s him gone,” Hakeswill said.“Another bloody heathen gone down to hell, eh?“The Havildar stared in horror at Beny Singh and at the corpses drenchedwith his blood.“Don’t just stand there, you great pudding!” Hakeswill snapped.
“Get back to the walls!“The walls, sahib?“Hurry! There’s a battle being fought, or ain’t you noticed? Go on!Off with you! Take the company and report to Colonel Dodd as how thefat little bugger’s dead. Tell him I’ll be back in a minute or two.Now off with you! Quick!“The Havildar obeyed, taking his men back through the hallway and outinto the sunlight that was being hazed by the smoke rising from theravine. Hakeswill, left alone in the palace, stooped to his work. Allthe dead wore jewellery. They were not great jewels, not like themassive ruby that the Tippoo Sultan had worn on his hat, but there werepearls and emeralds, sapphires and small diamonds, all mounted in gold,and Hakeswill busied himself delving through the bloodied silks toretrieve the scraps of wealth. He crammed the stones into his pocketswhere they joined the gems he had taken from Sharpe, and then, when thecorpses were stripped and searched, he roamed the palace, snarling atservants and threatening scullions, as he ransacked the smaller rooms.The rest of the defenders could fight; Mister Hakeswill was gettingrich.The fight in the ravine was now a merciless massacre. The garrison ofthe Outer Fort was trapped between the soldiers who had captured theirstronghold and the kilted Highlanders advancing up the narrow road, andthere was no escape except over the precipice, and those who jumped, orwere pushed by the panicking mass, fell onto the shadowed rocks farbelow.
Colonel Chalmers’s men advanced with bayonets, herding thefugitives towards Kenny’s men who greeted them with more bayonets. Athousand men had garrisoned the Outer Fort, and those men were now deador doomed, but seven thousand more defenders waited within the InnerFort and Colonel Kenny was eager to attack them. He tried to order meninto ranks, tugging them away from the slaughter and shouting forgunners to find an enemy cannon that could be fetched from the capturedramparts and dragged to face the massive gate of the Inner Fort, butthe redcoats had an easier target in the huddled fugitives and theyenthusiastically killed the helpless enemy, and all the while the gunsof the Inner Fort fired down at the redcoats while rockets slammed intothe ravine to add to the choking fog of powder smoke.The slaughter could not endure. The beaten defenders threw down theirguns and fell to their knees, and gradually the British officers calledoff the massacre. Chalmers’s Highlanders advanced up the road that wasnow slippery with blood, driving the few prisoners in front of them.Wounded Arabs crawled or limped. The survivors were stripped of theirremaining weapons and sent under sepoy guard back up to the Outer Fort,and for every step of their way they suffered from the fire that flamedand crackled from the Inner Fort. Finally, exhausted, they were takenout through the Delhi Gate and told to wait beside the tank.The parched prisoners threw themselves at the green-scummed water andsome, seeing that the sepoy guards were few in number, slipped awaynorthwards.
They went without weapons, master less fugitives who posedno threat to the British camp, which was guarded by a half battalion ofMadrassi sepoys.The northern face of the ravine, which looked towards the unconqueredInner Fort, was now crowded with some three thousand redcoats, most ofwhom did nothing but sit in whatever small shade they could find andgrumble that the pucka lees had not fetched water.Once in a while a man would fire a musket across the ravine, but theballs were wild at that long range, and the enemy fire, which had beenheavy during the massacre on the western road, gradually eased off asboth sides waited for the real struggle to begin.Sharpe was halfway down the ravine, seated beneath a stunted tree onwhich the remnants of some red blossom hung dry and faded. A tribe ofblack-faced, silver-furred monkeys had fled the irruption of men intothe rocky gorge, and those beasts now gathered behind Sharpe where theygibbered and screamed. Tom Garrard and a dozen men of the 33rd’s LightCompany had gathered around Sharpe, while the rest of the company waslower down the ravine among some rocks.“What happens now?” Garrard asked.“Some poor bastards have to get through that gate,” Sharpe said.“Not you?“Kenny will call us when he needs us,” Sharpe said, nodding towards thelean Colonel who had at last organized an assault party at the bottomof the track which slanted up towards the gate.“And he bloody will, Tom.
It ain’t going to be easy getting throughthat gate.” He touched the scorch mark on his cheek.“That bloody hurts!“Tut some butter on it,” Garrard said.“And where do I get bleeding butter here?” Sharpe asked. He shadedhis eyes and peered at the complex ramparts above the big gate, tryingto spot either Dodd or Hakeswill, but although he could see the whitejackets of the Cobras, he could not see a white man on the ramparts.“It’s going to be a long fight, Tom,” he said.The British gunners had succeeded in bringing an enemy five poundercannon to the edge of the ravine. The sight of the gun provoked aflurry of fire from the Inner Fort, wreathing its gatehouse in smoke asthe round shot screamed across the ravine to plunge all around thethreatening gun. Somehow it survived. The gunners rammed it, aimedit, then fired a shot that bounced just beneath the gate, ricocheted upinto the woodwork, but fell back.
The defenders kept firing, but their smoke obscured their aim and thesmall captured cannon had been positioned behind a large low rock thatserved as a makeshift breastwork. The gunners elevated the barrel atrifle and their next shot struck plumb on the gates, breaking atimber.Each successive shot splintered more wood and was greeted by an ironiccheer from the redcoats who watched from across the ravine. The gatewas being demolished board by board, and at last a round shot crackedinto its locking bar and the half-shattered timbers sagged on theirhinges.Colonel Kenny was gathering his assault troops at the foot of theravine. They were the same men who had gone first into the breaches ofthe Outer Fort, and their faces were stained with powder burns, withdust and sweat. They watched the destruction of the outer gate of theInner Fort and they knew they must climb the path into the enemy’s fireas soon as the gun had done its work. Kenny summoned an aide.“You know Plummer?” he asked the man.“Gunner Major, sir?“Find him,” Kenny said, ‘or any gunner officer.
Tell them we mightneed a light piece up in the gateway.” He pointed with a reddenedsword at the Inner Fort’s gatehouse.“The passage ain’t straight,” he explained to the aide.“Get through the gate and we turn hard left. If our axe men can’t dealwith the other gates we’ll need a gun to blow them in.“The aide climbed back up to the Outer Fort, looking for a gunner.Kenny talked to his men, explaining that once they were through theshattered gate they would find themselves faced by another and that theinfantry were to fire up at the flanking fire steps to protect the axemen who would try to hack their way through the successive obstacles.“If we put up enough fire,” Kenny said, ‘the enemy’ll take shelter. Itwon’t take long.” He looked at his axe men all of them huge sappers,all carrying vast-bladed axes that had been sharpened to wickededges.
Kenny turned and watched the effect of the five-pounder shots. Thegate’s locking bar had been struck plumb, but the gate still held. Abadly aimed shot cracked into the stone beside the gate, starting updust, then a correction to the gun sent a ball hammering into the baragain and the thick timber broke and the remnants of the gates fellinwards.“Forward!“Kenny shouted.“Forward!“Four hundred redcoats followed the Colonel up the narrow track that ledto the Inner Fort. They could not run to the assault, for the hill wastoo steep; they could only trudge into the fury of Dodd’s fusillade.Cannon, rockets and muskets blasted down the hill to tear gaps inKenny’s ranks.“Give them fire!” an officer on the ravine’s northern side shouted atthe watching redcoats, and the men loaded their muskets and fired atthe smoke-masked gatehouse. If nothing else, the wild fire might keepthe defenders’ heads down. Another cannon had been fetched from theOuter Fort, and now added its small round shots to the fury that beataudibly on the gatehouse ramparts.
Those ramparts were thick with thepowder smoke gouted by the defenders’ cannon and muskets and it wasthat smoke which protected Kenny’s men as they hurried up the last fewyards to the broken gate.“Protect the sappers!” Kenny shouted and then, his sword in his hand,he clambered over the broken timbers and led his attackers into theentrance passage.Facing Kenny was a stone wall. He had expected it, but even so he wasastonished by the narrowness of the passage that turned sharply to hisleft and then climbed steeply to the second unbroken gate.“There it is!“he shouted, and led a surge of men up the cobbled road towards theiron-studded timbers.And hell was loosed.The fire steps above the gateway passage were protected by the outerwall’s high rampart, and Dodd’s men, though they could hear the musketballs beating against the stones, were safe from the wild fire thatlashed across the deep ravine. But the redcoats beneath them, the menfollowing Colonel Kenny into the passage, had no protection. Musketfire, stones and rockets slashed into a narrow space just twenty-fivepaces long and eight wide. The leading axe men were among the first todie, beaten down by bullets.
Their blood splashed high on the walls.Colonel Kenny somehow survived the opening salvo, then he was struck onthe shoulder by a lump of stone and driven to the ground. A rocketslashed past his face, scorching his cheek, but he picked himself upand, sword in numbed hand, shouted at his men to keep going. No onecould hear him. The narrow space was filled with noise, choking withsmoke in which men died and rockets flared. A musket ball struck Kennyin the hip and he twisted, half fell, but forced himself to stand and,with blood pouring down his white breeches, limped on. Then anothermusket ball scored down his back and threw him forward. He crawled onbloodslicked stones, sword still in his hand, and shuddered as a thirdball hit him in the back. He still managed to reach the second gateand reared up to strike it with his sword, and then a last musket ballsplit his skull and left him dead at the head of his men. More bulletsplucked at his corpse.
Kenny’s surviving men tried to brave the fire. They tried to climb theslope to the second gate, but the murderous fire did not cease, and thedead made a barrier to the living. Some men attempted to fire up attheir tormentors on the fire step but the sun was high now and theyaimed into a blinding glare, and soon the redcoats began to back downthe passage. The weltering fire from above did not let up. It flayedthe Scotsmen, ricocheted between the walls, struck dead and dying andliving, while the rockets, lit and tossed down, seared like greatcomets between the stone walls and filled the space with a sickeningsmoke.The dead were burned by rocket flames which exploded their cartridgeboxes to pulse gouts of blood against the black walls, but the smokehid the survivors who, under its cover, stumbled back to the hilloutside the fortress. They left a stone-walled passage filled with thedying and the dead, trickling with blood, foul with smoke and echoingwith the moans of the wounded.“Cease fire!” Colonel Dodd shouted.“Cease fire!“The smoke cleared slowly and Dodd stared down at a pit of carnage inwhich a few bodies twitched.“They’ll come again soon,” Dodd warned his Cobras.
