Cornwell, Bernard 02 Sharpe’s Triumph-Sep 1803. txt

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CHAPTER 1

It was not Sergeant Richard Sharpe’s fault. He was not in charge. Hewas junior to at least a dozen men, including a major, a captain, a subadar and two jemadars, yet he still felt responsible. He feltresponsible, angry, hot, bitter and scared. Blood crusted on his facewhere a thousand flies crawled. There were even flies in his openmouth.But he dared not move.The humid air stank of blood and of the rotted egg smell made by powdersmoke. The very last thing he remembered doing was thrusting his pack,haversack and cartridge box into the glowing ashes of a fire, and nowthe ammunition from the cartridge box exploded.

Each blast of powderfountained sparks and ashes into the hot air. A couple of men laughedat the sight. They stopped to watch it for a few seconds, poked at thenearby bodies with their muskets, then walked on.Sharpe lay still. A fly crawled on his eyeball and he forced himselfto stay absolutely motionless. There was blood on his face and moreblood had puddled in his right ear, though it was drying now. Heblinked, fearing that the small motion would attract one of thekillers, but no one noticed.Chasalgaon. That’s where he was. Chasalgaon; a miserable, thornwalled fort on the frontier of Hyderabad, and because the Rajah ofHyderabad was a British ally the fort had been garrisoned by a hundredsepoys of the East India Company and fifty mercenary horsemen fromMysore, only when Sharpe arrived half the sepoys and all of thehorsemen had been out on patrol.

Sharpe had come from Seringapatam, leading a detail of six privates andcarrying a leather bag stuffed with rupees, and he had been greeted byMajor Crosby who commanded at Chasalgaon. The Major proved to be aplump, red-faced, bilious man who disliked the heat and hatedChasalgaon, and he had slumped in his canvas chair as he unfoldedSharpe’s orders. He read them, grunted, then read them again.“Why the hell did they send you?” he finally asked.“No one else to send, sir.“Crosby frowned at the order.“Why not an officer?“No officers to spare, sir.“Bloody responsible job for a sergeant, wouldn’t you say?“Won’t let you down, sir,” Sharpe said woodenly, staring at the leprousyellow of the tent’s canvas a few inches above the Major’s head.“You’d bloody well better not let me down,” Crosby said, pushing theorders into a pile of damp papers on his camp table.“And you look bloody young to be a sergeant.

“I was born late, sir,” Sharpe said. He was twenty-six, or thought hewas, and most sergeants were much older.Crosby, suspecting he was being mocked, stared up at Sharpe, but therewas nothing insolent on the Sergeant’s face. A good-looking man,Crosby thought sourly. Probably had the bibb is of Seringapatamfalling out of their saris, and Crosby, whose wife had died of thefever ten years before and who consoled himself with a two-rupeevillage whore every Thursday night, felt a pang of jealousy.“And how the devil do you expect to get the ammunition back toSeringapatam?” he demanded.“Hire ox carts, sir.” Sharpe had long perfected the way to addressunhelpful officers. He gave them precise answers, added nothingunnecessary and always sounded confident.“With what? Promises?“Money, sir.

” Sharpe tapped his haversack where he had the bag ofrupees.“Christ, they trust you with money?“Sharpe decided not to respond to that question, but just staredimpassively at the canvas. Chasalgaon, he decided, was not a happyplace. It was a small fort built on a bluff above a river that shouldhave been overflowing its banks, but the monsoon had failed and theland was cruelly dry. The fort had no ditch, merely a wall made ofcactus thorn with a dozen wooden fighting platforms spaced about itsperimeter. Inside the wall was a beaten-earth parade ground where astripped tree served as a flagpole, and the parade ground wassurrounded by three mudwalled barracks thatched with palm, a cookhouse tents for the officers and a stone-walled magazine to store thegarrison’s ammunition. The sepoys had their families with them, so thefort was overrun with women and children, but Sharpe had noted howsullen they were. Crosby, he thought, was one of those crabbedofficers who were only happy when all about them were miserable.“I suppose you expect me to arrange the ox carts?” Crosby saidindignantly.“I’ll do it myself, sir.

“Speak the language, do you?” Crosby sneered.“A sergeant, banker and interpreter, are you?“Brought an interpreter with me, sir,” Sharpe said. Which was overegging the pudding a bit, because Davi Lal was only thirteen, an urchinoff the streets of Seringapatam. He was a smart, mischievous childwhom Sharpe had found stealing from the armoury cook house and, aftergiving the starving boy a clout around both ears to teach him respectfor His Britannic Majesty’s property, Sharpe had taken him to Lali’shouse and given him a proper meal, and Lali had talked to the boy andlearned that his parents were dead, that he had no relatives he knewof, and that he lived by his wits. He was also covered in lice.“Get rid of him,” she had advised Sharpe, but Sharpe had seen somethingof his own childhood in Davi Lal and so he had dragged him down to theRiver Cauvery and given him a decent scrubbing.After that Davi Lal had become Sharpe’s errand boy. He learned to pipeclay belts, blackball boots and speak his own version of English which,because it came from the lower ranks, was liable to shock the gentlerborn.“You’ll need three carts,” Crosby said.“Yes, sir,” Sharpe said.

“Thank you, sir.” He had known exactly how many carts he would need,but he also knew it was stupid to pretend to knowledge in the face ofofficers like Crosby.“Find your damn carts,” Crosby snapped, ‘then let me know when you’reready to load up.“Very good, sir. Thank you, sir.” Sharpe stiffened to attention,about turned and marched from the tent to find Davi Lal and the sixprivates waiting in the shade of one of the barracks.“We’ll have dinner,” Sharpe told them, ‘then sort out some carts thisafternoon.“What’s for dinner?” Private Atkins asked.“Whatever Davi can filch from the cook house Sharpe said, ‘but be nippyabout it, all right? I want to be out of this damn place tomorrowmorning.“Their job was to fetch eighty thousand rounds of prime musket iicartridges that had been stolen from the East India Company armoury inMadras.

The cartridges were the best quality in India, and the thieveswho stole them knew exactly who would pay the highest price for theammunition. The princedoms of the Mahratta Confederation were foreverat war with each other or else raiding the neighbouring states, butnow, in the summer of 1803, they faced an imminent invasion by Britishforces. The threatened invasion had brought two of the biggestMahratta rulers into an alliance that now gathered its forces to repelthe British, and those rulers had promised the thieves a king’s ransomin gold for the cartridges, but one of the thieves who had helped breakinto the Madras armoury had refused to let his brother join the bandand share in the profit, and so the aggrieved brother had betrayed thethieves to the Company’s spies and, two weeks later, the caravancarrying the cartridges across India had been ambushed by sepoys notfar from Chasalgaon. The thieves had died or fled, and the recapturedammunition had been brought back to the fort’s small magazine forsafekeeping. Now the eighty thousand cartridges were to be taken tothe armoury at Seringapatam, three days to the south, from where theywould be issued to the British troops who were readying themselves forthe war against the Mahrattas. A simple job, and Sharpe, who had spentthe last four years as a sergeant in the Seringapatam armoury, had beengiven the responsibility.Spoilage, Sharpe was thinking while his men boiled a cauldron of Iriver water on a bullock-dung fire. That was the key to the next fewdays, spoilage. Say seven thousand cartridges lost to damp? No one inSeringapatam would argue with that, and Sharpe reckoned he could sellthe seven thousand cartridges on to Vakil Hussein, so long, of course,as there were eighty thousand cartridges to begin with. Still, MajorCrosby had not quibbled with the figure, but just as Sharpe wasthinking that, so Major Crosby appeared from his tent with a cocked haton his head and a sword at his side.

“On your feet!” Sharpe snapped at his lads as the Major headed towardsthem.“Thought you were finding ox carts?” Crosby snarled at Sharpe.“Dinner first, sir.“Your food, I hope, and not ours? We don’t get rations to feed King’stroops here, Sergeant.” Major Crosby was in the service of the EastIndia Company, and though he wore a red coat like the King’s army,there was little love lost between the two forces.“Our food, sir,” Sharpe said, gesturing at the cauldron in which rice jand kid meat, both stolen from Crosby’s stores, boiled.“Carried it with us, sir.“A hamldar shouted from the fort gate, demanding Crosby’s attention, butthe Major ignored the shout.“I forgot to mention one thing, Sergeant.“Sir?“Crosby looked sheepish for a moment, then remembered he was talking toa mere sergeant.

“Some of the cartridges were spoiled. Damp got to them.“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” Sharpe said straight-faced.“So I had to destroy them,” Crosby said.“Six or seven thousand as I remember.“Spoilage, sir,” Sharpe said.“Happens all the time, sir.“Exactly so,” Crosby said, unable to hide his relief at Sharpe’s easyacceptance of his tale, ‘exactly so,” then he turned towards thegate.“Humidor?“Company troops approaching, sahibV “Where’s Captain Leonard? Isn’t heofficer of the day?” Crosby demanded.“Here, sir, I’m here.

” A tall, gangling captain hurried from a tent,tripped on a guy rope, recovered his hat, then headed for the gate.Sharpe ran to catch up with Crosby who was also walking towards thegate.“You’ll give me a note, sir?“A note? Why the devil should I give you a note?“Spoilage, sir,” Sharpe said respectfully.“I’ll have to account for the cartridges, sir.“Later,” Crosby said, ‘later.“Yes, sir,” Sharpe said.“And sod you backwards, you miserable bastard,” he added, though toosoftly for Crosby to hear.Captain Leonard clambered up to the platform beside the gate whereCrosby joined him. The Major took a telescope from his tail pocket andslid the tubes open. The platform overlooked the small river thatshould have been swollen by the seasonal rains into a flood, but thefailure of the monsoon had left only a trickle of water between theflat grey rocks.

Beyond the shrunken river, up on the skyline behind agrove of trees, Crosby could see redcoated troops led by a Europeanofficer mounted on a black horse, and his first thought was that itmust be Captain Roberts returning from patrol, but Roberts had apiebald horse and, besides, he had only taken fifty sepoys whereas thishorse man led a company almost twice that size.“Open the gate,” Crosby ordered, and wondered who the devil it was. Hedecided it was probably Captain Sullivan from the Company’s post atMilladar, another frontier fort like Chasalgaon, but what the hell wasSullivan doing here? Maybe he was marching some new recruits totoughen the bastards, not that the skinny little brutes needed anytoughening, but it was uncivil of Sullivan not to warn Crosby of hiscoming.“Jemadar,” Crosby shouted, ‘turn out the guard!“Sahibl’ The Jemadar acknowledged the order. Other sepoys weredragging the thorn gates open.He’ll want dinner, Crosby thought sourly, and wondered what hisservants were cooking for the midday meal. Kid, probably, in boiledrice.Well, Sullivan would just have to endure the stringy meat as a pricefor not sending any warning, and damn the man if he expected Crosby tofeed his sepoys as well. Chasalgaon’s cooks had not expected visitorsand would not have enough rations for a hundred more hungry sepoys.“Is that Sullivan?” he asked Leonard, handing the Captain thetelescope.

Leonard stared for a long time at the approaching horseman.“I’ve never met Sullivan,” he finally said, “so I couldn’t say.“Crosby snatched back the telescope.“Give the bastard a salute when he arrives,” Crosby ordered Leonard,‘then tell him he can join me for dinner.” He paused.“You too, he added grudgingly.Crosby went back to his tent. It was better, he decided, to letLeonard welcome the stranger, rather than look too eager himself. DamnSullivan, he thought, for not sending warning, though there was abright side, inasmuch as Sullivan might have brought news. The tall,good-looking Sergeant from Seringapatam doubtless could have toldCrosby the latest rumours from Mysore, but it would be a chill day inhell before Crosby sought news from a sergeant.

But undoubtedlysomething was changing in the wider world, for it had been nine weekssince Crosby last saw a Mahratta raider, and that was decidedly odd.The purpose of the fort at Chasalgaon was to keep the Mahratta horseraiders out of the Rajah of Hyderabad’s wealthy territory, and Crosbyfancied he had done his job well, but even so he found the absence ofany enemy marauders oddly worrying. What were the bastards up to? Hesat behind his table and shouted for his clerk. He would write thedamned armoury Sergeant a note explaining that the loss of seventhousand cartridges was due to a leak in the stone roof of Chasalgaon’smagazine. He certainly could not admit that he had sold the ammunitionto a merchant.“What the bastard did,” Sharpe was saying to his men, ‘was sell thebloody stuff to some heathen bastard.“That’s what you were going to do, Sergeant,” Private Phillips said.“Never you bleeding mind what I was going to do,” Sharpe said.“Ain’t that food ready?“Five minutes,” Davi Lal promised.“A bloody camel could do it faster,” Sharpe grumbled, then hoisted hispack and haversack.

“I’m going for a piss.“He never goes anywhere without his bleeding pack,” Atkins commented.“Doesn’t want you thieving his spare shirt,” Phillips answered.“He’s got more than a shirt in that pack. Hiding something he is.“Atkins twisted round.“Hey. Hedgehog!” They all called Davi Lal “Hedgehog’ because his hairstuck up in spikes; no matter how greasy it was or how short it wascut, it still stuck up in unruly spikes.“What does Sharpie keep in the pack?“Davi Lal rolled his eyes.“Jewels! Gold.

Rubies, diamonds, emeralds, sapphires and pearls.“Like sod he does.“Davi Lal laughed, then turned back to the cauldron. Out by the fort’sgate Captain Leonard was greeting the visitors. The guard presentedarms as the officer leading the sepoys rode through the gate. Thevisitor returned the salute by touching a riding crop to the brim ofhis cocked hat which, worn fore and aft, shadowed his face. He was atall man, uncommonly tall, and he wore his stirrups long so that helooked much too big for his horse, which was a sorry, sway-backed beastwith a mangy hide, though there was nothing odd in that. Good horseswere a luxury in India, and most Company officers rode decrepit nags.“Welcome to Chasalgaon, sir,” Leonard said. He was not certain heought to call the stranger ‘sir’, for the man wore no visible badge ofrank on his red coat, but he carried himself like a senior officer andhe reacted to Leonard’s greeting with a lordly nonchalance.

“You’re invited to dine with us, sir,” Leonard added, hurrying afterthe horseman who, having tucked his riding crop under his belt, now ledhis sepoys straight onto the parade ground. He stopped his horse underthe flagpole from which the British flag drooped in the windless air,then waited as his company of redcoated sepoys divided into two unitsof two ranks each that marched either side of the flagpole. Crosbywatched from inside his tent. It was a flamboyant entrance, the Majordecided.“Halt!” the strange officer shouted when his company was in the verycentre of the fort. The sepoys halted.“Outwards turn! Ground fire locksGood morning!” He at last looked down at Captain Leonard.“Are you Crosby?“No, sir. I’m Captain Leonard, sir. And you, sir?” The tall manignored the question.

He scowled about Chasalgaon’s fort as though hedisapproved of everything he saw. What the hell was this? Leonardwondered. A surprise inspection?“Shall I have your horse watered, sir?“Leonard offered.“In good time, Cartfain, all in good time,” the mysterious officersaid, then he twisted in, his saddle and growled an order to hiscompany.“Fix bayonets!” The sepoys pulled out their seventeen-inch blades andslotted them onto the muzzles of their muskets.“I like to offer a proper salute to a fellow Englishman,” the tall manexplained to Leonard.“You are English, aren’t you?“Yes, sir.“Too many damned Scots in the Company,” the tall man grumbled.“Have you ever noticed that, Leonard? Too many Scots and Irish. Glibsorts of fellow, they are, but they ain’t English.

Not English atall.” The visitor drew his sword, then took a deep breath.“Company!” he shouted.“Level arms!“The sepoys brought their muskets to their shoulders and Leonard saw,much too late, that the guns were aimed at the troops of thegarrison.“No!” he said, but not loudly, for he still did not believe what hesaw.“Fire!” the officer shouted, and the parade ground air was murdered bythe double ripple of musket shots, heavy coughing explosions thatblossomed smoke across the sun-crazed mud and slammed lead balls intothe unsuspecting garrison.“Hunt them now!” the tall officer called.“Hunt them! Fast, fast, fast!“He spurred his horse close to Captain Leonard and, almost casually,slashed down with his sword, ripping the blade hard back once it hadbitten into the Captain’s neck so that its edge sawed fast and deepthrough the sinew, muscle and flesh.“Hunt them! Hunt them!” the officer shouted as Leonard fell. He drewa pistol from his saddle holster and rode towards the officers’ tents.

His men were screaming their war cries as they spread through the smallfort to chase down every last sepoy of Chasalgaon’s garrison. They hadbeen ordered to leave the women and children to the last and hunt downthe men first.Crosby had been staring in horror and disbelief, and now, with shakinghands, he started to load one of his pistols, but suddenly the door ofhis tent darkened and he saw that the tall officer had dismounted fromhis horse.“Are you Crosby?” the officer demanded.Crosby found he could not speak. His hands quivered. Sweat waspouring down his face.“Are you Crosby?” the man asked again in an irritated voice.“Yes,” Crosby managed to say.“And who the devil are you?“Dodd,” the tall man said, “Major William Dodd, at your service.

” AndDodd raised his big pistol so that it pointed at Crosby’s face.“No!” Crosby shouted.Dodd smiled.“I assume you’re surrendering the fort to me, Crosby?“Damn you,” Crosby riposted feebly.“You drink too much, Major,” Dodd said.“The whole Company knows you’re a sot. Didn’t put up much of a fight,did you?” He pulled the trigger and Crosby’s head was snatched back ina mist of blood that spattered onto the canvas.“Pity you’re English,” Dodd said.“I’d much rather shoot a Scotsman.” The dying Major made a terriblegurgling sound, then his body jerked uncontrollably and was finallystill.

“Praise the Lord, pull down the flag and find the pay chest,” Dodd saidto himself, then he stepped over the Major’s corpse to see that the paychest was where he expected it to be, under the bed.“SubadaA’ “Sahib?“Two men here to guard the pay chest.“Sahibr Major Dodd hurried back onto the parade ground where a smallgroup of redcoats, British redcoats, were offering defiance, and hewanted to make sure that his sepoys took care of them, but a havildarhad anticipated Dodd’s orders and was leading a squad of men againstthe halfdozen soldiers.“Put the blades in!” Dodd encouraged them.“Hard in!Twist them in! That’s the way! Watch your left! Left!” His voicewas urgent for a tall sergeant had suddenly appeared from behind thecook house a white man with a musket and bayonet in his hands, but oneof the sepoys still had a loaded musket of his own and he twisted,aimed and fired and Dodd saw another mist of bright blood sparkle inthe sunlight. The sergeant had been hit in the head. He stopped,looked surprised as the musket fell from his hands and as bloodstreamed down his face, then he fell backwards and was still.“Search for the rest of the bastards!” Dodd ordered, knowing thatthere must still be a score of the garrison hidden in the barracks.Some of the men had escaped over the thorn wall, but they would behunted down by the Mahratta horsemen who were Dodd’s allies and whoshould by now have spread either side of the fort.“Search hard!” He himself went to look at the horses of the garrison’sofficers and decided that one of them was marginally better than hisown.

He moved his saddle to the better horse, then led it into thesunlight and picketed it to the flagpole. A woman ran past him,screaming as she fled from the redcoated killers, but a sepoy caughtand tripped her and another pulled the said off her shoulder. Dodd wasabout to order them away from the woman, then he reckoned that theenemy was well beaten and so his men could take their pleasure insafety.“Subadar?” he shouted.“Sahib?“One squad to make sure everyone’s dead. Another to open the armoury.And there are a couple of horses in the stable. Pick one for yourself,and we’ll take the other back to Pohlmann. And well done, Gopal.“Thank you, sahib,” Subadar Gopal said.

Dodd wiped the blood from his sword, then reloaded his pistol. One ofthe fallen redcoats was trying to turn himself over, so Dodd crossed tothe wounded man, watched his feeble efforts for a moment, then put abullet into the man’s head. The man jerked in spasm, then was still.Major Dodd scowled at the blood that had sprayed his boots, but hespat, stooped and wiped the blood away. Sharpe watched the tallofficer from the corner of his eye. He felt responsible, angry, hot,bitter and scared.The blood had poured from the wound in his scalp. He was dizzy, hishead throbbed, but he was alive. There were flies in his mouth. Andthen his ammunition began to explode and the tall officer whippedround, thinking it was trouble, and a couple of men laughed at thesight of the ashes bursting into the air with each small crack ofpowder.

Sharpe dared not move. He listened to women screaming and childrencrying, then heard hooves and he waited until some horsemen came intoview. They were Indians, of course, and all wild-looking! men withsabres, matchlocks, spears, lances and even bows and arrows.! Theyslid out of their saddles and joined the hunt for loot.Sharpe lay like the dead. The crusting blood was thick on his face.The blow of the musket ball had stunned him, so that he did notremember dropping his own musket or falling to the ground, but hesensed that the blow was not deadly. Not even deep. He had aheadache, and the skin of his face felt taut with the crusted blood,but he knew head wounds always bled profusely. He tried to make hisbreathing shallow, left his mouth open and did not even gag when a flycrawled down to the root of his tongue, and then he could smelltobacco, arrack, leather and sweat and a horseman was bending over himwith a horrid-looking curved knife with a rusty blade and Sharpe fearedhis throat was about to be cut, but instead the horseman began slashingat the pockets of Sharpe’s uniform.

He found the big key that opened Seringapatam’s main magazine, a keythat Sharpe had ordered cut in the bazaar so that he would not alwayshave to fill in the form in the armoury guardhouse. The man tossed thekey away, slit another pocket, found nothing valuable and so moved onto another body. Sharpe stared up at the sun.Somewhere nearby a garrison sepoy groaned, and almost immediately hewas bayoneted and Sharpe heard the hoarse exhalation of breath as theman died and the sucking sound as the murderer dragged the blade backfrom the constricting flesh. It had all happened so fast! And Sharpeblamed himself, though he knew it was not his fault. He had not letthe killers into the fort, but he had hesitated for a few seconds tothrow his pack, pouches and cartridge box onto the fire, and now hechided himself because maybe he could have used those few seconds tosave his six men.Except most of them had already been dead or dying when Sharpe hadfirst realized there was a fight. He had been pissing against the backwall of the cook house store hut when a musket ball ripped through thereed-mat wall and for a second or two he had just stood there,incredulous, hardly believing the shots and screams his earsregistered, and he had not bothered to button his trousers, but justturned and saw the dying campfire and had thrown his pack onto it, andby the time he had cocked the musket and run back to where his men hadbeen expecting dinner the fight was almost over. The musket ball hadjerked his head back and there had been a stabbing pain either side ofhis eyes, and the next he knew he was lying with blood crusting on hisface and flies crawling down his gullet.But maybe he could have snatched his men back.

He tortured himselfwith the thought that he could have saved Davi Lal and a couple of theprivates, maybe he could have crossed the cactusthorn wall and runinto the trees, but Davi Lal was dead and all six privates were deadand Sharpe could hear the killers laughing as they carried theammunition out of the small magazine.“Subadar!” the tall officer shouted.“Fetch that bloody flag down! I wanted it done an hour ago!“Sharpe blinked again because he could not help himself, but no onenoticed, and then he closed his eyes because the sun was blinding him,and he wanted to weep out of anger and frustration and hatred. Six mendead, and Davi Lal dead, and Sharpe had not been able to do a damnedthing to help them, and he wondered who the tall officer was, and thena voice provided the answer.“Major Dodd, sahib?“Subadar?“Everything’s loaded, sahib.“Then let’s go before their patrols get back. Well done, Subadart Tellthe men there’ll be a reward.“Sharpe listened as the raiders left the fort. Who the hell werethey?Major Dodd had been in East India Company uniform, and so had all hismen for that matter, but they sure as hell were not Company troops.They were bastards, that’s what they were, bastards from hell and theyhad done a thorough piece of wicked work in Chasalgaon.

Sharpe doubtedthey had lost a single man in their treacherous attack, and still helay silent as the sounds faded away. A baby cried somewhere, a womansobbed, and still Sharpe waited until at last he was certain that MajorDodd and his men were gone, and only then did Sharpe roll onto hisside. The fort stank of blood and buzzed with flies. He groaned andgot to his knees. The cauldron of rice and kid had boiled dry and sohe stood and kicked it off its tripod.“Bastards,” he said, and he saw the surprised look on Davi Lal’s faceand he wanted to weep for the boy.A half-naked woman, bleeding from the mouth, saw Sharpe stand fromamong the bloodied heap of the dead and she screamed before snatchingher child back into a barracks hut. Sharpe ignored her. His musketwas gone. Every damn weapon was gone.

“Bastards!” he shouted into the hot air, then he kicked at a dog thatwas sniffing at Phillips’s corpse. The smell of blood and powder andburned rice was thick in his throat. He gagged as he walked into thecook house and there found a jar of water. He drank deep, thensplashed the water onto his face and rubbed away the clotted blood. Hewet a rag and flinched as he cleaned the shallow wound in his scalp,then suddenly he was overcome with horror and pity and he fell onto hisknees and half sobbed. He swore instead.“Bastards!” He said the word again and again, helplessly andfuriously, then he remembered his pack and so he stood again and wentinto the sunlight.The ashes of the fire were still hot and the charred canvas remnants ofhis pack and pouches glowed red as he found a stick and raked throughthe embers. One by one he found what he had hidden in the fire. Therupees that had been for hiring the carts, then the rubies andemeralds, diamonds and pearls, sapphires and gold.

He fetched a sackof rice from the cook house and he emptied the grains onto the groundand filled the sack with his treasure. A king’s ransom, it was, and ithad been taken from a king four years before in the Water Gate atSeringapatam where Sharpe had trapped the Tippoo Sultan and shot himdown before looting his corpse.Then, with the treasure clutched to his midriff, he knelt in the stenchof Chasalgaon and felt guilty. He had survived a massacre. Angermingled with his guilt, then he knew he had duties to do. He must findany others who had survived, he must help them, and he must work outhow he could take his revenge.On a man called Dodd.Major John Stokes was an engineer, and if ever a man was happy with hisavocation, it was Major John Stokes. There was nothing he enjoyed somuch as making things, whether it was a better gun carriage, a gardenor, as he was doing now, improvements to a clock that belonged to theRajah of Mysore. The Rajah was a young man, scarcely more than a boyindeed, and he owed his throne to the British troops who had ejectedthe usurping Tippoo Sultan and, as a result, relations between thepalace and Seringapatam’s small British garrison were good.

MajorStokes had found the clock in one of the palace’s antechambers andnoted its appalling accuracy, which is why he had brought it back tothe armoury where he was happily taking it apart.“It isn’t signed,” he told his visitor, ‘and I suspect it’s local work.But a Frenchman had his hand in it, I can tell that. See theescapement? Typical French work, that.“The visitor peered at the tangle of cogwheels.“Didn’t know the Frogs had it in them to make clocks, sir,” he said.“Oh, indeed they do!” Stokes said reprovingly.“And very fine clocks they make! Very fine. Think of Lepine! Thinkof Berthoud! How can you ignore Montandon? And Breguet!” The Majorshook his head in mute tribute to such great craftsmen, then peered atthe Rajah’s sorry timepiece.“Some rust on the mainspring, I see.

That don’t help. Soft metal, Isuspect. It’s catch as catch can over here. I’ve noticed that.Marvellous decorative work, but Indians make shoddy mechanics.Look at that mainspring! A disgrace.“Shocking, sir, shocking.” Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill did not know amainspring from a pendulum, and could not have cared less about either,but he needed information from Major Stokes so it was politic to showan interest.“It was striking nine when it should have struck eight,” the Majorsaid, poking a finger into the clock’s entrails, ‘or perhaps it wasstriking eight when it ought to have sounded nine. I don’t recall.

Oneto seven it copes with admirably, but somewhere about eight it becomeswayward.” The Major, who was in charge of Seringapatam’s armoury, wasa plump, cheerful fellow with prematurely white hair.“Do you understand clocks, Sergeant?“Can’t say as I does, sir. A simple soldier, me, sir, who has the sunas his clock.” The Sergeant’s face twitched horribly. It was anuncontrollable spasm that racked his face every few seconds.“You were asking about Sharpe,” Major Stokes said, peering into theclock.“Well, I never! This fellow has made the bearings out of wood! GoodLord above. Wood! No wonder she’s wayward! Harrison once made awooden clock, did you know? Even the gearings! All from timber.“Harrison, sir? Is he in the army, sir?“He’s a clock maker Sergeant, a clock maker A very fine clock makertoo.

“Not a Frog, sir?“With a name like Harrison? Good Lord, no! He’s English, and he makesa good honest clock.“Glad to hear it, sir,” Hakeswill said, then reminded the Major of thepurpose of his visit to the armoury.“Sergeant Sharpe, sir, my good friend, sir, is he here?“He is here,” Stokes said, at last looking up from the clock, ‘orrather he was here. I saw him an hour ago. But he went to hisquarters. He’s been away, you see. Involved in that dreadful businessin Chasalgaon.“Chiseldown, sir?“Terrible business, terrible! So I told Sharpe to clean himself up.Poor fellow was covered in blood! Looked like a pirate. Now that isinteresting.

“Blood, sir?” Hakeswill asked.“A six-toothed scape wheel With a bifurcated locking piece! Well, Inever! That is enriching the pudding with currants. Rather likeputting an Egg lock on a common pistol! I’m sure if you wait.Sergeant, Sharpe will be back soon. He’s a marvelous fellow. Neverlets me down.“Hakeswill forced a smile for he hated Sharpe with a rare and singleminded venom.“He’s one of the best, sir,” he said, his face twitching.“And will he be leaving Seringapatam soon, sir? Off on an errandagain, would he be?“Oh no!” Stokes said, picking up a magnifying glass to look moreclosely into the clock.“I need him here, Sergeant.

That’s it, you see!There’s a pin missing from the strike wheel. It engages the cogs here,do you see, and the gearing does the rest. Simple, I suppose.” TheMajor looked up, but saw that the strange Sergeant with the twitchingface was gone. Never mind, the clock was far more interesting.Sergeant Hakeswill left the armoury and turned left towards thebarracks where he had temporary accommodation. The King’s 33rd wasquartered now in Hurryhur, a hundred and fifty miles to the north, andtheir job was to keep the roads of western Mysore clear of bandits andso the regiment ranged up and down the country and, finding themselvesclose to Seringapatam where the main armoury was located, Colonel Gorehad sent a detachment for replacement ammunition. Captain Morris ofthe Light Company had drawn the duty, and he had brought half his menand Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill to protect the shipment which wouldleave the city next morning and be carried on ox carts to Arrakerrywhere the regiment was currently camped. An easy task, but one thathad offered Sergeant Hakeswill an opportunity he had long sought.The Sergeant stopped in one of the grog shops and demanded arrack.

The shop was empty, all but for himself, the owner and a legless beggarwho heaved himself towards the Sergeant and received a kick in the rumpfor his trouble.“Get out of here, you scabby bastard!” Hakeswill shouted.“Bringing the flies in, you are. Go on! Piss off.” The shop thusemptied to his satisfaction, Hakeswill sat in a dark cornercontemplating life.“I chide myself,” he muttered aloud, worrying the shop’s owner whofeared the look of the twitching man in the red coat.“Your own fault, Obadiah,” Hakeswill said.“You should have seen it years ago! Years! Rich as a Jew, he is. Areyou listening to me, you heathen darkie bastard?” The shop’s owner,thus challenged, fled into the back room, leaving Hakeswill grumblingat the table.“Rich as a Jew, Sharpie is, only he thinks he hides it, which he don’t,on account of me having tumbled to him.

He don’t even live inbarracks! Got himself some rooms over by the Mysore Gate. Got ableeding servant boy. Always got cash on him, always! Buys drinks.“Hakeswill shook his head at the injustice of it all. The 33rd hadspent the last four years patrolling Mysore’s roads and Sharpe, allthat while, had been living in Seringapatam’s comforts. It was notright, not fair, not just. Hakeswill had worried about it, wonderingwhy Sharpe was so rich. At first he had assumed that Sharpe had beenfiddling the armoury stores, but that could not explain Sharpe’sapparent wealth.“Only so much milk in a cow,” Hakeswill muttered, ‘no matter how hardyou squeeze the teats.” Now he knew why Sharpe was rich, or he thoughthe knew, and what he had learned had filled Obadiah Hakeswill with adesperate jealousy.

He scratched at a mosquito bite on his neck,revealing the old dark scar where the hangman’s rope had burned andabraded his skin. Obadiah Hakeswill had survived that hanging, and asa result he fervently believed that he could not be killed. Touched byGod, he claimed he was, touched by God.But he was not rich. Not rich at all, and Richard Sharpe was rich.Rumour had it that Richard Sharpe used Lali’s house, and that was anofficers-only brothel, so why was Sergeant Sharpe allowed inside?Because he was rich, that was why, and Hakeswill had at last discoveredSharpe’s secret.“It was the Tippoo!” he said aloud, then thumped the table with histin mug to demand more drink.“And hurry up about it, you black-faced bastard!“It had to be the Tippoo. Had not Hakeswill seen Sharpe lurking aboutthe area where the Tippoo had been killed? And no soldier had everclaimed the credit for killing the Tippoo. It was widely thought thatone of those Suffolk bastards from the south had caught the King in thechaos at the siege’s end, but Hakeswill had finally worked it out.

Ithad been Sharpe, and the reason Sharpe had kept quiet about the killingwas because he had stripped the Tippoo of all his gems and he did notwant anyone, least of all the army’s senior officers, to knowj that hepossessed the jewels.“Bloody Sharpe!” Hakeswill said aloud.So all that was needed now was an excuse to have Sharpe brought back tothe regiment. No more clean and easy duty for Sharpie! No more merryrides in Lali’s house for him. It would be Obadiah Hakeswill’s turn tolive in luxury, and all because of a dead king’s treasure.“Rubies,” Hakeswill said aloud, lingering over the word, ‘and emeraldsand sapphires, and diamonds like stars, and gold thick as butter.” Hechuckled. And all it would need, he reckoned, was a little cunning. Alittle cunning, a confident lie and an arrest.“And that will be your end, Sharpie, that will be your end,” Hakeswillsaid, and he could feel the beauty of his scheme unfold like a lotusblossoming in Seringapatam’s moat.