“Fetch more stones, make sure your muskets are loaded. More rockets!“He patted his men on the shoulders, congratulating them. They grinnedat him, pleased with their work. It was like killing rats in a barrel.Not one Cobra had been hit, the first enemy assault had failed and theothers, Dodd was certain, would end in just the same way. The Lord ofGawilghur was winning his first victory.Major Stokes had found Sharpe shortly before Kenny made his assault,and the two men had been joined first by Syud Sevajee and hisfollowers, then by the dozen cavalrymen who accompanied Eli Lockhart.All of them, Stokes, Sevajee and Lockhart, had entered the Outer Fortafter the fight for the breaches was finished, and now they stoodwatching the failure of Kenny’s assault. The survivors of the attackwere crouching just yards from the broken entrance that boiled withsmoke, and Sharpe knew they were summoning the courage to chargeagain.“Poor bastards,” he said.
“No choice in the matter,” Stokes said bleakly.“No other way in.“That ain’t a way in, sir,” Sharpe said dourly, ‘that’s a fast road toa shallow grave.“Overwhelm them,” Stokes said, ‘that’s the way to do it. Overwhelmthem.“Send more men to be killed?” Sharpe asked angrily.“Get a gun over that side,” Stokes suggested, ‘and blast the gates downone after the other. Only way to prise the place open, Sharpe.“The covering fire that had blazed across the ravine died when it wasobvious the first attack had failed, and the lull encouraged thedefenders to come to the outer embrasures and fire down at the stalledattackers.“Give them fire!” an officer shouted from the bed of the ravine, andagain the muskets flared across the gorge and the balls spatteredagainst the walls.
Major Stokes had levelled his telescope at the gate where the thicksmoke had at last dissipated.“It ain’t good,” he admitted.“It opens onto a blank wall.“It does what, sir?” Eli Lockhart asked. The cavalry Sergeant waslooking aghast at the horror across the ravine, grateful perhaps thatthe cavalry was never asked to break into such deathtraps.“The passage turns,” Stokes said.“We can’t fire straight up the entranceway. They’ll have to drag a gunright into the archway.“They’ll never make it,” Sharpe said. Any gun positioned in the outerarch would get the full fury of the defensive fire, and those defenderswere protected by the big outer wall.
The only way Sharpe could see ofgetting into the fortress was by battering the whole gatehouse flat,and that would take days of heavy cannon fire.“The gates of hell,” Stokes said softly, staring through his glass atthe bodies left inside the arch.“Can I borrow the telescope, sir?” Sharpe asked.“Of course.” Stokes cleaned the eyepiece on the hem of his jacket.“It ain’t a pretty sight though.“Sharpe took the glass and aimed it across the ravine. He gave thegatehouse a cursory glance, then edged the lens along the wall whichled westwards from the besieged gate. The wall was not very high,perhaps only twelve or fifteen feet, much lower than the great rampartsabout the gatehouse, and its embrasures did not appear to be heavilymanned. But that was hardly a surprise, for the wall stood atop aprecipice.
The de fences straight ahead were not the wall and itshandful of defenders, but the stony cliff which fell down into theravine.Stokes saw where Sharpe was aiming the glass.“No way in there, Richard.“Sharpe said nothing. He was staring at a place where weeds and smallshrubs twisted up the cliff. He tracked the telescope from the bed ofthe ravine to the base of the wall, searching every inch, and hereckoned it could be climbed. It would be hard, for it was perilouslysteep, but if there was space for bushes to find lodgement, then a mancould follow, and at the top of the cliff there was a brief area ofgrass between the precipice and the wall. He took the telescope fromhis eye.“Has anyone seen a ladder?“Back up there.” It was Ahmed who answered.
“Where, lad?“Up there.” The Arab boy pointed to the Outer Fort.“On the ground,” he said.Sharpe twisted and looked at Lockhart.“Can you boys fetch me a ladder?“What are you thinking of?” Lockhart asked.“A way in,” Sharpe said, ‘a bloody way in.” He gave the telescope toStokes.“Get me a ladder, Sergeant,” he said, ‘and I’ll fix those buggersproperly. Ahrned? Show Sergeant Lockhart where you saw the ladder.“I stay with you,” the boy said stubbornly.
“You bloody don’t.” Sharpe patted the boy on the head, wondering whatAhmed made of the slaughter that had been inflicted on his countrymenin the ravine, but the boy seemed blessedly unaffected.“Go and help the Sergeant,” he told Ahmed.Ahmed led the cavalrymen uphill.“What are you doing, Richard?“Stokes asked.“We can climb up to the wall,” Sharpe said, pointing to where the trailof weeds and bushes snaked up the other side of the ravine.“Not you, sir, but a light company can do it. Go up the ravine, send aladder up and cross the wall.“Stokes trained the telescope and stared at the opposing cliff for along while.“You might get up,” he said dubiously, ‘but then what?“Sharpe grinned.
“We attack the gatehouse from the back, sir.“One company?“Where one company can go, sir, another can follow. Once they seewe’re up there, other men will come.” He still held the great claymorewhich was too big to fit into the scabbard of his borrowed sword, butnow he discarded that scabbard and shoved the claymore into his belt.He liked the sword. It was heavy, straight-bladed and brutal, not aweapon for delicate work, but a killer. Something to give a manconfidence.“You stay here, sir,” he told Stokes, ‘and look after Ahmed for me. Thelittle bugger would love to get in a fight, but he ain’t got the senseof a louse when it comes to a scrap and he’s bound to get killed. Tom!“he called to Garrard, then beckoned that he and the rest of the 33rd’sLight Company should follow him down to where Morris sheltered amongthe rocks.
“When Eli gets here with the ladder, sir,” he added to Stokes, ‘sendhim down.“Sharpe ran down the ravine’s steep side into the smoke-reeking shadowswhere Morris was seated under a tree making a meal out of bread, saltbeef and whatever liquor was left in his canteen.“Don’t have enough food for you, Sharpe,” he said.“Not hungry,” Sharpe lied.“You’re sweating, man,” Morris complained.“Why don’t you find yourself some shade? There’s nothing we can dountil the gunners knock that bloody gatehouse flat.“There is,” Sharpe said.Morris cocked a sceptical eye up at Sharpe.“I’ve had no orders, Ensign,” he said.“I want you and the Light Company, sir,” Sharpe said respectfully.
“There’s a way up the side of the ravine, sir, and if we can get aladder to the top then we can cross the wall and go at the bastardsfrom the back.“Morris tipped the canteen to his mouth, drank, then wiped his lips.“If you, twenty like you and the Archangel Gabriel and all the bloodysaints asked me to climb the ravine, Sharpe, I would still say no. Nowfor Christ’s sake, man, stop trying to be a bloody hero. Leave it tothe poor bastards who are under orders, and go away.” He waved ahand.“Sir,” Sharpe pleaded, ‘we can do it! I’ve sent for a ladder.“No!” Morris interrupted loudly, attracting the attention of the restof the company.“I am not giving you my company, Sharpe. For God’s sake, you’re noteven a proper officer! You’re just a bumped-up sergeant! A bloodyensign too big for your boots and, allow me to remind you, MisterSharpe, forbidden by army regulations to serve in this regiment.
Now go away and leave me in peace.“I thought you’d say that, Charles,” Sharpe said ruefully.“And stop calling me Charles!” Morris exploded.“We are not friends, you and I. And kindly obey my order to leave me inpeace, or had you not noticed that I outrank you?“I had noticed. Sorry, sir,” Sharpe said humbly and he started to turnaway, but suddenly whipped back and seized Morris’s coat. He draggedthe Captain back into the rocks, going so fast that Morris wasmomentarily incapable of resistance. Once among the rocks, Sharpe letgo of the patched coat and thumped Morris in the belly.“That’s for the flogging you gave me, you bastard,” he said.“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sharpe?” Morris asked,scrambling away on his bottom.
Sharpe kicked him in the chest, leaned down, hauled him up and thumpedhim on the jaw. Morris squealed with pain, then gasped as Sharpebackhanded him across the cheek, then struck him again. A group of menhad followed and were watching wide-eyed. Morris turned to appeal tothem, but Sharpe hit him yet again and the Cap-268tain’s eyes turned glassy as he swayed and collapsed. Sharpe bent overhim.“You might outrank me,” he said, ‘but you’re a piece of shit, Charlie,and you always were. Now can I take the company?“No,” Morris said through the blood on his lips.“Thank you, sir,” Sharpe said, and stamped his boot hard down onMorris’s head, driving it onto a rock. Morris gasped, choked, then layimmobile as the breath scraped in his throat.Sharpe kicked Morris’s head again, just for the hell of it, thenturned, smiling.
“Where’s Sergeant Green?“Here, sir.” Green, looking anxious, pushed through the watchingmen.“I’m here, sir,” he said, staring with astonishment at the immobileMorris.“Captain Morris has eaten something that disagreed with him,” Sharpesaid, ‘but before he was taken ill he expressed the wish that I shouldtemporarily take command of the company.“Sergeant Green looked at the battered, bleeding Captain, then back toSharpe.“Something he ate, sir?“Are you a doctor, Sergeant? Wear a black plume on your hat, doyou?“No, sir.“Then stop questioning my statements. Have the company paraded,muskets loaded, no bayonets fixed.” Green hesitated.“Do it, Sergeant!“Sharpe roared, startling the watching men.
“Yes, sir!” Green said hurriedly, backing away.Sharpe waited until the company was in its four ranks. Many of themlooked at him suspiciously, but they were powerless to challenge hisauthority, not while Sergeant Green had accepted it.“You’re a light company,” Sharpe said, ‘and that means you can go whereother soldiers can’t. It makes you an elite. You know what thatmeans? It means you’re the best in the bloody army, and right now thearmy needs its best men.It needs you. So in a minute we’ll be climbing up there’ he pointed tothe ravine ‘crossing the wall and carrying the fight to the enemy.It’ll be hard work for a bit, but not beyond a decent light company.“He looked to his left and saw Eli Lockhart leading his men down theside of the ravine with one of the discarded bamboo ladders.