It would work! His visit to MajorStokes had established that Sharpe was in the town, which meant thatthe lie could be told and then, just like Major Stokes’s clockwork,everything would go right. Every cog and gear and wheel and spikewould slot and click and tick and tock, and Sergeant Hakeswill’s facetwitched and his hands contracted as though the tin mug in his gripwere a man’s throat. He would be rich.It took Major William Dodd three days to carry the ammunition back toPohlmann’s compoo which was camped just outside the Mahratta city ofAhmednuggur. The compoo was an infantry brigade of eight battalions,each of them recruited from among the finest mercenary warriors ofnorth India and all trained and commanded by European officers.Dowlut Rao Scindia, the Maharajah of Gwalior, whose land stretched fromthe fortress of Baroda in the north to the fastness of Gawilghur in theeast and down to Ahmednuggur in the south, boasted that he led ahundred thousand men and that his army could blacken the land like aplague, yet this compoo, with its seven thousand men, was the hardheart of his army.One of the compoo’s eight battalions was paraded a mile outside theencampment to greet Dodd. The cavalry that had accompanied the sepoysto Chasalgaon had ridden ahead to warn Pohlmann of Dodd’s return andPohlmann had organized a triumphant reception. The battalion stood inwhite coats, their black belts and weapons gleaming, but Dodd, ridingat the head of his small column, had eyes only for the tall elephantthat stood beside a yellow-and-white-striped marquee. The huge beastglittered in the sunlight, for its body and head were armoured with avast leather cape onto which squares of silver had been sewn inintricate patterns.

The silver covered the elephant’s body,continued across its face and then, all but for two circles that hadbeen cut for its eyes, cascaded on down the length of its trunk. Gemsgleamed between the silver plates while ribbons of purple silkfluttered from the crown of the animal’s head. The last few inches ofthe animal’s big curved tusks were sheathed in silver, though theactual points of the tusks were tipped with needle-sharp points ofsteel. The elephant driver, the mahout, sweated in a coat ofold-fashioned chain mail that had been burnished to the same gleamingpolish as his animal’s silver armour, while behind him was a howdahmade of cedar wood on which gold panels had been nailed and above whichfluttered a fringed canopy of yellow silk. Long files ofpurple-jacketed infantrymen stood to attention on either flank of theelephant. Some of the men carried muskets, while others had long pikeswith their broad blades polished to resemble silver.The elephant knelt when Dodd came within twenty paces and the occupantof the howdah stepped carefully down onto a set of silver-plated stepsplaced there by one of his purple-coated bodyguards then strolled intothe shade of the striped marquee. He was a European, a tall man andbig, not fat, and though a casual glance might think him overweight, asecond glance would see that most of that weight was solid muscle. Hehad a round sun-reddened face, big black moustaches and eyes thatseemed to take delight in everything he saw. His uniform was of hisown devising: white silk breeches tucked into English riding boots, agreen coat festooned with gold lace and aiguillettes and, on the coat’sbroad shoulders, thick white silk cushions hung with short goldenchains.

The coat had scarlet facings and loops of scarlet braid aboutits turned-back cuffs and gilded buttons. The big man’s hat was abicorne crested with purple-dyed feathers held in place by a badgeshowing the white horse of Hanover; his sword’s hilt was made of goldfashioned into the shape of an elephant’s head, and gold rings glintedon his big fingers. Once in the shade of the open-sided marquee hesettled himself on a divan where his aides gathered about him. Thiswas Colonel Anthony Pohlmann and he commanded the compoo, together withfive hundred cavalry and twenty-six field guns. Ten years before, whenScindia’s army had been nothing but a horde of ragged troopers onhalf-starved horses, Anthony Pohlmann had been a sergeant in aHanoverian regiment of the East India Company; now he rode an elephantand needed two other beasts to carry the chests off gold coin thattravelled everywhere with him.Pohlmann stood as Dodd climbed down from his horse.“Well done, Major!” the Colonel called in his German-accentedEnglish.“Exceedingly well done!” Pohlmann’s aides, half of them European andhalf Indian, joined their commander in applauding the returning hero,while the bodyguard made a double line through which Dodd could advanceto meet the resplendent Colonel.“Eighty thousand cartridges,” Pohlmann exulted, ‘snatched from ourenemies!“Seventy-three thousand, sir,” Dodd said, beating dust off hisbreeches.Pohlmann grinned.

“Seven thousand spoiled, eh? Nothing changes.“Not spoiled by me, sir,” Dodd growled.“I never supposed so,” Pohlmann said.“Did you have any difficulties?“None,” Dodd answered confidently.“We lost no one, sir, not even a scratch, while not a single enemysoldier survived.” He smiled, cracking the dust on his cheeks.“Not one.“A victory!” Pohlmann said, then gestured Dodd into the tent.“We have wine, of sorts. There is rum, arrack, even water! Come,Major.

“Dodd did not move.“My men are tired, sir,” he pointed out.“Then dismiss them, Major. They can take refreshment at my cooktent.“Dodd went to dismiss his men. He was a gangling Englishman with a longsallow face and a sullen expression. He was also that rarest ofthings, an officer who had deserted from the East India Company, anddeserted moreover with one hundred and thirty of his own sepoy troops.He had come to Pohlmann just three weeks before and some of Pohlmann’sEuropean officers had been convinced that Lieutenant Dodd was a spysent by the British whose army was readying to attack the MahrattaConfederation, but Pohlmann had not been so sure. It was true that noother British officer had ever deserted like Dodd, but few had reasonslike Dodd, and Pohlmann had also recognized Dodd’s hunger, hisawkwardness, his anger and his ability. Lieutenant Dodd’s recordshowed he was no mean soldier, his sepoys liked him, and he had araging ambition, and Pohlmann had believed the Lieutenant’s defectionto be both wholehearted and real.

He had made Dodd into a major, thengiven him a test. He had sent him to Chasalgaon. If Dodd provedcapable of killing his old comrades then he was no spy, and Dodd hadpassed the test triumphantly and Scindia’s army was now better off byseventy-three thousand cartridges.Dodd came back to the marquee and was given the chair of honour on theright side of Pohlmann’s divan. The chair on the left was occupied bya woman, a European, and Dodd could scarcely keep his eyes from her,and no wonder, for she was a rare-looking woman to discover in India.She was young, scarce more than eighteen or nineteen, with a pale faceand very fair hair. Her lips were maybe a trifle too thin and herforehead perhaps a half inch too wide, yet there was something oddlyattractive about her. She had a face, Dodd decided, in which theimperfections added up to attractiveness, and her appeal was augmentedby a timid air of vulnerability. At first Dodd assumed the woman wasPohlmann’s mistress, but then he saw that her white linen dress wasfrayed at the hem and some of the lace at its modest collar was crudelydarned, and he decided that Pohlmann would never allow his mistress toappear so shabbily.“Let me introduce Madame Joubert to you,” Pohlmann said, who hadnoticed how hungrily Dodd had stared at the woman.

“This is Major William Dodd.“Madame Joubert?” Dodd stressed the “Madame’, half rising and bowingfrom his chair as he acknowledged her.“Major,” she said in a low voice, then smiled nervously before lookingdown at the table that was spread with dishes of almonds.Pohlmann snapped his fingers for a servant, then smiled at MajorDodd.“Simone is married to Captain Joubert, and that is Captain Joubert.” Hepointed into the sunlight where a short captain stood to attention infront of the paraded battalion that stood so stiff and still in thebiting sun.Joubert commands the battalion, sir?” Dodd asked.“No one commands the battalion,” Pohlmann answered.“But until three weeks ago it was led by Colonel Mathers. Back then ithad five European officers; now it has Captain Joubert and LieutenantSilliere.

“He pointed to a second European, a tall thin young man, and Dodd, whowas observant, saw Simone Joubert blush at the mention of Silliere’sname. Dodd was amused. Joubert looked at least twenty years olderthan his wife, while Silliere was only a year or two her senior.“And we must have Europeans,” Pohlmann went on, stretching back on thedivan that creaked under his weight.“The Indians are fine soldiers, but we need Europeans who understandEuropean tactics.“How many European officers have you lost, sir?” Dodd asked.“From this compoo? Eighteen,” Pohlmann said.“Too many.” The men who had gone were the British officers, and allhad possessed contracts with Scindia that excused them from fightingagainst their own countrymen, and to make matters worse the East IndiaCompany had offered a bribe to any British officer who deserted theMahrattas and, as a result, some of Pohlmann’s best men were gone. Itwas true that he still had some good officers left, most of themFrench, with a handful of Dutchmen, Swiss and Germans, but Pohlmannknew he could ill afford the loss of eighteen European officers.

Atleast none of his artillerymen had deserted and Pohlmann put greatfaith in the battle-winning capacity of his guns. Those cannon wereserved by Portuguese, or by half-breed Indians from the Portuguesecolonies in India, and those professionals had stayed loyal and wereawesomely proficient.Pohlmann drained a glass of rum and poured himself another. He had anextraordinary capacity for alcohol, a capacity Dodd did not share, andthe Englishman, knowing his propensity for getting drunk, restrainedhimself to sips of watered wine.“I promised you a reward, Major, if you succeeded in rescuing thecartridges,” Pohlmann said genially.“Knowing I’ve done my duty is reward enough,” Dodd said. He feltshabby and ill-uniformed among Pohlmann’s gaudy aides and had decidedthat it was best to play the bluff soldier, a role he thought wouldappeal to a former sergeant. It was said that Pohlmann kept his oldEast India Company uniform as a reminder of just how far he hadrisen.“Men do not join Scindia’s army merely for the pleasures of doing theirduty,” Pohlmann said, ‘but for the rewards such service offers. We arehere to become rich, are we not?” He unhooked the elephant-hiltedsword from his belt.

The scabbard was made of soft red leather and wasstudded with small emeralds.“Here.” Pohlmann offered the sword to Dodd.“I can’t take your sword!” Dodd protested.“I have many, Major, and many finer. I insist.“Dodd took the sword. He drew the blade from the scabbard and saw thatit was finely made, much better than the drab sword he had worn as alieutenant these last twenty years. Many Indian swords were made ofsoft steel and broke easily in combat, but Dodd guessed this blade hadbeen forged in France or Britain, then given its beautiful elephanthilt in India. That hilt was of gold, the elephant’s head made thepommel, while the handguard was the beast’s curved trunk.

The grip wasof black leather bound with gold wire.“Thank you, sir,” he said feelingly.“It is the first of many rewards,” Pohlmann said airily, ‘and thoserewards will shower on us when we beat the British. Which we shall,though not here.” He paused to drink rum.“The British will attack any day now,” he went on, ‘and they doubtlesshope I’ll stay and fight them here, but I don’t have a mind to obligethem. Better to make the bastards march after us, eh? The rains maycome while they pursue us and the rivers will hold them up. Diseasewill weaken them. And once they are weak and tired, we shall bestrong. All Scindia’s compoos will join together and the Rajah ofBerar has promised his army, and once we are all gathered we shallcrush the British.

But that means I have to give up Ahmednuggur.“Not an important city,” Dodd commented. He noticed that SimoneJoubert was sipping wine. She kept her eyes lowered, only occasionallyglancing up at her husband or at Lieutenant Silliere. She took nonotice of Dodd, but she would, he promised himself, she would. Hernose was too small, he decided, but even so she was a thing of pale andfragile wonder in this hot, dark-skinned land. Her blonde hair, whichwas hung with ringlets in a fashion that had prevailed ten years beforein Europe, was held in place by small mother-of-pearl clips.“Ahmednuggur is not important,” Pohlmann agreed, ‘but Scindia hateslosing any of his cities and he stuffed Ahmednuggur full of suppliesand insisted I post one regiment inside the city.” He nodded towardsthe white-coated troops.“That regiment, Major.

It’s probably my best regiment, but I am forcedto quarter it in Ahmednuggur.“Dodd understood Pohlmann’s predicament.“You can’t take them out of the city without upsetting Scindia,” hesaid, ‘but you don’t want to lose the regiment when the city falls.“I can’t lose it!” Pohlmann said indignantly.“A good regiment like that? Mathers trained it well, very well. Nowhe’s gone to join our enemies, but I can’t lose his regiment as well,so whoever takes over from Mathers must know how to extricate his menfrom trouble.“Dodd felt a surge of excitement. He liked to think that it was notjust for the money that he had deserted the Company, nor because of hislegal troubles, but for the long overdue chance of leading his ownregiment. He could do it well, he knew that, and he knew what Pohlmannwas leading up to.Pohlmann smiled.

“Suppose I give you Mathers’s regiment, Major?Can you pull it out of the fire for me?“Yes, sir,” Dodd said simply. Simone Joubert, for the first time sinceshe had been introduced to Dodd, looked up at him, but without anyfriendliness.“All of it?” Pohlmann asked.“With its cannon?“All of it,” Dodd said firmly, ‘and with every damned gun.“Then from now it is Dodd’s regiment,” Pohlmann said, ‘and if you leadit well, Major, I shall make you a colonel and give you a secondregiment to command.“Dodd celebrated by draining his cup of wine. He was so overcome withemotion that he hardly dared speak, though the look on his face said itall. His own regiment at last! He had waited so long for this momentand now, by God, he would show the Company how well their despisedofficers could fight.Pohlmann snapped his fingers so that a servant girl brought him morerum.“How many men will Wellesley bring?” he asked Dodd.

“No more than fifteen thousand infantry,” the new commander of Dodd’sregiment answered confidently.“Probably fewer, and they’ll be split into two armies. Boy Wellesleywill command one, Colonel Stevenson the other.“Stevenson’s old, yes?“Ancient and cautious,” Dodd said dismissively.“Cavalry?“Five or six thousand? Mostly Indians.“Guns?“Twenty-six at most. Nothing bigger than a twelve-pounder.“And Scindia can field eighty guns,” Pohlmann said, ‘some of themtwenty-eight-pounders. And once the Rajah of Berar’s forces join us,we’ll have forty thousand infantry and at least fifty more guns.” TheHanoverian smiled.

“But battles aren’t just numbers. They’re also won by generals. Tellme about this Major General Sir Arthur Wellesley.“Boy Wellesley?” Dodd responded scathingly. The British General wasyounger than Dodd, but that was not the cause of the derisory nickname.Rather it was envy, for Wellesley had connections and wealth, whileDodd had neither.“He’s young,” Dodd said, ‘only thirty four”Youth is no barrier to good soldiering,” Pohlmann said chidingly,though he well understood Dodd’s resentment. For years Dodd hadwatched younger men rise up through the ranks of the King’s army whilehe had been stuck in the Company’s hidebound ranks. A man could notbuy promotion in the Company, nor were promotions given by merit, butonly by seniority, and so forty-year-old men like Dodd were stilllieutenants while, in the King’s army, mere boys were captains ormajors.“Is Wellesley good?” Pohlmann asked.

“He’s never fought a battle,” Dodd said bitterly, ‘not unless you countMalavelly.“One volley?” Pohlmann asked, half recalling stories of theskirmish.“One volley and a bayonet charge,” Dodd said, ‘not a proper battle.“He defeated Dhoondiah.“A cavalry charge against a bandit,” Dodd said scornfully.“My point, sir, is that Boy Wellesley has never faced artillery andinfantry on a real battlefield. He was jumped up to major generalsolely because his brother is Governor General. If his name had beenDodd instead of Wellesley he’d be lucky to command a company, let alonean army.“He’s an aristocrat?” Pohlmann enquired.“Of course.

What else?” Dodd asked.“His father was an earl.“So

” Pohlmann put a handful of almonds in his mouth and paused tochew them.“So,” he went on, ‘he’s the younger son of a nobleman, sent into thearmy because he wasn’t good for anything else, and his family purchasedhim up the ranks?“Exactly, sir, exactly.“But I hear he is efficient?“Efficient?” Dodd thought about it.“He’s efficient, sir, because his brother gives him the cash. He canafford a big bullock train. He carries his supplies with him, so hismen are well fed. But he still ain’t ever seen a cannon’s muzzle, notfacing him, not alongside a score of others and backed by steadyinfantry.“He did well as Governor of Mysore,” Pohlmann observed mildly.

“So he’s an efficient governor? Does that make him a general?“A disciplinarian, I hear,” Pohlmann said.“He sets a lovely parade ground,” Dodd agreed sarcastically.“But he isn’t a fool?“No,” Dodd admitted, ‘not a fool, but not a general either. He’s beenpromoted too fast and too young, sir. He’s beaten bandits, but he tooka beating himself outside Seringapatam.“Ah, yes. The night attack.” Pohlmann had heard of that skirmish, howArthur Wellesley had attacked a wood outside Seringapatam and therebeen roundly thrashed by the Tippoo’s troops.“Even so,” he said, ‘it never serves to underestimate an enemy.“Overestimate him as much as you like, sir,” Dodd said stoutly, ‘butthe fact remains that Boy Wellesley has never fought a proper battle,not with more than a thousand men under his command, and he’s neverfaced a real army, not a trained field army with gunners anddisciplined infantry, and my guess is that he won’t stand.

He’ll runback to his brother and demand more men. He’s a careful man.“Pohlmann smiled.“So let us lure this careful man deep into our territory where he can’tretreat, eh? Then beat him.” He smiled, then hauled a watch from hisfob and snapped open the lid.“I have to be going soon,” he said, ‘but some business first.” He tookan envelope from his gaudy coat’s pocket and handed the sealed paper toDodd.“That is your authority to command Mathers’s regiment, Major,” he said,‘but remember, I want you to bring it safely out of Ahmednuggur.You can help the defence for a time, but don’t be trapped there. YoungWellesley can’t invest the whole city, he doesn’t have enough men, soyou should be able to escape easily enough.

Bloody his nose, Dodd, butkeep your regiment safe. Do you understand?“Dodd understood well enough. Pohlmann was setting Dodd a difficult andignoble task, that of retreating from a fight with his commandintact.There was little glory in such a manoeuvre, but it would still be adifficult piece of soldiering and Dodd knew he was being tested asecond time. The first test had been Chasalgaon, the second would beAhmednuggur. ‘I can manage it,” he said dourly.“Good!” Pohlmann said.“I shall make things easier for you by taking your regiment’s familiesnorthwards. You might march soldiers safely from the city’s fall, butI doubt you can manage a horde of women and children too. And whatabout you, Madame?” He turned and laid a meaty hand on SimoneJoubert’s knee.

“Will you come with me?” He talked to her as though she were achild.“Or stay with Major Dodd?“Simone seemed startled by the question. She blushed and looked up atLieutenant Silliere.“I shall stay here, Colonel,” she answered in English.“Make sure you bring her safe home, Major,” Pohlmann said to Dodd.“I shall, sir.“Pohlmann stood. His purple-coated bodyguards, who had been standing infront of the tent, hurried to take their places on the elephant’sflanks while the mako ut who had been resting in the animal’s capaciousshade, now mounted the somnolent beast by gripping its tail andclambering up its backside like a sailor swarming up a rope. He edgedpast the gilded howdah, took his seat on the elephant’s neck and turnedthe beast towards Pohlmann’s tent.“Are you sure’ -Pohlmann turned back to Simone Joubert - ‘that youwould not prefer to travel with me?The howdah is so comfortable, as long as you do not suffer fromseasickness.

“I shall stay with my husband,” Simone said. She had stood and provedto be much taller than Dodd had supposed. Tall and somewhat gawky, hethought, but she still possessed an odd attraction.“A good woman should stay with her husband,” Pohlmann said, ‘orsomeone’s husband, anyway.” He turned to Dodd.“I shall see you in a few days, Major, with your new regiment. Don’tlet me down.“I won’t, sir, I won’t,” Dodd promised as, holding his new sword, hewatched his new commander climb the silver steps to the howdah. He hada regiment to save and a reputation to make, and by God, Dodd thought,he would do both things well.

CHAPTER 2

Sharpe sat in the open shed where the armoury stored its gun carriages.

It had started to rain, though it was not the sheeting downpour of themonsoon, just a miserable steady grey drizzle that turned the mud inthe yard into a slippery coating of red slime. Major Stokes, beginningthe afternoon in a clean red coat, white silk stock and polished boots,paced obsessively about a newly made carriage.“It really wasn’t your fault, Sharpe,” he said.“Feels like it, sir.“It would, it would!” Stokes said.“Reflects well on you, Sharpe, ‘pon my soul, it does. But it weren’tyour fault, not in any manner.“Lost all six men, sir. And young Davi.“Poor Hedgehog,” Stokes said, squatting to peer along the trail of thecarriage.

“You reckon that timber’s straight, Sharpe? Bit hog-backed, maybe?“Looks straight to me, sir.“Ain’t tight-grained, this oak, ain’t tight-grained,” the Major said,and he began to unbuckle his sword belt. Every morning and afternoonhis servant sent him to the armoury in carefully laundered and pressedclothes, and within an hour Major Stokes would be stripped down tobreeches and shirtsleeves and have his hands full of spokeshaves orsaws or awls or adzes.“Like to see a straight trail,” he said.“There’s a number four spokeshave on the wall, Sharpe, be a goodfellow.“You want me to sharpen it, sir?“I did it last night, Sharpe. I put a lovely edge on her.” Stokesunpeeled his red jacket and rolled up his sleeves.“Timber don’t season here properly, that’s the trouble.” He stooped tothe new carriage and began running the spokeshave along the trail,leaving curls of new white wood to fall away.

“I’m mending a clock,” he told Sharpe while he worked, ‘a lovely-madepiece, all but for some crude local gearing.Have a look at it. It’s in my office.“I will, sir.“And I’ve found some new timber for axletrees, Sharpe. It’s reallyquite exciting!“They’ll still break, sir,” Sharpe said gloomily, then scooped up oneof the many cats that lived in the armoury. He put the tabby on hislap and stroked her into a contented purr.“Don’t be so doom-laden, Sharpe! We’ll solve the axletree problem yet.It’s only a question of timber, nothing but timber. There, that looksbetter.

” The Major stepped back from his work and gave it a criticallook. There were plenty of Indian craftsmen employed in the armoury,but Major Stokes liked to do things himself, and besides, most of theIndians were busy preparing for the feast of Dusshera which involvedmanufacturing three giant-sized figures that would be paraded to theHindu temple and there burned. Those Indians were busy in anotheropen-sided shed where they had glue bubbling on a fire, and some of themen were pasting lengths of pale cloth onto a wicker basket that wouldform one of the giants’ heads. Stokes was fascinated by their activityand Sharpe knew it would not be long before the Major joined them.“Did I tell you a sergeant was here looking for you this morning?“Stokes asked.“No, sir.“Came just before dinner,” Stokes said, ‘a strange sort of fellow.” TheMajor stooped to the trail and attacked another section of wood.“He twitched, he did.“Obadiah Hakeswill,” Sharpe said.

“I think that was his name. Didn’t seem very important,” Stokessaid.“Said he was just visiting town and looking up old companions. D’youknow what I was thinking?“Tell me, sir,” Sharpe said, wondering why in holy hell ObadiahHakeswill had been looking for him. For nothing good, that wascertain.“Those teak beams in the Tippoo’s old throne room,” Stokes said,‘they’ll be seasoned well enough. We could break out a halfdozen ofthe things and make a batch of axletrees from them!“The gilded beams, sir?” Sharpe asked.“Soon have the gilding off them, Sharpe. Plane them down in twofshakes!“The Rajah may not like it, sir,” Sharpe said.Stokes’s face fell.

“There is that, there is that. A fellow don’t usually like hisceilings being pulled down to make gun carriages. Still, the Rajah’susually most obliging if you can get past his damned courtiers.The clock is his. Strikes eight when it should ring nine, or perhapsit’s the other way round. You reckon that quoin’s true?“Sharpe glanced at the wedge which lowered and raised the cannonbarrel.“Looks good, sir.“I might just plane her down a shade. I wonder if our templates areout of true? We might check that. Isn’t this rain splendid? Theflowers were wilting, wilting! But I’ll have a fine show this yearwith a spot of rain.

You must come and see them.“You still want me to stay here, sir?” Sharpe asked.“Stay here?” Stokes, who was placing the quoin in a vice, turned tolook at Sharpe.“Of course I want you to stay here, Sergeant. Best man I’ve got!“I lost six men, sir.“And it wasn’t your fault, not your fault at all. I’ll get you anothersix.“Sharpe wished it was that easy, but he could not chase the guilt ofChasalgaon out of his mind. When the massacre was finished he hadwandered about the fort in a half-daze. Most of the women and childrenstill lived, but they had been frightened and had shrunk away from him.

Captain Roberts, the second in command of the fort, had returned frompatrol that afternoon and he had vomited when he saw the horror insidethe cactusthorn wall.Sharpe had made his report to Roberts who had sent it by messenger toHurryhur, the army’s headquarters, then dismissed Sharpe.“There’ll be an enquiry, I suppose,” Roberts had told Sharpe, ‘sodoubtless your evidence will be needed, but you might as well wait inSeringapatam.“And so Sharpe, with no other orders, had walked home. He had returnedthe bag of rupees to Major Stokes, and now, obscurely, he wanted somepunishment from the Major, but Stokes was far more concerned about theangle of the quoin.“I’ve seen screws shatter because the angle was too steep, and it ain’tno good having broken screws in battle. I’ve seen Frog guns with metalled quoins, but they only rust. Can’t trust a Frog to keep themgreased, you see. You’re brooding, Sharpe.“Can’t help it, sir.

“Doesn’t do to brood. Leave brooding to poets and priests, eh? Thosesorts of fellows are paid to brood. You have to get on with life. Whatcould you have done?“Killed one of the bastards, sir.“And they’d have killed you, and you wouldn’t have liked that and norwould I. Look at that angle! Look at that! I do like a fine angle, Ideclare I do. We must check it against the templates. How’s yourhead?“Mending, sir.” Sharpe touched the bandage that wrapped hisforehead.“No pain now, sir.

“Providence, Sharpe, that’s what it is, providence. The good Lord inHis ineffable mercy wanted you to live.” Stokes released the vice andrestored the quoin to the carriage.“A touch of paint on that trail and it’ll be ready. You think theRajah might give me one roof beam?“No harm in asking him, sir.“I will, I will. Ah, a visitor.” Stokes straightened as a horseman,swathed against the rain in an oilcloth cape and with an oilcloth coveron his cocked hat, rode into the armoury courtyard leading a secondhorse by the reins. The visitor kicked his feet from the stirrups,swung down from the saddle, tiien tied both horses’ reins to one of theshed’s pillars.Major Stokes, his clothes just in their beginning stage of becomingdirty and dishevelled, smiled at the tall newcomer whose cocked hat andsword betrayed he was an officer.

“Come to inspect us, have you?” the Major demanded cheerfully.“You’ll discover chaos! Nothing in the right place, records allmuddled, woodworm in the timber stacks, damp in the magazines and thepaint completely addled.“Better that paint is addled than wits,” the newcomer said, then tookoff his cocked hat to reveal a head of white hair.Sharpe, who had been sitting on one of the finished gun carriages, shotto his feet, tipping the surprised cat into the Major’s woodshavings.“Colonel McCandless, sir!“Sergeant Sharpe!” McCandless responded. The Colonel shook water fromhis cocked hat and turned to Stokes.“And you, sir?“Major Stokes, sir, at your service, sir. Horace Stokes, commander ofthe armoury and, as you see, carpenter to His Majesty.“You will forgive me, Major Stokes, if I talk to Sergeant Sharpe?“McCandless shed his oilskin cape to reveal his East India Companyuniform.“Sergeant Sharpe and I are old friends.

“My pleasure, Colonel,” Stokes said.“I have business in the foundry.They’re pouring too fast. I tell them all the time! Fast pouring justbubbles the metal, and bubbled metal leads to disaster, but they won’tlisten. Ain’t like making temple bells, I tell them, but I might aswell save my breath.” He glanced wistfully towards the happy menmaking the giant’s head for the Dusshera festival.“And I have other things to do,” he added.“I’d rather you didn’t leave, Major,” McCandless said very formally.“Isuspect what I have to say concerns you. It is good to see you,Sharpe.

“You too, sir,” Sharpe said, and it was true. He had been locked inthe Tippoo’s dungeons with Colonel Hector McCandless and if it waspossible for a sergeant and a colonel to be friends, then a friendshipexisted between the two men. McCandless, tall, vigorous and in hissixties, was the East India Company’s head of intelligence for allsouthern and western India, and in the last four years he and Sharpehad talked a few times whenever the Colonel passed throughSeringapatam, but those had been social conversations and the Colonel’sgrim face suggested that this meeting was anything but social.“You were at Chasalgaon?” McCandless demanded.“I was, sir, yes.“So you saw Lieutenant Dodd?“Sharpe nodded.“Won’t ever forget the bastard. Sorry, sir.” He apologized becauseMcCandless was a fervent Christian who abhorred all foul language. TheScotsman was a stern man, honest as a saint, and Sharpe sometimeswondered why he liked him so much.

Maybe it was because McCandless wasalways fair, always truthful and could talk to any man, rajah orsergeant, with the same honest directness.“I never met Lieutenant Dodd,” McCandless said, ‘so describe him tome.“Tall, sir, and thin like you or me.“Not like me,” Major Stokes put in.“Sort of yellow-faced,” Sharpe went on, ‘as if he’d had the fever once.Long face, like he ate something bitter.” He thought for a second.He had only caught a few glimpses of Dodd, and those had beensideways.“He’s got lank hair, sir, when he took off his hat. Brown hair.

Long nose on him, like Sir Arthur’s, and a bony chin. He’s callinghimself Major Dodd now, sir, not Lieutenant. I heard one of his mencall him Major.“And he killed every man in the garrison?” McCandless asked.“He did, sir. Except me. I was lucky.“Nonsense, Sharpe!” McCandless said.“The hand of the Lord was upon you.“Amen,” Major Stokes intervened.

McCandless stared broodingly at Sharpe. The Colonel had a hard planedface with oddly blue eyes. He was forever claiming that he wanted toretire to his native Scotland, but he always found some reason to stayon in India. He had spent much of his life riding the states thatbordered the land administered by the Company, for his job was toexplore those lands and report their threats and weaknesses to hismasters. Little happened in India that escaped McCandless, but Doddhad escaped him, and Dodd was now McCandless’s concern.“We have placed a price on his head,” the Colonel said, ‘of fivehundred guineas.“Bless me!” Major Stokes said in astonishment.“He’s a murderer,” McCandless went on.“He killed a goldsmith in Seedesegur, and he should be facing trial,but he ran instead and I want you, Sharpe, to help me catch him. AndI’m not pursuing the rogue because I want the reward money; in factI’ll refuse it.

But I do want him, and I want your help.“Major Stokes began to protest, saying that Sharpe was his best man andthat the armoury would go to the dogs if the Sergeant was taken away,but McCandless shot the amiable Major a harsh look that was sufficientto silence him.“I want Lieutenant Dodd captured,” McCandless said implacably, ‘and Iwant him tried, and I want him executed, and I need someone who willknow him by sight.“Major Stokes summoned the courage to continue his objections.“But I need Sergeant Sharpe,” he protested.“He organizes everything! The duty rosters, the stores, the pay chest,everything!“I need him more,” McCandless snarled, turning on the hapless Major.“Do you know how many Britons are in India, Major? Maybe twelvethousand, and less than half of those are soldiers. Our power does notrest on the shoulders of white men, Major, but on the muskets of oursepoys. Nine men out of every ten who invade the Mahratta states willbe sepoys, and Lieutenant Dodd persuaded over a hundred of those men todesert! To desert! Can you imagine our fate if the other sepoysfollow them? Scindia will shower Dodd’s men with gold, Major, withlucre and with spoil, in the hope that others will follow them. I haveto stop that, and I need Sharpe.

” Major Stokes recognized the inevitable.“You will bring him back, sir?“If it is the Lord’s will, yes. Well, Sergeant? Will you come withme?“Sharpe glanced at Major Stokes who shrugged, smiled, then nodded his permission.“I’ll come, sir,” Sharpe said to the Scotsman.“How soon can you be ready?“Ready now, sir. “Sharpe indicated the newly issued pack and musketthat lay at his feet.“You can ride a horse?“Sharpe frowned.“I can sit on one, sir.“Good enough,” the Scotsman said. He pulled on his oilcloth cape, thenuntied the two reins and gave one set to Sharpe.

“She’s a docile thing, Sharpe, so don’t saw on her bit.“We’re going right now, sir?” Sharpe asked, surprised by thesuddenness of it all.“Right now,” McCandless said.“Time waits for no man, Sharpe, and we have a traitor and a murderer tocatch.” He pulled himself into his saddle and watched as Sharpeclumsily mounted the second horse.“So where are you going?” Stokes asked McCandless.“Ahmednuggur first, and after that God will decide.” The Coloneltouched his horse’s flanks with his spurs and Sharpe, his pack hangingfrom one shoulder and his musket slung on the other, followed.He would redeem himself for the failure at Chasalgaon. Not with 1punishment, but with something better: with vengeance.

Major William Dodd ran a white-gloved finger down the spoke of a gunwheel He inspected his fingertip and nearly nine hundred men, or atleast as many of the nine hundred on parade who could see the, Major,inspected him in return.No mud or dust on the glove. Dodd straightened his back and gloweredat the gun crews, daring any man to show pleasure in having achieved anear perfect turn-out. It had been hard work, too, for it had rainedearlier in the day and the regiment’s five guns had been draggedthrough the muddy streets to the parade ground just insideAhmednuggur’s southern gate, but the gunners had still managed to cleantheir weapons meticulously. They had removed every scrap of mud,washed the mahogany trails, then polished the barrels until their alloyof copper and tin gleamed like brass.Impressive, Dodd thought, as he peeled off the glove. Pohlmann hadleft Ahmednuggur, retreating north to join his compoo to Scindia’sgathering army, and Dodd had ordered this surprise inspection of hisnew command. He had given the regiment just one hour’s notice, but sofar he had found nothing amiss. They were impressive indeed; standingin four long white-coated ranks with their four cannon and singlehowitzer paraded at the right flank. The guns themselves, despitetheir gleam, were pitiful things.

The four field guns were mere fourpounders while the fifth was a five-inch howitzer, and not one of thepieces fired a ball of real weight. Not a killing ball.“Peashooters!” Dodd said disparagingly.“Monsieur?” Captain Joubert, the Frenchman who had desperately hopedto be given command of the regiment himself, asked.“You heard me, Monsewer. Peashooters!” Dodd said as he lifted alimber’s lid and hoisted out one of the fourpounder shots. It washalf the size of a cricket ball.“You might as well spit at them, Monsewer!“Joubert, a small man, shrugged.“At close range, Monsieur

” he began to defend the guns.“At close range, Monsewer, close range!” Dodd tossed the shot toJoubert who fumbled the catch.

“That’s no use at close range! No more use than a musket ball, and thegun’s ten times more cumbersome than a musket.” He rummaged throughthe limber.“No canister? No grape?“Canister isn’t issued for fourpounder guns,” Joubert said.“It isn’t even made for them.“Then we make our own,” Dodd said.“Bags of scrap metal, Monsewer, strapped to a sabot and a charge. Oneand a half pounds of powder per round. Find a dozen women in the townand have them sew up the bags.Maybe your wife can help, Monsewer?” He leered at Joubert who showedno reaction. Dodd could smell a man’s weakness, and the oddlyattractive Simone Joubert was undoubtedly her husband’s weakness, forshe clearly despised him and he, just as clearly, feared losing her.

“I want thirty bags of grape for each gun by this time tomorrow,” Doddordered.“But the barrels, Major!“Joubert protested.“You mean they’ll be scratched?” Dodd jeered.“What do you want, Monsewer? A scratched bore and a live regiment? Ora clean gun and a row of dead men? By tomorrow, thirty rounds ofcanister per gun, and if there ain’t room in the limbers then throw outthat bloody round shot.Might as well spit cherrystones as fire those pebbles.“Dodd slammed down the limber’s lid. Even if the guns fired makeshiftgrapeshot he was not certain that they were worth keeping. Everybattalion in India had such close-support artillery, but in Dodd’sopinion the guns only served to slow down a regiment’s manoeuvres. Theweapons themselves were cumbersome, and the livestock needed to haulthem was a nuisance, and if he were ever given his own compoo he wouldstrip the regiments of field guns for if a battalion of infantry couldnot defend itself with fire locks what use was it? But he was stuckwith the five guns, so he would use them as giant shotguns and openfire at three hundred yards. The gunners would moan about the damageto their barrels, but damn the gunners.

Dodd inspected the howitzer, found it as clean as the other guns, andnodded to the gunner-sub adar He offered no compliment, for Dodd didnot believe in praising men for merely doing their duty.I Praise was due to those who exceeded their duty, punishment for thoseI who fell short, and silence must serve the rest.I Once the five guns had been inspected Dodd walked slowly down thewhite-jacketed infantry ranks where he looked every man in the; eyeand did not change his grim expression once, even though the soldiershad taken particular care to be well turned out for their newcommanding officer. Captain Joubert followed a pace behind Dodd andthere was something ludicrous about the conjunction of the tall,long-legged Dodd and the diminutive Joubert who needed to scurry tokeep up with the Englishman. Once in a while the Frenchman would makea comment.“He’s a good man, sir,” he might say as they passed a soldier, but Doddignored all the praise and, after a while, Joubert fell silent and justscowled at Dodd’s back. Dodd sensed the; Frenchman’s dislike, but didnot care.Dodd showed no reaction to the regiment’s appearance, though all thesame he was impressed. These men were smart and their weapons wereas clean as those of his own sepoys who, reissued with white jackets,now paraded as an extra company at the regiment’s left flank where, inBritish regiments, the skirmishers paraded. East India Companybattalions had no skirmishers, for it was believed that sepoys were i’no good at the task, but Dodd had decided to make his loyal sepoys intothe finest skirmishers in India.

Let them prove the Company, wrong,and in the proving they could help destroy the Company.Most of the men looked up into Dodd’s eyes as he walked by, although few of them looked at him for long, but instead glanced quickly away. Joubert saw the reaction, and sympathized with it forthere was something distinctly unpleasant about the Englishman’s longsour face that edged on the frightening. Probably, Joubert decided,this Englishman was a flogger. The English were notorious for usingthe whip on their own men, reducing redcoats’ backs to welters ofbroken flesh and gleaming blood, but Joubert was quite wrong aboutDodd.Major Dodd had never flogged a man in his life, and that was not justbecause the Company forbade it in their army, but because William Dodddisliked the lash and hated to see a soldier flogged. Major Dodd likedsoldiers. He hated most officers, especially those senior to him, buthe liked soldiers. Good soldiers won battles, and victories madeofficers famous, so to be successful an officer needed soldiers wholiked him and who would follow him. Dodd’s sepoys were proof of that.

He had looked after them, made sure they were fed and paid, and he hadgiven them victory. Now he would make them wealthy in the service ofthe Mahratta princes who were famous for their generosity.He broke away from the regiment and marched back to its colours, a pairof bright-green flags marked with crossed tulwars. The flags had beenthe choice of Colonel Mathers, the Englishman who had commanded theregiment for five years until he resigned rather than fight against hisown countrymen, and now the regiment would be known as Dodd’s regiment.Or perhaps he should call it something else. The Tigers? The Eagles?The Warriors of Scindia? Not that the name mattered now. Whatmattered now was to save these nine hundred well trained men and theirfive gleaming guns and take them safely back to the Mahratta army thatwas gathering in the north. Dodd turned beneath the colours.“My name is Dodd!” he shouted, then paused to let one of his Indianofficers translate his words into Marathi, a language Dodd did notspeak. Few of the soldiers spoke Marathi either, for most weremercenaries from the north, but men in the ranks murmured their owntranslation and so Dodd’s message was relayed up and down the files.

“Iam a soldier! Nothing but a soldier! Always a soldier!” He pausedagain.The parade was being held in the open space inside the gate and a crowdof townsfolk had gathered to gape at the troops, and among the crowdwas a scatter of [the robed Arab mercenaries who were reputed to bethe fiercest of all the Mahratta troops. They were wild-looking men,armed with every conceivable weapon, but Dodd doubted they had thediscipline of his regiment.“Together,” he shouted at his men, ‘you and I shall fight and we shallwin.” He kept his words simple, for soldiers always liked simplethings. Loot was simple, winning and losing were simple ideas, andeven death, despite the way the damned preachers tried to tie it up insuperstitious knots, was a simple concept.“It is my intent,” he shouted, then waited for the translation toripple up and down the ranks, ‘for this regiment to be the finest inScindia’s service! Do your job well and I shall reward you. Do itbadly, and I shall let your fellow soldiers decide on your punishment.“They liked that, as Dodd had known they would.“Yesterday,” Dodd declaimed, ‘the British crossed our frontier!Tomorrow their army will be here at Ahmednuggur, and soon we shallfight them in a great battle!” He had decided not to say that thebattle would be fought well north of the city, for that mightdiscourage the listening civilians.

“We shall drive them back to Mysore. We shall teach them that the armyof Scindia is greater than any of their armies. We shall win!” Thesoldiers smiled at his confidence.“We shall take their treasures, their weapons, their land and theirwomen, and those things will be your reward if you fight well. But ifyou fight badly, you will die.” That phrase sent a shudder through thefour white-coated ranks.“And if any of you prove to be cowards,” Dodd finished, “I shall killyou myself.“He let that threat sink in, then abruptly ordered the regiment back toits duties before summoning Joubert to follow him up the red stonesteps of the city wall to where Arab guards stood behind the merlonsranged along the fire step Far to the south, beyond the horizon, adusky cloud was just visible. It could have been mistaken for adistant rain cloud, but Dodd guessed it was the smear of smoke from theBritish campfires.“How long do you think the city will last?” Dodd asked Joubert.

The Frenchman considered the question.“A month?” he guessed.“Don’t be a fool,” Dodd snarled. He might want the loyalty of his men,but he did not give a fig for the good opinion of its two Europeanofficers. Both were Frenchmen and Dodd had the usual Englishman’sopinion of the Frogs. Good dancing masters, and experts in tying astock or arranging lace to fall prettily on a uniform, but about asmuch use in a fight as spavined lap dogs Lieutenant Silliere, who hadfollowed Joubert to the fire step was tall and looked strong, but Doddmistrusted a man who took such care with his uniform and he could havesworn he detected a whiff of lavender water coming from the youngLieutenant’s carefully brushed hair.“How long are the city walls?” he asked Joubert.The Captain thought for a moment.“Two miles?“At least, and how many men in the garrison?“Two thousand.“So work it out, Monsewer,” Dodd said.

“One man every two yards?We’ll be lucky if the city holds for three days.” Dodd climbed to oneof the bastions from where he could stare between the crenellations atthe great fort which stood close to the city. Thattwo-hundred-year-old fortress was an altogether more formidablestronghold than the city, though its very size made it vulnerable, forthe fort’s garrison, like the city’s, was much too small. But thefort’s high wall was faced by a big ditch, its embrasures were crammedwith cannon and its bastions were high and strong, although the fortwas worth nothing without the city.The city was the prize, not the fort, and Dodd doubted that GeneralWellesley would waste men against the fort’s garrison. Boy Wellesleywould attack the city, breach the walls, storm the gap and send his mento slaughter the defenders in the rat’s tangle of alleys andcourtyards, and once the city had fallen the redcoats would hunt forsupplies that would help feed the British army. Only then, with thecity in his possession, would Wellesley turn his guns against the fort,and it was possible that the fort would hold the British advance fortwo or three weeks and thus give Scindia more time to assemble hisarmy, and the longer the fort held the better, for the overdue rainsmight come and hamper the British advance. But of one thing Dodd wasquite certain; as Pohlmann had said, the war would not be won here, andto William Dodd the most important thing was to extricate his men sothat they could share that victory.“You will take the regiment’s guns and three hundred men and garrisonthe north gate,” Dodd ordered Joubert.The Frenchman frowned.

“You think the British will attack in the north?“I think, Monsewer, that the British will attack here, in the south.Our orders are to kill as many as we can, then escape to join ColonelPohlmann. We shall make that escape through the north gate, but evenan idiot can see that half the city’s inhabitants will also try toescape through the north gate and your job, Joubert, is to keep thebastards from blocking our way. I intend to save the regiment, notlose it with the city. That means you open fire on any civilian whotries to leave the city, do you understand?” Joubert wanted toargue,J]but one look at Dodd’s face persuaded him into hasty agreement.“Ishall be at the north gate in one hour,” Dodd said, ‘and God help you,Monsewer, if your three hundred men are not in position.“Joubert ran off. Dodd watched him go, then turned to Silliere.“When were the men last paid?“Tour months ago, sir.“Where did you learn English, Lieutenant?“Colonel Mathers insisted we speak it, sir.

“And where did Madame Joubert learn it?“Silliere gave Dodd a suspicious glance.“I would not know, sir.“Dodd sniffed.“Are you wearing perfume, Monsewer?“No!” Silliere blushed.“Make sure you never do, Lieutenant. And in the meantime take yourcompany, find the kill adar and tell him to break open the citytreasury.If you have any trouble, break the damn thing open yourself with one ofour guns. Give every man three months’ pay and load the rest of themoney on pack animals. We’ll take it with us.“Silliere looked astonished at me order.

“But the kill adar Monsieur

” he began.“The kill adar Monsewer, is a wretched little man wit ii the balls of amouse! You are a soldier. If we don’t take the money, the Britishwill get it. Now go!” Dodd shook his head in exasperation as theLieutenant went. Four months without pay! There was nothing unusualin such a lapse, but Dodd disapproved of it. A soldier risked his lifefor his country, and the least his country could do in return was payhim promptly.He walked eastwards along the fire step trying to anticipate where theBritish would site their batteries and where they would make a breach.There was always a chance that Wellesley would pass by Ahmednuggur andsimply march north towards Scindia’s army, but Dodd doubted the enemywould choose that course, for then the city and fort would lie athwartthe British supply lines and the garrison could play havoc with theconvoys carrying ammunition, shot and food to the redcoats.A small crowd was gathered on the southernmost ramparts to gaze towardsthe distant cloud that betrayed the presence of the enemy army. SimoneJoubert was among them, sheltering her face from the westering sun witha frayed parasol.

Dodd took off his cocked hat. He always felt oddlyawkward with women, at least white women, but his new rank gave him anunaccustomed confidence.“I see you have come to observe the enemy, Ma’am,” he said.“I like to walk about the walls, Major,” Simone answered, ‘but today,as you see, the way is blocked with people.“I can clear a path for you, Ma’am,” Dodd offered, touching the goldhilt of his new sword.“It is not necessary, Major,” Simone said.“You speak good English, Ma’am.“I was taught it as a child. We had a Welsh governess.“In France, Ma’am?“In the lie de France, Monsieur,” Simone said.

She was not looking atDodd as she spoke, but staring into the heat-hazed south.“Mauritius,” Dodd said, giving the island the name used by theBritish.“The lie de France, Monsieur, as I said.“A remote place, Ma’am.“Simone shrugged. In truth she agreed with Dodd. Mauritius was remote,an island four hundred miles east of Africa and the only decent Frenchnaval base in the Indian Ocean. There she had been raised as thedaughter of the port’s captain, and it was there, at sixteen, that shehad been wooed by Captain Joubert who was on passage to India where hehad been posted as an adviser to Scindia. Joubert had dazzled Simonewith tales of the riches that a man could make for himself in India,and Simone, bored with the small petty society of her island, hadallowed herself to be swept away, only to discover that Captain Joubertwas a timid man at heart, and that his impoverished family in Lyons hadfirst claim on his earnings, and whatever was left was assiduouslysaved so that the Captain could retire to France in comfort. Simonehad expected a life of parties and jewels, of dancing and silks, andinstead she scrimped, she sewed and she suffered.

Colonel Pohlmann hadoffered her a way out of poverty, and now she sensed that the lankyEnglishman was clumsily attempting to make the same offer, but Simonewas not minded to become a man’s mistress just because she was bored.She might for love, and in the absence of any love in her life she wasfighting an attraction for Lieutenant Silliere, although she knew thatthe Lieutenant was almost as worthless as her I husband and the dilemmawas making her think that she was going! mad. She wept about it, andthe tears only added to her self-diagnosis I of insanity.“When will the British come, Major?” she asked Dodd.“Tomorrow, Ma’am. They’ll establish batteries the next day, knock atthe wall for two or three days, make their hole and then come in.“She looked at Dodd beneath the hem of her parasol. Although he was atall man, Simone could still look him in the eye.“They’ll take the city that quickly?” she asked, showing a hint ofworry.“Nothing to hold them, Ma’am.

Not enough men, too much wall, notenough guns.“So how will we escape?“By trusting me, Ma’am,” Dodd said, offering Simone a leering smile.“What you must do, my dear, is pack your luggage, as much as can becarried on whatever packhorses your husband might possess, and be readyto leave. I shall send you warning before the attack, and at that timeyou go to the north gate where you’ll find your husband. It wouldhelp, of course, Ma’am, if I knew where you were lodged?“My husband knows, Monsieur,” Simone said coldly.“So once the rosbifs arrive I need do nothing for three days exceptpack?“Dodd noted her use of the French term of contempt for the English, butchose to make nothing of it.“Exactly, Ma’am.“Thank you, Major,” Simone said, and made a gesture so that twoservants, whom Dodd had not noticed in the press of people, came toescort her back to her house.“Cold bitch,” Dodd said to himself when she was gone, ‘but she’ll thaw,she’ll thaw.“The dark fell swiftly.

Torches flared on the city ramparts, lightingthe ghostly robes of the Arab mercenaries who patrolled the bastions.Small offerings of food and flowers were piled in front of the garishgods and goddesses in their candlelit temples. The inhabitants of thecity were praying to be spared, while to the south a faint glow in thesky betrayed where a redcoated army had come to bring Ahmednuggurdeath.Lieutenant-Colonel Albert Gore had taken command of the King’s 33rd insuccession to Sir Arthur Wellesley and it had not been a happybattalion when Gore arrived. That unhappiness was not Sir Arthur’sfault for he had long left the battalion for higher responsibilities,but in his absence the 33rd had been commanded by Major John Shee whowas an incompetent drunk. Shee had died, Gore had received command,and now he was slowly mending the damage. That mending could have beena great deal swifter if Gore had been able to rid himself of some ofthe battalion’s officers, and of all those officers it was the lazy anddishonest Captain Morris of the Light Company whom he would have mostliked to dismiss, but Gore was helpless in the matter. Morris hadpurchased his commission, he was guilty of no of fences against theKing’s regulations and thus he had to stay. And with him stayed themalevolent, unsettling, yellow-faced and perpetually twitching SergeantObadiah Hakeswill.“Sharpe was always a bad man, sir.

A disgrace to the army, sir,“Hakeswill told the Colonel.“He should never have been made into a sergeant, sir, ‘cos he ain’t thematerial of what sergeants are made, sir.He’s nothing but a scrap of filth, sir, what shouldn’t be a corporal,let alone a sergeant. It says so in the scriptures, sir.” TheSergeant stood rigidly at attention, his right foot behind his left,his hands at his sides and his elbows straining towards the small ofhis back. His voice boomed in the small room, drowning out the soundof the pelting rain.Gore wondered whether the rain was the late beginning of the monsoon.He hoped so, for if the monsoon failed utterly then there would be alot of hungry people in India the following year.Gore watched a spider crawl across the table. The house belonged to aleather dealer who had rented it to the 33rd while they were based inArrakerry and the place seethed with insects that crawled, flew, slunkand stung, and Gore, who was a fastidious and elegant man, ratherwished he had used his tents.

“Tell me what happened,” Gore said to Morris, ‘again. If you would beso kind.“Morris, slouching in a chair in front of Gore’s table with a thickbandage on his head, seemed surprised to be asked, but he straightenedhimself and offered the Colonel a feeble shrug.“I don’t really recall, sir.It was two nights ago, in Seringapatam, and I was hit, sir.“Gore brushed the spider aside and made a note.“Hit,” he said as he wrote the word in his fine copperplate hand.“Where exactly?“On the head, sir,” Morris answered.Gore sighed.“I see that, Captain.

I meant where in Seringapatam?“By the armoury, sir.“And this was at night?“Morris nodded.“Black night, sir,” Hakeswill put in helpfully, ‘black as ablackamoor’s backside, sir.“The Colonel frowned at the Sergeant’s indelicacy. Gore was resistingthe urge to push a hand inside his coat and scratch his belly. Hefeared he had caught the Malabar Itch, a foul complaint that wouldcondemn him to weeks of living with a salve of lard on his skin, and ifthe lard failed he would be reduced to taking baths in a solution ofnitric acid.“If it was dark,” he said patiently, ‘then surely you had no chance tosee your assailant?“I didn’t, sir,” Morris replied truthfully.“But I did, sir,” Hakeswill said, ‘and it was Sharpie. Saw him clearas daylight, sir.“At night?” Gore asked sceptic ally”He was working late, sir,” Hakeswill said, ‘on account of him nothaving done his proper work in the daylight like a Christian should,sir, and he opened the door, sir, and the lantern was lit, sir, and hecame out and hit the Captain, sir.

“And you saw that?“Clear as I can see you now, sir,” Hakeswill said, his face racked witha series of violent twitches.Gore’s hand strayed to his coat buttons, but he resisted the urge.“If you saw it, Sergeant, why didn’t you have Sharpe arrested? Therewere sentries present, surely?“More important to save the Captain’s life, sir. That’s what I deemed,sir. Get him back here, sir, into Mister Micklewhite’s care. Don’ttrust other surgeons, sir. And I had to clean up Mister Morris, sir, Idid.“The blood, you mean?“Hakeswill shook his head.“The substances, sir.” He stared woodenly over Colonel Gore’s head ashe spoke.

“Substances?“Hakeswill’s face twitched.“Begging your pardon, sir, as you being a gentleman as won’t want tohear it, sir, but Sergeant Sharpe hit Captain Morris with a jakes pot,sir. A full Jakes pot, sir, liquid and solids.“Oh, God,” Gore said, laying down his pen and trying to ignore thefiery itch across his belly.“I still don’t understand why you did nothing in Seringapatam,” theColonel said.“The Town Major should have been told, surely?“That’s just it, sir,” Hakeswill said enthusiastically, ‘on account ofthere not being a Town Major, not proper, seeing as Major Stokes doesthe duties, sir, and the rest is up to the Rajah’s hlladar and I don’tlike seeing a redcoat being arrested by a darkie, sir, not even Sharpe.It ain’t right, that. And Major Stokes, he won’t help, sir. HelikesSharpe, see? He lets him live comfortable, sir. Off the fat of theland, sir, like it says in the scriptures.

Got himself a set of roomsand a bibbi, he has, and a servant, too. Ain’t right, sir. Toocomfortable, sir, whiles the rest of us sweats like the soldiers weswore to be.“The explanation made some sort of sense, or at least Gore appreciatedthat it might convince Sergeant Hakeswill, yet there was stillsomething odd about the whole tale.“What were you doing at the armoury after dark, Captain?“Making certain the full complement of wagons was there, sir,” Morrisanswered.“Sergeant Hakeswill informed me that one was missing.“And was it?“No, sir,” Morris said.“Miscounted, sir,” Hakeswill said, ‘on account of it being dark,sir.“Hakeswill had indeed summoned Morris to the armoury after dark, andthere he had hit the Captain with a baulk of timber and, for goodmeasure, had added the contents of a chamber pot that Major Stokes hadleft outside his office. The sentries had been sheltering from therain in the guardhouse and none had questioned the sight of Hakeswilldragging the recumbent Morris back to his quarters, for the sight ofdrunken officers being taken home by sergeants or privates was toocommon to be remarkable.

The important thing was that Morris had notseen who assaulted him and was quite prepared to believe Hakeswill’sversion, for Morris relied utterly on Hakeswill in everything.“I blames myself, sir,” Hakeswill went on, ‘on account of not chasingSharpie, but I thought my duty was to look after my Captain, sir, onaccount of him being drenched by a slop pot.“Enough, Sergeant!” Gore said.“It ain’t a Christian act, sir,” Hakeswill muttered resentfully.“Not with a jakes pot, sir. Says so in the scriptures.“Gore rubbed his face. The rain had taken the edge off the damp heat,but not by much, and he found the atmosphere horribly oppressive.Maybe the itch was just a reaction to the heat. He rubbed his handacross his belly, but it did not help.

“Why would Sergeant Sharpe assault you without warning, Captain?” heasked.Morris shrugged.“He’s a disagreeable sort, sir,” he offered weakly.“He never liked the Captain, sir, Sharpie didn’t,” Hakeswill said, ‘andit’s my belief, sir, that he thought the Captain had come to summon himback to the battalion, where he ought to be soldiering instead ofliving off the fat of the land, but he don’t want to come back, sir, onaccount of being comfortable, sir, like he’s got no right to be.He never did know his place, sir, not Sharpe, sir. Got above himself,sir, he has, and he’s got cash in his breeches. On the fiddle, I daresay.“Gore ignored the last accusation.“How badly are you hurt?” he asked Morris.“Only cuts and bruises, sir.

” Morris straightened in the chair.“But it’s still a court-martial offence, sir.“A capital offence, sir,” Hakeswill said.“Up against the wall, sir, and God have mercy on his black soul, whichI very much doubts God will, God having better things to worry aboutthan a sorry piece of scum like Sharpie.“Gore sighed. He suspected there was a great deal more to the storythan he was hearing, but whatever the real facts Captain Morris wasstill right. All that mattered was that Sergeant Sharpe was alleged tohave struck an officer, and no excuse in the world could explain awaysuch an offence. Which meant Sergeant Sharpe would have to be triedand very probably shot, and Gore would regret that for he had heardsome very good things of the young Sergeant Sharpe.“I had great hopes of Sergeant Sharpe,” the Colonel said sadly.“Got above himself, sir,” Hakeswill snapped.

“Just ‘cos he blew the mine at Seringapatam, sir, he thinks he’s gotwings and can fly. Needs to have his feathers clipped, sir, says so inthe scriptures.“Gore looked scornfully at the twitching Sergeant.“And what did you do at the assault of the city, Sergeant?” heasked.“My duty, sir, my duty,” Hakeswill answered.“What is all I ever expects any other man to do, sir.“Gore shook his head regretfully. There really was no way out of thisdilemma. If Sharpe had struck an officer, then Sharpe must bepunished.“I suppose he’ll have to be fetched back here,” Gore admitted.

“Of course,” Morris agreed.Gore frowned in irritation. This was all such a damned nuisance!Gore had desperately hoped that the 33rd would be attached toWellesley’s army which was about to plunge into Mahratta territory, butinstead the battalion had been ordered to stay behind and guard Mysoreagainst the bandits who still plagued the roads and hills. Now, itseemed, overstretched as the battalion was, Gore would have to detach aparty to arrest Sergeant Sharpe.“Captain Lawford could go for him,” he suggested.“Hardly a job for an officer, sir,” Morris said.“A sergeant could do the thing just as well.“Gore considered the matter. Sending a sergeant would certainly be lessdisruptive to the battalion than losing an officer, and a sergeantcould surely do the job as well as anyone.“How many men would he need?” Gore asked.

“Six men, sir,” Hakeswill snapped.“I could do the job with six men.“And Sergeant Hakeswill’s the best man for the job,” Morris urged.He had no particular wish to lose Hakeswill’s services for the few daysthat it would take to fetch Sharpe, but Hakeswill had hinted that therewas money in this business. Morris was not sure how much money, but hewas in debt and Hakeswill had been persuasive.“By far the best man,” he added.“On account of me knowing the little bugger’s cunning ways, sir,“Hakeswill explained, ‘if you’ll excuse my Hindi.“Gore nodded. He would like nothing more than to rid himself ofHakeswill for a while, for the man was a baleful influence on thebattalion. Hakeswill was hated, that much Gore had learned, but he wasalso feared, for the Sergeant declared that he could not be killed.

Hehad survived a hanging once, indeed the scar of the rope was stillconcealed beneath the stiff leather stock, and the men believed thatHakeswill was somehow under the protection of an evil angel. TheColonel knew that was a nonsense, but even so the very presence of theSergeant made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.“I’ll have my clerk write the orders for you, Sergeant,” the Colonelsaid.“Thank you, sir!” Hakeswill said.“You won’t regret it, sir. Obadiah Hakeswill has never shirked hisduty, sir, not like some as I could name.“Gore dismissed Hakeswill who waited for Captain Morris under thebuilding’s porch and watched the rain pelt onto the street. TheSergeant’s face twitched and his eyes held a peculiar malevolence thatmade the single sentry edge away. But in truth Sergeant ObadiahHakeswill was a happy man. God had put Richard Sharpe into his graspand he would pay Sharpe back for all the insults of the last few yearsand especially for the ghastly moment when Sharpe had hurled Hakeswillamong the Tippoo Sultan’s tigers.

Hakeswill had thought the beastswould savage him, but his luck had held and the tigers had ignored him.It seemed they had been fed not an hour before and thus the guardianangel who preserved Hakeswill had once again come to his rescue.So now Obadiah Hakeswill would have his revenge. He would choose sixmen, six bitter men who could be trusted, and they would take SergeantSharpe, and afterwards, somewhere on the road home from Seringapatamwhere there were no witnesses, they would find Sharpe’s money and thenfinish him. Shot while attempting to escape, that would be theexplanation, and good riddance too. Hakeswill was happy and Sharpe wascondemned.Colonel McCandless led Sharpe north towards the wild country where thefrontiers of Hyderabad, Mysore and the Mahratta states met.“Till I hear otherwise,” McCandless told Sharpe, I’m assuming ourtraitor is in Ahmednuggur.“What’s that, sir? A city?“A city and a fort next to each other,” the Colonel said. McCandless’sbig gelding seemed to eat up the miles, but Sharpe’s smaller mareoffered a lumpy ride.

Within an hour of leaving Seringapatam Sharpe’smuscles were sore, within two he felt as though the backs of his thighswere burning, and by late afternoon the stirrup leathers had abradedthrough his cotton trousers to grind his calves into bloody patches.“It’s one of Scindia’s frontier strongholds,” the Colonel went on, ‘butI doubt it can hold out long. Wellesley plans to capture it, thenstrike on north.“So we’re going to war, sir?“Of course.” McCandless frowned.“Does that worry you?“No, sir,” Sharpe said, nor did it. He had a good life inSeringapatam, maybe as good a life as any soldier had ever hadanywhere, but in the four years between the fall of Seringapatam andthe massacre at Chasalgaon Sharpe had not heard a shot fired in anger,and a part of him was envious of his old colleagues in the 33rd whofought brisk skirmishes against the bandits and rogues who plaguedwestern Mysore.“We’re going to fight the Mahrattas,” McCandless said.“You know who they are?“I hear they’re bastards, sir.“McCandless frowned at Sharpe’s foul language.

“They are a confederation of independent states, Sharpe,” he saidprimly, ‘that dominate much of western India. They are also warlike,piratical anduntrustworthy, except, of course, for those which are our allies, whoare romantic, gallant and heroic.“Some are on our side, sir?“A few. The Peshwa, for one, and he’s their titular leader, but smallnotice they take of him. Others are staying aloof from this war, buttwo of the biggest princes have decided to make a fight of it. One’scalled Scindia, and he’s the Maharajah of Gwalior, and the other’scalled Bhonsla, and he’s the Rajah of Berar.“Sharpe tried standing in the stirrups to ease the pain in his seat, butit only made the chafing of his calves worse.“And what’s our quarrel with those two, sir?“They’ve been much given to raiding into Hyderabad and Mysore lately,so now it’s time to settle them once and for all.“And Lieutenant Dodd’s joined their army, sir?“From what we hear, he’s joined Scindia’s army. But I haven’t heardmuch.

” The Colonel had already explained to Sharpe how he had beenkeeping his ears open for news of Dodd ever since the Lieutenant hadpersuaded his sepoys to defect, but then had come the terrible news ofChasalgaon, and McCandless, who had been travelling north to joinWellesley’s army, had seen Sharpe’s name in the report and so hadturned around and hurried south to Seringapatam. At the same time hehad sent some of his own Mahratta agents north to discover Dodd’swhereabouts.“We should meet those fellows today,” the Colonel said, ‘or tomorrow atthe latest.“The rain had not stopped, but nor was it heavy. Mud spattered up thehorses’ flanks and onto Sharpe’s boots and white trousers. He triedsitting half sideways, he tried leaning forward or tipping himselfback, but the pain did not stop. He had never much liked horses, butnow decided he hated them.“I’d like to meet Lieutenant Dodd again, sir,” he told McCandless asthe two men rode under dripping trees.“Be careful of him, Sharpe,” McCandless warned.“He has a reputation.

“For what, sir?“A fighter, of course. He’s no mean soldier. I’ve not met him, ofcourse, but I’ve heard tales. He’s been up north, in Calcutta mostly,and made a name for himself there. He was first over the pettah wallat Panhapur. Not much of a wall, Sharpe, just a thicket of cactusthorn really, but it took his sepoys five minutes to follow him, and bythe time they reached him he’d killed a dozen of the enemy. He’s atall man who can use a sword and is a fine pistol shot too. He is, inbrief, a killer.“If he’s so good, sir, why is he still a lieutenant?“The Colonel sighed.“I fear that is the way of the Company’s army, Sharpe.

A man can’t buyhis way up the ladder as he can in the King’s army, and there’s nopromotion for good service. It all goes by seniority.Dead men’s shoes, Sharpe. A fellow must wait his turn in the Company,and there’s no way round it.“So Dodd has been waiting, sir?“A long time. He’s forty now, and I doubt he’d have got his captaincymuch before he was fifty.“Is that why he ran, sir?“He ran because of the murder. He claimed a goldsmith cheated him ofmoney and had his men beat the poor fellow so badly that he died. Hewas court-martial led of course, but the only sentence he got was sixmonths without pay. Six months without pay! That’s sanctioningmurder, Sharpe! But Wellesley insisted the Company discharge him, andhe planned to have Dodd tried before a civilian court and condemned todeath, so Dodd ran.

” The Colonel paused.“I wish I could say we’re pursuing him because of the murder, Sharpe,“he went on, ‘but that isn’t so. We’re pursuing him because hepersuaded his men to defect. Once that rot starts, it might neverstop, and we have to show the other sepoys that desertion will alwaysbe punished.“Just before nightfall, when the rain had stopped and Sharpe thought hissore muscles and bleeding calves would make him moan aloud in agony, agroup of horsemen came cantering towards them. To Sharpe they lookedlike silladars, the mercenary horsemen who hired themselves, theirweapons and their horses to the British army, and he pulled his mareover to the left side of the road to give the heavily armed men room topass, but their leader slowed as he approached, then raised a hand ingreeting.“Colonel!” he shouted.“Sevajee!” McCandless cried and spurred his horse towards the oncomingIndian. He held out his hand and Sevajee clasped it.“You have news?” McCandless asked.

Sevajee nodded.“Your fellow is inside Ahmednuggur, Colonel. He’s been given Mathers’sregiment.” He was pleased with his news, grinning broadly to revealred-stained teeth. He was a young man dressed in the remnants of agreen uniform Sharpe did not recognize. The jacket had Europeanepaulettes hung with silver chains, and over it wasstrapped a sword sling and a sash, both of white silk and both stainedbrown with dried blood.“Sergeant Sharpe,” McCandless made the introductions, ‘this is SyudSevajee.“Sharpe nodded a wary greeting.“Sahib,” he said, for there was something about Syud Sevajee thatsuggested he was a man of rank.“The Sergeant has seen Lieutenant Dodd,” McCandless explained.

“He’ll make sure we capture the right man.“Kill all the Europeans,” Sevajee suggested, ‘and you’ll be sure.” Thesuggestion, it seemed to Sharpe, was not entirely flippant.“I want him captured alive,” McCandless said irritably.“Justice must be seen to be done. Or would you rather that your peoplebelieve a British officer can beat a man to death without anypunishment?“They believe that anyway,” Sevajee said carelessly, ‘but if you wishto be scrupulous, McCandless, then we shall capture Mister Dodd.“Sevajee’s men, a dozen wild-looking warriors armed with everything frombows and arrows to lances, had fallen in behind McCandless.“Syud Sevajee is a Mahratta, Sharpe,” McCandless explained.“One of the romantic ones, sir?“Romantic?” Sevajee repeated the word in surprise.“He’s on our side, if that’s what you mean,” McCandless said.