“I’ll go first,” he told the company, ‘and Sergeant Green will go last.If any man refuses to climb, Sergeant, you’re to shoot the bugger.“I am, sir?” Green asked nervously.“In the head,” Sharpe said.Major Stokes had followed Lockhart and now came up to Sharpe.“I’ll arrange for some covering fire, Sharpe,” he said.“That’ll be a help, sir. Not that these men need much help. They’rethe 33rd’s Light Company. Best in the army.
“I’m sure they are,” Stokes said, smiling at the seventy men who,seeing a major with Sharpe, supposed that the Ensign really did havethe authority to do what he was proposing.Lockhart, in his blue and yellow coat, waited with the ladder.“Where do you want it, Mister Sharpe?“Over here,” Sharpe said.“Just pass it up when we’ve reached the top.Sergeant Green! Send the men in ranks! Front rank first!” He walkedto the side of the ravine and stared up his chosen route. It lookedsteeper from here, and much higher than it had seemed when he wasstaring through the telescope, but he still reckoned it was climbable.He could not see the Inner Fort’s wall, but that was good, for neithercould the defenders see him. All the same, it was bloody steep. Steepenough to give a mountain goat pause, yet if he failed now then hewould be on a charge for striking a superior officer, so he really hadno choice but to play the hero.So he spat on his bruised hands, looked up one last time, then startedto climb.
The second assault on the Inner Fort’s gatehouse fared no better thanthe first. A howling mass of men charged through the wreckage of theshattered gate, stumbled on the dead and dying as they turned up thepassage, but then the killing began again as a shower of missiles,rockets and musket fire turned the narrow, steep passage into a charnelhouse. An axe man succeeded in reaching the second gate and he stoodabove Colonel Kenny’s scorched body to sink his blade deep into thetimber, but he was immediately struck by three musket balls and droppedback, leaving the axe embedded in the dark, iron-studded wood. No oneelse went close to the gate, and a major, appalled at the slaughter,called the men back.“Next time,” he shouted at them, ‘we designate firing parties to givecover. Sergeant! I want two dozen men.“We need a cannon, sir,” the Sergeant answered with brutal honesty.“They say one’s coming.” The aide whom Kenny had sent to fetch acannon had returned to the assault party.“They say it’ll take time, though,” he added, without explaining thatthe gunner officer had declared it would take at least two hours tomanhandle a gun and ammunition across the ravine.
The Major shook his head.“We’ll try without the gun,” he said.“God help us,” the Sergeant said under his breath.Colonel Dodd had watched the attackers limp away. He could not helpsmiling. This was so very simple, just as he had foreseen. ManuBappoo was dead and the Havildar had returned from the palace with thewelcome news of Beny Singh’s murder, which meant that Gawilghur had anew commander. He looked down at the dead and dying redcoats who layamong the small flickering blue flames of the spent rockets.“They’ve learned their lesson, Gopal,” he told his Jemadar, ‘so nexttime they’ll try to keep us quiet by firing bigger volleys up at thefire stepsToss down rockets, that’ll spoil their aim.“Rockets, sahib.
“Lots of rockets,” Dodd said. He patted his men on their backs. Theirfaces were singed by the explosions of the powder in their muskets’pans, they were thirsty and hot, but they were winning, and they knewit.They were his Cobras, as well trained as any troops in India, and theywould be at the heart of the army that Dodd would unleash from thisfortress to dominate the lands the British must relinquish when theirsouthern army was broken.“Why don’t they give up?” Gopal asked Dodd. A sentry on the wall hadreported that the bloodied attackers were forming to charge again.“Because they’re brave men, Jemadar,” Dodd said, ‘but also stupid.“The furious musket fire had started again from across the ravine, asign that a new attack would soon come into the blood-slick gateway.Dodd drew his pistol, checked it was loaded, and walked back to watchthe next failure. Let them come, he thought, for the more who diedhere, the fewer would remain to trouble him as he pursued the beatenremnant south across the Deccan Plain.
“Get ready!” he called. Slow matches burned on the fire step and hismen crouched beside them with rockets, waiting to light the fuses andtoss the terrible weapons down into the killing place.A defiant cheer sounded, and the redcoats came again to theslaughter.The cliff face was far steeper than Sharpe had anticipated, though itwas not sheer rock, but rather a series of cracks in which plants hadtaken root, and he found that he could pull himself up by using stonyoutcrops and the thick stalks of the bigger shrubs. He needed bothhands. Tom Garrard came behind, and more than once Sharpe trod on hisfriend’s hands.“Sorry, Tom.“Just keep going,” Garrard panted.It became easier after the first ten feet, for the face now slopedaway, and there was even room for two or three men to stand together ona weed-covered ledge. Sharpe called for the ladder and it was pushedup to him by the cavalrymen.
The bamboo was light and he hooked thetop rung over his right shoulder and climbed on upwards, following ajagged line of rocks and bushes that gave easy footing. A line ofredcoats trailed him, muskets slung. There were more bushes toSharpe’s left, shielding him from the ramparts, but after he hadclimbed twenty feet those bushes ended and he prayed that the defenderswould all be staring at the beleaguered gatehouse rather than at theprecipice below. He pulled himself up the last few feet, cursing theladder that seemed to get caught on every protrusion. The sun beat offthe stone and the sweat poured down him. He was panting when hereached the top, and now there was nothing but steep, open groundbetween him and the wall’s base. Fifty feet of rough grass to crossand then he would be at the wall.He crouched at the edge of the cliff, waiting for the men to catchup.Still no one had seen him from the walls. Tom Garrard dropped besidehim.
“When we go, Tom,” Sharpe said, ‘we run like bloody hell. Straight tothe wall. Ladder up, climb like rats and jump over the bloody top.Tell the lads to get over fast. Bastards on the other side are goingto try and kill us before we can get reinforced, so we’re going to needplenty of muskets to fend the buggers off.“Garrard peered up at the embrasures.“There’s no one there.“There’s a few there,” Sharpe said, ‘but they ain’t taking muchnotice.Dozy, they are,” he added, and thank God for that, he thought, for ahandful of defenders with loaded muskets could stop him dead. And deadis what he had better be after striking Morris, unless he could crossthe ramparts and open the gates.
He peered up at the battlements asmore men hauled themselves over the edge of the cliff. He guessed thewall was lightly manned by little more than a picquet line, for no onewould have anticipated that the cliff could be climbed, but he alsoguessed that once the redcoats appeared the defenders would quicklyreinforce the threatened spot.Garrard grinned at Sharpe.“Did you thump Morris?“What else could I do?“He’ll have you court-martialed”Not if we win here,” Sharpe said.“If we get those gates open, Tom, we’ll be bloody heroes.“And if we don’t?“We’ll be dead,” Sharpe said curtly, then turned to see Eli Lockhartscrambling onto the grass.“What the hell are you doing here?” Sharpe demanded.“I got lost,” Lockhart said, and hefted a musket he had taken from asoldier below.“Some of your boys ain’t too keen on being heroes, so me and my boysare making up the numbers.“And it was not just Lockhart’s cavalrymen who were climbing, but somekilted Highlanders and sepoys who had seen the Light Company scramblingup the cliff and decided to join in too.
The more the merrier, Sharpedecided. He counted heads and saw he had thirty men, and more werecoming. It was time to go, for the enemy would not stay asleep forlong.“We have to get over the wall fast,” he told them all, ‘and once we’reover, we form two ranks.“He stood and hefted the ladder high over his head, holding it with bothhands, then ran up the steep grass. His boots, which were SyudSevajee’s cast-offs, had smooth soles and slipped on the grass, but hestumbled on, and went even faster when he heard an aggrieved shout fromhigh above him. He knew what was coming next and he was still thirtyfeet from the walls, a sitting target, and then he heard the bang ofthe musket and saw the grass flatten ahead of him as the gases from thebarrel lashed downwards. Smoke eddied around him, but the ball hadthumped into one of the ladder’s thick uprights, and then anothermusket fired and he saw a fleck of turf dance up.“Give them fire!” Major Stokes roared from the bottom of the ravine.“Give them fire!“A hundred redcoats and sepoys blasted up at the walls.
Sharpe heardthe musket shots clatter on the stone, and then he was hard under therampart and he dropped the leading end of the ladder and rammed it intothe turf and swung the other end up and over. A bloody escalade,he thought. A breach and an escalade, all in one day, and he pulledthe claymore out from his belt and pushed Garrard away from the foot ofthe ladder.“Me first,” he growled, and began to climb. The rungs were springy andhe had the terrible thought that maybe they would break after the firstfew men had used the ladder, and then a handful of soldiers would betrapped inside the fortress where they would be cut down by theMahrattas, but there was no time to dwell on that fear, just to keepclimbing. The musket balls raided the stones to left and right in atorrent of fire that had driven the defenders back from the parapet,but at any second Sharpe would be alone up there. He roared a shout ofdefiance, reached the top of the ladder and extended his free hand togrip the stone. He hauled himself through the embrasure. He paused,trying to get a sense of what lay beyond, but Garrard shoved him and hehad no option but to spring through the embrasure.There was no fire step Jesus, he thought, and jumped.
It was not along jump down, maybe eight or ten feet, for the ground was higher onthe inner side of the wall. He sprawled on the turf and a musketbullet whipped over his back. He rolled, got to his feet, and saw thatthe defenders had low wooden platforms that they had been using to peerover the top of the wall. Those defenders were running towards himnow, but they were few, very few, and already Sharpe had five redcoatson his side of the wall, and more were coming. But so was the enemy,some from the west and more from the east.“Tom! Look after those men.” Sharpe pointed westwards, then he turnedthe other way and dragged three men into a crude rank.“Present!” he called. The muskets went up into their shoulders.“Aim low, boys,” he said.
“Fire!“The muskets coughed out smoke. A Mahratta slid on the grass. Theothers turned and ran, appalled at the stream of men now crossing thewall. It was a curious mix of English skirmishers, Highland infantry,sepoys, cavalrymen and even some of Syud Sevajee’s followers in theirborrowed red jackets.“Two ranks!” Sharpe shouted.“Quick now! Two ranks! Tom! What’s happening behind me?“Buggers have gone, sir.“Two ranks!” Sharpe shouted again. He could not see the gatehousefrom here because the hill inside the wall bulged outwards and hid thegreat ramparts from him, but the enemy was forming two hundred paceseastwards. The wall’s defenders, in brown jackets, were joining acompany of white-coated Cobras who must have been in reserve and thosemen would have to be defeated before Sharpe could hope to advance onthe gatehouse. He glanced up the hill and saw nothing there except abuilding half hidden by trees in which monkeys gibbered.
No defendersthere, thank God, so he could ignore his right flank.A Scottish sergeant had shoved and tugged the men into two ranks.“Load!” Sharpe said, though most of the men were already loaded.“Sergeant?“Sir?“Advance along the wall. No one’s to fire till I give the word.Sergeant Green?” Sharpe called, waited.“Sergeant Green!” Green had evidently not crossed the wall yet, ormaybe he had not even climbed the cliff.“Sergeant Green!” Sharpe bellowed again.“Why do you need him?” a voice called.It was a Scottish captain.
Christ, Sharpe thought, but he wasoutranked.“To bring the next group on!“I’ll do it,” the Scotsman said, ‘you go!“Advance!” Sharpe shouted.“By the centre!” the Sergeant shouted.“March!“It was a ragged advance. The men had no file-closers and they spreadout, but Sharpe did not much care. The thing was to close on theenemy. That had always been McCandless’s advice. Get close and startkilling, because there’s bugger all you can do at long range, thoughthe Scottish Colonel would never have used that word. This is for you,McCandless, Sharpe thought, this one’s for you, and it struck him thatthis was the first time he had ever taken troops into formal battle,line against line, muskets against muskets. He was nervous, and madeeven more nervous by the fact that he was leading a makeshift companyin full view of the thousands of redcoats on the ravine’s northernslope.
It was like being trapped on stage in a full theatre; losehere, he thought, and all the army would know. He watched the enemyofficer, a tall man with a dark face and a large moustache. He lookedcalm and his men marched in three tight ranks. Well trained, Sharpethought, but then no one had ever said William Dodd could not whiptroops into shape.The Cobras stopped when the two units were a hundred paces apart.They levelled their muskets and Sharpe saw his men falter.“Keep going!” he ordered.“Keep going!“You heard the man!” the Scottish Sergeant bellowed.“Keep going!“Sharpe was at the right-hand flank of his line. He glanced behind tosee more men running to catch up, their equipment flapping as theystumbled over the uneven ground.
Christ, Sharpe thought, but I’minside! We’re in! And then the Cobras fired.And Sharpe, ensign and bullock driver, had a battle on his hands.The redcoats stormed the gatehouse a third time, this attempt led bytwo squads who hugged the walls either side of the passage and thenturned their muskets up to blast the defenders on the opposite firestepThe tactic seemed to work, for they ripped off their first volley andunder its cover a third squad comprised of axe men charged over thedead and dying and scrambled up the steep stone path towards the secondgate.Then the lit rockets began to drop from on high. They struck thebodies and then flamed into life and ricocheted madly about theconfined space. They tore into the two musket squads, flamed among theaxe men choked men with their smoke, burned them with flame andexploded to strew the carnage with more blood and guts. The axe mennever even reached the gate. They died under the musket fire thatfollowed the rockets, or else, wounded, they tried to crawl backthrough the thick smoke. Rocks hurtled down from the flanking firesteps pulping the dead and the living into horror. The survivors fled,defeated again.
“Enough!” Colonel Dodd shouted at his men.“Enough!” He peered down into the stone chamber. It looked likesomething from hell, a place where broken things twitched in bloodbeneath a reeking pall of smoke. The rocket carcasses still burned.The wounded cried for help that was not coming, and Dodd felt anelation sear through him. It was even easier than he had dared tohope.“Sahib!” Gopal said urgently.“Sahib?“What?“Sahib, look!” Gopal was pointing westwards. There was smoke and thecrackling sound of a musket fight. The noise and smoke were comingfrom just beyond the curve of the hill so Dodd could not see what washappening, but the sound was enough to convince him that a considerablefight had broken out a quarter-mile away, and that might not havemattered, except that the smoke and the noise came from inside thewall.
“Jesus!” Dodd swore.“Find out what’s happening, Gopal. Quick!” He could not lose. Hemust not lose.“Where’s Mister Hakeswill?” he shouted, wanting the deserter to takeover Gopal’s responsibilities on the fire step but the twitchingSergeant had vanished. The musketry went on, but beneath Dodd therewere only moans and the smell of burning flesh. He stared westwards.If the damned redcoats had crossed the wall then he would need moreinfantry to drive them out and seal whatever place they had found topenetrate the Inner Fort.“Havildar!“He summoned the man who had accompanied Hakeswill to the palace.“Go to the Southern Gate and tell them to send a battalion here.
Quick!“Sahib,” the man said, and ran.Dodd found that he was shaking slightly. It was just a small tremor inhis right hand which he stilled by gripping the gold elephant-shapedhilt of his sword. There was no need to panic, he told himself,everything was under control, but he could not rid himself of thethought that there would be no escape from this place. In every otherfight since he had defected from British service he had made certain ofa route along which he could retreat, but from this high fortress onits soaring bluff there was no way out. He must win, or else he mustdie. He watched the smoke to the west. The firing was constant now,suggesting that the enemy was inside the fort in force. His handtwitched, but this time he did not notice as, for the first time inweeks, the Lord of Gawilghur began to fear defeat.The volley from the company of white-coated Cobras hammered towardsSharpe’s men, but because they were spread more widely than usual manyof the balls wasted themselves in the gaps between the files.
Some menwent down, and the rest instinctively checked, but Sharpe shouted atthem to keep marching. The enemy was hidden in smoke, but Sharpe knewthey would be reloading.“Close the files, Sergeant,” he shouted.“Close up! Close up!” the Scots Sergeant called. He glanced atSharpe, suspecting that he was taking the small company too close tothe enemy. The range was already down to sixty yards.Sharpe could just see one of the Indians through the smoke. The manwas the left flanker of the front rank, a small man, and he had bittenoff his cartridge and was pouring the powder down the muzzle of hismusket. Sharpe watched the bullet go in and the ramrod come up readyto plunge down into the barrel.“Halt!” he called.
“Halt!” the Sergeant echoed.“Present!“The muskets came up into the men’s shoulders. Sharpe reckoned he hadabout sixty men in the two ranks, fewer than the enemy’s three ranks,but enough. More men were running up from the ladder all the time.“Aim low,” he said.“Fire!“The volley slammed into the Cobras who were still loading. Sharpe’smen began to reload themselves, working fast, nervous of the enemy’snext volley.Sharpe watched the enemy bring their muskets up. His men were halfhidden by their own musket smoke.“Drop!” he shouted.
He had not known he was going to give the orderuntil he heard himself shout it, but it suddenly seemed the sensiblething to do.“Flat on the ground!” he shouted.“Quick!” He dropped himself, though only to one knee, and a heartbeatlater the enemy fired and their volley whistled over the prostratecompany. Sharpe had slowed his men’s loading process, but he had keptthem alive and now it was time to go for the kill.“Load!” he shouted, and his men climbed to their feet. This timeSharpe did not watch the enemy, for he did not want to be affected bytheir timing. He hefted the claymore, comforted by the blade’sheaviness.“Prepare to charge!” he shouted. His men were pushing their ramrodsback into their musket hoops, and now they pulled out their bayonetsand twisted them onto blackened muzzles. Eli Lockhart’s cavalrymen,some of whom only had pistols, drew their sabres.
“Present!” Sharpe called, and the muskets went up into the shouldersagain. Now he did look at the enemy and saw that most of them werestill ramming.“Fire!” The muskets flamed and the scraps of wadding spat out afterthe bullets to flicker their small flames in the grass.“Charge!” Sharpe shouted, and he led the way from the right flank, theclaymore in his hand.“Charge!” he shouted again and his small company, sensing that theyhad only seconds before the enemy’s muskets were loaded, ran withhim.Then a blast of musketry sounded to Sharpe’s right and he saw that theScottish Captain had formed a score of men on the flank and had pouredin a volley that struck the Cobras just before Sharpe’s charge closedthe gap.“Kill them!” Sharpe raged. Fear was whipping inside him, the fearthat he had mistimed this charge and that the enemy would have a volleyready just yards before the redcoats struck home, but he was committednow, and he ran as hard as he could to break into the white-coatedranks before the volley came.The Havildar commanding the Cobra company had been appalled to see theredcoats charging. He should have fired, but instead he ordered hismen to fix their own bayonets and so the enemy was still twisting theblades onto their muskets when the leading redcoats burst through thesmoke.
Sharpe hacked his heavy sword at the front rank, felt it biteand slide against bone, twisted it free, lunged, kicked at a man, andsuddenly Eli Lockhart was beside him, his sabre slashing down, and twoHighlanders were stabbing with bayonets. Sharpe hacked with the swordtwo-handed, fighting in a red rage that had come from the nervousnessthat had assailed him during the charge. A sepoy trapped the Cobras’Havildar, feinted with the bayonet, parried the tulwar’s counter-lunge,then stabbed the enemy in the belly. The white coats were running now,fleeing back towards the smoke that boiled up from the gatehouse whichlay beyond the bulge of the hill. Tom Garrard, his bayonet bloodied tothe hilt, kicked at a wounded man who was trying to aim his musket.Other men stooped to search the dead and dying.The Scottish Captain came in from the flank. He had the wingedepaulettes of a light company.“I didn’t know the 74th were up here,” he greeted Sharpe, ‘or is it the33rd?” He peered at Sharpe’s coat, and Sharpe saw that Clare’s newlysewn facings had been torn in the climb, revealing the old red materialbeneath.“I’m a lost sheep, sir,” Sharpe said.
“A very welcome lost sheep,” the Captain said, holding out his hand.“Archibald Campbell, Scotch Brigade. Brought my company up here, justin case they got bored.“Richard Sharpe, 74th,” Sharpe said, shaking Campbell’s hand, ‘andbloody glad to see you, sir.” Sharpe suddenly wanted to laugh. Hisforce, which had pierced the Inner Fort’s de fences was a ragged mix ofIndians and British, cavalrymen and infantry. There were kiltedHighlanders from the 78th, some of Campbell’s men from the 94th, maybehalf of the 33rd’s Light Company, and a good number of sepoys.Campbell had climbed one of the low timber platforms that had let thedefenders peer over the fire step and from its vantage point he staredat the gatehouse which lay a quarter-mile eastwards.“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Mister Sharpe?” he asked.“I’m thinking we should take the gatehouse,” Sharpe said, ‘and open thegates.