“No,” Sevajee hurried to correct the Colonel.“I am opposed to Beny Singh, and so long as he lives I help the enemiesof my enemy.“Why’s this fellow your enemy, sir, if you don’t mind me asking?“Sharpe asked.Sevajee touched the hilt of his tulwar as if it was a fetish.“Because he killed my father, Sergeant.“Then I hope you get the bastard, sir.“Sharpe!” McCandless said in reprimand.Sevajee laughed.“My father,” he explained to Sharpe, ‘led one of the Rajah of Berar’scompoos. He was a great warrior, Sergeant, and Beny Singh was hisrival.

He invited my father to a feast and served him poison. Thatwas three years ago. My mother killed herself, but my younger brotherserves Beny Singh and my sister is one of his concubines. They toowill die.“And you escaped, sir?” Sharpe asked.“I was serving in the East India Company cavalry, Sergeant,” Sevajeeanswered.“My father believed a man should know his enemy, so sent me toMadras.“Where we met,” McCandless said brusquely, ‘and now Sevajee servesme.“Because in return,” Sevajee explained, ‘your British bayonets willhand Beny Singh to my revenge. And with him, of course, the reward forDodd.

Four thousand, two hundred rupees, is it not?“So long as he’s taken alive,” McCandless said dourly, ‘and it might beincreased once the Court of Directors hears what he did atChasalgaon.“And to think I almost caught him,” Sevajee said, and described how heand his few men had visited Ahmednuggur posing as brindanies who wereloyal to Scindia.“Brindarrie?” Sharpe asked.“Like silladars,” McCandless told him.“Freelance horsemen. And you saw Dodd?” he asked Sevajee.“I heard him, Colonel, though I never got close. He was lecturing hisregiment, telling them how they would chase you British out ofIndia.“McCandless scoffed.“He’ll be lucky to escape from Ahmednuggur!Why has he stayed there?“To give Pohlmann a chance to attack?” Sevajee suggested.

“His compoo was still close to Ahmednuggur a few days ago.“Just one compoo, sir?” Sharpe suggested.“One compoo won’t beat Wellesley.“Sevajee gave him a long, speculative look.“Pohlmann, Sergeant,” he said, ‘is the best infantry leader in Indianservice. He has never lost a battle, and his compoo is probably thefinest infantry army in India. It already outnumbers Wellesley’s army,but if Scindia releases his other compoos, then together they willoutnumber your Wellesley three to one. And if Scindia waits untilBerar’s troops are with him, he’ll outnumber you ten to one.“So why are we attacking, sir?“Because we’re going to win,” McCandless said firmly.“God’s will.

“Because, Sergeant,” Sevajee said, ‘you British think that you areinvincible. You believe you cannot be defeated, but you have notfought the Mahrattas. Your little army marches north full ofconfidence, but you are like mice waking an elephant.“Some mice,” McCandless snorted.“Some elephant,” Sevajee said gently.“We are the Mahrattas, and if we did not fight amongst ourselves wewould rule all India.“You’ve not faced Scottish infantry yet,” McCandless said confidently,‘and Wellesley has two Scottish regiments with him.Besides, you forget that Stevenson has an army too, and he’s not sovery far away.” Two armies, both small, were invading the MahrattaConfederation, though Wellesley, as the senior officer, had control ofboth.“I reckon the mice will startle you yet,” McCandless said.

They spent that night in a village. To the north, just beyond thehorizon, the sky glowed red from the reflection of flames on the smokeof thousands of campfires, the sign that the British army was just ashort march away. McCandless bargained with the headman for food andshelter, then frowned when Sevajee purchased a jar of fierce localarrack. Sevajee ignored the Scotsman’s disapproval, then went to joinhis men who were gaming in the village’s tavern. McCandless shook hishead.“He fights for mercenary reasons, Sharpe, nothing else.“That and vengeance, sir.“Aye, he wants vengeance, I’ll grant him that, but once he’s got ithe’ll turn on us like a snake.” The Colonel rubbed his eyes.“He’s a useful man, all the same, but I wish I felt more confidentabout this whole business.

“The war, sir?“McCandless shook his head.“We’ll win that. It doesn’t matter by how many they outnumber us, theywon’t outfight us. No, Sharpe, I’m worried about Dodd.“We’ll get him, sir,” Sharpe said.The Colonel said nothing for a while. An oil lamp flickered on thetable, attracting huge winged moths, and in its dull light theColonel’s thin face looked more cadaverous than ever. McCandlessfinally grimaced.“I’ve never been one for believing in the supernatural, Sharpe, otherthan the providences of Almighty God. Some of my countrymen claim theysee and hear signs.

They tell of foxes howling about the house when adeath is imminent, or seals coming ashore when a man’s to be lost atsea, but I never credited such things. It’s mere superstition, Sharpe,pagan superstition, but I can’t chase away my dread about Dodd.” Heshook his head slowly.“Maybe it’s age.“You’re not old, sir.“McCandless smiled.“I’m sixty-three, Sharpe, and I should have retired ten years ago,except that the good Lord has seen fit to make me useful, but theCompany isn’t so sure of my worth now. They’d like to give me apension, and I can’t blame them. A full colonel’s salary is a heavyitem on the Company’s accounts.” McCandless offered Sharpe a ruefullook.

“You fight for King and country, Sharpe, but I fight and die for theshareholders.“They’d never replace you, sir!” Sharpe said loyally.“They already have,” McCandless admitted softly, ‘or Wellesley has.He has his own head of intelligence now, and the Company knows it, sothey tell me I am a “supernumerary upon the establishment”.” Heshrugged.“They want to put me out to pasture, Sharpe, but they did give me thisone last errand, and that’s the apprehension of Lieutenant WilliamDodd, though I rather think he’s going to be the death of me.“He won’t, sir, not while I’m here.“That’s why you are here, Sharpe,” McCandless said seriously.“He’s younger than I am, he’s fitter than I am and he’s a betterswordsman than I am, and that’s why I thought of you. I saw you fightat Seringapatam and I doubt Dodd can stand up to you.

“He won’t, sir, he won’t,” Sharpe said grimly.“And I’ll keep you alive, sir.“If God wills it.“Sharpe smiled.“Don’t they say God helps those who help themselves, sir? We’ll do thejob, sir.“I pray you’re right, Sharpe,” McCandless said, “I pray you’reright.“And they would start at Ahmednuggur, where Dodd waited and whereSharpe’s new war would begin.

CHAPTER 3

Colonel McCandless led his small force into Sir Arthur Wellesley’sencampment late the following afternoon. For most of the morning theyhad been shadowed by a band of enemy horsemen who sometimes gallopedclose as if inviting Sevajee’s men to ride out and fight, butMcCandless kept Sevajee on a tight leash and at midday a patrol ofhorsemen in blue coats with yellow facings had chased the enemy away.The blue-coated cavalry were from the igth Light Dragoons and theCaptain leading the troop gave McCandless a cheerful wave as hecantered after the enemy who had been prowling the road in hope offinding a laggard supply wagon.

Four hours later McCandless topped agentle rise to see the army’s lines spread across the countrysidewhile, four miles farther north, the red walls of Ahmednuggur stood inthe westering sun. From this angle the fort and the city appeared asone continuous building, a vast red rampart studded with bastions.Sharpe cuffed sweat from his face.“Looks like a brute, sir,” he said, nodding at the walls.“The wall’s big enough,” the Colonel said, ‘but there’s no ditch, noglacis and no outworks. It’ll take us no more than three days to puncha hole.“Then pity the poor souls who must go through the hole,” Sevajeecommented.“It’s what they’re paid to do,” McCandless said brusquely.The area about the camp seethed with men and animals. Every cavalryhorse in the army needed two lascars to gather forage, and those menwere busy with sickles, while nearer to the camp’s centre was a vastmuddy expanse where the draught bullocks and pack oxen were picketed.

Puckalees, the men who carried water for the troops and the animals,were filling their buckets from a tank scummed with green. A thornhedge surrounded six elephants that belonged to the gunners,while next to the great beasts was the artillery park with itstwenty-six cannon, and after that came the sepoys’ lines where childrenshrieked, dogs yapped and women carried patties of bullock dung ontheir heads to build the evening fires. The last part of the journeytook them through the lines of the 778th, a kilted Highland regiment,and the soldiers saluted McCandless and then looked at the red facingson Sharpe’s coat and called out the inevitable insults.“Come to see how a real man fights, Sergeant?“You ever done any proper fighting?” Sharpe retorted.“What’s a Havercake doing here?“Come to teach you boys a lesson.“What in? Cooking?“Where I come from,” Sharpe said, ‘it’s the ones in skirts what doesthe cooking.“Enough, Sharpe,” McCandless snapped. The Colonel liked to wear a kilthimself, claiming it was a more suitable garment for India’s heat thantrousers.“We must pay our respects to the General,” McCandless said, and turnedtowards the larger tents in the centre of the encampment.It had been two years since Sharpe had last seen his old Colonel and hedoubted that Major-General Sir Arthur Wellesley would prove anyfriendlier now than he ever had.

Sir Arthur had always been a coldfish, sparing with approval and frightening in his disapproval, and hismost casual glance somehow managed to make Sharpe feel bothinsignificant and inadequate, and so, when McCandless dismountedoutside the General’s tent, Sharpe deliberately hung back. TheGeneral, still a young man, was standing beside a line of six picketedhorses and was evidently in a blazing temper. An orderly, in theblue-and-yellow coat of the igth Dragoons, was holding a big greystallion by its bridle and Wellesley was alternately patting the horseand snapping at the halfdozen aides who cowered nearby. A group ofsenior officers, majors and colonels, stood beside the General’s tent,suggesting that a council of war had been interrupted by the horse’sdistress. The grey stallion was certainly suffering. It wasshivering, its eyes were rolling white and sweat or spittle wasdripping from its drooping head.Wellesley turned as McCandless and Sevajee approached.“Can you bleed a horse, McCandless?“I can put a knife in it, sir, if it helps,” the Scotsman answered.“It does not help, damn it!” Wellesley retorted savagely.“I don’t want him butchered, I want him bled.

Where is the farrier?“We’re looking for him, sir,” an aide replied.“Then find him, damn it! Easy, boy, easy!” These last three wordswere spoken in a soothing tone to the horse which had let out a feeblewhinny.“He’s fevered,” Wellesley explained to McCandless, ‘and if he ain’tbled, he’ll die.“A groom hurried to the General’s side carrying a fleam and a bloodstick, both of which he mutely offered to Wellesley.“No good giving them to me,” the General snapped, “I can’t bleed ahorse.” He looked at his aides, then at the senior officers by thetent.“Someone must know how to do it,” Wellesley pleaded. They were all menwho lived with horses and professed to love them, though none knew howto bleed a horse for that was a job left to servants, but finally aScottish major averred that he had a shrewd idea of how the thing wasdone, and so he was given the fleam and its hammer. He took off hisred coat, chose a fleam blade at random and stepped up to the shiveringstallion. He placed the blade on the horse’s neck and drew back thehammer with his right hand.

“Not like that!” Sharpe blurted out.“You’ll kill him!” A score of men stared at him while the ScottishMajor, the blade un hit looked rather relieved.“You’ve got the blade the wrong way round, sir,” Sharpe explained.“You have to line it up along the vein, sir, not across it.” He wasblushing for having spoken out in front of the General and all thearmy’s senior officers.Wellesley scowled at Sharpe.“Can you bleed a horse?“I can’t ride the things, sir, but I do know how to bleed them. Iworked in an inn yard,” Sharpe added as though that was explanationenough.“Have you actually bled a horse?” Wellesley demanded. He showed notthe slightest surprise at seeing a man from his old battalion in thecamp, but in truth he was far too distracted by his stallion’s distressto worry about mere men.

“I’ve bled dozens, sir,” Sharpe said, which was true, but those horseshad been big heavy carriage beasts, and this white stallion was plainlya thoroughbred.“Then do it, damn it,” the General said.“Don’t just stand there, do it!“Sharpe took the fleam and the blood stick from the Major. The fleamlooked like a mis-shapen penknife, and inside its brass case werefolded a dozen blades. Two of the blades were shaped as hooks, whilethe rest were spoon-shaped. He selected a middle-sized spoon, checkedthat its edge was keen, folded the other blades away and thenapproached the horse.“You’ll have to hold him hard,” he told the dragoon orderly.“He can be lively, Sergeant,” the orderly warned in a low voice,anxious not to provoke another outburst from Wellesley.“Then hang on hard,” Sharpe said to the orderly, then he stroked thehorse’s neck, feeling for the jugular.“How much are you going to let out?” Wellesley asked.

“Much as it takes, sir,” Sharpe said, who really had no idea how muchblood he should spill. Enough to make it look good, he reckoned.The horse was nervous and tried to pull away from the orderly.“Give him a stroke, sir,” Sharpe said to the General.“Let him know it ain’t the end of the world.“Wellesley took the stallion’s head from the orderly and gave thebeast’s nose a fondling.“It’s all right, Diomed,” he said, ‘we’re going to make you better. Geton with it, Sharpe.“Sharpe had found the jugular and now placed the sharp curve of thespoon-blade over the vein. He held the knife in his left hand and theblood stick in his right.

The stick was a small wooden club that wasneeded to drive the fleam’s blade through a horse’s thick skin.“All right, boy,” he murmured to the horse, ‘just a prick, nothingbad,” and then he struck the blade hard with the stick’s blunt head.The fleam sliced through hair and skin and flesh straight into thevein, and the horse reared up, but Sharpe, expecting the reaction, heldthe fleam in place as warm blood spurted out over his shako.“Hold him!” he snapped at Wellesley, and the General seemed to findnothing odd in being ordered about by a sergeant and he obedientlyhauled Diomed’s head down.“That’s good,” Sharpe said, ‘that’s good, just keep him there, sir,keep him there,” and he skewed the blade slightly to open the slit inthe vein and so let the blood pulse out. It ran red down the whitehorse’s flank, it soaked Sharpe’s red coat and puddled at his feet.The horse shivered, but Sharpe sensed that the stallion was calming.By relaxing the pressure on the fleam he could lessen the blood flowand after a while he slowed it to a trickle and then, when the horsehad stopped shivering, Sharpe pulled the blade free. His right handand arm were drenched in blood.He spat on his clean left hand, then wiped the small wound.

“Ireckon he’ll live, sir,” he told the General, ‘but a bit of ginger inhis feed might help.” That was another trick he had learned at thecoaching tavern.Wellesley stroked Diomed’s nose and the horse, suddenly unconcerned bythe fuss all about him, lowered his head and cropped at a miserabletuft of grass. The General smiled, his bad mood gone.“I’m greatly obliged to you, Sharpe,” Wellesley said, relinquishing thebridle into the orderly’s grasp. “Pon my soul, I’m greatly obliged to you,” he repeated enthusiastically.“As neat a bloodletting as ever I did see.” He put a hand into hispocket and brought out a haideri that he offered to Sharpe.“Well done, Sergeant.“Thank you, sir,” Sharpe said, taking the gold coin.

It was a generousreward.“Good as new, eh?” Wellesley said, admiring the horse.“He was a gift.“An expensive one,” McCandless observed drily.“A valued one,” Wellesley said.“Poor Ashton left him to me in his will. You knew Ashton,McCandless?“Of course, sir.” Henry Ashton had been Colonel of the i2th, a Suffolkregiment posted to India, and he had died after taking a bullet in theliver during a duel.“A damned shame,” Wellesley said, ‘but a fine gift. Pure Arab blood,McCandless.

“Most of the pure Arab blood seemed to be on Sharpe, but the General wasdelighted with the horse’s sudden improvement. Indeed, Sharpe hadnever seen Wellesley so animated. He grinned as he watched the horse,then he told the orderly to walk Diomed up and down, and he grinnedeven more widely as he watched the horse move. Then, suddenly awarethat the men about him were taking an amused pleasure from his owndelight, his face drew back into its accustomed cold mask.“Obliged to you, Sharpe,” he said yet again, then he turned and walkedtowards his tent.“McCandless! Come and give me your news!“McCandless and Sevajee followed the General and his aides into thetent, leaving Sharpe trying to wipe the blood from his hands. Thedragoon orderly grinned at him.“That’s a sixhundred-guinea horse you just bled, Sergeant,” he said.“Bloody hell!” Sharpe said, staring in disbelief at the dragoon.“Six hundred!“Must be worth that.

Best horse in India, Diomed is.“And you look after him?” Sharpe asked.The orderly shook his head.“He’s got grooms to look after his horses, and the farrier to bleed andshoe them. My job is to follow him into battle, see? And when onehorse gets tired I give him another.“You drag all those six horses around?” Sharpe asked, astonished.“Not all six of them,” the dragoon said, ‘only two or three. But heshouldn’t have six horses anyway. He only wants five, but he can’tfind anyone to buy the spare. You don’t know anyone who wants to buy ahorse, do you?“Hundreds of the buggers,” Sharpe said, gesturing at the encampment.

“Every bleeding infantryman over there for a start.“It’s theirs if they’ve got four hundred guineas,” the orderly said.“It’s that bay gelding, see?” He pointed.“Six years old and good as gold.“No use looking at me,” Sharpe said.“I hate the bloody things.“You do?“Lumpy, smelly beasts. I’m happier on my feet.“You see the world from a horse’s back,” the dragoon said, ‘and catchwomen’s eyes.“So they’re not entirely useless,” Sharpe said and the orderlygrinned.

He was a happy, round-faced young man with tousled brown hair and aready smile.“How come you’re the General’s orderly?” Sharpe asked him.The dragoon shrugged.“He asked my Colonel to give him someone and I was chosen.“You don’t mind?“He’s all right,” the orderly said, jerking his head towardsWellesley’s tent.“Don’t crack a smile often, leastwise not with the likes of you and me,but he’s a fair man.“Good for him.” Sharpe stuck out his bloodied hand.“My name’s Dick Sharpe.“Daniel Fletcher,” the orderly said, ‘from Stoke Poges.

“Never heard of it,” Sharpe said.“Where can I get a scrub?“Cook tent, Sergeant.“And riding boots?” Sharpe asked.“Find a dead man in Ahmednuggur,” Fletcher said.“It’ll he cheaper than buying them off” me.“That’s true,” Sharpe said, then he limped to the cook tent. The limpwas caused by the sore muscles from long hours in the saddle. He hadpurchased a length of cotton cloth in the village where they had spentthe night, then torn the cloth into strips that he had wrapped abouthis calves to protect them from the stirrup leathers, but his calvesstill hurt.God, he thought, but he hated bloody horses.He washed the worst of Diomed’s blood from his hands and face, dilutedwhat was on his uniform, then went back to wait for McCandless.

Sevajee’s men still sat on their horses and stared at the distant citythat was topped by a smear of smoke. Sharpe could hear the murmur ofvoices inside the General’s tent, but he paid no attention. It wasn’this business. He wondered if he could scrounge a tent for his own usefor it had already rained earlier in the day and Sharpe suspected itmight rain again, but Colonel McCandless was not a man much given totents. He derided them as women’s luxuries, preferring to seek shelterwith local villagers or, if no peasant house or cattle byre wasavailable, happily sleeping beneath the stars or in the rain. A pintof rum, Sharpe thought, would not go amiss either.“Sergeant Sharpe!” Wellesley’s familiar voice broke into his thoughtsand Sharpe turned to see his old commanding officer coming from the bigtent.“Sir!” Sharpe stiffened to attention.“So Colonel McCandless has borrowed you from Major Stokes?“Wellesley asked.“Yes, sir,” Sharpe said.

The General was bareheaded and Sharpe sawthat his temples had turned prematurely grey. He seemed to haveforgotten Sharpe’s handiwork with his horse, for his long-nosed facewas as unfriendly as ever.“And you saw this man Dodd at Chasalgaon?“I did, sir.“Repugnant business,” Wellesley said, ‘repugnant. Did he kill thewounded?“All of them, sir. All but me.“And why not you?” Wellesley asked coldly.“I was covered in blood, sir. Fair drenched in it.“You seem to be in that condition much of the time, Sergeant,“Wellesley said with just a hint of a smile, then he turned back toMcCandless.

“I wish you joy of the hunt, Colonel. I’ll do my best to help you, butI’m short of men, woefully short.“Thank you, sir,” the Scotsman said, then watched as the General wentback into his big tent which was crammed with redcoated officers.“It seems,” McCandless said to Sharpe when the General was gone, ‘thatwe’re not invited to supper.” l “Were you expecting to be, sir?“No,” McCandless said, ‘and I’ve no business in that tent tonighteither. They’re planning an assault for first light tomorrow.“Sharpe thought for a moment that he must have misheard. He lookednorthwards at the big city wall.“Tomorrow, sir? An assault? But they only got here today and thereisn’t a breach!“You don’t need a breach for an escalade, Sergeant,” McCandless said.“An escalade is nothing but ladders and murder.

“Sharpe frowned.“Escalade?” He had heard the word, but was not really sure he knewwhat it meant.“March straight up to the wall, Sharpe, throw your ladders against theramparts and climb.” McCandless shook his head.“No artillery to help you, no breach, no trenches to get you close, soyou must accept the casualties and fight your way through thedefenders. It isn’t pretty, Sharpe, but it can work.” The Scotsmanstill sounded disapproving. He was leading Sharpe away from theGeneral’s tent, seeking a place to spread his blanket. Sevajee and hismen were following, and Sevajee was walking close enough to listen toMcCandless’s words.“Escalades can work well against an unsteady enemy,” the Colonel wenton, ‘but I’m not at all convinced the Mahrattas are shaky.

I doubtthey’re shaky at all, Sharpe. They’re dangerous as snakes and theyusually have Arab mercenaries in their ranks.“Arabs, sir? From Arabia?“That’s where they usually come from,” McCandless confirmed.“Nasty fighters, Sharpe.“Good fighters,” Sevajee intervened.“We hire hundreds of them every year. Hungry men, Sergeant, who comefrom their bare land with sharp swords and long muskets.“Doesn’t serve to underestimate an Arab,” McCandless agreed.“They fight like demons, but Wellesley’s an impatient man and he wantsthe business over. He insists they won’t be expecting an escalade andthus won’t be ready for one, and I pray to God he’s right.

“So what do we do, sir?” Sharpe asked.“We go in behind the assault, Sharpe, and beseech Almighty God that ourladder parties do get into the city. And once we’re inside we hunt forDodd. That’s our job.“Yes, sir,” Sharpe said.“And once we have the traitor we take him to Madras, put him on trialand have him hanged,” McCandless said with satisfaction, as though thejob was as good as done. His gloomy forebodings of the previous nightseemed to have vanished. He had stopped at a bare patch of ground.“This looks like a fair billet. No more rain in the offing, I think,so we should be comfortable.

“Like hell, Sharpe thought. A bare bed, no rum, a fight in the morning,and God only knew what kind of devils waiting across the wall, but heslept anyway.And woke when it was still dark to see shadowy men straggling past withlong ladders across their shoulders. Dawn was near and it was time foran escalade. Time for ladders and murder.Sanjit Pandee was kill adar of the city, which meant that he commandedAhmednuggur’s garrison in the name of his master, Dowlut Rao Scindia,Maharajah of Gwalior, and in principle every soldier in the city,though not in the adjacent fortress, was under Pandee’s command.So why had Major Dodd ejected Pandee’s troops from the northerngatehouse and substituted his own men? Pandee had sent no orders, butthe deed had been done anyway and no one could explain why, and whenSanjit Pandee sent a message to Major Dodd and demanded an answer, themessenger was told to wait and, so far as the kill adar knew, was stillwaiting.Sanjit Pandee finally summoned the courage to confront the Majorhimself. It was dawn, a time when the kill adar was not usuallystirring, and he discovered Dodd and a group of his white-coatedofficers on the southern wall from where the Major was watching theBritish camp through a heavy telescope mounted on a tripod. SanjitPandee did not like to disturb the tall Dodd who was being forced tostoop awkwardly because the tripod was incapable of raising the glassto the level of his eye.

The kill adar cleared his throat, but thathad no effect, and then he scraped a foot on the fire step and stillDodd did not even glance at him, so finally the kill adar demanded hisexplanation, though in very flowery terms just in case he gave theEnglishman offence. Sanjit Pandee had already lost the battle over thecity treasury which Dodd had simply commandeered without so much as aby-your-leave, and the kill adar was nervous of the scowlingforeigner.“Tell the bloody man,” Dodd told his interpreter without taking his eyefrom the telescope, ‘that he’s wasting my bloody time. Tell him to goand boil his backside.“Dodd’s interpreter, who was one of his younger Indian officers,courteously suggested to the kill adar that Major Dodd’s attention waswholly consumed by the approaching enemy, but that as soon as he had amoment of leisure, the Major would be delighted to hold a conversationwith the honoured kill adarThe kill adar gazed southwards. Horsemen, British and Indian, wereranging far ahead of the approaching enemy column. Not that SanjitPandee could see the column properly, only a dark smudge among thedistant green that he supposed was the enemy. Their feet kicked up nodust, but that was because of the rain that had fallen the daybefore.“Are the enemy truly coming?” he enquired politely.“Of course they’re not bloody coming,” Dodd said, standing upright andmassaging the small of his back.

“They’re running away in terror.“The enemy are indeed approaching, sahib,” the interpreter saiddeferentially.The kill adar glanced along his de fences and was reassured to see thebulk of Dodd’s regiment on the fire step and alongside them the robedfigures of his Arab mercenaries.“Your regiment’s guns,” he said to the interpreter, ‘they are nothere?“Tell the interfering little bugger that I’ve sold all the bloodycannon to the enemy,” Dodd growled.“The guns are placed where they will prove most useful, sahib’ theinterpreter assured the kill adar with a dazzling smile, and the killadar who knew that the five small guns were at the north gate wherethey were pointing in towards the city rather than out towards theplain, sighed in frustration. Europeans could be so very difficult.“And the three hundred men the Major has placed at the north gate?“Sanjit Pandee said.“Is it because he expects an attack there?“Ask the idiot why else they would be there,” Dodd instructed theinterpreter, but there was no time to tell the kill adar anythingfurther because shouts from the ramparts announced the approach ofthree enemy horsemen. The emissaries rode beneath a white flag, butsome of the Arabs were aiming their longbarrelled matchlocks at theapproaching horsemen and the kill adar quickly sent some aides totellthe mercenaries to hold their fire.“They’ve come to offer us cowle,” the kill adar said as he hurriedtowards the south gate.

Cowle was an offer of terms, a chance for thedefenders to surrender rather than face the horrors of assault, and thekill adar hoped he could prolong the negotiations long enough topersuade Major Dodd to bring the three hundred men back from the northgate.The kill adar could see that the three horsemen were riding towards thesouth gate which was topped by a squat tower from which flew Scindia’sgaudy green and scarlet flag. To reach the tower the kill adar had torun down some stone steps because the stretch of wall just west of thegate possessed no fire step but was simply a high, blank wall of redstone. He hurried along the foot of the wall, then climbed more stepsto reach the gate tower just as the three horsemen reined in beneath.Two of the horsemen were Indians while the third was a British officer,and the three men had indeed come to offer the city cowle. If the killadar surrendered, one of the Indians shouted, the city’s defenderswould be permitted to march from Ahmednuggur with all their handweapons and whatever personal belongings they could carry. GeneralWellesley would guarantee the garrison safe passage as far as the RiverGodavery, beyond which Pohlmann’s compoo had withdrawn. The officerfinished by demanding an immediate answer.Sanjit Pandee hesitated. The cowle was generous, surprisinglygenerous, and he was tempted to accept because no man would die if hetook the terms.

He could see the approaching column clearly now, andit looked to him like a red stain smothering the plain. There would beguns there, and the gods alone knew how many muskets. Then he glancedto his left and right and he saw the reassuring height of his walls,and he saw the white robes of his fearsome Arabs, and he contemplatedwhat Dowlut Rao Scindia would say if he meekly surrendered Ahmednuggur.Scindia would be angry, and an angry Scindia was liable to put whoeverhad angered him beneath the elephant’s foot. The kill adar task was todelay the British in front of Ahmednuggur while Scindia gathered hisallies and so prepared the vast army that would crush the invader.Sanjit Pandee sighed.“There can be no cowle,” he called down to Wellesley’s threemessengers, and the horsemen did not try to change his mind. They justtugged on their reins, spurred their horses and rode away.“They want battle,” the kill adar said sadly, ‘they want loot.“That’s why they come here,” an aide replied.

“Their own land is barren.“I hear it is green,” Sanjit Pandee said.“No, sahib, barren and dry. Why else would they be here?“News spread along the walls that cowle had been refused. No one hadexpected otherwise, but the kill adar reluctant defiance cheered thedefenders whose ranks thickened as townsfolk climbed to the fire stepto see the approaching enemy.Dodd scowled when he saw that women and children were thronging theramparts to view the enemy.“Clear them away!” he ordered his interpreter.“I want only the duty companies up here.” He watched as his orderswere obeyed.“Nothing’s going to happen for three days now,” he assured hisofficers.

“They’ll send skirmishers to harass us, but skirmishers can’t hurt usif we don’t show our heads above the wall. So tell the men to keeptheir heads down. And no one’s to fire at the skirmishers, youunderstand? No point in wasting good balls on skirmishers. We’ll openfire after three days.“In three days, sahib?” a young Indian officer asked.“It will take the bastards one day to establish batteries and two tomake a breach,” Dodd forecast confidently.“And on the fourth day the buggers will come, so there’s nothing to getexcited about now.“The Major decided to set an example of insouciance in the face of theenemy.“I’m going for breakfast,” he told his officers.“I’ll be back when the bastards start digging their breachingbatteries.

“The tall Major ran down the steps and disappeared into the city’salleys. The interpreter looked back at the approaching column, thenput his eye to the telescope. He was looking for guns, but at first hecould see only a mass of men in red coats with the odd horseman amongtheir ranks, and then he saw something odd. Something he did notcomprehend.Some of the men in the front ranks were carrying ladders. He frowned,then saw something more familiar beyond the red ranks and tilted theglass so that he could see the enemy’s cannon. There were only fiveguns, one being hauled by men and the four larger by elephants, andbehind the artillery were more redcoats. Those redcoats wore patternedskirts and had high black hats, and the interpreter was glad that hewas behind the wall for somehow the men in skirts looked fearsome.He looked back at the ladders and did not really understand whathe saw. There were only four ladders, so plainly they did not mean tolean them against the wall.

Maybe, he thought, the British planned tomake an observation tower so that they could see over the de fences andthat explanation made sense and so he did not comprehend that there wasto be no siege at all, but an escalade. The enemy was not planning toknock a hole in the wall, but to swarm straight over it. There wouldbe no waiting, no digging, no saps, no batteries and no breach. Therewould just be a charge, a scream, a torrent of fire, and then death inthe morning sun.“The thing is, Sharpe,” McCandless said, ‘not to get yourselfkilled.“Wasn’t planning on it, sir.“No heroics, Sharpe. It’s not your job. We just follow the heroesinto the city, look for Mister Dodd, then go back home.“Yes, sir.

“So stay close to me, and I’m staying close to Colonel Wallace’s party,so if you lose me, look for him. That’s Wallace there, see him?“McCandless indicated a tall, bareheaded officer riding at the front ofthe 74th.“I see him, sir,” Sharpe said. He was mounted on McCandless’s sparehorse and the extra height allowed him to see over the heads of theKing’s 74th who marched in front of him. Beyond the Highlanders thecity wall looked dark red in the early sun, and on its summit he couldsee the occasional glint of a musket showing between the dome-shapedmerlons that topped the wall. Big round bastions stood every hundredyards and those bastions had black embrasures which Sharpe assumed hidthe defenders’ cannon. The brightly coloured statues of a temple’stower showed above the rampart while a slew of flags drooped over thegate. No one fired yet. The British were within cannon range, but thedefenders were keeping their guns quiet.Most of the British force now checked a half-mile from the walls whilethe three assault parties organized themselves.

Two of the attackinggroups would escalade the wall, one to the left of the gate and theother to the right, and both would be led by Scottish soldiers withsepoys in support. The King’s 778th, the kilted regiment, would attackthe wall to the left while their fellow Highlanders of the 74th wouldassault to the right. The third attack was in the centre and would beled by the 74th’s Colonel, William Wallace, who was also commander ofone of the two infantry brigades and evidently an old friend ofMcCandless for, seeing his fellow Scot, Wallace rode back through hisregiment’s ranks to greet him with a warm familiarity. Wallace wouldbe leading men of the 74th in an assault against the gate itself andhis plan was to run a sixpounder cannon hard up against the big timbergates then fire the gun to blast the entrance open.“None of our gunners have ever done it before,” Wallace toldMcCandless, ‘and they’ve insisted on putting a round shot down the gun,but I swear my mother told me you should never load shot to open gates.A double powder charge, she instructed me, and nothing else.“Your mother told you that, Wallace?” McCandless asked.“Her father was an artilleryman, you see, and he brought her upproperly. But I can’t persuade our gunners to leave out the ball.Stubborn fellows, they are.

English to a man, of course. Can’t teachthem anything.” Wallace offered McCandless his canteen.“It’s cold tea, McCandless, nothing that will send your soul toperdition.“McCandless took a swig of the tea, then introduced Sharpe.“He was the fellow who blew the Tippoo’s mine in Seringapatam,” he toldWallace.“I heard about you, Sharpe!” Wallace said.“A damn fine day’s work, Sergeant, well done.” And the Scotsman leanedacross to give Sharpe his hand. He was a middle-aged man, balding,with a pleasant face and a quick smile.

“I can tempt you to some cold tea, Sharpe?“I’ve got water, sir, thank you,” Sharpe said, patting his canteenwhich was filled with rum, a gift from Daniel Hetcher, the General’sorderly.“You’ll forgive me if I’m about my business,” Wallace said toMcCandless, retrieving his canteen.“I’ll see you inside the city, McCandless. Joy of the day to youboth.” Wallace spurred back to the head of his column.“A very good man,” McCandless said warmly, ‘a very good man indeed.“Sevajee and his dozen men cantered up to join McCandless. They allwore red jackets, for they planned to ride into the city withMcCandless and none wanted to be mistaken for the enemy, yet somehowthe unbuttoned jackets, which had been borrowed from a sepoy battalion,made them look more piratical than ever. They all carried nakedtulwars, curved sabres that they had honed to a razor’s edge at dawn.Sevajee reckoned there would be no time for aiming fire locks once theywere inside Ahmednuggur.