“Me too.” He shifted to make room for Sharpe on the small platform.“They’ll no doubt be trying to evict us soon, eh? We’d best makehaste.“Sharpe stared at the gatehouse where a great smear of smoke showedabove the ramparts that were thick with white-coated Cobras. A shallowflight of stone stairs led from inside the fortress to the fire stepand the gates could not be opened until that fire step was cleared ofthe enemy.“If I take the fire step he suggested to Campbell, ‘you can open thegates?“That seems a fair division of labour,” Campbell said, jumping downfrom the platform. He had lost his hat and a shock of curly black hairhung over his narrow face. He grinned at Sharpe.“I’ll take my company and you can have the rest, eh?” Campbell strodeup the hill, shouting for his own Light Company to form in a column ofthree ranks.Sharpe followed Campbell off the platform and summoned the remainingmen into line.
“Captain Campbell’s going to open the gates from the inside,” he toldthem, ‘and we’re going to make it possible by clearing the parapets ofthe bastards. It’s a fair distance to the gate, but we’ve got to getthere fast. And when we get there, the first thing we do is fire avolley up at the fire step Clean some of the buggers off before we goup there. Load your muskets now. Sergeant Green!“Green, red-faced from the effort of climbing up the ravine and runningto join Sharpe, stepped forward.“I’m here, sir, and sir-‘ “Number off twenty men, Green,” Sharpeordered the panting Sergeant.“You’ll stay down below and provide covering fire while we climb thesteps, understand?“Twenty men, sir? Yes, sir, I will, sir, only it’s Mister Morris,sir.“Green sounded embarrassed.“What about him?” Sharpe asked.“He’s recovered, sir.
His tummy, sir, it got better’ Green managed tokeep a straight face as he delivered that news ‘and he said no one elsewas to climb the cliff, sir, and he sent me to fetch the men what hadclimbed it back down again. That’s why I’m here, sir.“No, you’re not,” Sharpe said.“You’re here to number off twenty men who’ll give the rest of uscovering fire.“Green hesitated, looked at Sharpe’s face, then nodded.“Right you are, sir! Twenty men, covering fire.“Thank you, Sergeant,” Sharpe said. So Morris was conscious again, andprobably already making trouble, but Sharpe could not worry about that.He looked at his men. They numbered seventy or eighty now, and stillmore Scotsmen and sepoys were coming up the cliff and crossing thewall.
He waited until they all had loaded muskets and their ramrodswere back in their hoops.“Just follow me, lads, and when we get there kill the bastards. Now!“He turned and faced east.“Come on!“At the double!” Campbell called to his company.“Forward!“The fox was in the henhouse. Feathers would fly.
CHAPTER 11
The 74th, climbing the road that led from the plain to Gawilghur’sSouthern Gate, could hear the distant musketry sounding like a burningthorn grove. It crackled, flared up to a crescendo, then faded again.At times it seemed as though it would die altogether and then, just assweating men decided the battle must be over, it rattled loud andfurious once more. There was nothing the 74th could do to help.
They were still three hundred feet beneath the fortress and from now on theywould be within killing range of the guns mounted on Gawilghur’ssouth-facing ramparts. Those guns had been firing at the 74th for overan hour now, but the range had been long and the downward angle steep,so that not a ball had struck home. If the 74th had had their ownartillery, they could have fired back, but the slope was too steep forany gun to fire effectively. The gunners would have had to site theircannon on a steep upwards ramp, and every shot would have threatened toturn the guns over. The 74th could go no farther, not without takingneedless casualties, and so Wellesley halted them. If the defenders onthe southern wall looked few he might contemplate an escalade, but thesepoys carrying the ladders had fallen far behind the leading troops sono such attack could be contemplated yet. Nor did the General trulyexpect to try such an assault, for the 74th’s task had always been tokeep some of the fort’s defenders pinned to their southern walls whilethe real attack came from the north. That purpose, at least, was beingaccomplished, for the walls facing the steep southern slope lookedthick with defenders.Sir Arthur Wellesley dismounted from his horse and climbed to a vantagepoint from which he could stare at the fortress. Colonel Wallace and ahandful of aides followed, and the officers settled by some rocks fromwhere they tried to work out what the noise of the battle meant.
“No guns,” Wellesley said after cocking his head to the distantsound.“No guns, sir?” an aide asked.“There’s no sound of cannon fire,” Colonel Wallace explained, ‘whichsurely means the Outer Fort is taken.“But not the Inner?” the aide asked.Sir Arthur did not even bother to reply. Of course the Inner Fort wasnot taken, otherwise the sound of fighting would have died awayaltogether and fugitives would be streaming from the Southern Gatetowards the muskets of the 74th. And somehow, despite his misgivings,Wellesley had dared to hope that Kenny’s assault would wash over bothsets of ramparts, and that by the time the 74th reached the road’ssummit the great Southern Gate would already have been opened bytriumphant redcoats. Instead a green and gold flag hung from the gatetower which bristled with the muskets of its defenders.Wellesley now wished that he had ridden to the plateau and followedKenny’s men through the breaches. What the hell was happening? He hadno way of reaching the plateau except to ride all the way down to theplain and then back up the newly cut road, a distance of over twentymiles.
He could only wait and hope.“You’ll advance your skirmishers, Colonel?” he suggested to Wallace.The 74th’s skirmishers could not hope to achieve much, but at leasttheir presence would confirm the threat to the southern walls and sopin those defenders down.“But spread them out,” Wellesley advised, ‘spread them well out.” Byscattering the Light Company across the hot hillside he would protectthem from cannon fire.Beyond the southern ramparts, far beyond, a pillar of smoke smeared thesky grey. The sound of firing rose and fell, muted by the hot air thatshimmered over the fort’s black walls. Wellesley fidgeted and hoped toGod his gamble would pay off and that his redcoats, God alone knew how,had found a way into the fort that had never before fallen.“Give them fire!” Major Stokes roared at the men on the ravine’snorthern side.“Give them fire!” Other officers took up the call, and the men who hadbeen watching the fight across the ravine loaded their fire locks andbegan peppering the gatehouse with musket balls.
Stokes had climbedback up the northern side of the ravine so that he could see across thefarther wall, and he now watched as the two small groups of redcoatsadvanced raggedly over the hillside. A column was farthest away, whilethe nearer men were in a line, and both advanced on the stronglygarrisoned gatehouse which had just repelled yet another British attackthrough the broken gate. Those defenders would now turn their musketson the new attackers and so Stokes roared at men to fire across theravine. The range was terribly long, but any distraction would help.The gunners who had smashed down the gate fired at the parapets, theirshots chipping at stone.“Go, man, go!” Stokes urged Sharpe.“Go!“Captain Morris, his mouth swollen and bleeding, and with a bruiseblackening one eye and another disfiguring his forehead, staggered upthe hillside.“Major Stokes!” he called petulantly.“Major Stokes.“Stokes turned to him.
His first reaction was that Morris must havebeen wounded trying to cross the wall, and he decided he must havemisjudged the man who was not, after all, such a coward.“You need a surgeon, Captain?“That bloody man, Sharpe! He hit me! Hit me! Stole my company. Iwant charges levelled.“Hit you?” Stokes asked, bemused.“Stole my company!” Morris said in outrage.“I ordered him to go away, and he hit me! I’m telling you, sir,because you’re a senior officer.You can talk to some of my men, sir, and hear their story. Some ofthem witnessed the assault, and I shall look for your support, sir, inthe proceedings.“Stokes wanted to laugh. So that was how Sharpe had found the men!“Ithink you’d better forget bringing charges against Mister Sharpe,” theengineer said.
“Forget bringing charges?” Morris exclaimed.“I will not! I’ll break the bastard!“I doubt it,” Stokes said.“He hit me!” Morris protested.“He assaulted me!“Nonsense,” Stokes said brusquely.“You fell over. I saw you do it.Tripped and tumbled. And that’s precisely what I’ll allege at anycourt martial. Not that there’ll be a court martial. You simply fellover, man, and now you’re suffering from delusions! Maybe it’s a touchof the sun, Captain? You should be careful, otherwise you’ll end uplike poorHarness.
We shall ship you home and you’ll end your days in bedlamwith chains round your ankles.“Sir! I protest!” Morris said.“You protest too much, Captain,” Stokes said.“You tripped, and that’s what I shall testify if you’re foolish enoughto bring charges.Even my boy saw you trip. Ain’t that so, Ahmed?” Stokes turned to getAhmed’s agreement, but he had vanished.“Oh, God,” Stokes said, and started down the hill to find the boy.But sensed he was already too late.The first hundred paces of Sharpe’s advance were easy enough, for thesun-baked ground was open and his men were still out of sight of thegatehouse. The few defenders who had manned the wall above the ravinehad fled, but as soon as the redcoats breasted the slope of the hill tosee the gatehouse ahead, the enemy musketry began.
“Keep running!” Sharpe shouted, though it was hardly a run. Theystaggered and stumbled, their scabbards and haversacks banging andflapping, and the sun burned down relentlessly and the dry groundspurted puffs of dust as enemy musket balls flicked home. Sharpe wasdimly aware of a cacophony of musketry from his left, the fire of thethousands of redcoats on the other side of the ravine, but thegatehouse defenders were sheltered by the outer parapet. A group ofthose defenders was manhandling a cannon round to face the newattack.“Just keep going!“Sharpe called, the breath rasping in his throat. Christ, but he wasthirsty.Thirsty, hungry and excited. The gatehouse was fogged by smoke as itsdefenders fired their muskets at the unexpected attack that was comingout of the west.Off to his right Sharpe could see more defenders, but they were notfiring, indeed they were not even formed in ranks. Instead theybunched beside a low wall that seemed to edge some gardens and supinelywatched the confrontation.
A building reared up beyond that, halfobscured by trees. The place was huge! Hilltop after hilltop laywithin the vast ring of Gawilghur’s Inner Fort, and there had to be athousand places for the enemy to assemble a force to attack Sharpe’sopen right flank, but he dared not worry about that possibility. Allthat mattered now was to reach the gatehouse and kill its defenders andso let a torrent of redcoats through the entrance.The cannon fired from the gatehouse. The ball struck the dry groundfifty yards ahead of Sharpe and bounced clean over his head. The smokeof the gun spread in front of the parapet, spoiling the aim of thedefenders, and Sharpe blessed the gunners and prayed that the smokewould linger. He had a stitch in his side, and his ribs still hurtlike hell from the kicking that Hakeswill had given him, but he knewthey had surprised this enemy, and an enemy surprised was already halfbeaten.The smoke thinned and the muskets flamed from the wall again, makingmore smoke. Sharpe turned to shout at his men.“Come on!Hurry!” He was crossing a stretch of ground where some of the garrisonhad made pathetic little lodges of thin branches propped against halfdead trees and covered with sacking.
Ash showed where fires hadburned. It was a dumping ground. There was a rusting iron cannoncarriage, a stone trough that had split in two and the remains of anancient windlass made of wood that had been sun-whitened to the colourof bone. A small brown snake twisted away from him. A woman, thin asthe snake and clutching a baby, fled from one of the shelters. A cathissed at him from another. Sharpe dodged between the small trees,kicking up dust, breathing dust. A musket ball flicked up a puff offire ash, another clanged off the rusting gun carriage.He blinked through the sweat that stung his eyes to see that the gatepassage’s inner wall was lined with white-coated soldiers. The wallwas a good hundred paces long, and its fire step was reached byclimbing the flight of stone steps that led up beside the innermostgate.
Campbell and his men were running towards that gate and Sharpe was nowalongside them. He would have to fight his way up the stairs, and heknew that it would be impossible, that there were too many defenders,and he flinched as the cannon fired again, only this time it belched abarrelful of canister that threw up a storm of dust devils all aboutSharpe’s leading men.“Stop!” he shouted.“Stop! Form line!” He was close to the wall, damned close, not morethan forty paces.“Present!” he shouted, and his men raised their muskets to aim at thetop of the wall. Smoke still hid half the rampart, though the otherhalf was clear and the defenders were firing fast. A Scotsmanstaggered backwards and a sepoy folded over silently and clutched hisbleeding belly. A small dog yapped at the soldiers. The smoke wasclearing from the mouth of the cannon.“You’ve got one volley,” Sharpe called, ‘then we charge.
SergeantGreen? I don’t want your men to fire now. Wait till we reach the topof the steps, then give us covering fire.” Sharpe wanted to lash outwith his boot at the damned dog, but he forced himself to show calm ashe paced down the front of the line.“Aim well, boys, aim well! I want that wall cleared.” He stepped intoa space between two files. “Fire!“The single volley flamed towards the top of the wall and Sharpeimmediately ran at the steps without waiting to see the effect of thefire. Campbell was already at the innermost gate, lifting its heavybar.He had a dozen men ready to enter the passageway, while the rest of hiscompany faced back into the fort’s interior to fight off any of thegarrison who might come down from the buildings on the hill.Sharpe took the steps two at a time. This is bloody madness, hethought.
Suicide in a hot place. Should have stayed in the ravine.The sun beat off the stones so that it was like being in an oven. Therewere men with him, though he could not see who they were, for he wasonly aware of the top of the stairs, and of the men in white who wereturning to face him with bayonets, and then Green’s first volleyslammed into them, and one of the men spun sideways, spurting a sprayof blood from his scalp, and the others instinctively twitched awayfrom the volley and Sharpe was there, the claymore slashing in ahaymaker’s sweep that bounced off the wounded man’s skull to drive asecond man over the wall’s unprotected edge and into the passageway.Where the innermost gate was opening, scraping on the stone andsquealing on its huge hinges as Campbell’s men heaved on the vastdoors.A bayonet lunged at Sharpe, catching his coat, and he hammered the hiltof the claymore down onto the man’s head, then brought up his knee.Lockhart was beside him, fighting with a cold-blooded ferocity, hissabre spattering drops of blood with every cut or lunge.“Over there!” Lockhart shouted to his men, and a half-dozen of thecavalrymen ran across the top of the archway to challenge the defenderson the outer walkway. Tom Garrard came up on Sharpe’s right andplunged his bayonet forward in short, disciplined strokes. More menran up the stairs and pushed at those in front so that Sharpe, Lockhartand Garrard were shoved forward against the enemy who had no space touse their bayonets.
The press of men also protected Sharpe from theenemy’s muskets. He beat down with the heavy sword, using his heightto dominate the Indians who were keening a high-pitched war cry.A bayonet hit Sharpe plumb on his hip bone and he felt the steel grindon bone and he slammed the claymore’s hilt down onto the man’s head tocrumple his shako, then down again to beat the man to the ground. Thebayonet fell away and Sharpe climbed over the stunned man to slash atanother defender. A musket banged close by him and he felt the scorchof the barrel flame on his burnt cheek. The press of men was thick,too thick to make progress, even though he beat at them with the swordwhich he cut downwards with both hands.“Throw them over the bloody side!” Lockhart shouted, and the tallcavalryman slashed his sabre, just missing Sharpe, but the hissingblade drove the enemy frantically back and two of them, caught on theedge of the fire step screamed and fell to where they were beaten todeath by the musket butts of Campbell’s Highlanders. Campbell himselfwas running to the next gate. Two more gates to unbar and the waywould be open, but the Cobras were thick on the walls and Dodd wasscreaming at them to shoot into the press of men, attackers anddefenders alike, and so throw back the impudent handful of redcoats whohad turned his rear.Then the attackers outside the fort, who had despaired of makinganother charge into the smoke- and blood-stinking alley where so manyhad died, heard the fight on the ramparts and so they came back,flooding into the shadow of the arch and there aiming up at the firesteps The muskets hammered, more men came, and the Cobras wereassailed from in front and from below.
“Rockets!” Dodd shouted, and some of his men lit the missiles andtossed them down into the passageway, but they were nervous of theattackers coming along the top of the rampart. Those attackers werebig men, crazed with battle, slashing with swords and bayonets as theysnarled their way along the wall. Sergeant Green’s men fired frombelow, picking off defenders and forcing others to duck.“Fire across! Fire across!” Captain Campbell, down in the passageway,had seen the defenders thickening in front of the men attacking alongthe tops of the walls and now he cupped his hands and shouted at themen behind the front ranks of the attackers.“Fire across!” He pointed, showing them that they should angle theirfire over the passageway to strike the defenders on the opposite walland the men,understanding him, loaded their muskets. It took a few seconds, but atlast the crossfire began and the pressure in front of Sharpe gaveway.He swung the huge sword backhanded, half severing a man’s head, twistedthe blade, thrust it into a belly, twisted it again, and suddenly theCobras were backing away, terrified of the bloody blades.The second gate was opened. Campbell was the first man through and nowthere was only one gate left. His sergeant had brought a score of meninto the passageway and those Scotsmen began to fire up at the walls,and the Cobras were crumbling now because there were redcoats belowthem on both sides, and more were hacking their way along the rampart,and the defenders were pinned in a small place with nowhere to go.
Theonly steps to the gateway’s fire step were in redcoat hands, and Dodd’smen could either jump or surrender. A piper had started playing, andthe mad skirl of the music drove the attackers to a new fury as theyclosed on the remnants of Dodd’s Cobras. The redcoats were screaming aterrible war cry that was a compound of rage, madness and sheer terror.Sharpe’s tattered white facings were now so soaked in blood that itlooked as if he wore the red-trimmed coat of the 33rd again. His armwas tired, his hip was a great aching sore, and the wall was still notclear. A musket ball snatched at his sleeve, another fanned his barehead, and then he snarled at an enemy, cut again, and Campbell had thelast bar out of its brackets and his men were heaving on the gate, andthe attackers who had come from outside the fort were pulling on it,while beyond the outermost arch, on the slope above the ravine, anofficer beckoned to all the troops waiting to the north.A cheer sounded, and a flood of redcoats ran down into the ravine andup the track towards the Inner Fort. They smelt loot and women.The gates were open. The fortress in the sky had fallen.
Dodd was the last man on Sharpe’s wall. He knew he was beaten, but hewas no coward, and he came forward, sword in hand, then recognized thebloody man opposing him.“Sergeant Sharpe,” he said, and raised his gold-hilted sword in anironic salute. He had once tried to persuade Sharpe to join him in theCobras, and Sharpe had been tempted, but fate had kept him in his redcoat and brought him to this last meeting on Gawilghur’s ramparts.“I’m Mister Sharpe now, you bastard,” Sharpe said, and he wavedLockhart and Garrard back, then jumped forward, cutting with theclaymore, but Dodd parried it easily and lunged at Sharpe, piercing hiscoat and glancing the sword point off a rib. Dodd stepped back, nickedthe claymore aside, and lunged again, and this time the blade cut intoSharpe’s right cheek, opening it clean up to the bone beside his eye.“Marked for life,” Dodd said, ‘though I fear it won’t be a long life,Mister Sharpe.” Dodd thrust again and Sharpe parried desperately,deflecting the blade more by luck than skill, and he knew he was a deadman because Dodd was too good a swordsman. McCandless had warned himof this. Dodd might be a traitor, but he was a soldier, and a goodone.
Dodd saw Sharpe’s sudden caution, and smiled.“They made an officer out of you, did they? I never knew the Britisharmy had that much sense.” He advanced again, sword low, inviting anattack from Sharpe, but then a redcoat ran past Sharpe, sabre swinging,and Dodd stepped fast back, surprised by the sudden charge, although heparried it with an instinctive skill. The force of the parry knockedthe redcoat off balance and Dodd, still with a smile, lungedeffortlessly to skewer the redcoat’s throat. It was Ahmed, and Sharpe,recognizing the boy, roared with rage and ran at Dodd who flicked thesword back, blood streaming from its tip, and deflected the claymore’ssavage cut, turned his blade beneath it and was about to thrust theslim blade into Sharpe’s belly when a pistol banged and Dodd was thrownhard back, blood showing on his right shoulder. His sword arm, numbedby the pistol bullet, hung low.Sharpe walked up to him and saw the fear in Dodd’s eyes.“This is for McCandless,” he said, and kicked the renegade in thecrotch. Dodd gasped and bent double.“And this is for Ahmed,” Sharpe said, and swept the claymore up so thatits heavy blade ripped into Dodd’s throat, and Sharpe, still holdingthe sword double-handed, pulled it hard back and the steel sawedthrough sinew and muscle and gullet so that the fire step was suddenlyawash with blood as the tall Dodd collapsed.