Ride in, charge whoever still put up a fightand cut down hard.The two escalade parties started forward. Each had a pair of ladders,and each party was led by those men who had volunteered to be first upthe rungs. The sun was fully above the horizon now and Sharpe couldsee the wall more plainly. He reckoned it was twenty foot high, giveor take a few inches, and the glint of guns in every embrasure andloophole showed that it would be heavily defended.“Ever seen an escalade, Sharpe?” McCandless asked.“No, sir.“Risky business. Frail things, ladders. Nasty being first up.

“Very nasty, sir.“And if it fails it gives the enemy confidence.“So why do it, sir?“Because if it succeeds, Sharpe, it lowers the enemy’s spirits. Itwill make us seem invincible. Veni, vidi, vici.“I don’t speak any Indian, sir, not proper.“Latin, Sharpe, Latin. I came, I saw, I conquered. How’s your readingthese days?“It’s good, sir, very good,” Sharpe answered enthusiastically, thoughin truth he had not read very much in the last four years other thanlists of stores and duty rosters and Major Stokes’s repair orders. Butit had been Colonel McCandless and his nephew, Lieutenant Lawford, whohad first taught Sharpe to read when they shared a cell in the TippooSultan’s prison.

That was four years ago now.“I shall give you a Bible, Sharpe,” McCandless said, watching theescalade parties march steadily forward.“It’s the one book worth reading.“I’d like that, sir,” Sharpe said straight-faced, then saw that thepicquets of the day were running ahead to make a skirmish line thatwould pepper the wall with musket fire. Still no one fired from thecity wall, though by now both the picquets and the two ladder partieswere well inside musket range.“If you don’t mind me asking, sir,” Sharpe said to McCandless, ‘what’sto stop that bugger sorry, sir what’s to stop Mister Dodd from escapingout the other side of the city, sir?“They are, Sharpe,” McCandless said, indicating the cavalry that nowgalloped off on both sides of the city. The British igth Dragoons rodein a tight squadron, but the other horsemen were Mahratta allies orelse silladars from Hyderabad or Mysore, and they rode in a looseswarm.“Their job is to harass anyone leaving the city,” McCandless went on.“Not the civilians, of course, but any troops.“But Dodd’s got a whole regiment, sir.

“McCandless dismissed the problem.“I doubt that two whole regiments will serve him. In a minute or twothere’ll be sheer panic inside Ahmednuggur, and how’s Dodd to get away?He’ll have to fight his way through a crowd of terrified civilians. No,we’ll find him inside the place if he’s still there.“He is,” Sevajee put in. He was staring at the wall through a smalltelescope.“I can see the uniforms of his men on the fire step White jackets.” Hepointed westwards, beyond the stretch of wall that would be attacked bythe 778th.The picquets suddenly opened fire. They were scattered along thesouthern edge of the city, and their musketry was sporadic and, toSharpe, futile.

Men firing at a city? The musket balls smacked intothe red stone of the wall which echoed back the crackle of the gunfire,but the defenders ignored the threat. Not a musket replied, not acannon fired. The wall was silent. Shreds of smoke drifted from theskirmish line which went on chipping the big red stones with lead.Colonel Wallace’s assault party was late in starting, while the kiltedmen of the 778th, who were assaulting the wall to the left of the gate,were now far in advance of the other attackers. They were runningacross open ground, their two ladders in plain sight of the enemy, butstill the defenders ignored them. A regiment of sepoys was wheelingleft, going to add their musket fire to the picquet line. A bagpiperwas playing, but he must have been running for his instrument keptgiving small ignominious hiccups. In truth it all seemed ignominiousto Sharpe. The battle, if it could even be called a battle, had begunso casually, and the enemy was not even appearing to regard it as athreat.

The skirmishers’ fire was scattered, the assault partieslooked under strength and there seemed to be no urgency and noceremony. There ought to be ceremony, Sharpe considered. A bandshould be playing, flags should be flying, and the enemy should bevisible and threatening, but instead it was ramshackle and almostunreal.“This way, Sharpe,” McCandless said, and swerved away to where ColonelWallace was chivvying his men into formation. A dozen blue coatedgunners were clustered about a sixpounder cannon, evidently the gunthat would be rammed against the city gate, while just beyond them wasa battery of four twelve-pounder cannon drawn by elephants and, asSharpe and McCandless urged their horses towards Wallace, the fourmahouts halted their elephants and the gunners hurried to unharness thefour guns. Sharpe guessed the battery would spray the wall withcanister, though the silence of the defenders seemed to suggest thatthey had nothing to fear from these impudent attackers. Sir ArthurWellesley, mounted on Diomed who seemed no worse for his bloodletting,rode up behind the guns and called some instruction to the batterycommander who raised a hand in acknowledgement. The General wasaccompanied by three scarlet-coated aides and two Indians who, from therichness of their robes, had to be commanders of the allied horsemenwho had ridden to stop the flight of fugitives from the city’s northerngate.The attackers from the 778th were just a hundred paces from the wallnow. They had no packs, only their weapons.

And still the enemytreated them with lordly disdain. Not a gun fired, not a musketflamed, not a single rocket slashed out from the wall.“Looks like it will be easy, McCandless!” Wallace called.“I pray as much!” McCandless said.“The enemy has been praying too,” Sevajee said, but McCandless ignoredthe remark.Then, suddenly and appallingly, the silence ended.The enemy was not ignoring the attack. Instead, from serried loopholesin the wall and from the bastions’ high embrasures and from the merlonsalong the parapet, a storm of gunfire erupted. One moment the wall hadbeen clear in the morning sun, now it was fogged by a thick screen ofpowder smoke. A whole city was rimmed white, and the ground about theattacking troops was pitted and churned by the strike of bullets.

“Ten minutes of seven,” McCandless shouted over the noise, as thoughthe time was important. Rockets, like those Sharpe had seen atSeringapatam, seared out from the walls to stitch their smoke trails incrazy tangles above the assaulting parties’ heads, yet, despite thevolume of fire, the defenders’ opening volley appeared to do littleharm. One redcoat was staggering, but the assault parties still wentforward, and then a pain-filled squeal made Sharpe look to his right tosee that an elephant had been struck by a cannonball. The beast’smahout was dragging on its tether, but the elephant broke free and,maddened by its wound, charged straight towards Wallace’s men. TheHighlanders scattered. The gunners had begun to drag their loadedsix-pounder forward, but they were right in the injured beast’s pathand now sensibly abandoned the gun to flee from the crazed animal’scharge. The wrinkled skin of the elephant’s left flank was sheeted inred. Wallace shouted incoherently, then spurred his horse out of theway. The elephant, trunk raised and eyes white, thumped pastMcCandless and Sharpe.“Poor girl,” McCandless said.

“It’s a she?” Sharpe asked.“AD draught animals are female, Sharpe. More docile.“She ain’t docile, sir,” Sharpe said, watching the elephant burst freeof the army’s rear and trample through a field of stubble pursued byher mahout and an excited crowd of small skinny children who hadfollowed the attacking troops from the encampment and now whoopedshrilly as they enjoyed the chase. Sharpe watched them, theninvoluntarily ducked as a musket ball whipped just over his shako andanother ricocheted off the sixpounder’s barrel with a surprisinglymusical note.“Not too close now, Sharpe,” McCandless warned, and Sharpe obedientlyreined in his mare.Colonel Wallace was calling his men back into formation.“Damned animals!” he snarled at McCandless.“Your mother had no advice on elephants, Wallace?“None I’d repeat to a godly man, McCandless,” Wallace said, thenspurred his horse towards the sixpounder’s disordered gunners.“Pick up the traces, you rogues.

Hurry!“The 778th had reached the wall to the left of the gate. They rammed thefoot of their two ladders into the soil, then swung the tops up andover onto the wall’s parapet.“Good boys,” McCandless shouted warmly, though he was far too distantfor the attackers to hear his encouragement.“Good boys!” The first kilted Highlanders were already scrambling upthe rungs, but then a man was hit by a bullet from the flanking bastionand he stopped, clung to the ladder, then slowly toppled sideways. Acrowd of Highlanders jostled at the bottom of the ladders to be thenext up the rungs. Poor bastards, Sharpe thought, so eager to climb todeath, and he saw that the leading men on both ladders were officers.They had swords. The men climbed with their bayonet-tipped musketsslung over their shoulders, but the officers climbed sword in hand. Oneof them was struck and the man behind unceremoniously shoved him offthe ladder and hurried up to the parapet and there, inexplicably, hestopped.His comrades shouted at him to get a bloody move on and scramble7Qover the wall, but the man did nothing except to unsling his musket,and then he was hurled backwards in a misting spray of blood.

Anotherman took his place, and the same happened to him. The officer at thetop of the second ladder was crouching on the top rung, occasionallypeering over the coping of the wall between two of the dome-shapedmerlons, but he was making no attempt to cross the parapet.“They should have more than two ladders, sir,” Sharpe grumbled.“Wasn’t time, laddie, wasn’t time,” McCandless said.“What’s holding them?” he asked as he stared with an agonizedexpression at the stalled men. The Arab defenders in the nearestbastion were being given a fine target and their musketry was having aterrible effect on the crowded ladders. The noise of the defenders’fire was continuous; a staccato crackle of musketry, the hiss ofrockets and the thunderous crash of cannon. Men were blasted off theladders, and their place was immediately taken by others, but still themen at the top of the rungs did not try to cross the wall, and stillthe defenders fired and the dead and injured heaped up at the foot ofthe ladders and the living pushed them aside to reach the rungs and sooffer themselves as targets to the unending gunfire. One man at lastheaved himself onto the wall and straddled the coping where he unslunghis musket and fired a shot down into the city, but almost immediatelyhe was hit by a blast of musket fire. He swayed for a second, hismusket clattered down the wall’s red face, then he followed it to theground.

The new man at the top of the ladder heaved himself up, then,just like the rest, he checked and ducked back.“What’s holding them?” McCandless cried in frustration.“In God’s name! Go!“There’s no bloody fire step Sharpe said grimly.McCandless glanced at him.“What?“Sorry, sir. Forgot not to curse, sir.“But McCandless was not worried about Sharpe’s language.“What did you say, man?” he insisted.“There’s no fire step there, sir.” Sharpe pointed at the wall wherethe Scotsmen were dying.

“There’s no musket smoke on the parapet, sir.“McCandless looked back.“By God, you’re right.“The wall had merlons and embrasures, but not a single patch of musketsmoke showed in those de fences which meant that the castellation wasfalse and there was no fire step on the wall’s far side where defenderscould stand. From the outside the stretch of wall looked like anyother part of the city’s de fences but Sharpe guessed that once theHighlanders reached the wall’s summit they were faced with a sheer dropon the far side, and doubtless there was a crowd of enemies waiting atthe foot of that inner wall to massacre any man who survived the fall.The 778th were attacking into thin air and being bloodied mercilessly bythe jubilant defenders.The two ladders emptied as the officers at last realized theirpredicament and shouted at their men to come down. The defenderscheered the repulse and kept firing as the two ladders were carriedback from the ramparts.“Dear God,” McCandless said, ‘dear God.“I warned you,” Sevajee said, unable to conceal his pride in thefighting qualities of the Mahratta defenders.

“You’re on our side!” McCandless snarled, and the Indian justshrugged.“It ain’t over yet, sir,” Sharpe tried to cheer up the Scotsman.“Escalades work by speed, Sharpe,” McCandless said, ‘and we’ve lostsurprise now “It will have to be done properly,” Sevajee remarkedsmugly, ‘with guns and a breach.“But the escalade was not defeated yet. The assault party of the 74thhad now reached the wall to the right of the gate and their two ladderswere swung up against the high red stones, but this stretch of wall didpossess a fire step and it was crowded with eager defenders who raineda savage fire down onto the attackers. The British twelve-pounders hadopened fire, and their canister was savaging the defenders, but thedead and wounded were dragged away to be replaced by reinforcements whoquickly learned that if they let the attackers come up the two laddersthen the cannon would cease fire, and so they let the Scots climb therungs and then hurled down baulks of wood that could scrape a ladderclear in seconds. Then a cannon in one of the flanking bastionshammered a barrel load of stones and scrap iron into the men crowdingabout the foot of the ladders.“Oh, dear God,” McCandless prayed again, ‘dear God.” More men began toclimb the ladders while the wounded crawled and limped back from thewalls, pursued by the musket fire of the defenders. A Scottishofficer, claymore in hand, ran up one of the ladders with the facilityof a sailor swarming up rigging.

He cut the claymore at a lungingbayonet, somehow survived a musket blast, put a hand on the coping, butthen a spear took him in the throat and he seemed to shake like agaffed fish before tumbling backwards and carrying two men down to theground with him. The sound of the defenders’ musketry was punctuatedby the deeper crash of the small cannon that were mounted in the hiddengalleries of the bastions. One of those cannon now struck a ladder inthe flank and Sharpe watched appalled as the whole flimsy thing buckledand broke, carrying seven men down to the ground in its wreckage. The778th had been repulsed and the 74th had lost one of their twoladders.“This is not good,” McCandless said grimly, ‘not good at all.“Fighting Mahrattas,” Sevajee said smugly, ‘is not like fighting menfrom Mysore.“Colonel Wallace’s party was still a good hundred yards from the gate,slowed by the weight of their sixpounder cannon. It seemed to Sharpethat Wallace needed more men to handle the cumbersome gun and theenemy’s musket fire was taking its toll of the few men he did haveshoving at the wheels or dragging at the traces. Wellesley was not farbehind Wallace, and just behind the General, mounted on one of hisspare horses and with a second on a leading rein, was DanielFletcher.The musket fire spurted scraps of dried mud all around Wellesley andhis aides, but the General seemed to have a charmed life.

The 778th returned to the attack on the left, only this time they rantheir two ladders directly at the bastion which flanked the wall wheretheir first attempt had failed. The threatened bastion reacted with anangry explosion of musket fire. One of the ladders fell, its carriershard hit by the volley, but the other swung on up and as soon as itstop struck the bastion’s summit a kilted officer climbed the rungs.“No!” McCandless cried, as the officer was hit and fell. Other mentook his place, but the defenders tipped a basket of stones over theparapet and the tumbling rocks scoured the ladder clear. A volley ofmusketry made the defenders duck and when the smoke cleared Sharpe sawthat the kilted officer was again ascending the ladder, this timewithout his tall hat. He carried his claymore in his right hand andthe big sword hampered him. An Arab fleetingly appeared at the top ofthe ladder with a lump of timber that he hurled down at the attacker,and the officer was thrown back a second time.“No!” McCandless lamented again, but then the same officer appeared athird time. He was determined to have the honour of being first intothe city, and this time he had tied his red waist-sash to his wrist andlet his claymore hang by its hilt from a loop of the silk, thus leavingboth hands free and allowing him to climb much faster.

He keptclimbing, and his men crowded behind him in their big bearskin hats,and the loopholes in the bastion’s galleries spat flame and smoke asthey scrambled past the bastion’s storeys, but magically the officersurvived the fusillade and Sharpe had his heart in his mouth as the mandrew nearer and nearer to the top. He expected to see a defenderappear at any moment, but the attackers who were not queuing at thefoot of the ladder were now hammering the bastion’s summit with musketfire and under its cover the bareheaded officer scrambled up the lastfew rungs, paused to take hold of his claymore’s hilt, then leaped overthe top of the wall. Someone cheered, and Sharpe caught a distinctview of the officer’s claymore rising and falling above the red wall’scoping. More Highlanders were clambering up the ladder and though somewere blasted off by musket fire from the bastion’s loopholes, otherswere at last reaching the high parapet and following their officer ontothe de fences The second ladder was swung into place and the trickleof attackers became a stream.“Thank God,” McCandless said fervently, ‘thank God indeed.“The 778th were in the bastion, and now the 74th, which had been reducedto just one ladder, also made their lodgement. An officer hadorganized two companies to give the parapet a blast of musketry just asa sergeant reached the top of the ladder, and the fusillade cleared theembrasures as the sergeant clambered over the wall. His bayonetstabbed down, then he reeled backwards as a defender slashed at himwith a tulwar, but a lieutenant was behind him and he hacked down withhis claymore and then kicked the defender in the face. A third mancrossed, the fourth was killed, and then another man was on the walland the Scotsmen screamed their war cries as they began the grim job ofclearing the defenders off the fire step Sharpe could hear the clashof blades on the wall, and see a cloud of powder smoke above thecrenellations where the Scots of the 74th were fighting their way alongthe parapet, but he could see nothing on the bastion where the kilted778th were fighting. He guessed they were clearing the bastion floor byfloor, charging down the steep stone steps and carrying their bayonetsto the gunners and infantrymen who manned the lower galleries.

The Scots at last reached the bastion’s ground floor where they killedone last defender and then burst out of the tower’s inner doorway to befaced by a horde of Arabs who poured a volley of matchlock fire intothe attackers’ ranks.“Charge the bastards! Charge them!” The same young officer who hadled the assault now rallied his men and led them against the robeddefenders who were reloading their longbarrelled muskets. TheHighlanders attacked with bayonets and a ferocity born ofdesperation.The Scots were inside the city, but so far the only route to reinforcethem was up the three remaining ladders, and one of those was bendingdangerously after being struck by a small round shot. Wellesley wasshouting at Wallace to get the gate open, and Colonel Wallace wasbellowing at his gunners to get their damned weapon into place. Thedefenders above the gate did their best to stop the advancing cannon,but Wallace ordered a company of infantry to help the gunners roll thecannon forward and those men cheered as they bounced and rattled theheavy gun towards the gate.“Give them fire,” Wallace shouted, ‘give them fire!” and his remaininginfantrymen blasted a ragged volley up at the gate’s defenders. Theflags above the rampart twitched as the balls snatched at the silk. Thesix-pounder rumbled forward, thumping over the uneven road surface thatwas being pocked by musket balls spat from the gatehouse loopholes. Abagpipe was playing and the savage music made a fine accompaniment tothe gun’s wild charge.

“Keep firing,” Wallace shouted at his infantry, ‘keep firing!” Hismen’s musket balls struck tiny puffs of dust and flakes of stone fromthe gate that was wreathed in smoke, smoke so thick that the gun seemedto disappear in fog as it rolled the last few yards, but then Sharpeheard the resounding thump as the gun’s muzzle was rammed hard againstthe big wooden gate.“Get back,” the gun commander shouted, ‘get back!” and the men who hadhauled the gun scrambled clear.“Make ready!” Wallace shouted, and his men stopped their firing anddragged out bayonets that they slotted over their blackened musketmuzzles.“Fire the gun!” Wallace shouted.“Fire it! For God’s sake, fire!” A rocket seethed out of the smoke,trailing sparks, and for a second Sharpe thought it would plunge intothe heart of Wallace’s waiting men, but then it arced up into the clearblue sky and blazed safely away.Inside the city the Arabs who had tried to defend the bastion nowretreated in front of the battle-maddened Scots who swarmed out of thebastion’s inner door. The Arabs might come from a hard, warlikecountry, but so did the kilted men who came snarling into the city.Sepoys were climbing the ladders now and they joined the Highlanders.Their instinct was to charge across the cleared space inside the walland so reach the cover of the city’s alleyways, but the young officerwho led the attack knew that the defenders could still rally if he didnot open the gate and so let in a flood of attackers.“To the gate!” he shouted, and led his men along the inner face of thewall to reach the south gate.

The Arabs waiting just inside the archturned and fired as the Scots approached, but the young officer seemedinvincible. He screamed as he charged, then his reddened claymoreslashed down, and his men’s bayonets lunged forward. Two sepoys joinedthem, stabbing and screaming, and the outnumbered Arabs died or fled.“Open the gate!” the young officer shouted, and one of the sepoys ranforward to lift the heavy locking bar out of its iron brackets.“Fire!” Colonel Wallace shouted on the gate’s far side.The gun captain touched his port fire to the priming reed. There was afizz of spark, a wisp of smoke and then the double-charged gun leapedback and the sound of its massive discharge was magnified by the echothat bounced deafeningly off the gate’s high archway. The doorssplintered, and the sepoy who had been lifting the bar was cut in twoby the sixpound ball and by the wicked-edged scraps of shatteredtimber that exploded into the city. The other attackers on the innerside of the gate reeled away from the smoke and flame of the blast, butthe bar was lifted and the cannon’s discharge swung the gates open.“Charge!” Wallace shouted, and his men screamed as they ran into thesmoke-shrouded arch and pushed past the gun and trampled over thebloody halves of the slaughtered sepoy.

“Come on, Sharpe, come on!” McCandless had his own claymore drawn andthe old man’s face was alight with excitement as he spurred his horsetowards the doomed city. The assault troops who had been waiting toclimb the ladders now joined the surge of men running towards thebroken gates.For Ahmednuggur had fallen, and from the first shot until the openingof the gate it had taken just twenty minutes. And now the redcoatswent for their reward and the suffering inside the city could begin.Major William Dodd had never reached his breakfast. Instead he hadhurried back to the walls the moment he heard the first muskets fireand, once on the fire step he had stared appalled at the ladder partiesfor he had never once anticipated that the British would attempt anescalade. Of all the methods of taking a city, an escalade was theriskiest, but Dodd realized he should have foreseen it. Ahmednuggurhad no ditch, nor any glacis, indeed the city had no obstacle outsideits ramparts and that made it a prime candidate for escalade, thoughDodd had never believed that Boy Wellesley would dare try such astratagem.He thought Wellesley too cautious.None of the assaults was aimed at the stretch of wall where Dodd’s menwere positioned, so all they could do was fire their muskets obliquelyat the advancing British, but the distance was too great for their fireto be effective and the thick powder smoke of their muskets soonobscured their aim and so Dodd ordered them to cease fire.

“I can only see four ladders,” his interpreter said.“Must have more than four,” Dodd remarked.“Can’t do it with just four.“For a time it seemed the Major must be right for the defence was makinga mockery of the attack, while Dodd’s men were troubled by nothing morethreatening than a scatter of sepoy skirmishers who fired ineffectuallyat his stretch of the wall. He showed his derision of the skirmishers’fire by standing openly in an embrasure from where he could watch theenemy’s cavalry ride about the city’s flank to cut off any escape fromthe northern gate. He could deal with a few cavalrymen, he decided. Ascrap of stone was driven from the coping beside him by a musket ball.The stone flake rapped against the leather sword belt that was buckledround Dodd’s new white coat. He did not like wearing white.It showed the dirt, but worse, it made any wound look much worse thanit really was.

Blood on a red coat hardly showed, but even a smallamount of blood on a white coat could make a nervous man terrified.He wondered if Pohlmann or Scindia would agree to the cost of newjackets. Brown, maybe, or dark blue.The interpreter came to where the Major stood in the embrasure.“The kill adar requests that we form up behind the gate, sir.“Noted,” Dodd said curtly.“He says the enemy are approaching the gate with a gun, sahib.“Sensible of them,” Dodd said, but otherwise ignored the request.Instead he stared eastwards and saw a Scottish officer suddenly appearat the summit of a bastion. Kill him, he silently urged the Arabs inthe bastion, but the young officer jumped down and began laying abouthim with his claymore, and suddenly there were more kiltedScotsmen crossing the wall.

“I do hate the bloody Scots,” he said.“Sahib?” The interpreter asked.“Priggish bastards, they are,” Dodd said, but the priggish bastardslooked as if they had just captured the city and Dodd knew it would bemadness to get involved in a doomed fight to save it. That way hewould lose his regiment.“Sahib’?” the interpreter interrupted Dodd nervously.“The killadarwas insistent, sir.“Bugger the kill adar Dodd said, jumping down from the embrasure.“Iwant the men off the wall,” he ordered, ‘and formed in companies on theinner esplanade.” He pointed down to the wide space just inside thewall.“Now,” he added and, with one last glance at the attackers, he ran downthe steps.

“Jemadar]? he shouted to Gopal, whom he had promoted as a reward forloyalty.“Sahib?“Form up! March by companies to the north gate! If any civiliansblock your path, open fire!“Kill them?” the Jemadar asked.“I don’t want you to bloody tickle them, Gopal. Slaughter them!“The interpreter had listened to this exchange and stared appalled atthe tall Englishman.“But, sir

” he began to plead.“The city’s lost,” Dodd growled, ‘and the second rule of war is not toreinforce failure.“The interpreter wondered what the first rule was, but knew this was notthe time to ask.“But the kill adar sir

“Is a lily-livered mouse and we are men. Our orders are to save theregiment so it can fight again. Now, go!“Dodd saw the first redcoats burst out of the inner door of the bastion,heard the Arab volley that threw some of the attackers down into thebloodied dust, but then he turned away from the fight and followed hismen into the city’s streets.

It went against the grain to abandon afight, but Dodd knew his duty. The city might die, but the regimentmust live.Captain Joubert should be holding the north gate safe where Dodd’s gunswaited, and where his own saddle horses and pack mule were ready, andso he called for his other French officer, the young LieutenantSilliere, and told him to take a dozen men to rescue Simone Joubertfrom the panic that he knew was about to engulf the city. Dodd hadrather hoped he could fetch Simone himself, posing as her protector,but he knew that the fall of the city was imminent and there 8?would be no time for such gallantries.“Bring her safe, Lieutenant.“Of course, sir,” Silliere said and, glad to be given such a duty, heordered a dozen men to follow him into the alleys.Dodd gave one backward glance towards the south, then marched away fromthe fight. There was nothing for him here but failure. It was time togo north, for it was there, Dodd knew, beyond the wide rivers and amongthe far hills and a long way from their supplies, that the Britishwould be lured to their deaths.But Ahmednuggur, and everything inside it, was doomed.

CHAPTER 4

Sharpe followed McCandless into the gatehouse’s high archway, using theweight of his mare to push through the sepoys and Highlanders whojostled in the narrow roadway that was still half blocked by the sixpounder cannon. The mare shied from the thick powder smoke that hungin the air between the scorched and smoking remnants of the two gatesand Sharpe, gripping the mane to keep in the saddle, kicked his heelsback so that the horse shot forward and trampled through the fly-blownintestines of the sepoy who had been struck in the belly by thesix-pound shot. He hauled on the reins, checking the mare’s frightamong the sprawled bodies of the Arabs who had died trying to defendthe gate.The fight here had been short and brutal, but there was no resistanceleft in the city by the time Sharpe caught up with McCandless who wasstaring in disapproval at the victorious redcoats who hurried intoAhmednuggur’s alleyways. The first screams were sounding.“Women and drink,” McCandless said disapprovingly.“That’s all they’ll be thinking of, women and drink.“Loot too, sir,” Sharpe corrected the Scotsman.“It’s a wicked world, sir,” he added hastily, wishing he could be letoff the leash himself to join the plunderers. Sevajee and his men werethrough the gate now, wheeling their horses behind Sharpe, who glancedup at the walls to see, with some surprise, that many of the city’sdefenders were still on the fire step though they were making no effortto fire at the redcoated enemy who flooded through the broken gate.

“So what do we do, sir?” he asked.McCandless, usually so sure of himself, seemed at a momentary loss, butthen he saw a wounded Mahratta crawling across the cleared space insidethe wall and, throwing his reins to Sharpe, he dismounted and crossedto the casualty. He helped the wounded man into the shelter of adoorway and there propped him against a wall and gave him a drink fromhis canteen. He spoke to the wounded man for a few seconds. Sevajee,his tulwar still drawn, came alongside Sharpe.“First we kill them, then we give them water,” the Indian said.“Funny business, war, sir,” Sharpe said.“Do you enjoy it?” Sevajee asked.“Don’t rightly know, sir. Haven’t seen much.

” A short skirmish inFlanders, the swift victory of Malavelly, the chaos at the fall ofSeringapatam, the horror of Chasalgaon and today’s fierce escalade;that was Sharpe’s full experience of war and he harboured all thememories and tried to work out from them some pattern that would tellhim how he would react when the next violence erupted in his life. Hethought he enjoyed it, but he was dimly aware that perhaps he ought notto enjoy it.“You, sir?” he asked Sevajee.“I love it, Sergeant,” the Indian said simply.“You’ve never been wounded?” Sharpe guessed.“Twice. But a gambler does not stop throwing dice because he loses.“McCandless came running back from the wounded man.“Dodd’s heading for the north gate!“This way,” Sevajee said, sawing his reins and leading his cut-throatsoff to the right where he reckoned they would avoid the press ofpanicked people crowding the centre of the city.“That wounded man was the kill adar,“I McCandless said as he fiddledhis left boot into the stirrup, then hauled himself into the saddle.

“Dying, poor fellow. Took a bullet in the stomach.“Their chief man, eh?” Sharpe said, looking up at the gatehouse wherea Highlander was ripping down Scindia’s flags.“And he was bitterly unhappy with our Lieutenant Dodd,” McCandless saidas he spurred his horse after Sevajee.“It seems he deserted the de fences”He’s in a hurry to get away, sir,” Sharpe suggested.“Then let us hurry to stop him,” McCandless said, quickening his horseso that he could push through Sevajee’s men to reach the front ranks ofthe pursuers. Sevajee was using the alleyways beneath the easternwalls and for a time the narrow streets were comparatively empty, butthen the crowds increased and their troubles began. A dog yapped atthe heels of McCandless’s horse, making it rear, then a holy cow withblue painted horns wandered into their path and Sevajee insisted theywait for the beast, but McCandless angrily banged the cow’s bony rumpwith the flat of his claymore to drive it aside, then his horse shiedagain as a blast of musketry sounded just around the corner. A groupof sepoys were shooting open a locked door, but McCandless could notspare the time to stop their depredations.“Wellesley will have to hang some of them,” he said, spurring on.

Refugees were fleeing into the alleys, hammering on locked doors orscaling mud walls to find safety. A woman, carrying a vast bundle onher head, was knocked to the ground by a sepoy who began slashing atthe bundle’s ropes with his bayonet. Two Arabs, both armed withmassive matchlock guns with pearl-studded stocks, appeared ahead ofthem and Sharpe unslung his musket, but the two men were not disposedto continue a lost fight and so vanished into a gateway. The streetwas littered with discarded uniform jackets, some green, some blue,some brown, all thrown off by panicking defenders who now tried to passthemselves off as civilians. The crowds thickened as they neared thecity’s northern edge and the air of panic here was palpable. Musketssounded constantly in the city and every shot, like every scream, senta shudder through the crowds that eddied in hopeless search of anescape.McCandless was shouting at the crowds, and using the threat of hissword to make a passage. There were plenty of men in the streets whomight have opposed the Colonel’s party, and some of those men still hadweapons, but none made any threatening move. Ahmednuggur’s survivingdefenders only wanted to live, while the civilians had been plungedinto terror. A crowd had invaded a Hindu temple where the women swayedand wailed in front of their garlanded idols.

A child carrying abirdcage scurried across the road and McCandless wrenched his horseaside to avoid trampling the toddler, and then a loud volley ofmusketry sounded close ahead. There was a pause, and Sharpe imaginedthe men tearing open new cartridges and ramming the bullets into theirmuzzles, and then, exactly at the moment he expected it, the secondvolley sounded. This was not the ragged noise of plundering menblasting open locked doors, but a disciplined infantry fight.“I warrant that fight’s at the north gate!” McCandless called backexcitedly.“Sounds heavy, sir,” Sharpe said.“It’ll be panic, man, panic! We’ll just ride in and snatch thefellow!“McCandless, so close to his quarry, was elated. A third volleysounded, and this time Sharpe heard the musket balls smacking againstmud walls or ripping through the thatched roofs. The crowds weresuddenly thinner and McCandless drove back his spurs to urge his biggelding closer to the firefight. Sevajee was alongside him, tulwarshining, and his men just behind. The city walls were close to theirright-hand side, and ahead, over a jumble of thatched and slate roofs,Sharpe could see a blue and-green-striped flag flying over the rampartsof a square tower like the bastion that crowned the south gate.

Thetower had to be above the north gate, and he kicked his horse on andhauled back the cock of his musket.The horsemen cleared the last buildings and the gate was now onlythirty yards ahead on the far side of an open, paved space, but themoment McCandless saw the gate he wrenched his reins to swerve hishorse aside. Sevajee did the same, but the men behind, Sharpeincluded, were too late. Sharpe had thought that the disciplinedvolleys must be being fired by redcoats or sepoys, but instead twocompanies of white jacketed soldiers were barring the way to the gateand it was those men who were firing to keep the space around the gateclear for other white coated companies who were marching indouble-quick time to escape the city. The volleys were being firedindiscriminately at civilians, redcoats and fugitive defenders alike,their aim solely to keep the gate free for the white-coated companiesthat were under the command of an unnaturally tall man mounted on agaunt black horse. And just as Sharpe saw the man, and recognized him,so the left-hand company aimed at the horsemen and fired.A horse screamed. Blood spurted fast and warm over the cobbles as thebeast fell, trapping its rider and breaking his leg. Another ofSevajee’s men was down, his tulwar ringing as it skittered across thestones. Sharpe heard the whistle of musket balls all about him and hetugged on the reins, wrenching the mare back towards the alley, but sheprotested his violence and turned back towards the enemy.

He kickedher.“Move, you bitch!” he shouted.“Move!” He could hear ramrods rattling in barrels and he knew it wouldonly be seconds, before another volley came his way, but thenMcCandless was beside him and the Scotsman leaned over, seized Sharpe’sbridle and hauled! him safely into the shelter of an alley.“Thank you, sir,” Sharpe said. He had lost control of his horse andfelt ashamed. The mare was quivering and he patted her neck just asDodd’s next volley hammered its huge noise through the city. The ballsthumped into the mud-brick walls, shattered tiles and tore handfuls outof the palm thatch. McCandless had dismounted, so Sharpe now kickedhis feet from the stirrups, dropped from the saddle and ran to join theColonel at the mouth of the alley. Once there, he looked for Doddthrough the clearing smoke, found him and aimed the musket.McCandless hurriedly pushed the musket down.