Eli Lockhart, the longhorse pistol still smoking in his hand, edged Sharpe aside to makecertain Dodd was dead. Sharpe was stooped by Ahmed, but the boy wasdying. Blood bubbled at his throat as he tried to breathe. His eyeslooked up into Sharpe’s face, but there was no recognition there.His small body heaved frantically, then was still. He had gone to hisparadise.“You stupid bastard,” Sharpe said,tears trickling to dilute the blood pouring from his cheek.“You stupid little bastard.“Lockhart used his sabre to cut the ropes holding the flag above thegatehouse and a roar of triumph sounded from the ravine as the flagcame down. Then Lockhart helped Sharpe strip Ahmed of his red jacketand, lacking a British flag to hoist, they pulled the faded, bloodreddened coat up to the top of the pole.
Gawilghur had yielded.Sharpe cuffed tears and blood from his face. Lockhart was grinning athim, and Sharpe forced a smile in return.“We did it, Eli.“We bloody did.” Lockhart held out a hand and Sharpe gripped it.“Thank you,” Sharpe said fervently, then he let go of the cavalryman’shand and kicked Dodd’s corpse.“Look after that body, Eli. It’s worth a fortune.“That’s Dodd?“That’s the bastard.
That corpse is worth seven hundred guineas to youand Clare.“You and me, sir,” Lockhart said. The Sergeant looked as ragged andbloody as Sharpe. His blue jacket was torn and bloodstained.“We’ll share the reward,” he said, ‘you and me, sir.“No,” Sharpe said, ‘he’s all yours. I just wanted to see the bastarddead. That’s reward enough for me.” Blood was pouring from his cheekto add to the gore on his coat. He turned to Garrard who was leaningagainst the parapet, gasping for air.
“Look after the boy for me, Tom.“Garrard, seeing that Ahmed was dead, frowned in puzzlement.“I’m going to give him a proper burial,” Sharpe explained, then heturned and walked down the wall where exhausted redcoats rested amongthe dead and dying Cobras, while beneath them, in the passage thatCampbell had opened, a stream of soldiers poured unopposed into thefort.“Where are you going?” Garrard shouted after Sharpe.Sharpe did not answer. He just walked on. He had another enemy tohunt, and an even richer reward to win.The defenders were hunted down and killed. Even when they tried tosurrender, they were killed, for their fortress had resisted and thatwas the fate of garrisons that showed defiance. Blood-maddenedredcoats, fed on arrack and rum, roamed the vast stronghold withbayonets and greed both sharpened.
There was little enough loot, butplenty of women, and so the screaming began.Some defenders, knowing Gawilghur’s geography, slipped to those partsof the perimeter where no wall faced outwards and dangerously narrowpaths led down the cliffs. They streamed like ants down the rock,going to oblivion. Some hid, knowing that the rage of the attackerswould soon enough be exhausted. Those who could not escape or find ahiding place died.Flies buzzed in the palace where the dead were already stinking in theheat. Officers wandered the rooms, marvelling at their poverty. Theyhad expected to find another mansion like the Tippoo Sultan’s palace, aglittering trove of gems, gold, ivory and silk, but the Rajah of Berarhad never been rich. Some discovered the cellars and they noted thegreat armoury, but were more interested in the barrels of cash, thoughwhen they saw the coins were all of copper they spat in disgust. Acompany of sepoys found some silver plate that they cut apart withtheir bayonets.
Syud Sevajee had found his enemy, his father’s murderer, but Beny Singhwas already dead and Sevajee could do little more than spit on hiscorpse.Beneath the palace, redcoats splashed in the lake, slaking theirthirst.Some had discarded their red jackets, hanging them from the trees, anda ragged man, who had slipped unseen from the palace, stole one of thecoats and pulled it on before limping towards the captured gatehouse.He was a white man, and wore a pair of dirty trousers and a raggedshirt, while a white coat and a black sash were bundled under one arm.His hair was lank, his skin filthy, and his face twitched as heshuffled along the path. No one took any notice of him, for he lookedlike any other redcoat who had found his small scrap of loot, and soObadiah Hakeswill slunk northwards with a fortune in jewels concealedin his shabby clothes.He reckoned he had only to get through the gate, and across the OuterFort, and then he would run. Where? He did not know. Just run. Hewas rich now, but he would still need to steal a horse.
There would beplenty of officers’ horses in the camp, and maybe he would be lucky andfind a dead man’s horse so that the loss would not be noticed for days.Then he would ride southwards. South to Madras, and in Madras he couldsell the jewels, buy proper clothes and become a gentleman. ObadiahHakeswill, Gent. Then he would go home. Home to England. Be a richgentleman there.He ignored the redcoats. The buggers had won, and it was not fair.He could have been a rajah, but at least he was as rich as any rajah,and so he sidled down the dusty path and the gatehouse was not very faraway now.
An officer was ahead, standing with a drawn claymore besidethe snake pit and staring down into its horror, and then he turned andwalked towards Hakeswill. The officer was hatless, bloody-faced, andObadiah limped off the track, praying that he would not be noticed. Theofficer went safely past and Hakeswill breathed a silent prayer ofthanks and swerved back to the track. Only a trickle of men camethrough the gate now, and most of them were too intent on joining theplundering to care about a single man limping the other way. Hakeswillgrinned, knowing he would get away. He would be a gentleman.Then a sword point pricked his spine and Hakeswill froze.“I’ve been looking for you for days, Obadiah,” a hated voice said, andHakeswill turned to look up into Sharpe’s face, but the face was halfhidden by blood, which was why he had not recognized the officerstanding beside the snake pit.“I was a prisoner,” Hakeswill whined, ‘a prisoner.“You’re a bloody liar.
“For the love of God, help me.” Obadiah pretended not to recognizeSharpe, pretended to be mad. He twitched and moaned, let spittledribble from his mouth and twisted his hands in submission.“Locked me up,” he said, ‘the heathen bastards locked me up. Ain’tseen daylight in days.“Sharpe leaned forward and snatched the coat that was bundled underHakeswill’s arm. Hakeswill stiffened, and Sharpe smiled as he saw theflash of anger in the Sergeant’s eyes.“Want the coat back, Obadiah? So fight me for it.“I was a prisoner,” Hakeswill insisted, no longer moaning like a madthing.Sharpe shook the coat open.
“So why’s the jacket white, Obadiah?You’re a bleeding liar.” He felt the coat’s pockets, felt the hardlumps and knew his jewels were safe again. Hakeswill’s eyes glintedwith a terrible and frustrated rage.“Go on, Obadiah,” Sharpe said, ‘fight me.“I was a prisoner,” Hakeswill said, and he glanced to his right, hopinghe could make a run for it, for though he might have lost the jewels inthe coat, he had others in his trousers. And Sharpe, he now saw,had a wound in the hip. Perhaps Sharpe could not run. So run now, hetold himself, and then the flat of the claymore’s blade struck him hardacross the scalp. He yelped, then went still as the sword pointpricked at his throat.“You sold me to Jama, didn’t you?” Sharpe said.
“But that was a mistake, Obadiah, because I beat his jet tis into pulp.I’ll do that to you now. But take your clothes off first.“You can’t do this to me!” Hakeswill shouted, hoping to attractattention. His face twitched.“You can’t do this!“Gainst regulations, it is!“Strip, Obadiah,” Sharpe said.“There are rules! Regulations! Says so in the scriptures!“The claymore’s point jabbed at Hakes wilTs throat, drawing blood fromthe scar that had been left when they had tried to hang the youngObadiah. The pain quietened the Sergeant, and Sharpe smiled.“I half beat Captain Morris to death, Sergeant, so do you think itworries me that there are rules which say I mustn’t touch you? Nowyou’ve got a choice. You can strip naked, or you can let me strip yourcorpse naked.
I don’t care which it is. I don’t care if they bloodyhang me for your murder. It’d be worth it. So shut the hell up, andget your bloody clothes off.“Hakeswill looked for help, but there was none in sight, and the swordpoint twisted in his broken skin and he gabbled that he was undressinghimself, and he scrabbled at the rope belt on his trousers, and torethe buttons out of his shirt.“Don’t kill me!” he shouted.“I can’t be killed! I can’t die!” He pulled off the shirt, tugged offhis boots and pulled down his trousers.“Now the foot cloths,” Sharpe said.Hakeswill sat and unwrapped the filthy strips and so was left white andnaked under the terrible sun. Sharpe used the sword’s tip to pull theclothes into a pile.
He would search them, extract the gems, thenleave them.“On your feet now, Obadiah,” he said, encouraging the naked man withthe sword’s reddened tip.“I can’t die, Sharpie!” Hakeswill pleaded, his face racked bytwitches.“Ican’t! You tried! The tigers wouldn’t eat me and the elephantwouldn’t kill me. You know why? Because I can’t die! I’ve got anangel, I do, my own soul’s angel and she looks after me.” He shoutedthe words, and all the while he was being pressed backwards by thesword tip, and he danced on the rocks because they were so hot and hisfeet were bare.“You can’t kill me. The angel looks after me. It’s Mother, Sharpie,that’s who the angel is, it’s Mother all white and shiny. No, Sharpie,no! I can’t die!” And the sword stabbed at his belly and Hakeswilljumped back, and jumped back again when the tip slashed at his scrawnyribs.
“They tried to hang me but they couldn’t!” he declared.“I dangled and I danced, and the rope wouldn’t kill me, and here I am!I cannot die!” And then he screamed, because the sword had stabbed onelast time and Hakeswill had stepped back to avoid the lunge, only thistime there was no rock behind him, only a void, and he screamed as hefell into the shadows of the snake pit.He screamed again as he hit the stone floor with a thump.“I can’t die!“he shouted triumphantly, and stared up at the black shape of hisenemy.“I can’t die!” Hakeswill called again, then something sinuous andshadowy flickered to his left and he had no time to worry aboutSharpe.He screamed, because the snakes were staring at him with hard flateyes.“Sharpie!” he shouted.“Sharpie!“But Sharpe had gone to collect the pile of rags.And Hakeswill was alone with the serpents.Wellesley heard the distant cheers, but could not tell whether it washis own men who celebrated or the enemy who was making the noise.
Thesmoke cloud that had hung so thick and constant beyond the fortressfaded.He waited.The defenders on the south wall still fought. They fired their cannonat the 74th’s skirmish line which, because it was well spread out andsheltered by the rocks on the steep hillside, survived the sporadiccannonade. The smoke of the guns hung by the walls. Wellesley lookedat his watch. Four o’clock. If the fort had not fallen, then it wouldsoon be too late. Night would come and he would have to retreatignominiously to the plain below. The intermittent crackle of musketsfrom the north told him that something was still happening, but whetherit was men looting, or the sound of the defenders firing at defeatedattackers, he could not tell.
Then the guns on the south wall fell silent. Their smoke lingered,then drifted away in the hot wind. Wellesley waited, expecting thecannon to fire again, but they remained quiet.“Maybe they’ve run,” he said. The green and gold flag still hung overthe gate-tower, but Wellesley could see no defenders there.“If the fortress has fallen, sir,” Wallace pointed out, ‘then whyaren’t they running out of this gate?“Because they know we’re here,” Wellesley said, and took out histelescope. By mistake he had brought the new glass, the one heintended to give to Sharpe which had been engraved with the date ofAssaye, and he put it to his eye and examined the southern wall. Theembrasures were empty. The guns were still there, their blackenedmuzzles just showing, but no men.“I think we shall advance, Wallace,” Wellesley said, snapping the glassshut.
“It could be a trap, sir.“We shall advance,” Wellesley said firmly.The 74th marched with colours flying, drummers beating and pipersplaying. A battalion of sepoys followed, and the two regiments made abrave sight as they climbed the last stretch of the steep road, butstill the great Southern Gate of Gawilghur was closed before them.Wellesley spurred ahead, half expecting the defenders to spring asurprise and appear on the ramparts, but instead it was a redcoat whosuddenly showed there and Wellesley’s heart leaped with relief. Hecould sail home to England with another victory in his pocket.The redcoat on the wall slashed at the flag’s halyard and Wellesleywatched as the green and gold banner fluttered down. Then the redcoatturned and shouted to someone inside the fortress.Wellesley spurred his horse. Just as he and his aides came into theshadow of the gatehouse, the great gates began to open, hauled back bydirty-looking redcoats with stained faces and broad grins.
An officerstood just beyond the arch and, as the General rode into sight, theofficer brought his sword up in salute.Wellesley returned the salute. The officer was drenched in blood, andthe General hoped that was not a reflection of the army’s casualties.Then he recognized the man.“Mister Sharpe?” He sounded puzzled.“Welcome to Gawilghur, sir,” Sharpe said.“I thought you’d been captured?“I escaped, sir. Managed to join the attack.“So I see.” Wellesley glanced ahead.
The fort seethed with jubilantredcoats and he knew it would take till nightfall to restore order.“You should see a surgeon, Mister Sharpe. I fear you’re going to carrya scar on your face.” He remembered the telescope, but decided hewould give it to Sharpe later and so, with a curt nod, he rode on.Sharpe stood and watched the 74th march in. They had not wanted him,because he was not a gentleman. But, by God, he was a soldier, and hehad opened the fort for them. He caught Urquhart’s eye, and Urquhartlooked at the blood on Sharpe’s face and at the crusting scabs onSharpe’s sword, then looked away.“Good afternoon, Urquhart,” Sharpe said loudly.Urquhart spurred his horse.
“Good afternoon, Sergeant Colquhoun,” Sharpe said.Colquhoun marched doggedly on.Sharpe smiled. He had proved whatever he had set out to prove, andwhat was that? That he was a soldier, but he had always known that. Hewas a soldier, and he would stay a soldier, and if that meant wearing agreen jacket instead of a red, then so be it. But he was a soldier,and he had proved it in the heat and blood of Gawilghur. It was thefastness in the sky, the stronghold that could not fall, and now it wasSharpe’s fortress.Historical Note I have done the 94th, sometimes known as the ScotchBrigade, and their Light Company which was led by Captain Campbell, agreat disservice, for it was they, and not Sharpe, who found the routeup the side of the ravine and then across the Inner Fort’s wall atGawil-ghur, and who then assailed the gatehouse from the inside and, byopening the succession of gates, allowed the rest of the attackingforce into the fortress. Fictional heroes steal other men’s thunder,and I trust the Scots will forgive Sharpe. The Captain Campbell whoseinitiative broke Gawilghur’s defence was not the same Campbell who wasone of Wellesley’s aides (and who had been the hero at Ahmednuggur).
The 33rd’s Light Company was not at Gawilghur; indeed the only Britishinfantry there were Scottish regiments, the same Scotsmen who shockedScindia’s army into rout at Assaye and took the brunt of the Arabattack at Argaum. Wellesley’s war against the Mahrattas, which endedin complete victory at Gawilghur, was thus won by Madrassi sepoys andScottish Highlanders, and it was an extraordinary victory.The battle of Assaye, described in Sharpe’s Triumph, was the engagementwhich destroyed the cohesion of the Mahratta Confederation. Scindia,the most powerful of the princes, was so shocked by the defeat that hesued for peace, while the Rajah of Berar’s troops, deserted by theirallies, fought on. Undoubtedly their best strategy would have been animmediate retreat to Gawilghur, but Manu Bappoo must have decided thathe could stop the British and so decided to make his stand at Argaum.The battle happened much as described in this novel; it began with anapparent Mahratta advantage when the sepoys on the right of Wellesley’sline panicked, but the General calmed them, brought them back, thenlaunched his line to victory. The Scots, just as they had been atAssaye, were his shock troops, and they destroyed the Arab regimentthat was the best of Bappoo’s infantry. There were no Cobras inBappoo’s army, and though William Dodd existed, and was a renegadefugitive from the East India Company army, there is no record of hishaving served Berar. The survivors of Argaum retreated north toGawilghur.Gawilghur is still a mightily impressive fortress, sprawling over itsvast headland high above the Deccan Plain.
It is deserted now, and wasnever again to be used as a stronghold after the storming on 15December 1803. The fort was returned to the Mahrattas after they madepeace with the British, and they never repaired the breaches which arestill there, and, though much overgrown, capable of being climbed. Nosuch breaches remain in Europe, and it was instructive to discover justhow steep they are, and how difficult to negotiate, even unencumberedby a musket or sword. The great iron gun which killed five of theattackers with a single shot still lies on its emplacement in the InnerFort, though its carriage has long decayed and the barrel is disfiguredwith graffiti.Most of the buildings in the Inner Fort have vanished, or else are soovergrown as to be invisible. There is, alas, no snake pit there. Themajor gatehouses are still intact, without their gates, and a visitorcan only marvel at the suicidal bravery of the men who climbed from theravine to enter the twisting deathtrap of the Inner Fort’s northerngate.Defeat would surely have been their reward, had not Campbell and hisLight Company found a way up the side of the ravine and, with the helpof a ladder, scaled the wall and so attacked the gates from the inside.By then Beny Singh, the Killadar, had already poisoned his wives,lovers and daughters. He died, like Manu Bappoo, with his sword in hishand.
Manu Bappoo almost certainly died in the breaches and not, as the novelsays, in the ravine, though that was where most of his men died,trapped between the attackers who had captured the Outer Fort and theySth who were climbing the road from the plain. They should have foundrefuge within the Inner Fort, and bolstered its de fences but forreasons that have never been explained, the Inner Fort’s gates werefast shut against the survivors of the Outer Fort’s garrison.Elizabeth Longford, in Wellington, The Years of the Sword, quotes thelate Jac Weller as saying of Gawilghur, ‘three reasonably effectivetroops of Boy Scouts armed with rocks could have kept out several timestheir number of professional soldiers’. It is difficult to disagree.Manu Bappoo and Beny Singh made no effort to protect the Outer Fort’swalls with a glacis, which was their primary mistake, but their realstronghold was the Inner Fort, and it fell far too swiftly. Thesupposition is that the defenders were thoroughly demoralized, and thefew British casualties (about 150), most of them killed or wounded inthe assault on the gatehouse, testify to the swiftness of the victory.A hundred and fifty sounds like a small ‘butcher’s bill’, and so it is,but that should not hide the horror of the fight for the Inner Fort’sgatehouse where Kenny died.That fight occurred in a very small space and, for a brief while, musthave been as ghastly as, say, the struggle for Badajoz’s breaches nineyears later. Campbell’s escalade up the precipice saved an enormousnumber of lives and cut a nasty fight blessedly short. Indeed, thevictory was so quick, and so cheaply gained, that a recent biography ofthe Duke of Wellington (in 1803 he was still Sir Arthur Wellesley)accords the siege less than three lines, yet to the redcoat who wassweating up the hill to the plateau and who was expected to carry hisfirelock and bayonet across the rocky isthmus to the breaches in thedouble walls it was a significant place and his victory remarkable.
The real significance of Gawilghur lay in the future. Sir ArthurWellesley had now witnessed the assault of the breach at Seringapatam,had escaladed the walls of Ahmednuggur and swept over the great defences of Gawilghur. In Portugal and Spain, confronted by even greaterde fences manned by determined French soldiers, it is claimed that heunderestimated the difficulties of siege work, having been lulled intocomplacency by the ease of his Indian victories. There may be truth inthat, and at Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, Burgos and San Sebastian he tookdreadful casualties. My own suspicion is that he did not so muchunderestimate the ability of de fences to withstand him, asoverestimate the capacity of British troops to get through those defences and, astonishingly, they usually lived up to his expectations.And it was Scotsmen who gave him those high expectations: the Scots whoused four ladders to capture a city at Ahmednuggur and one ladder tobring down the great fortress of Gawilghur. Their bravery helpeddisguise the fact that sieges were terrible work, so terrible that thetroops, regardless of their commander’s wishes, regarded a capturedstronghold as their own property, to destroy and violate as theywished. This was their revenge for the horrors that the defenders hadinflicted on them, and there was undoubtedly a vast slaughter insideGawilghur once the victory was gained. Many of the defenders must haveescaped down the steep cliffs, but perhaps half of the seven or eightthousand died in an orgy of revenge.And then the place was forgotten.
The Mahrattas were defeated, andeven more of India came under British rule or influence. But SirArthur Wellesley was done with India, it was time to sail home and lookfor advancement against the more dangerous and nearer enemy, France. Itwill be four years before he sails from England to Portugal and to thecampaign that will raise him to a dukedom. Sharpe will also go home,to a green instead of a red jacket, and he too will sail to Portugaland march from there into France, but he has a snare or two waiting onhis path before he reaches the peninsula. So Sharpe will marchagain.