“What are you doing, man?“Killing the bugger, sir,” Sharpe snarled, remembering the stench ofblood at Chasalgaon.“You’ll do no such thing, Sergeant,” McCandless growled.“I want him alive!“Sharpe cursed, but did not shoot. Dodd, he saw, was very calm. He hadcaused another massacre here, but this time he had been killingAhmednuggur’s civilians to prevent them from crowding the gateway, andhis killers, the two white-coated companies, still stood guard on thegate even though the remaining companies had all vanished into thesunlit country beyond the archway’s long dark tunnel. So why werethose two companies lingering? Why did Dodd not extricate them beforethe rampaging sepoys and Highlanders caught up with him? The groundahead of the two rear guard companies was littered with dead and dyingfugitives and a horrid number of those corpses and casualties werewomen and children, while more weeping and shrieking people, terrifiedby the volley fire and equally frightened of the invaders spreadinginto the city behind them, were crammed into every street or alley thatopened onto the cleared space by the gate.“Why doesn’t he leave?” McCandless wondered aloud.“He’s waiting for something, sir,” Sharpe said.“We need men,” McCandless said.“Go and fetch some.

I’ll keep an eye on Dodd.“Me, sir? Fetch men?“You’re a sergeant, aren’t you?” McCandless snapped.“So behave like one. Get me an infantry company. Highlanders,preferably. Now go!“Sharpe cursed under his breath, then sprinted back into the city. Howthe hell was he expected to find men? There were plenty of redcoats insight, but none was under discipline, and demanding that lootersabandon their plunder to go into another fight would like as not provea waste of time if not downright suicidal. Sharpe needed to find anofficer, and so he bullied his way through the terrified crowd in hopeof discovering a company of Highlanders that was still obeyingorders.A splintering crash directly above his head made him duck into adoorway just seconds before a flimsy balcony collapsed under the weightof three sepoys and a dark wooden trunk they had dragged from abedroom. The trunk split apart when it hit the street, spilling out atrickle of coins, and the three injured sepoys screamed as they weretrampled by a rush of soldiers and civilians who plunged in to collectthe loot.

A tall Scottish sergeant used his musket butt to clear aspace about the broken trunk, then knelt and began scooping the coinsinto his upturned bearskin. He snarled at Sharpe, thinking him a rivalfor the plunder, but Sharpe stepped over the Sergeant, tripped on thebroken leg of one of the sepoys, and shoved on. Bloody chaos!A half-naked girl ran out of a potter’s shop, then suddenly stopped asher unwinding said jerked her to a halt. Two redcoats hauled her backtowards the shop. The girl’s father, blood on his temple, was slumpedjust outside the doorway amidst the litter of his wares. The girlstared into Sharpe’s eyes and he saw her mute appeal, then the door ofthe shop was slammed shut and he heard the bar dropping into place.Whooping Highlanders had discovered a tavern and were setting up shop,while another Highlander was calmly reading his Bible while sitting ona brassbound trunk he had pulled from a goldsmith’s shop.“It’s a fine day, Sergeant,” he said equably, though he took care tokeep his hand on his musket until Sharpe had safely gone past.Another woman screamed in an alley, and Sharpe instinctively headedtowards the terrible sound. He discovered a riotous mob of sepoysfighting with a small squad of whitejacketed soldiers who had to beamong the very last of the city’s defenders still in recognizableuniforms.

They were led by a very young European officer who flailed a slendersword from his saddle, but just as Sharpe caught sight of him, theofficer was caught from behind by a bayonet. He arched his back, andhis mouth opened in a silent scream as his sword faltered, then a massof dark hands reached up and hauled him down from his white-eyed horse.Bayonets plunged down, then the officer’s blood-soaked uniform wasbeing rifled for money.Beyond the dead officer, and also on horseback, was a woman. She waswearing European clothes and had a white net veil hanging from the brimof her straw hat, and it was her scream that Sharpe had heard. Herhorse had been trapped against a wall and she was clinging to a roofbeam that jutted just above her head. She was sitting sidesaddle,facing the street and screaming as excited sepoys clawed at her. Othersepoys were looting a pack mule that had been following her horse, andshe turned and shouted at them to stop, then gasped as two men caughther legs.“No!” she shouted. A small riding whip hung from a loop about herright wrist and she tried letting go of the roof beam and slashing downwith the leather thong, but the defiance only made her predicamentworse.

Sharpe used his musket butt to hammer his way through the sepoys.He was a good six inches taller than any of them, and much stronger,and he used his anger as a weapon to drive them aside. He kicked a manaway from the slaughtered officer, stepped over the body, and swung themusket butt into the skull of one of the men trying to pull the womanfrom her horse. That man went down and Sharpe turned the musket anddrove its muzzle into the belly of the second sepoy. That man doubledover and staggered backwards, but just then a third man seized thehorse’s bridle and yanked it out from the wall so fast that the womanfell back onto the roadway. The sepoys, seeing her upended with herlong legs in the air, shouted in triumph and surged forward and Sharpewhirled the musket like a club to drive them backwards. One of themaimed his musket at Sharpe who stared him in the eyes.“Go on, you bastard,” Sharpe said, “I dare you.“The sepoys decided not to make a fight of it. There were other womenin the city and so they backed away.

A few paused to plunder the deadEuropean officer, while others finished looting the woman’s pack mulewhich had been stripped of its load and grinning sepoys now tore aparther linen dresses, stockings and shawls. The woman was kneeling behindSharpe, shaking and sobbing, and so he turned and took her by theelbow.“Come on, love,” he said, ‘you’re all right now. Safe now.“She stood. Her hat had come off when she fell from her horse and herdishevelled golden hair hung about her pale face. Sharpe saw she wastall, had an impression that she was pretty even though her blue eyeswere wide with shock and she was still shaking. He stooped for herhat.“You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards, you do,“he said, then shook the dust off her hat and held it out to her. Herhorse was standing free in the street, so he grabbed the beast’s bridlethen led woman and animal to a nearby gateway that opened into acourtyard.

“Have to look after your horse,” he said, ‘valuable things, horses. Youknow how a trooper gets a replacement mount?” He was not entirely surewhy he was talking so much and he did not even know if the womanunderstood him, but he sensed that if he stopped talking she wouldburst into tears again and so he kept up his chatter.“If a trooper loses his horse he has to prove it’s died, see?To show he hasn’t sold it. So he chops off a hoof. They carry littleaxes for that, some of them do. Can’t sell a three-footed horse, see?He shows the hoof to his officers and they issue a new horse.“There was a rope bed in the courtyard and he led the woman to it.She sat and cuffed at her face.“They said you wouldn’t come for three more days,” she said bitterly ina strong accent.“We were in a hurry, love,” Sharpe said.

She had still not taken thehat so he crouched and held it close to her.“Are you French?“She nodded. She had begun to cry again and tears were running down hercheeks.“It’s all right,” he said, ‘you’re safe now.” Then he saw the weddingring on her finger and a terrible thought struck him. Had thewhite-coated officer been her husband? And had she watched him hackeddown in front of her?“That officer,” he said, jerking his head towards the street wheresepoys were kicking at doors and forcing shuttered windows with theirfire locks ‘was he your husband, love?“She shook her head.“Oh, no,” she said, ‘no. He was a lieutenant. My husband is acaptain.” She at last took the hat, then sniffed.

I’m sorry.“Nothing to be sorry about,” Sharpe said, ‘except you had a nastyfright. It’s all right now.“She took a deep breath, then wiped her eyes.“I seem to be crying always.” She looked into Sharpe’s eyes.“Life is always tears, isn’t it?“Not for me, love, no. Haven’t had a weep since I was a kid, not thatI can remember.“She shrugged.“Thank you,” she said, gesturing towards the street where she had beenassailed by the sepoys.

“Thank you.“Sharpe smiled.“I didn’t do anything, love, ‘cept drive the buggers off. A dog couldhave done that as well as me. Are you all right? You weren’t hurt?“No.“He patted her hand.“Your husband went without you, did he?“He sent Lieutenant Silliere to fetch me. No, he didn’t. Major Doddsent Silliere.“Dodd?” Sharpe asked.

The woman heard the interest in Sharpe’s voice.“You know him?“she asked.“I know of him,” Sharpe said carefully.“Ain’t met him, not properly.“She studied Sharpe’s face.“You don’t like him?“I hate him, Ma’am.“I hate him too.” She shrugged.“I am called Simone. Simone Joubert.

“It’s a pretty name, Ma’am. Simone? Very pretty.“She smiled at his clumsy gallantry.“You have a name?“Richard Sharpe, Ma’am, Sergeant Richard Sharpe, King’s 33rd.“Richard,” she said, trying it out, ‘it suits you. Richard the LionHeart yes?“He was a great one for fighting, Ma’am.“For fighting the French, Sergeant,” she said reprovingly.“Someone has to,” Sharpe said with a grin, and Simone Joubert laughedand at that moment Sharpe thought she was the prettiest girl he hadseen in years. Maybe not really pretty, but vivacious and blue eyedand golden-haired and smiling. But an officer’s woman, Sharpe toldhimself, an officer’s woman.

“You must not fight the French, Sergeant,” Simone said.“I won’t let you.“If it looks like it’s going to happen, Ma’am, then I’ll let you knowand you’ll have to hold me down.“She laughed again, then sighed. A fire had broken out not far away andscraps of burning thatch were floating in the warm air.One of the smuts landed on Simone’s white dress and she brushed at it,smearing the black ash into the weave.“They have taken everything,” she said sadly.“I had little enough, but it is gone. All my clothes! All!“Then you get more,” Sharpe said.“What with? This?” She showed him a tiny purse hanging from herwaist.

“What will happen to me, Sergeant?“You’ll be all right, Ma’am. You’ll be looked after. You’re anofficer’s wife, aren’t you? So our officers will make sure you’re allright. They’ll probably send you back to your husband.“Simone gave him a dutiful smile and Sharpe wondered why she was notoverjoyed at the thought of being reunited with her captain, then heforgot the question as a ragged volley of shots sounded in the streetand he turned to see an Arab staggering in the gateway, his robesbright with blood, and an instant later a halfdozen Highlanders leapedonto the twitching body and began to tear its clothing apart. One ofthem slit the victim’s robes with his bayonet and Sharpe saw that thedying man had a fine pair of riding boots.“There’s a woman!” one of the looters shouted, seeing Simone in thecourtyard, but then he saw Sharpe’s levelled musket and he raised aplacatory hand.“All yours, eh? No trouble, Sergeant, no trouble.” Then the mantwisted to look down the street and shouted a warning to his comradesand the six men took to their heels. A moment later a file of sepoysshowed in the gateway under the command of a mounted officer.

Theywere the first disciplined troops Sharpe had seen in the city and theywere restoring order. The officer peered into the courtyard, sawnothing amiss, and so ordered his men onwards. A half company ofkilted redcoats followed the sepoys and Sharpe assumed that Wellesleyhad ordered the picquets of the day into the city. The picquets, whoprovided the sentries for the army, were made up of half companies fromevery battalion.There was a well in the corner of the yard and Sharpe hauled up itsleather bucket to give himself and Simone a drink. He brought up morewater for the Frenchwoman’s horse, and just then heard McCandlessshouting his name through the streets.“Here, sir!” he called back.“Here!“It took a moment or two for McCandless to find him, and when he did theScotsman was furious.“Where were you, man?” the Colonel demanded querulously.“He got away! Clean away! Marched away like a toy soldier!” He hadremounted his gelding and stared imperiously down on Sharpe from hissaddle.

“Got clean away!“Couldn’t find men, sir, sorry, sir,” Sharpe said.“Just one company! That’s all we needed!” McCandless said angrily,then he noticed Simone Joubert and snatched off his hat.“Ma’am,” he said, nodding his head.“This is Colonel McCandless, Ma’am,” Sharpe made the introduction.“And this is Simone, sir.” He could not recall her surname.“Madame Joubert,” Simone introduced herself.McCandless scowled at her. He had ever been awkward in the presence ofwomen, and he had nothing to say to this young woman so he justglowered at Sharpe instead.“All I needed was one company, Sharpe.

One company!“He was rescuing me, Colonel,” Simone said.“So I surmised, Madame, so I surmised,” the Colonel said unhappily,implying that Sharpe had been wasting his time. More smuts swirled inthe smoke down to the yard, while in the street beyond the gateway thepicquets were hauling looters from the shops and houses. McCandlessstared irritably at Simone who gazed placidly back. The Scotsman was agentleman and knew the woman was now his responsibility, but heresented the duty. He cleared his throat, then found he still hadnothing to say.“Madame Joubert’s husband, sir,” Sharpe said, ‘serves in Dodd’sregiment.“He does, does he?” McCandless asked, showing sudden interest.“My husband hoped to take command of the regiment when Colonel Mathersleft,” Simone explained, ‘but, alas, Major Dodd arrived.” Sheshrugged.

The Colonel frowned.“Why didn’t you leave with your husband?“he demanded sternly.“That is what I was trying to do, Colonel.“And you were caught, eh?” The Colonel patted his horse which had beendistracted by one of the burning scraps of straw.“Tell me, Ma’am, do you have quarters in the city?“I did, Colonel, I did. Though if anything is left now

?” Simoneshrugged again, implying that she expected to find the quartersransacked.“You have servants?“The landlord had servants and we used them. My husband has a groom,of course.“But you have somewhere to stay, Ma’am,” McCandless demanded.“I suppose so, yes.

” Simone paused.“But I am alone, Colonel.“Sergeant Sharpe will look after you, Ma’am,” McCandless said, then athought struck him forcibly.“You don’t mind doing that, do you, Sharpe?” he enquired anxiously.“I’ll manage, sir,” Sharpe said.“And I am just to stay here?” Simone demanded fiercely.“Nothing else? That is all you propose, Colonel?“I propose, Ma’am, to reunite you with your husband,” McCandless said,‘but it will take time. A day or two. You must be patient.“I am sorry, Colonel,” Simone said, regretting the tone of thequestions she had shot at McCandless.

“I’m sorry to give you so unfortunate a duty, Sharpe,” McCandless said,‘but keep the lady safe till we can arrange things. Send word to mewhere you are, and I’ll come and find you when everything’sarranged.“Yes, sir.“The Colonel turned and spurred out of the courtyard. His spirits,which had collapsed when Dodd had marched out of the city’s northerngate, were reviving again for he saw in Simone Joubert a God-sentopportunity to ride into the heart of his enemy’s army. Restoring thewoman to her husband might do nothing to visit the vengeance of theCompany on Dodd, but it would surely be an unparalleled opportunity toscout Scindia’s forces and so McCandless rode to fetch Wellesley’spermission for such an excursion, while Simone led Sharpe through theexhausted streets to find her house. On their way they passed an oxcart that had been tipped backwards and weighted down with stones sothat its single shaft pointed skywards. A sepoy hung from the shaft’stip by his neck. The man was not quite dead yet and so made smallspasmodic motions, and officers, both Scottish and Indian, were forcingsheepish and half-drunken men to stare at the dying sepoy as a reminderof the fate that awaited plunderers. Simone shuddered and Sharpehurried her past, her horse’s reins in his left hand.

“Here, Sergeant,” she said, leading him into an alley that was litteredwith discarded plunder. Above them smoke drifted across a city wherewomen wept and redcoats patrolled the walls. Ahmednuggur had fallen.Major Dodd had misjudged Wellesley, and that misjudgement shook him. Anescalade seemed too intrepid, too headstrong, for the man Dodd deridedas Boy Wellesley. It was neither what Dodd had expected nor what hehad wanted from Wellesley. Dodd had wanted caution, for a cautiousenemy is more easily defeated, but instead Wellesley had shown ascathing contempt for Ahmednuggur’s defenders and launched an assaultthat should have been easily beaten back. If Dodd’s men had been onthe ramparts directly in the path of the assault then the attack wouldhave been defeated, of that Dodd had no doubt, for there had only beenfour ladders deployed and that small number made the ease and swiftnessof the British victory even more humiliating. It suggested thatGeneral Sir Arthur Wellesley possessed a confidence that neither hisage nor experience should have provided, and it also suggested thatDodd might have underestimated Wellesley, and that worried him. Dodd’sdecision to desert to Pohlmann’s army had been forced on him bycircumstance, but he had not regretted the decision, for Europeanofficers who served the Mahratta chiefs were notorious for the richesthey made, and the Mahratta armies far outnumbered their Britishopponents and were thus likely to be the winners of this war, but ifthe British were suddenly to prove invincible there would be no richesand no victory.

There would only be defeat and ignominious flight.And so, as he rode away from the fallen city, Dodd was inclined toascribe Wellesley’s sudden success to beginner’s luck. Dodd persuadedhimself that the escalade must have been a foolish gamble that had beenunfairly rewarded with victory. It had been a rash strategy, Dodd toldhimself, and though it had succeeded, it could well tempt Wellesleyinto rashness again, and next time the rashness would surely bepunished.Thus Dodd attempted to discover good news within the bad.Captain Joubert could find no good news. He rode just behind Dodd andcontinually turned in his saddle for a glimpse of Simone’s white dressamong the fugitives that streamed from the northern gate, but there wasno sign of her, nor of Lieutenant Silliere, and each disappointmentmade Pierre Joubert’s loss harder to bear. He felt a tear prickle atthe corner of his eye, and then the thought that his young Simone mightbe raped made the tear run down his cheek.“What the hell are you blubbing about?” Dodd demanded.“Something in my eye,” Joubert answered.

He wished he could be moredefiant, but he felt belittled by the Englishman and unable to stand upto his bullying. In truth Pierre Joubert had felt belittled for mostof his life. His small stature and timid nature made him a target, andhe had been the obvious choice when his regiment in France had beenordered to find one officer who could be sent as an adviser to Scindia,the Maharajah of Gwalior. They had chosen Joubert, the one officer noone would miss, but the unpopular posting had brought Joubert the onestroke of good fortune that had ever come his way when the shipbringing him to India had stopped at the lie de France. He had metSimone, he had wooed her, he had won her, and he was proud of her,intensely proud, for he knew other men found her attractive and Joubertmight have enjoyed that subtle flattery had he not known howdesperately unhappy she was. He put her unhappiness down to thevagaries of a newly married woman’s temperament and to the heat ofIndia. He consoled himself with the thought that in a year or two hewould be summoned back to France and there Simone would learncontentment in the company of his huge family. She would become amother, learn to keep house and so accept her comfortable fate. Solong, that was, as she had survived Ahmednuggur’s fall. He spurred hishorse alongside Dodd’s.

“You were right, Colonel,” the Frenchman said grudgingly.“There was nothing to be gained by fighting.“He was making conversation in order to keep his mind away from hisfears for Simone.Dodd acknowledged the compliment with a grunt.“I’m sorry about Madame Joubert,” he forced himself to say.“The British will send news, I’m sure,” Joubert said, clinging to ahope that Simone would have been rescued by some gallant officer.“But a soldier’s best off without a woman,” Dodd said, then twisted inhis saddle to look at the rear guard”Sikal’s company is lagging,” he told Joubert.“Tell the buggers to hurry up!” He watched Joubert ride away, thenspurred to the head of the column where his vanguard marched with fixedbayonets and charged muskets.The regiment might have escaped from Ahmednuggur, but it was not yetclear of all danger. British and Mahratta cavalry had ridden aroundthe city to harass any of the garrison who might succeed in escaping,and those horsemen now threatened both flanks of Dodd’s column, buttheir threat was small.

Scores of other men were fleeing the city, andthose fugitives, because they were not marching in disciplinedformations, made much easier targets for the horsemen who gleefullyswooped and circled about the refugees. Dodd watched as lances andsabres slashed into the scattered fugitives, but if any of the horsemencame too close to his own whitejacketed ranks he called a company tohalt, turned it outwards and made them level their muskets. The threatof a volley was usually enough to drive the horsemen to search foreasier pickings, and not one of the enemy came within pistol shot ofDodd’s ranks. Once, when the column was some two miles north of thecity, a determined squadron of British dragoons tried to head off theregiment’s march, but Dodd ordered two of fl|s small cannon to beunlimbered and their paltry round shots, bouncing across the flat, dryground, were sufficient to make the blue-coated horsemen veer away tofind another angle of attack. Dodd reinforced the threat by having hislead company fire one volley of musketry which, even though it was atlong range, succeeded in unhoiJng one dragoon. Dodd watched thedefeated horsemen ride away and felt a surge of pride in his newregiment. This was the first time he had observed them in action, andthough the excited cavalry was hardly a worthy foe, the men’s calmnessand efficiency were entirely praiseworthy. None of them hurried, noneshot a ramrod out in panic, none seemed unsettled by the sudden, savagefall of the city and none had shown any reluctance to fire on thecivilians who had threatened to obstruct their escape through the northgate. Instead they had bitten the enemy like a cobra defending itself,and that gave Dodd an idea. The Cobras! That was what he would callhis regiment, the Cobras! He reckoned the name would inspire his menand put fear into an enemy.

Dodd’s Cobras. He liked the thought.Dodd soon left his pursuers far behind. At least four hundred othermen, most of them Arabs, had attached themselves to his regiment and hewelcomed them for the more men he brought from the disaster, the higherhis reputation would stand with Colonel Pohlmann. By early afternoonhis Cobras had reached the crest of the escarpment that looked acrossthe vast Deccan plain to where, far in the hazy distance, he could seethe brown River Godavery snaking through the dry land.Beyond that river was safety. Behind him the road was empty, but heknew it would not be long before the pursuing cavalry reappeared. Theregiment had paused on the escarpment’s edge and Dodd let them rest fora while. Some of the fugitive Arabs were horsemen and Dodd sent thosemen ahead to find a village that would yield food for his regiment.He guessed he would need to camp short of the Godavery, but tomorrow hewould find a way to cross, and a day or so later he would march withflying colours into Pohlmann’s camp.

Ahmednuggur might have fallenlike a rotted tree, but Dodd had brought his regiment out for the lossof only a dozen men. He regretted those twelve men, though not theloss of Silliere, but he particularly regretted that Simone Joubert hadfailed to escape from the city. Dodd had sensed her dislike of him,and he had taken a piquant delight in the thought of cuckolding herdespised husband in spite of that dislike, but it seemed that pleasuremust be forgotten or at least postponed. Not that it mattered. He hadsaved his regiment and saved his guns and the future promised plenty ofprofitable employment for both.So William Dodd marched north a happy man.Simone led Sharpe to three small rooms on an upper floor of a housethat smelt as though it belonged to a tanner. One room had a table andfour mismatched chairs, two of which had been casually broken bylooters, the second had been given over to a huge hip bath, while thethird held nothing but a straw mattress that had been slit open and itsstuffing scattered over the floorboards.“I thought men joined Scindia to become rich,” Sharpe said inwonderment at the cramped, ill-furnished rooms.Simone sat on one of the undamaged chairs and looked close to tears.

Tierre is not a mercenary,” she said, ‘but an adviser. His salary ispaid by France, not by Scindia, and what money he makes, he saves.“He certainly doesn’t spend it, does he?” Sharpe asked, looking aboutthe small grubby rooms.“Where are the servants?“Downstairs. They work for the house owner.“Sharpe had spotted a broom in the stable where they had put Simone’shorse, so now he went and fetched it. He drew a pail of water from thewell and climbed the steps that ran up the side of the house todiscover that Simone had not moved, except to hide her face in herhands, and so he set about cleaning up the mess himself. Whichever menhad searched the rooms for loot had decided to use the bath as alavatory, so he began by dragging it to the window, throwing open theshutters and pouring the contents into the alley. Then he sloshed thebath with water and scrubbed it with a dirty towel.“The landlord is very proud of the bath’ Simone had come to the doorand was watching him ‘and makes us pay extra.

“I’ve never had a proper bath.” Sharpe gave the zinc tub a slap. Heassumed it must have been brought to India by a European, for theoutside was painted with square-rigged ships.“How do you fill it?“The servants do it. It takes a long time, and even then it’s usuallycold.“I’ll have them fill it for you, if you want.“Simone shrugged.“We need food first.“Who cooks? Don’t tell me, the servants downstairs?“But we have to buy the food.” She touched the purse at her waist.

“Don’t worry about money, love,” Sharpe said.“Can you sew?“My needles were on the packhorse.“I’ve got a sewing kit,” Sharpe said, and he took the broom through tothe bedroom and swept up the straw and stuffed it into the slitmattress.Then he took the sewing kit from his pack, gave it to Simone, and toldher to sew the mattress together.“I’ll find some food while you do that,” he said, and went out with hispack. The city was silent now, its survivors cowering from theirconquerors, but he managed to barter a handful of cartridges for somebread, some lentil paste and some mangoes. He was stopped twice bypatrolling redcoats and sepoys, but his sergeant’s stripes and ColonelMcCandless’s name convinced the officers he was not up to mischief. Hefound the body of the Arab who had been shot just outside the courtyardwhere he had sheltered Simone and dragged the riding boots off thecorpse. They were fine boots of red leather with hawk-claw steelspurs, and Sharpe hoped they would fit. Nearby, in an alley, hediscovered a pile of silk saris evidently dropped by a looter and hegathered up the whole bundle before hurrying back to Simone’s rooms.

He pushed open the door.“Even got you some sheets,” he called, then dropped the bundle of silksbecause Simone had screamed from the bedroom. Sharpe ran to the doorto see her facing three Indians who now turned to confront him. Onewas an older man dressed in a dark tunic richly embroidered withflowers, while the younger two were in simple white robes.“You got trouble?” Sharpe asked Simone.The older man snarled at Sharpe, letting loose a stream of words inMarathi.“Shut your face,” Sharpe said, “I was talking to the lady.“It is the house owner,” Simone said, gesturing to the man in theembroidered tunic.“He wants you out?” Sharpe guessed, and Simone nodded.“Reckons he can get a better rent from a British officer, is that it?“Sharpe asked.

He put his food on the floor, then walked to thelandlord.“You want more rent? Is that it?“The landlord stepped back from Sharpe and said something to his twoservants who closed in on either side of the redcoat. Sharpe slammedhis right elbow into the belly of one and stamped his left foot ontothe instep of the other, then grabbed both men’s heads and brought themtogether with a crack. He let go of them and they staggered away in adaze as Sharpe pulled the bayonet from its sheath and smiled at thelandlord.“She wants a bath, you understand? Bath.“He pointed at the room where the bath stood.“And she wants it hot, you greedy bastard, hot and steaming. And sheneeds food.” He pointed at the miserable pile of food.“You cook it, we eat it, and if you want to make any other changes, youbastard, you talk to me first.

Understand?“One of the servants had recovered enough to intervene and was unwiseenough to try to tug Sharpe away from his master. The servant was abig and young man, but he had none of Sharpe’s ferocity. Sharpe hithim hard, hit him again, kneed him in the crotch, and by then theservant was halfway across the living-room floor and Sharpe pursuedhim, hauled him upright, hit him again and that last blow took theservant onto the small balcony at the top of the outside stairs.“Go and break a leg, you sod,” Sharpe said, and tipped the man over thebalustrade. He heard the man cry out as he fell into the alley, butSharpe had already turned back towards the bedroom.“Have we still got a problem?” he demanded of the landlord.The man did not understand a word of English, but he understood Sharpeby now. There was no problem. He backed out of the rooms, followed byhis remaining servant, and Sharpe went with them to the stairs.“Food,” he said, pushing the bread, lentils and fruit into the hands ofthe cowed landlord.

“And Madame’s horse needs cleaning and watering. And feeding. Horse,there, see?” He pointed into the courtyard.“Feed the bugger,” he ordered. The servant he had pushed over thebalcony had propped himself against the alley’s far wall where he wasgingerly touching his bleeding nose. Sharpe spat on him for goodmeasure, then went back inside.“I never did like landlords,” he said mildly.Simone was half laughing and half afraid that the landlord would exacta terrible vengeance.“Pierre was afraid of him,” she explained, ‘and he knows we arepoor.“You’re not poor, love, you’re with me,” Sharpe said.

“Rich Richard?” Simone said, pleased to have made a joke in a foreignlanguage.“Richer then you know, love. How much thread is left?“Thread? Ah, for the needle. You have plenty, why?“Because, my love, you can do me a favour,” he said, and he strippedoff his pack, his belt and his jacket.“I’m not that handy with a needle,” he explained.“I can patch and darn, of course, but what I need now is some fineneedlework. Real fine.” He sat, and Simone, intrigued, sat oppositeand watched as he tipped out the contents of his pack. There were twospare shirts, his spare foot cloths, a blacking ball, a brush and thetin of flour he was supposed to use on his clubbed hair, though eversince he had ridden from Seringapatam with McCandless he had let hishair go un powdered He took out his stock, which he had similarlyabandoned, then the copy of Gulliver’s Travels that Mister Lawford hadgiven him so he could practise his reading. He had neglected thatlately, and the book was damp and had lost some of its pages.

“You can read?” Simone asked, touching the book with a tentativefinger.“I’m not very good.“I like to read.“Then you can help me get better, eh?” Sharpe said, and he pulled outthe folded piece of leather that was for repairing his shoes, andbeneath that was a layer of sacking. He took that out, then tipped therest of the pack’s contents onto the table. Simone gasped. There wererubies and emeralds and pearls, there was gold and more emeralds andsapphires and diamonds and one great ruby half the size of a hen’segg.“The thing is,” Sharpe said, ‘that there’s bound to be a battle beforethis Scindia fellow learns his lesson, and as like as not we won’t wearpacks in a battle, on account of them being too heavy, see? So I don’twant to leave this lot in my pack to be looted by some bastard of abaggage guard.“Simone touched one of the stones, then looked up at Sharpe withwonderment in her eyes. He was not sure that it was wise to show herthe treasure, for such things were best kept very secret, but he knewhe was trying to impress her, and it was evident that he had.

“Yours?” she asked.“All mine,” he said.Simone shook her blonde head in amazement, then began arranging thestones into ranks and files. She formed platoons of emeralds, platoonsof rubies and another of pearls, there was a company of sapphires and askirmish line of diamonds, and all of them were commanded by the greatruby.“That belonged to the Tippoo Sultan,” Sharpe said, touching the ruby.“He wore it in his hat.“The Tippoo? He’s dead, isn’t he?” Simone asked.“And me it was who killed him,” Sharpe said proudly.“It wasn’t really a hat, it was a cloth helmet, see? And the ruby wasright in the middle, and he reckoned he couldn’t die because the hathad been dipped in the fountain of Zum-Zum.“Simone smiled.

“Zum-Zum?“It’s in Mecca. Wherever the hell Mecca is. Didn’t work, though. Iput a bullet in his skull, right through the bloody hat. Might as wellhave dunked it in the Thames for all the good it did him.“You are rich!” Simone said.The problem was how to stay rich. Sharpe had not had time to makefalse compartments in the new pack and pouch that had replaced those hehad burned at Chasalgaon, and so he had kept the stones loose in hispack. He had a layer of emeralds at the bottom of his new cartridgepouch, where they would be safe enough, but he needed secure hidingplaces for the other jewels. He gave a file of diamonds to Simone andshe tried to refuse, then shyly accepted the stones and held oneagainst the side of her nose where fashionable Indian women often worejust such a jewel.

“How does it look?” she asked.“Like a piece of expensive snot.“She stuck her tongue out at him.“It’s beautiful,” she said. She peered at the diamond that still hadits black velvet backing so that the stone would shine more brightly,then she opened her purse.“Are you sure?“Go on, girl, take them.“How do I explain them to Pierre?“You say you found them on a dead body after the fight. He’ll believethat.” He watched her put the diamonds in the purse.“I have to hide the rest,” he explained to her.

He reckoned some ofthe stones could go in his canteen, where they would rattle a bit whenit was dry, and he would have to take care when drinking in case heswallowed a fortune, but that still left a mound of gems unhidden. Heused his knife to slit open a seam of his red coat and began feedingthe small rubies into the slot, but the stones bunched along the bottomhem and the bulge was an advertisement to every soldier that he wascarrying plunder.“See what I mean?” He showed Simone the bulging seam.She took the coat, fetched Sharpe’s sewing kit from the bedroom, andthen began to trap each gem in its own small pouch of the openedseam.The job took her all afternoon, and when she was finished the red coatwas twice as heavy. The most difficult stone to hide was the hugeruby, but Sharpe solved that by unwinding his long hair from the shotweighted bag that clubbed it, then slitting open the bag and emptyingthe shot. He filled the bag with the ruby and with whatever smallstones were left, then Simone rewound his hair about the bag. Bynightfall the jewels had vanished.They ate by lamplight. The bath had never been filled, but Simone saidshe had taken one a week before so it did not matter.

Sharpe had madea brief excursion in the dusk and had returned with two clay bottlesfilled with arrack, and they drank the liquor in the gloom. Theytalked, they laughed, and at last the oil in the lamp ran dry and theflame flickered out to leave the room lit by shafts of moonlight comingthrough the filigree shutters. Simone had fallen silent and Sharpeknew she was thinking of bed.“I brought you some sheets.” He pointed to the saris.She looked up at him from under her fringe.“And where will you sleep, Sergeant Sharpe?“I’ll find a place, love.“It was the first time he had slept in silk, not that he noticed, soshowing her the gems had not been such a bad idea after all.He woke to the crowing of cockerels and the bang of a twelve poundergun, a reminder that the world and the war went on.Major Stokes had decided that the real problem with the Rajah’s clockwas its wooden bearings.

They swelled in damp weather, and he washappily contemplating the problem of making a new set of bearings outof brass when the twitching Sergeant reappeared in his office.“You again,” the Major greeted him.“Can’t remember your name.“Hakeswill, sir. Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill.“Punishment on Edom, eh?” the Major said, wondering whether to cast ordrill the brass.“Edom, sir? Edom?“The prophet Obadiah, Sergeant, foretells punishment on Edom,” theMajor said.“He threatened it with fire and captivity, as I recall.“He doubtless had his reasons, sir,” Hakeswill said, his face jerkingin its uncontrollable spasms, ‘like I have mine. It’s Sergeant SharpeI’m after, sir.

“Not here, Sergeant, alas. The place falls apart!“He’s gone, sir?” Hakeswill demanded.“Summoned away, Sergeant, by higher authority. Not my doing, not mydoing at all. If it was up to me I’d keep Sharpe here for ever, but aColonel McCandless demanded him and when colonels demand, mere majorscomply. So far as I know, which isn’t much, they went to join GeneralWellesley’s forces.” The Major was now rummaging through a woodenchest.“We had some fine augers, I know. Same ones we use on touch-holes. Notthat we ever did.

Haven’t had to rebore a touch-hole yet.“McCandless, sir?“A Company colonel, but still a colonel. I’ll need a round-file too, Isuspect.“I knows Colonel McCandless, sir,” Hakeswill said gloomily. He hadshared the Tippoo’s dungeons with McCandless and Sharpe, and he knewthe Scotsman disliked him. Which did not matter by itself, forHakeswill did not like McCandless either, but the Scotsman was acolonel and, as Major Stokes had intimated, when colonels demand, othermen obey. Colonel McCandless, Hakeswill decided, could be a problem.But a problem that could wait. The urgent need was to catch up withSharpe.“Do you have any convoys going north, sir? To the army, sir?“One leaves tomorrow,” Stokes said helpfully, ‘carrying ammunition.

But have you authority to travel?“I have authority, sir, I have authority.” Hakeswill touched the pouchwhere he kept the precious warrant. He was angry that Sharpe had gone,but knew there was little point in displaying the anger. The thing wasto catch up with the quarry, and then God would smile on ObadiahHakeswill’s fortunes.He explained as much to his detail of six men as they drank in one ofSeringapatam’s soldiers’ taverns. So far the six men only knew thatthey were ordered to arrest Sergeant Sharpe, but Hakeswill had longworked out that he needed to share more information with his chosen menif they were to follow him enthusiastically, especially if they were tofollow him northwards to where Wellesley was fighting the Mahrattas.Hakeswill considered them all good men, by which he meant that theywere all cunning, violent and biddable, but he still had to make sureof their loyalty.“Sharpie’s rich,” he told them.“Drinks when he likes, whores when he likes. He’s rich.

“He works in the stores,” Private Kendrick explained.“Always on the fiddle, the stores.“And he never gets caught? He can’t be fiddling that much,” Hakeswillsaid, his face twitching.“You want to know the truth of Dick Sharpe? I’ll tell you. He was thelucky bugger what caught the Tippoo at Seringapatam.“Course heweren’t!” Flaherty said.“So who was it?” Hakeswill challenged them.“And why was Sharpie made up into a sergeant after the battle? Heshouldn’t be a sergeant! He ain’t experienced.“He fought well. That’s what Mister Lawford says.

“no”Mister bloody Lawford,” Hakeswill said scathingly.“Sharpie didn’t get noticed for fighting well! Bleeding hell, boys,I’d be a major-general if that’s all it took! No, it’s my belief hepaid his way up to the stripes.“Paid?” The privates stared at Hakeswill.“Stands to reason. No other way. Says so in the scriptures! Bribes,boys, bribes, and I knows where he got the money. I know ‘cos Ifollowed him once. Here in Seringapatam. Down to the goldsmiths’street, he went, and he did his business and after he done it I went tosee the fellow he did it with. He didn’t want to tell me what thebusiness was, but I thumped him a bit, friendly like, and he showed mea ruby.

Like this it was!” The Sergeant held a finger and thumb a quarter-inchapart.“Sharpie was selling it, see? And where does Sharpie get a prime bitof glitter?“Off the Tippoo?” Kendrick said wonderingly.“And do you know how much loot the Tippoo had? Weighed down with it,he was! Had more stones on him than a Christmas whore, and you knowwhere those stones are?“Sharpe,” Flaherty breathed.“Right, Private Flaherty,” Hakeswill said.“Sewn into his uniform seams, in his boots, hidden in his pouches,tucked away in his hat. A bloody fortune, lads, which is why when wegets him, we don’t want him to get back to the battalion, do we?“The six men stared at Hakeswill. They knew they were his favourites,and all of them were in his debt, but now they realized he was givingthem even more reason to be grateful.“Equal shares, Sergeant?” Private Lowry asked.“Equal shares?” Hakeswill exclaimed.“Equal? Listen, you horrid toad, you wouldn’t have no chance of anyshare, not one, if it wasn’t for my loving kindness.

Who chose you tocome on this parish outing?“You did, Sergeant.“I did. I did. Kindness of my heart, and you repays it by wantingequal shares?” HakeswilPs face shuddered.“I’ve half a mind to send you back, Lowry.” He looked aggrieved andthe privates were silent.“Ingratitude,” Hakeswill said in a hurt voice, ‘sharp as a serpent’stooth, it is. Equal shares! Never heard the like! But I’ll see youright, don’t you worry.” He took out the precious orders for Sharpe’sarrest and smoothed the paper on the table, carefully avoiding thespills of arrack.“Look at that, boys,” he breathed, ‘a fortune.

Half for me, and youleprous toads get to share the other half. Equally.” He paused toprod inLowry in the chest.“Equally. But I gets one half, like it says in the scriptures.” Hefolded the paper and put it carefully in his pouch.“Shot while escaping,” Hakeswill said, and grinned.“I’ve waited four years for this chance, lads, four bloody years.” Hebrooded for a few seconds.“Put me in among the tigers, he did! Me! In a tigers’ den!” His facecontorted in a rictus at the memory.

“But they spared me, they spared me. And you know why? Because Ican’t die, lads! Touched by God, I am! Says so in the scriptures.“The six privates were silent. Mad, he was, mad as a twitching hatter,and no one knew why hatters were mad either, but they were. Even thearmy was reluctant to recruit a hatter because they dribbled andtwitched and talked to themselves, but they had taken on Hakeswill andhe had survived; malevolent, powerful and apparently indestructible.Sharpe had put him among the Tippoo’s tigers, yet the tigers were deadand Hakeswill still breathed. He was a bad man to have as an enemy,and now the piece of paper in Hakeswill’s pouch put Sharpe into hispower and Obadiah could taste the money already. A fortune.All that was needed was to travel north, join the army, produce thewarrant and skin the victim. Obadiah shuddered.

The money was so nearhe could almost spend it already.“Got him,” he said to himself, ‘got him. And I’ll piss on his rottencorpse, I will. Piss on it good.That’ll learn him.“The seven men left Seringapatam in the morning, travelling north.

CHAPTER 5

Sharpe was curiously relieved when Colonel McCandless found him nextmorning, for the mood in the small upper rooms was awkward.Simone seemed ashamed by what had happened in the night and, whenSharpe tried to speak to her, she shook her head abruptly and would notmeet his eye. She did try to explain to him, mumbling about the arrackand the jewels, and about her disappointment in marriage, but she couldnot frame her words in adequate English, though no language was neededto show that she regretted what had happened, which was why Sharpe wasglad to hear McCandless’s voice in the alley beyond the staircase.“I thought I told you to let me know where you were!” McCandlesscomplained when Sharpe appeared at the top of the steps.

“I did, sir,” Sharpe lied.“I told an ensign of the 778th to find you, sir.“He never arrived!” McCandless said as he climbed the outsidestairs.“Are you telling me you spent the night alone with this woman,Sergeant?“You told me to protect her. sir.“I didn’t tell you to risk her honour! You should have sought meout.“Didn’t want to bother you, sir.“Duty is never a bother, Sharpe,” McCandless said when he reached thesmall balcony at the stair head.“The General expressed a wish to dine with Madame Joubert and I had toexplain she was indisposed. I lied, Sharpe!” The Colonel thrust anindignant finger at Sharpe’s chest.

“But what else could I do? I could hardly admit I’d left her alonewith a sergeant!“I’m sorry, sir.“There’s no harm done, I suppose,” McCandless said grudgingly,then took off his hat as he followed Sharpe into the living room whereSimone sat at the table.“Good morning, Madame,” the Colonel boomed cheerfully.“I trust you slept well?“Indeed, Colonel,” Simone said, blushing, but McCandless was far tooobtuse to see or to interpret the blush.“I have good news, Madame,” the Scotsman went on.“General Wellesley is agreeable that you should rejoin your husband.There is, however, a difficulty.” It was McCandless’s turn to blush.“I can provide no chaperone, Madame, and you do not possess a maid. Iassure you that you may rely utterly upon my honour, but your husbandmight object if you lack a female companion on the journey.

“Tierre will have no objection, Colonel,” Simone said meekly.“And I warrant Sergeant Sharpe will behave like a gentleman,“McCandless said with a fierce look at Sharpe.“He does, Colonel, he does,” Simone said, offering Sharpe a very shyglance.“Good!” McCandless said, relieved to be done with such a delicatetopic. He slapped his cocked hat against his leg.“No rain again,” he declared, ‘and I dare say it’ll be a hot day. Youcan be ready to ride in an hour, Madame?“In less, Colonel.“One hour will suffice, Madame. You will do me the honour, perhaps, ofmeeting me by the north gate? I’ll have your horse ready, Sharpe.“They left promptly, riding northwards past the battery that had beendug to hammer the fort’s big walls.

The battery’s four guns were meretwelve-pounders, scarce big enough to dent the fort’s wall, let alonebreak it down, but General Wellesley reckoned the garrison would be sodisheartened by the city’s swift defeat that even a few twelve-poundshots might persuade them into surrender. The four guns had openedfire at dawn, but their firing was sporadic until McCandless led hisparty out of the city when they suddenly all fired at once and Simone’shorse, startled by the unexpected noise, skittered sideways. Simonerode sidesaddle just behind the Colonel, while Sevajee and his menbrought up the rear. Sharpe was wearing boots at last; the tall redleather boots with steel spurs that he had dragged from the body of anArab.He glanced back as they rode away. He saw the huge jet of smoke burstfrom a twelve-pounder’s muzzle and a second later heard the percussivethump of the exploding charge and, just as that sound faded, a crack asthe ball struck the wall of the fort. Then the other three guns firedand he imagined the steam hissing into the air as the gunners pouredwater on the overheated barrels. The fort’s red walls blossomed withsmoke as the defenders’ cannon replied, but the pioneers had dug thegunners a deep battery and protected it with a thick wall of red earth,and the enemy’s fire wasted itself in those de fences Then Sharpe rodepast a grove of trees and the distant fight was hidden and the sound ofthe guns grew fainter and fainter as they rode farther north until, atlast, the sound of the cannonade was a mere grumbling on the horizon.Then they dropped down the escarpment and the noise of the guns fadedaway altogether.It was a disconsolate expedition.

Colonel McCandless had nothing tosay to Simone who was still withdrawn. Sharpe tried to cheer her up,but his clumsy attempts only made her more miserable and after a timehe too fell silent. Women were a mystery, he thought. During thenight Simone had clung to him as though she were drowning, but sincethe dawn it had seemed as if she would prefer to be drowned.“Horsemen on our right, Sergeant!” McCandless said, his tone a reproofthat Sharpe had not spotted the cavalry first.“Probably ours, but they could be enemy.“Sharpe stared eastwards.“They’re ours, sir,” he called, kicking his horse to catch up withMcCandless. One of the distant horsemen carried the new Union flag andSharpe’s good eyes had spotted the banner. The flag was easier torecognize at a distance these days, for since the incorporation ofIreland into the United Kingdom a new red diagonal cross had been addedto the flag, and though the new-faingled design looked odd andunfamiliar, it did make the banner stand out.

The cavalry left a plume of dust as they rode to intercept McCandless’sparty. Sevajee and his men cantered to meet them and Sharpe saw thetwo groups of horsemen greet each other warmly. The strangers turnedout to be bnndarries from the Mahratta states who, like Sevajee, hadsided with the British against Scindia. These mercenaries were underthe command of a British officer and, like Sevajee’s men, they carriedlances, tulwars, matchlock guns, flintlocks, pistols and bows andarrows.They wore no uniform, but a handful of the sixty men possessedbreastplates and most had metal helmets that were crested with feathersor horsehair plumes. Their officer, a dragoon captain, fell inalongsideMcCandless and reported seeing a white-coated battalion on the far sideof the River Godavery.“I didn’t try and cross, sir,” the Captain said, ‘for they weren’texactly friendly.“But you’re sure they had white coats?“No doubts at all, sir,” the Captain said, thus confirming that Doddmust have crossed the river already. He added that he had questionedsome grain merchants who had travelled south across the Godavery andthose men had told him that Pohlmann’s compoo was camped close toAurungabad. That city belonged to Hyderabad, but the merchants hadseen no evidence that the Mahrattas were preparing to besiege the citywalls.

The Captain tugged his reins, turning his horse southwards sohe could carry his news to Wellesley.“Bid you good day, Colonel. Your servant, Ma’am.” The dragoon officertouched his hat to Simone, then led his brigands away.McCandless decreed that they would camp that night on the south bank ofthe River Godavery where Sharpe rigged two horse blankets as a tent forSimone. Sevajee and his men made their beds on the bluff above theriver, a score of yards from the tent, and McCandless and Sharpe spreadtheir blankets alongside. The river was high, but it had still notfilled the steep-sided ravine that successive monsoons had scarred intothe flat earth and Sharpe guessed that the river was only at halfflood. If the belated monsoon did arrive the Godavery would swell intoa swirling torrent a full quarter-mile wide, but even half full theriver looked a formidable obstacle as it surged westwards with itsburden of flotsam.“Too deep to wade,” McCandless said as the sun fell.“Current looks strong, sir.

“It’ll sweep you to your death, man.“So how’s the army to cross it, sir?“With difficulty, Sharpe, with difficulty, but discipline alwaysovercomes difficulty. Dodd got across, so we surely can.” McCandlesshad been reading his Bible, but the falling dark now obscured the pagesand so he closed the book. Simone had eaten with them, but she hadbeen uncommunicative and McCandless was glad when she withdrew behindher blankets.“Women upset matters,” the Scotsman said unhappily.“They do, sir?“Perturbations,” McCandless said mysteriously, ‘perturbations.” Thesmall flames of the campfire made his already gaunt face seemskeletal.He shook his head.“It’s the heat, Sharpe, I’m convinced of it.

The further south youtravel, the more sin is provoked among womankind. It makes sense, ofcourse. Hell is a hot place, and hell is sin’s destination.“So you think that heaven’s cold, sir?“I like to think it’s bracing,” the Colonel answered seriously.“Something like Scotland, I imagine. Certainly not as hot as India,and the heat here has a very bad effect on some women. It releasesthings in them.” He paused, evidently deciding he risked saying toomuch.“I’m not at all convinced India is a place for European women,” theColonel went on, ‘and I shall be very glad when we’re rid of MadameJoubert.Still, I can’t deny that her predicament is propitious.

It enables usto take a look at Lieutenant Dodd.“Sharpe poked a half-burned scrap of driftwood into the hottest part ofthe fire, provoking an up draught of sparks.“Are you hoping to capture Lieutenant Dodd, sir? Is that why we’retaking Madame back to her husband?“McCandless shook his head.“I doubt we’ll get the chance, Sharpe.No, we’re using a heavensent opportunity to take a look at ourenemy.Our armies are marching into dangerous territory, for no place in Indiacan raise armies the size of the Mahratta forces, and we are preciousfew in number. We need intelligence, Sharpe, so when we reach them,watch and pray! Keep your eyes skinned. How many battalions? Howmany guns? What’s the state of the guns? How many limbers? Look hardat the infantry. Matchlocks or fire locks In a month or so we’ll befighting these rogues, so the more we know of them the better.” TheColonel scuffed earth onto the fire, dousing the last small flames thatSharpe had just provoked.

“Now sleep, man. You’ll be needing all your strength and wits in themorning.“Next morning they rode downstream until they found a village next to avast empty Hindu temple, and in the village were small basket boatsthat resembled Welsh coracles and McCandless hired a halfdozen ofthese as ferries. The unsaddled horses were made to swim behind theboats. It was a perilous crossing, for the brown current snatched atthe light vessels and whirled them downstream. The horses, white-eyed,swam desperately behind the reed boats that Sharpe noted had nocaulking of any kind, but depended on skilful close weaving to keep thewater out, and the tug of the horses’ leading reins strained the lightwooden frames and stretched the weave so that the boats let in wateralarmingly. Sharpe used his shako to bail out his coracle, but theboatmen just grinned at his futile efforts and dug their paddles inharder. Once a half-submerged tree almost speared Sharpe’s boat, andif the trunk had struck them the boat must surely have been tippedover, but the two boatmen skilfully spun the coracle away, let the treepass, then paddled on.It took half an hour to land and saddle the horses. Simone had shareda coracle with McCandless and the brief voyage had soaked the bottomhalf of her thin linen dress so that the damp weave clung to her legs.

McCandless was embarrassed, and offered her a horse blanket formodesty’s sake, but Simone shook her head.“Where do we go now, Colonel?” she asked.“Towards Aurungabad, Ma’am,” McCandless said gruffly, keeping his eyesaverted from her beguiling figure, ‘but doubtless we shall beintercepted long before we reach that city. You’ll be with yourhusband by tomorrow night, I don’t doubt.“Sevajee’s men rode far ahead now, spread into a picquet line to givewarning of any enemy. This land all belonged to the Rajah ofHyderabad, an ally of the British, but it was frontier land and theonly friendly troops now north of the Godavery were the garrisons ofHyderabad’s isolated fortresses. The rest were all Mahrattas, thoughSharpe saw no enemies that day. The only people he saw were peasantscleaning out the irrigation channels in their stubble fields or tendingthe huge brick kilns that smoked in the sunlight. The brick-workerswere all women and children, greasy and sweaty, who gave the travellersscarcely a glance.“It’s a hard life,” Simone said to Sharpe as they passed one half-builtkiln where an overseer lazed under a woven canopy and shouted at thechildren to work faster.

“All life’s hard unless you’ve got money,” Sharpe said, grateful thatSimone had at last broken her silence. They were riding a few pacesbehind the Colonel and kept their voices low so he could not hearthem.“Money and rank,” Simone said.“Rank?” Sharpe asked.“They’re usually the same thing,” Simone said.“Colonels are richer than captains, are they not?” And captains aregenerally richer than sergeants, Sharpe thought, but he said nothing.Simone touched the pouch at her waist.“I should give you back your diamonds.“Why?“Because

” she said, but then fell silent for a while.“I do not want you to think

” she tried again, but the words wouldnot come.

Sharpe smiled at her.“Nothing happened, love,” he told her.“That’s what you say to your husband. Nothing happened, and you foundthe diamonds on a dead body.“He will want me to give them to him. For his family.“Then don’t tell him.“He is saving money,” Simone explained, ‘so his family can live withoutwork.“We all want that. Dream of life without work, we do.

That’s why weall want to be officers.“And I think to myself,” she went on as if Sharpe had not spoken, ‘whatshall I do? I cannot stay here in India. I must go to France. We arelike ships, Sergeant, who look for a safe harbour.“And Pierre is safe?“He is safe,” Simone said bleakly, and Sharpe understood what she hadbeen thinking for the last two days. He could offer her no security,while her husband could, and although she found Pierre’s worldstultifying, she was terrified by the alternative. She had dared tastethat alternative for one night, but now shied away from it.“You do not think badly of me?” she asked Sharpe anxiously.I’m probably half in love with you,” Sharpe told her, ‘so how can Ithink badly of you?“She seemed relieved, and for the rest of that day she chattered happilyenough. McCandless questioned her closely about Dodd’s regiment, howit had been trained and how it was equipped, and though she had takenscant interest in such things, her replies satisfied the Colonel whopencilled notes in a small black book.

They slept that night in a village, and next day rode even morewarily.“When we meet the enemy, Sharpe,” McCandless advised him, ‘keep yourhands away from your weapon.“Yes, sir.“Give a Mahratta one excuse to think you’re hostile,” the Colonel saidcheerfully, ‘and he’ll use you as an archery butt. They don’t makedecent heavy horsemen, but as raiders they’re unsurpassed. They attackin swarms, Sharpe. A horde of horsemen. Like watching a stormapproach. Nothing but dust and the shine of swords. Magnificent!“You like them, sir?” Sharpe asked.

“I like the wild, Sharpe,” McCandless said fiercely.“We’ve tamed ourselves at home, but out here a man still lives by hisweapon and his wits. I shall miss that when we’ve imposed order.“So why tame it, sir?“Because it is our duty, Sharpe. God’s duty. Trade, order, law, andChristian decency, that’s our business.” McCandless was gazing aheadto where a patch of misty white hung just above the northern horizon.It was dust kicked into the air, and maybe it was nothing more than aherd of cattle or a flock of sheep, but the dust smear grew andsuddenly Sevajee’s men veered sharply away to the west and galloped outof sight.“Are they running out on us, sir?” Sharpe asked.“The enemy will likely enough treat you and me with respect, Sharpe,“McCandless said, ‘but Sevajee cannot expect courtesy from them.

They’dregard him as a traitor and execute him on the spot. We’ll meet upwith him when we’ve delivered Madame Joubert to her husband. He and Ihave arranged a rendezvous.“The dust cloud drew nearer and Sharpe saw a sliver of reflectedsunlight glint in the whiteness and he knew he was seeing the firstsign of McCandless’s magnificent wild horsemen. The storm wascoming.The Mahratta cavalrymen had spread into a long line as they approachedMcCandless’s small party. There were, Sharpe guessed, two hundred ormore of the horsemen and, as they drew nearer, the flanks of their linequickened to form a pair of horns that would encircle their prey.McCandless feigned not to notice the threat, but kept riding gentlyahead while the wild horns streamed past in a flurry of dust andnoise.They were, Sharpe noticed, small men on small horses. British cavalrywere bigger and their horses were heavier, but these nimble horsemenstill looked effective enough.

The curved blades of their drawntulwars glittered like their plumed helmets which rose to a sharp pointdecorated with a crest. Some of the crests were horse-tails, somevultures’ feathers and some just brightly coloured ribbons. Moreribbons were woven into their horses’ plaited manes or were tied to thehorn tips of the archers’ bows. The horsemen pounded past McCandless,then turned with a swerve, a slew of choking dust, a skid of hooves, ajangle of curb chains and the thump of scabbarded weapons.The Mahratta leader confronted McCandless who pretended to be surprisedto find his path blocked, but nevertheless greeted the enemy with anelaborate and confident courtesy. The cavalry commander was a wildlybearded man with a scarred cheek, a wall eye and lank hair that hungfar below his helmet’s cloth-rimmed edge. He held his tulwarmenacingly, but McCandless ignored the blade’s threat, indeed heignored most of what the enemy commander said, and instead boomed hisown demands in a voice that showed not the least nervousness. TheScotsman towered over the smaller horsemen and, because he seemed toregard his presence among them as entirely natural, they meeklyaccepted his version of what was happening.“I have demanded that they escort us to Pohlmann,” the Scotsmaninformed Sharpe.“They probably planned on doing that anyway, sir.

“Of course they did, but it’s far better that I should demand it thanthat they should impose it,” McCandless said and then, with a lordlygesture, he gave permission for the Mahratta chief to lead the way andthe enemy dutifully formed themselves into an escort either side of thethree Europeans.“Fine-looking beggars, are they not?” McCandless asked.“Wicked, sir.“But sadly out of date.“They could fool me, sir,” Sharpe said, for though many of the Mahrattahorsemen carried weapons that might have been more usefully employed atAgincourt or Crecy than in modern India, all had fire locks in theirsaddle holsters and all had savagely curved tulwars.McCandless shook his head.“They may be the finest light horsemen in the world, but they won’tpress a charge home and they can’t stand volley fire. There’s rarelyany need to form square against men like these, Sharpe. They’re finefor picquet work, unrivalled at pursuit, but chary of dying in front ofthe guns.“Can you blame them?” Simone asked.

“I don’t blame them, Madame,” McCandless said, ‘but if a horse can’tstand fire, then it’s of scant use in battle. You don’t gain victoriesby rattling across country like a pack of hunters, but by enduring theenemy’s fire and overcoming it. That’s where a soldier earns his pay,hard under the enemy muzzles.“And that, Sharpe thought, was something he had never really done.He had faced the French in Flanders years before, but those battles hadbeen fleeting and rain-obscured, and the lines had never closed on eachother. He had not stared at the whites of the enemy’s eyes, heard hisvolleys and returned them. He had fought at Malavelly, but that battlehad been one volley and a charge, and the enemy had not contested theday, but fled, while at Seringapatam Sharpe had been spared the horrorof going through the breach. One day, he realized, he would have tostand in a battle line and endure the volleys, and he wondered whetherhe would stand or instead break in terror. Or whether he would evenlive to see a battle, for, despite McCandless’s blithe confidence,there was no assurance that he would survive this visit to the enemy’sencampment.They reached Pohlmann’s army that evening.

The camp was a short marchsouth of Aurungabad and it was visible from miles away because of thegreat smear of smoke that hung in the sky. Most of the campfires wereburning dried cakes of bullock dung and the acrid smoke caught inSharpe’s throat as he trotted through the lines of infantry shelters.It all looked much like a British camp, except that most of the tentswere made from reed matting rather than canvas, but the lines werestill neatly arrayed, muskets were carefully stacked in threes and adisciplined ring of picquets guarded the camp’s perimeter. They passedsome European officers exercising their horses, and one of those menspurred to intercept the newcomers. He ignored McCandless and Sharpe,raising his plumed hat to Simone instead.“Bonsoir, Madame.“Simone did not look at the man, but just tapped her horse’s rump withher riding crop.“That fellow’s French, sir,” Sharpe said to McCandless.“I do speak the language, Sergeant,” the Colonel said.“So what’s a Frog doing here, sir?“The same as Lieutenant Dodd, Sharpe.

Teaching Scindia’s infantry howto fight.“Don’t they know how to fight, sir? Thought it came natural.“They don’t fight as we do,” McCandless said, watching the rebuffedFrenchman canter away.“How’s that, sir?“The European, Sergeant, has learned to close the gap fast. The closeryou are to a man, the more likely you are to kill him; however, thecloser you get, the more likely you are to be killed, but it’s no useentertaining that fear in battle. Get up close, hold your ranks andstart killing, that’s the trick of it. But given a chance an Indianwill hold back and try to kill at long range, and fellows like Dodd areteaching them how to close the gap hard and fast. You need disciplinefor that, discipline and tight ranks and good sergeants. And no doubthe’s teaching them how to use cannon as well.” The Colonel spokesourly, for they were trotting beside an artillery park that wascrammed with heavy cannon.

The guns looked odd to Sharpe, for many ofthem had been cast with ornate patterns on their barrels, and some wereeven painted in gaudy colours, but they were neatly parked and all hadlimbers and full sets of equipment; rammers and worm screws andhandspikes and buckets. The axles gleamed with grease and there wasnot a spot of rust to be seen on the long barrels. Someone knew how tomaintain guns, and that suggested they also knew how to use them.“Counting them, Sharpe?” McCandless asked abruptly.“No, sir.“Seventeen in that park, mostly nine-pounders, but there are some muchheavier brutes at the back. Keep your eyes open, man. That’s whywe’re here.“Yes, sir, of course, sir.“They passed a line of tethered camels, then a compound where a dozenelephants were being brought their supper of palm leaves andbutter-soaked rice.

Children followed the men carrying the rice toscavenge what slopped from the pails. Some of the Mahratta escort hadspurred ahead to spread news of the visitors and curious crowdsgathered to watch as McCandless and his two companions rode stilldeeper into the huge encampment. Those crowds became thicker as theydrew close to the camp’s centre which was marked by a spread of largetents. One of the tents was made of blue-and-yellow-striped canvas,and in front of it were twin flagpoles, though the wind was slack andthe brightly coloured banners just hung from their tall poles.“Leave the talking to me,” McCandless ordered Sharpe.“Of course, sir.“Simone suddenly gasped. Sharpe turned and saw she was staring acrossthe heads of the curious crowd towards a group of European officers.She looked at Sharpe suddenly and he saw the sadness in her eyes. Shegave him a half-smile.

“Pierre,” she offered in brief explanation, then she shrugged andtapped her horse with her crop so that it hurried away from Sharpe. Herhusband, a small man in a white coat, gazed in disbelief, then ran tomeet her with a look of pleasure on his face. Sharpe felt oddlyjealous of him.“That’s our main duty discharged,” McCandless said happily.“Adisobliging woman, I thought.“Unhappy, sir.“Doesn’t have enough to keep her busy, that’s why. The devil likesidle hands, Sharpe.“Then he must hate me, sir, most of the time.” He stared after Simone,watching as she slid down from the saddle and was embraced by hershorter husband.

Then the crowds hid the couple from him.Someone shouted an insult at the two British horsemen and the otherspectators jeered or laughed, but Sharpe, despite their hostility, tooksome consolation from McCandless’s confidence. The Scotsman, indeed,was in a happier mood than he had shown for days, for he revelled beingin his enemy’s lines.A group of men emerged from the big striped tent. They were almost allEuropeans, and in their forefront was a tall muscled man inshirtsleeves who was attended by a bodyguard of Indian soldiers wearingpurple coats.“That’s Colonel Pohlmann,” McCandless said, nodding towards the bigred-faced man.“The fellow who used to be a sergeant, sir?“That’s him.“You’ve met him, sir?“Once, a couple of years back. He’s an affable sort of man, Sharpe,but I doubt he’s trustworthy.“If Pohlmann was surprised to see a British officer in his camp, he didnot show it.

Instead he spread his arms in an expansive gesture ofwelcome.“Are you new recruits?” he shouted in greeting.McCandless did not bother to answer the mocking question, but just slidfrom his horse.“You don’t remember me, Colonel?“Of course I remember you,” Pohlmann said with a smile.“Colonel Hector McCandless, once of His Majesty’s Scotch Brigade, andnow in the service of the East India Company. How could I forget you,Colonel? You tried to make me read the Bible.” Pohlmann grinned,displaying tobacco-stained teeth.“But you haven’t answered my question, Colonel. Have you come to joinour army?“I am the merest emissary, Colonel,” McCandless said, beating dust fromthe kilt that he had insisted on wearing in honour of meeting theenemy. The garment was causing some amusement to Pohlmann’scompanions, though they took care not to let their smiles show ifMcCandless glanced their way.

“I brought you a woman,” McCandless added in explanation.“How do you say in England, Colonel,” Pohlmann asked with a puzzledfrown, ‘coals to Newcastle?“I offered safe conduct to Madame Joubert,” the Scotsman saidstiffly.“So that was Simone I saw riding past,” Pohlmann said.“I did wonder.And she’ll be welcome, I dare say. We have enough of everything inthis army; cannon, muskets, horses, ammunition, men, but there cannever really be enough women in any army, can there?” He laughed, thensummoned two of his purple-coated bodyguards to take charge of thehorses.“You’ve ridden a long way, Colonel,” Pohlmann said to McCandless, ‘solet me offer you refreshment. You too, Sergeant,” he included Sharpein his invitation.“You must be tired.“I’m sore after that ride, sir,” Sharpe said, dropping clumsily andgratefully from the saddle.

“You’re not used to horses, eh?” Pohlmann crossed to Sharpe and drapeda genial arm about his shoulders.“You’re an infantryman, which means you’ve got hard feet and a softbum. Me, I never like being on a horse. You know how I go to battle?On an elephant.That’s the way to do it, Sergeant. What’s your name?“Sharpe, sir.“Then welcome to my headquarters, Sergeant Sharpe. You’re just in timefor supper.” He steered Sharpe into the tent, then stopped to let hisguests stare at the lavish interior which was carpeted with soft rugs,hung with silk drapes, lit with ornate brass chandeliers and furnishedwith intricately carved tables and couches. McCandless scowled at suchluxury, but Sharpe was impressed.

“Not bad, eh?” Pohlmann squeezed Sharpe’s shoulders.“For a former sergeant.“You, sir?” Sharpe asked, pretending not to know Pohlmann’s history.“I was a sergeant in the East India Company’s Hanoverian Regiment,“Pohlmann boasted, ‘quartered in a rat hole in Madras. Now I command aking’s army and have all these powdered fops to serve me.” He gesturedat his attendant officers who, accustomed to Pohlmann’s insults, smiledtolerantly.“Need a piss, Sergeant?” Pohlmann asked, taking his arm from Sharpe’sshoulders.“A wash?“Wouldn’t mind both, sir.“Out the back.” He pointed the way.

“Then come back and drink with me.“McCandless had watched this bonhomie with suspicion. He had also smeltthe reek of strong liquor on Pohlmann’s breath and suspected he wasdoomed to an evening of hard drinking in which, even thoughMcCandless himself would refuse all alcohol, he would have to endurethe drunken badinage of others. It was a grim prospect, and one he didnot intend to endure alone.“Not you, Sharpe,” he hissed when Sharpe returned to the tent.“Not me what, sir?“You’re to stay sober, you hear me? I’m not mollycoddling your sorehead all the way back to the army.“Of course not, sir,” Sharpe said, and for a time he tried to obeyMcCandless, but Pohlmann insisted Sharpe join him in a toast beforesupper.“You’re not an abstainer, are you?” Pohlmann demanded of Sharpe infeigned horror when the Sergeant tried to refuse a beaker of brandy.“You’re not a Bible-reading abstainer, are you? Don’t tell me theBritish army is becoming moral!“No, sir, not me, sir.“Then drink with me to King George of Hanover and of England!“Sharpe obediently drank to the health of their joint sovereign, then toQueen Charlotte, and those twin courtesies emptied his beaker of brandyand a serving girl was summoned to fill it so that he could toast HisRoyal Highness George, Prince of Wales.

“You like the girl?” Pohlmann asked, gesturing at the serving girl whoswerved lithely away from a French major who was trying to seize hersaid.“She’s pretty, sir,” Sharpe said.“They’re all pretty, Sergeant. I keep a dozen of them as wives,another dozen as servants, and God knows how many others who merelyaspire to those positions. You look shocked, Colonel McCandless.“A man who dwells among the tents of the ungodly,” McCandless said,‘will soon pick up ungodly ways.“And thank God for it,” Pohlmann retorted, then clapped his hands tosummon the supper dishes.A score of officers ate in the tent. Half a dozen were Mahrattas, therest Europeans, and just after the bowls and platters had been placedon the tables, Major Dodd arrived. Night was falling and candlesilluminated the tent’s shadowed interior, but Sharpe recognized Dodd’sface instantly.

The sight of the long jaw, sallow skin and bitter eyesbrought back sharp memories of Chasalgaon, of flies crawling onSharpe’s eyes and in his gullet, and of the staccato bangs as menstepped over the dead to shoot the wounded. Dodd, oblivious ofSharpe’s glare, nodded to Pohlmann.“I apologize, Colonel Pohlmann, for being late,” he announced withstiff formality.“I expected Captain Joubert to be late,” Pohlmann said, ‘for a mannewly reunited with his wife has better things to do than hurry to hissupper, if indeed he takes his supper at all. Were you also welcomingSimone, Major?“I was not, sir. I was attending to the picquets.“Major Dodd’s attention to his duty puts us all to shame,” Pohlmannsaid.“Do you have the pleasure of knowing Major Dodd, Colonel?” he askedMcCandless.“I know the Company will pay five hundred guineas for Lieutenant Dodd’scapture,” McCandless growled, ‘and more now, I dare say, after hisbestiality at Chasalgaon.“Dodd showed no reaction to the Colonel’s hostility, but Pohlmannsmiled.

“You’ve come for the reward money, Colonel, is that it?“I wouldn’t touch the money,” McCandless said, ‘for it’s tainted byassociation. Tainted by murder, Colonel, and by disloyalty anddishonour.“The words were spoken to Pohlmann, but addressed to Dodd whose faceseemed to tighten as he listened. He had taken a place at the end ofthe table and was helping himself to the food. The other guests weresilent, intrigued by the tension between McCandless and Dodd.Pohlmann was enjoying the confrontation.“You say Major Dodd is a murderer, Colonel?“A murderer and a traitor.“Pohlmann looked down the table.“Major Dodd? You have nothing to say?“Dodd reached for a loaf of flat bread that he tore in half.“When I had the misfortune to serve in the Company, Colonel,” he saidto Pohlmann, “Colonel McCandless was well known as the head ofintelligence.

He did the dishonourable job of spying on the Company’senemies, and I’ve no doubt that is his purpose here. He can spit allhe likes, but he’s here to spy, Colonel.“Pohlmann smiled.“Is that true, McCandless?“I returned Madame Joubert to her husband, Pohlmann, nothing more,“McCandless insisted.“Of course it’s more,” Pohlmann said.“Major Dodd is right! You’re head of the Company’s intelligenceservice, are you not? Which means that you saw in dear Simone’spredicament a chance to ‘nspect our army.“You infer too much,” McCandless said.“Nonsense, Colonel. Do try the lamb. It’s seethed in milk curds.

Sowhat do you wish to see?“My bed,” McCandless said curtly, waving away the lamb dish. He nevertouched meat.“Just my bed,” he added.“And see it you shall,” Pohlmann said genially. The Hanoverian paused,wondering whether to re-ignite the hostility between McCandless andDodd, but he must have decided that each had insulted the othersufficiently.“But tomorrow, Colonel, I will provide a tour of inspection for you.You may see whatever you like, McCandless. You can watch our gunnersat work, you may inspect our infantry, you may go wherever you wish andtalk to whoever you desire. We have nothing to hide.” He smiled atthe astonished McCandless.

“You are my guest, Colonel, so I must show you a proper hospitality.“He was as good as his word, and next morning McCandless was invited toinspect all of Pohlmann’s compoo.“I wish there were more troops here,” Pohlmann said, ‘but Scindia is afew miles northwards with Saleur’s and Dupont’s compoos. I like tothink they’re not as able as mine, but in truth they’re both very goodunits. Both have European officers, of course, and both are properlytrained. I can’t say as much for the Rajah of Berar’s infantry, buthis gunners are the equal of ours.“McCandless said very little all morning, and Sharpe, who had learned toread the Scotsman’s moods, saw that he was severely discomfited. Andno wonder, for Pohlmann’s troops looked as fine as any in the Company’sservice. The Hanoverian commanded six and half thousand infantry, fivehundred cavalry and as many pioneers who served as engineers, andpossessed thirty-eight guns. This compoo alone outnumbered theinfantry of Wellesley’s army, and was much stronger in guns, and therewere two similar compoos in Scindia’s service let alone his horde ofcavalry.

It was no surprise, Sharpe thought, that McCandless’s spiritswere falling, and they fell even further when Pohlmann arranged for ademonstration of his artillery and the Scotsman, feigning gratitude tohis host, was forced to watch as teams of gunners served a battery ofbig eighteenpounder guns with all the alacrity and efficiency of theBritish army.“Well-made pieces, too,” Pohlmann boasted, leading McCandless up to thehot guns that stood behind the swathes of burnt grass caused by theirmuzzle fire.“A little gaudy, perhaps, for European tastes, but none the worse forthat.” The guns were all painted in bright colours and some had nameswritten in a curly script on their breeches.“Mega-wati,” Pohlmann read aloud, ‘the goddess of clouds. Inspectthem, Colonel!They’re well made. Our axletrees don’t break, I can assure you.“Pohlmann was willing to show McCandless even more, but after dinner theScotsman elected to spend the afternoon in his borrowed tent.He claimed he wished to rest, but Sharpe suspected the Scotsman hadendured enough humiliation and wanted some quiet in which to make noteson all he had seen.“We’ll leave tonight, Sharpe,” the Colonel said.

“You can occupy yourself till then?“Colonel Pohlmann wants me to ride with him on his elephant, sir.” TheColonel scowled.“He likes to show off.” For a moment he seemed about to order Sharpeto refuse the invitation, then he shrugged.“Don’t get seasick.“The motion of the elephant’s howdah was indeed something like a ship,for it swayed from side to side as the beast plodded northwards and atfirst Sharpe had to grip onto the edge of the basket, but once he hadaccustomed himself to the motion he relaxed and leaned back on thecushioned seat. The howdah had two seats, one in front of the other,and Sharpe had the rearmost, but after a while Pohlmann twisted in hisseat and showed how he could raise his own backrest and lay it flat sothat the whole howdah became one cushioned bed that could be concealedby the curtains that hung from the wicker-framed canopy.“It’s a fine place to bring a woman, Sergeant,” Pohlmann said as herestored the backrest to its upright position, ‘but the girth strapsbroke once and the whole thing fell off! It fell slowly, luckily, andI still had my breeches on so not too much dignity was lost.“You don’t look like a man who worries much about dignity, sir.“Iworry about reputation,” Pohlmann said, ‘which isn’t the same thing.

Ikeep my reputation by winning victories and giving away gold. Thosemen’ he gestured at his purple-coated bodyguards who marched on eitherflank of the elephant ‘are each paid as much as a lieutenant in Britishservice. And as for my European officers!” He laughed.“They’re all making more money than they dreamed possible. Look at’em!” He jerked his head at the score of European officers whofollowed the elephant. Dodd was among them, but riding apart from theothers and with a morose expression on his long face as though heresented having to pay court to his commanding officer. His horse wasa sway-backed, hard-mouthed mare, a poor beast as ungainly and sullenas her master.“Greed, Sharpe, greed, that’s the best motive for a soldier,” Pohlmannsaid.“Greed will make them fight like demons, if our lord and master everallows us to fight.“You think he won’t, sir?“Pohlmann grinned.

“Scindia listens to his astrologers rather more than he listens to hisEuropeans, but I’ll slip the bastards some gold when the time comes,and they’ll tell him the stars are propitious and he’ll give me thewhole army and let me loose.“How big is the whole army, sir?“Pohlmann smiled, recognizing that Sharpe was asking questions on behalfof Colonel McCandless.“By the time you face us, Sergeant, we should have over a hundredthousand men. And of those? Fifteen thousand infantry are firstclass, thirty thousand infantry are reliable, and the rest are horsemenwho are only good for plundering the wounded. We’ll also have ahundred guns, all of them as good as any in Europe. And how big willyour army be?“Don’t know, sir,” Sharpe said woodenly.Pohlmann smiled.“Wellesley has, maybe, seven and a half thousand men, infantry andcavalry, while Colonel Stevenson has perhaps another seven thousand sotogether you’ll number, what? Fourteen and a half thousand? Withforty guns? You think fourteen thousand men can beat a hundredthousand? And what happens, Sergeant Sharpe, if I manage to catch oneof your little armies before the other can support it?” Sharpe saidnothing, and Pohlmann smiled.“You should think about selling me your skills, Sharpe.“Me, sir?” Sharpe answered lightly.

“You, Sergeant Sharpe,” Pohlmann said forcibly, and the Hanoveriantwisted in his seat to stare at Sharpe.“That’s why I invited you this afternoon. I need European officers,Sharpe, and any man as young as you who becomes a sergeant must have arare ability. I am offering you rank and riches, Sharpe. Look at me!Ten years ago I was a sergeant like you, now I ride to war on anelephant, need two more to carry my gold and have three dozen womencompeting to sharpen my sword. Have you ever heard of GeorgeThomas?“No, sir.“An Irishman, Sergeant, and not even a soldier! George was anilliterate seaman out of the gutters of Dublin, and before he drankhimself to death, poor man, he’d become the Begum Somroo’s general. Ithink he was her lover too, but that ain’t any distinction with thatparticular lady, but before he died George needed a whole herd ofelephants to haul his gold about. And why? Because the Indianprinces, Sergeant, need our skills. Equip yourself with a goodEuropean and you win your wars.

I captured seventy-two guns at thebattle of Malpura and I demanded the weight of one of those guns inpure gold as my reward. I got it, too. In ten years you could be asrich as you want, rich as Benoit de Boigne. You must have heard ofhim?“No, sir.“He was a Savoyard, Sergeant, and in just four years he made a hundredthousand pounds and then he went off home and married aseventeen-year-old girl fresh from her father’s castle. In only fouryears!From being a captain in Savoy’s army to being governor of halfScindia’s territory. There’s a fortune to be made here and rank andbirth don’t come into it. Only ability counts. Nothing but ability.“Pohlmann paused, his eyes on Sharpe.

“I’ll make you a lieutenant tomorrow, Sergeant, and you can fight in mycompoo, and if you’re any damn good then you’ll be a captain by month’send.” Sharpe looked at the Hanoverian, but said nothing. Pohlmannsmiled.“What are your chances of getting a commission in the British army?“Sharpe grinned.“No chance, sir.“So? I offer you rank, wealth and as many bibb is as you canhandle.“Is that why Mister Dodd deserted, sir?“Pohlmann smiled.“Major Dodd deserted, Sharpe, because he faces execution for murder,and because he’s sensible, and because he wants my job. Not that he’lladmit to that.” The Hanoverian twisted in the howdah.

“Major Dodd!” he shouted.The Major urged his awkward horse to the elephant’s side and looked upinto the howdah.“Sir?“Sergeant Sharpe wants to know why you joined us.“Dodd gave Sharpe a suspicious look, but then shrugged. ‘I ran becausethere’s no future in the Company,” he said.“I was a lieutenant for twenty-two years, Sergeant, twenty-two years!It don’t matter to the Company how good a soldier you are, you have towait your turn, and all the while I watched wealthy young fools buyingthemselves majorities in the King’s ranks and I had to bow and scrapeto the useless bastards. Yes, sir, no, sir, three bloody bags full,sir, and can Icarry your bags, sir, and wipe your arse, sir.” Dodd had been gettingangrier and angrier as he spoke, but now made an effort to controlhimself.“I couldn’t join the King’s army, Sergeant, because my father runs agrist mill in Suffolk and there ain’t no money to buy a King’scommission. That meant I was only fit for the Company, and King’sofficers treat Company men like dirt.

I can outfight twenty of thebastards, but ability don’t count in the Company. Keep your noseclean, wait your turn, then die for the shareholders when the Court ofDirectors tells you.” He was becoming angry again.“That’s why,” he finished curtly.“And you, Sergeant?” Pohlmann asked.“What opportunities will the army offer you?“Don’t know, sir.“You do know,” Pohlmann said, ‘you do know.” The elephant had stoppedand the Hanoverian now pointed ahead and Sharpe saw that they had cometo the edge of a wood, and a half-mile away was a great city with wallslike those the Scots had climbed at Ahmednuggur.The city walls were bright with flags, while its embrasures glintedwith the reflection of sunlight from gun barrels.“That’s Aurungabad,” Pohlmann said, ‘and everyone inside those walls ispissing themselves in fear that I’m about to start a siege.

“But you’re not?“I’m looking for Wellesley,” Pohlmann said, ‘and you know why?Because I’ve never lost a battle, Sharpe, and I’m going to add aBritish major-general’s sword to my trophies. Then I’ll build myself apalace, a bloody great marble palace, and I’ll line the halls withBritish guns and hang British colours to shield my bedroom from the sunand I’ll bounce my bibb is on a mattress stuffed with the hair ofBritish horses.“Pohlmann luxuriated in that dream for a while and then, with a lastglance at the city, ordered the mahout to turn the elephant about.“When is McCandless leaving?” he asked Sharpe.“Tonight, sir.“After dark?“Around midnight, sir, I think.“That gives you plenty of time to think, Sergeant. To think of yourfuture. To contemplate what the red coat offers you, and what I offeryou. And when you have thought about those things, come to me.

“I’m thinking on it, sir,” Sharpe said, “I’m thinking on it.” And hewas.

CHAPTER 6

Colonel McCandless excused himself from Pohlmann’s supper, but did notforbid Sharpe to attend “But don’t get drunk,” he warned the Sergeant,‘and be at my tent at midnight. I want to be back at the RiverGodavery by dawn.“Yes, sir,” Sharpe said dutifully, then went to Pohlmann’s tent wheremost of the compoo’s officers had gathered. Dodd was there, and sowere a halfdozen wives of Pohlmann’s European officers and among themwas Simone Joubert, though there was no sign of her husband.“He is in charge of the army picquets tonight,” Simone explained whenSharpe asked her, ‘and Colonel Pohlmann invited me to eat.“He invited me to join his army,” Sharpe told her.“He did?” Her eyes widened as she stared up from her chair.“And will you?“It would mean I’d be close to you, Ma’am,” Sharpe said, ‘and that’s aninducement.

“Simone half smiled at the clumsy gallantry.“I think you would not be a good soldier if you changed your loyaltyfor a woman, Sergeant.“He says I’ll be an officer,” Sharpe said.“And is that what you want?“Sharpe squatted on his heels so that he could be closer to her. Theother European wives saw him crouch and pursed their mouths with adisapproval born of envy, but Sharpe was oblivious of their gaze.“Ithink I’d like to be an officer, yes. And I can think of one very goodreason to be an officer in this army.“Simone blushed.“I am a married woman, Sergeant. You know that.

“But even married women need friends,” Sharpe said, and just then alarge hand took unceremonious hold of his clubbed hair and hauled himto his feet.Sharpe turned belligerently on whoever had manhandled him, then ’33saw that it was a smiling Major Dodd.“Can’t have you stooping to women, Sharpe,” Dodd said before offeringan ungainly bow to Simone.“Good evening, Madame.“Major,” Simone acknowledged him coldly.“You will forgive me, Madame, if I steal Sergeant Sharpe from you?“Dodd asked.“I want a word with him. Come on, Sharpe.” He plucked Sharpe’s arm,guiding him across the tent. The Major was very slightly drunk andevidently intent on becoming more drunk for he snatched a whole jug ofarrack from a servant, then scooped up two beakers from a table.

“Fancy Madame Joubert, do you?” he asked Sharpe.“I like her well enough, sir.“She’s spoken for, Sergeant. Remember that if you join us, she’sspoken for.“You mean she’s married, sir?“Married?” Dodd laughed, then poured the arrack and gave one beaker toSharpe.“How many European officers can you see here?And how many European women? And how many of them are young and prettylike Madame Joubert? Work it out, lad. And you’re not jumping thequeue.” Dodd smiled as he spoke, evidently meaning his tone to bejocular.“But you are joining us, aren’t you?“I’m thinking about it, sir.“You’ll be in my regiment, Sharpe,” Dodd said.

“I need European officers. I’ve only got Joubert and he’s no damn use,so I’ve spoken with Pohlmann and he says you can join my Cobras. I’llgive you three companies of your own to look after, and God help you ifthey’re not kept in prime condition. I like to look after the men,because come battle they look after you, but God help any officer wholets me down.“He paused to drink half his arrack and pour some more.“I’ll work you hard, Sharpe, I’ll work you damned hard, but there’ll beplenty of gold washing round this army once we’ve thrashed BoyWellesley. Money’s your reward, lad, money.“Is that why you’re here, sir?“It’s why we’re all here, you fool. All except Joubert, who was postedhere by his government and is too damned timid to help himself toScindia’s gold. So report to me in the morning.

We’re marching northtomorrow night, which means you’ll have one day to learn my ropes andafter that you’re Mister Sharpe, gentleman. Come to me tomorrowmorning, Sharpe, at dawn, and get rid of that damned red coat.” Hepoked Sharpe’s chest hard.“I see a red coat,” he went on, ‘and I want to start killing.” Hegrinned, showing yellow teeth.“Is that what happened at Chasalgaon, sir?” Sharpe asked.Dodd’s grin vanished.“Why the hell do you ask that?” he growled.Sharpe had asked because he had been remembering the massacre, andwondering if he could ever serve under a man who had ordered such akilling, but he said none of that. He shrugged instead.

“I heard tales, sir, but no one ever tells us anything proper. Youknow that, sir, so I just wondered what happened there.“Dodd considered that answer for a moment, then shrugged.“I didn’t take prisoners, Sharpe, that’s what happened. Killed thebastards to the last man.“And to the last boy, Sharpe thought, remembering Davi Lal. He remainedimpassive, not letting a hint of memory or hate show.“Why not take prisoners, sir?“Because it’s war!” Dodd said vehemently.“When men fight me, Sergeant, I want them to fear me, because that waythe battle’s half won before it’s started. It ain’t kind, I’m sure,but who ever said war was kind? And in this war, Sergeant’ he wavedhis hand towards the officers clustering about Colonel Pohlmann - ‘it’sdog eat dog.

We’re all in competition, and you know who’ll win? Themost ruthless, that’s who. So what did I do at Chasalgaon? I madesure of a reputation, Sharpe. Made a name for myself. That’s thefirst rule of war, Sergeant.Make the bastards fear you. And you know what the second rule is?“Don’t ask questions, sir?“Dodd grinned.“No, lad. the second rule is never to reinforce failure, and thethird, lad, is to look after your men. You know why I had thatgoldsmith thrashed? You’ve heard of that, haven’t you? I’ll tell you.It wasn’t because he’d cheated me, which he did, but because he cheatedsome of my men.

So I looked after them and let them give him a solidkicking, and the bastard died. Which he deserved to do, rich fatbastard that he was.” The Major turned and scowled at the servantsbringing dishes from Pohlmann’s cook tent.“And they’re just as bad here, Sharpe. Look at all that food! Enoughto feed two regiments there, Sharpe, and the men are going hungry. Noproper supply system, see? It costs money, that’s why. You don’t getissued food in this army, you go out and steal it.” He plainlydisapproved.“I’ve told Pohlmann, I have.Lay on a commissary, I said, but he won’t, because it costs money.

Scindia hoards food in his fortresses, but he won’t issue it, not unless he’s paid, and Pohlmann won’t give up a penny of profit, so no food ever comes. It just rots in the warehouses while we have to keep moving, because after a week we’ve stripped one set of fields bare and have to go on to the next. It’s no bloody way to run an army.“Maybe one day you’ll change the system, sir,” Sharpe said.“I will!” Dodd said vigorously.“I bloody will! And if you’ve any sense, lad, you’ll be here helpingme. You learn one thing as a miller’s son, Sergeant, and that’s notjust how to grind corn, but that a fool and his money are easilyparted. And Scindia’s a fool, but given a chance I’ll make the buggerinto the Emperor of India.” He turned as a servant beat a gong with amuffled stick.“Time for our vittles.

“It was a strangely subdued supper, though Pohlmann did his best toamuse his company. Sharpe had tried to manoeuvre himself into a seatbeside Simone, but Dodd and a Swedish captain beat him to it and Sharpefound himself next to a small Swiss doctor who spent the whole mealquizzing Sharpe about the religious arrangements in Britishregiments.“Your chaplains are godly men, yes?“Drunken bastards, sir, most of them.“Surely not!“I hauled two of them out of a whorehouse not a month ago, sir.They didn’t want to pay, see?“You are not telling me the truth!“God’s honour, sir. The Reverend Mister Cooper was one of them, andit’s a rare Sunday that he’s sober. He preached a Christmas sermon atEaster, he was that puzzled.“Most of the guests left early, Dodd among them, though a few diehardsstayed on to give the Colonel a game of cards. Pohlmann grinned atSharpe.“You wager, Sharpe?“I’m not rich enough, sir.

“Pohlmann shook his head in mock exasperation at the answer. ‘I willmake you rich, Sharpe. You believe me?“I do, sir.“So you’ve made up your mind? You’re joining me?“I still want to think a bit, sir.“Pohlmann shrugged.“You have nothing to think about. You either become a rich man or youdie for King George.“Sharpe left the remaining officers at their cards and walked away intothe encampment. He really was thinking, or trying to think, and hesought a quiet place, but a crowd of soldiers were wagering on dogfights, and their cheers, as well as the yelps and snarls of the dogs,carried far through the darkness. Sharpe settled on an empty stretchof ground close to the picketed camels that carried Pohlmann’s supplyof rockets, and there he lay and stared up at the stars through themist of smoke.

A million stars. He had always thought there was ananswer to all life’s mysteries in the stars, yet whenever he stared atthem the answer slipped out of his grasp. He had been whipped in thefoundling home for staring at a clear night’s sky through the workshopskylight.“You ain’t here to gawp at the dark, boy,” the overseer had snapped,‘you’re here to labour,” and the whip had slashed down across hisshoulders and he had dutifully looked down at the great tarry lump ofhemp rope that had to be picked apart. The old ropes had been twistedand tightened and tarred into vast knots bigger than Sharpe himself,and they had been used as fenders on the London docks, but when thegrinding and thumping of the big ships had almost worn the old fendersthrough they were sent to the foundling home to be picked apart so thatthe strands could be sold as furniture stuffing or to be mixed intowall plaster.“Got to learn a trade, boy,” the master had told him again and again,and so Sharpe had learned a trade, but it was not hemp-picking.He learned the killing trade. Load a musket, ram a musket, fire amusket. And he had not done much of it, not yet, but he liked doingit.He remembered Malavelly, remembered firing the volley at theapproaching enemy, and he remembered the sheer exultation as all hisunhappiness and anger had been concentrated into his musket’s barreland been gouted out in one explosive rush of flame, smoke and lead.

He did not think of himself as unhappy. Not now. The army had beengood to him in these last years, but there was still something wrong inhis soul. What that was, he did not know, because Sharpe did notreckon he was any good at thinking. He was good at action, forwhenever there was a problem to be solved Sergeant Sharpe could usuallyfind the solution, but he was not much use at simply thinking. But hehad to think now, and he stared at the smoke-dimmed stars in the hopethat they would help him, but all they did was go on shining.Lieutenant Sharpe, he thought, and was surprised to realize that he sawnothing very odd in that idea. It was ridiculous, of course. RichardSharpe, an officer? But somehow he could not shake the idea loose.It was a laughable idea, he tried to convince himself; at least in theBritish army it was, but not here.

Not in Pohlmann’s army, andPohlmann had once been a sergeant.“Bloody hell,” he said aloud, and a camel belched in answer.The cheers of the spectators greeted the death of a dog, and, nearer, asoldier was playing one of the strange Indian instruments, plucking itslong strings to make a sad, plangent music. In the British camp,Sharpe thought, they would be singing, but no one was singing here.They were too hungry, though hunger did not stop a man from fighting.It had never stopped Sharpe. So these hungry men could fight, and theyneeded officers, and all he had to do was stand up, brush the dirt awayand stroll across to Pohlmann’s tent and become Lieutenant Sharpe.Mister Sharpe.And he would do a good job. He knew that.

Better than Morris, betterthan most of the army’s junior officers. He was a good sergeant, abloody good sergeant, and he enjoyed being a sergeant. He got respect,not just because of the stripes on his red sleeves, and not justbecause he had been the man who blew the mine at Seringapatam, butbecause he was good and tough. He wasn’t frightened of making adecision, and that was the key to it, he reckoned. And he enjoyedmaking decisions, and he enjoyed the respect that decisiveness broughthim, and he realized he had been seeking respect all his life. Christ,he thought, but would it not be a joy to walk back into the foundlinghome with braid on his coat, gold on his shoulders and a sword at hisside? That was the respect he wanted, from the bastards in BrewhouseLane who had said he would never amount to anything and who had whippedhim bloody because he was a bastard off the streets. By Christ, hethought, but gqing back there would make life perfect! Brewhouse Lane,him in a braided coat and a sword, and with Sirrione on his arm and adead king’s jewels about her neck, and them all touching their hats andbobbing like ducks in a pond. Perfect, he thought, just perfect, andas he indulged himself in that dream an angry shout came from the tentsclose to Pohlmann’s marquee and an instant later a gun sounded.There was a moment’s pause after the gunshot, as if its violence hadchecked a drunken fight, then Sharpe heard men laughing and the soundof hoofbeats. He was standing now, staring towards the big marquee.

The horses went by quite close to him, then the noise of their hoovesreceded into the dark.“Come back!” a man shouted in English, and Sharpe recognizedMcCandless’s voice.Sharpe began running.“Come back!” McCandless shouted again, and then there was anothergunshot and Sharpe heard the Colonel yelp like a whipped dog. A scoreof men were shouting now. The officers who had been playing cards wererunning towards McCandless’s tent and Pohlmann’s bodyguards werefollowing them. Sharpe dodged round a fire, leaped a sleeping man,then saw a figure hurrying away from the commotion. The man had amusket in his hand and he was half crouching as if he did not want tobe seen, and Sharpe did not hesitate, but just swerved and ran at theman.When the fugitive heard Sharpe coming, he quickened his pace, thenrealized he would be caught and so he turned on his pursuer. The manwhipped out a bayonet and screwed it onto the muzzle of his musket.

Sharpe saw the glint of moonlight on the long blade, saw the man’steeth white in the dark, then the bayonet lunged at him, but Sharpe haddropped to the ground and was sliding forward in the dust beneath theblade. He wrapped his arms around the man’s legs, heaved once and theman fell backwards. Sharpe cuffed the musket aside with his left hand,then hammered his right hand down onto the moon-whitened teeth. Theman tried to kick Sharpe’s crotch, then clawed at his eyes, but Sharpecaught one of the hooked fingers in his mouth and bit hard. The manscreamed in pain, Sharpe kept biting and kept hitting, then he spat thesevered fingertip into the man’s face and gave him one last thump withhis fist.“Bastard,” Sharpe said, and hauled the man to his feet. Two ofPohlmann’s officers had arrived now, one still with a fan of cards inhis hand.“Get his bloody musket,” Sharpe ordered them. The man struggled inSharpe’s hands, but he was much smaller than Sharpe and a good kickbetween his legs brought him to order.“Come on, you bastard,” Sharpe said.

One of the officers had picked up the fallen musket and Sharpe reachedover and felt the muzzle. It was hot, showing that the weapon had justbeen fired.“If you killed my Colonel, you bastard, I’ll kill you,” Sharpe said anddragged the man through the campfires to the knot of officers who hadgathered about the Colonel’s tent.McCandless’s two horses were gone. Both the mare and the gelding hadbeen stolen, and Sharpe realized it was their hoofbeats he had heard gopast him. McCandless, woken by the noise of the horse thieves, hadcome from the tent and fired his pistol at the men, and one of them hadfired back and the bullet had buried itself in the ‘39Colonel’s left thigh. He was lying on the ground now, looking horriblypale, and Pohlmann was bellowing for his doctor to come quickly.“Who’s that?” he demanded of Sharpe, and nodding at the prisoner.“The bastard who fired at Colonel McCandless, sir. Musket’s stillhot.

“The man proved to be one of Major Dodd’s sepoys, one of the men who haddeserted with Dodd from the Company, and he was put into the charge ofPohlmann’s bodyguard. Sharpe knelt beside McCandless who was tryingnot to cry aloud as the newly arrived doctor, the Swiss man who had satbeside Sharpe at dinner, examined his leg.“I was sleeping!” the Colonel complained.“Thieves, Sharpe, thieves!“We’ll find your horses,” Pohlmann reassured the Scotsman, ‘and we’llfind the thieves.“You promised me safety!” McCandless complained.“The men will be punished,” Pohlmann promised, then he helped Sharpeand two other men lift the wounded Colonel and carry him into the tentwhere they laid him on the rope cot. The doctor said the bullet hadmissed the bone, and no major artery was cut, but he still wanted tofetch his probes, forceps and scalpels and try to pull the ball out.“You want some brandy, McCandless?” Pohlmann asked.“Of course not. Tell him to get on with it.

“The doctor called for more lanterns, for water and for his instruments,and then he spent ten excruciating minutes looking for the bullet deepinside McCandless’s upper thigh. The Scotsman uttered not a sound asthe probe slid into his lacerated flesh, nor as the long-necked forcepswere pushed down to find a purchase on the bullet. The Swiss doctorwas sweating, but McCandless just lay with eyes tight shut and teethclenched.“It comes now,” the doctor said and began to pull, but the flesh hadclosed on the forceps and he had to use almost all his strength to dragthe bullet up from the wound. It came free at last, releasing a spillof bright blood, and McCandless groaned.“All done now, sir,” Sharpe told him.“Thank God,” McCandless whispered, ‘thank God.” The Scotsman openedhis eyes. The doctor was bandaging the thigh and McCandless lookedpast him to Pohlmann.“This is treachery, Colonel, treachery! I was your guest!“Your horses will be found, Colonel, I promise you,” Pohlmann said, butthough his men made a search of the camp, and though they searcheduntil morning, the two horses were not found.

Sharpe was the only manwho could identify them, for Colonel McCandless was in no state towalk, but Sharpe saw no horses that resembled the stolen pair, but nordid he expect to for any competent horse thief knew a dozen tricks todisguise his catch. The beast would be clipped, its coat would be dyedwith blackball, it would be force-fed an enema so that its headdrooped, then it would as likely as not be put among the cavalry mountswhere one horse looked much like another. Both McCandless’s horses hadbeen European bred and were larger and officer quality than most inPohlmann’s camp, yet even so Sharpe saw no sign of the two animals.Colonel Pohlmann went to McCandless’s tent and confessed that thehorses had vanished.“I shall pay you their value, of course,” he added.“I won’t take it!” McCandless snapped back. The Colonel was stillpale, and shivering despite the heat. His wound was bandaged, and thedoctor reckoned it should heal swiftly enough, but there was a dangerthat the Colonel’s recurrent fever might return.“I won’t take my enemy’s gold,” McCandless explained, and Sharpereckoned it must be the pain speaking for he knew the two missinghorses must have cost the Colonel dearly.“I shall leave you the money,” Pohlmann insisted anyway, ‘and thisafternoon we shall execute the prisoner.

“Do what you must,” McCandless grumbled.“Then we shall carry you northwards,” the Hanoverian promised, ‘for youmust stay under Doctor Viedler’s care.“McCandless levered himself into a sitting position.“You’ll not take me anywhere!” he insisted angrily.“You leave me here, Pohlmann. I’ll not depend on your care, but onGod’s mercy.” He let himself drop back onto the bed and hissed withpain.“And Sergeant Sharpe can tend me.“Pohlmann glanced at Sharpe. The Hanoverian seemed about to say thatSharpe might not wish to stay with McCandless, but then he just noddedhis acceptance of McCandless’s decision.

“If you wish to be abandoned, McCandless, so be it.“‘1 have more faith in God than in a faithless mercenary like you,Pohlmann.“As you wish, Colonel,” Pohlmann said gently, then backed from the tentand gestured for Sharpe to follow.“He’s a stubborn fellow, isn’t he?” The Hanoverian turned and lookedat Sharpe.“So, Sergeant? Are you coming with us?“No, sir,” Sharpe said. Last night, he reflected, he had very nearlydecided to accept the Hanoverian’s offer, but the theft of the horsesand the single shot fired by the sepoy had served to change Sharpe’smind.He could not leave McCandless to suffer and, to his surprise, he feltno great disappointment in thus having the decision forced on him. Dutydictated he should stay, but so did sentiment, and he had no regret.“Someone has to look after Colonel McCandless, sir,” Sharpe explained,‘and he’s looked after me in the past, so it’s my turn now.“I’m sorry,” Pohlmann said, ‘truly I am.

The execution will be in onehour. I think you should see it, so you can assure your Colonel thatjustice was done.“Justice, sir?” Sharpe asked scornfully.“It ain’t justice, shooting that fellow. He was put up to it by MajorDodd.” Sharpe had no proof of that, but he suspected it strongly.Dodd, he reckoned, had been hurt by McCandless’s insults and must havedecided to add horse-thieving to his catalogue of crimes.“You have questioned your prisoner, haven’t you, sir?” Sharpe asked.“Because he must know that Dodd was up to his neck in the business.“Pohlmann smiled wearily.

“The prisoner told us everything, Sergeant or I assume he did, but whatuse is that? Major Dodd denies the man’s story, and a score of sepoysswear the Major was nowhere near McCandless’s tent when the shots werefired. And who would the British army believe? A desperate man or anofficer?” Pohlmann shook his head.“So you must be content with the death of one man, Sergeant.“Sharpe expected that the captured sepoy would be shot, but there was nosign of any firing squad when the moment arrived for the man’s death.Two companies from each of Pohlmann’s eight battalions were paraded,the sixteen companies making three sides of a hollow square withPohlmann’s striped marquee forming the fourth side. Most of the othertents had already been struck ready for the move northwards, but themarquee remained and one of its canvas walls had been brailed up sothat the compoo’s officers could witness the execution from chairs setin the tent’s shade. Dodd was not there, nor were any of theregiment’s wives, but a score of officers took their places and wereserved sweetmeats and drink by Pohlmann’s servants.The prisoner was fetched onto the makeshift execution ground by four ofPohlmann’s bodyguards. None of the four carried a musket, instead theywere equipped with tent pegs, mallets and short lengths of rope. Theprisoner, who wore nothing but a strip of cloth around his loins,glanced from side to side as if trying to find an escape route, but, ona nod from Pohlmann, the bodyguards kicked his feet out from beneathhim and then knelt beside his sprawling body and pinioned it to theground by tying the ropes to his wrists and ankles, then fastening thebonds to the tent pegs.

The condemned man lay there, spreadeagledgazing up at the cloudless sky as the mallets banged the eight pegshome.Sharpe stood to one side. No one spoke to him, no one even looked athim, and no wonder, he thought, for this was a farce. All the officersmust have known that Dodd was the guilty man, yet the sepoy must die.The paraded troops seemed to agree with Sharpe, for there was asullenness in the ranks. Pohlmann’s compoo might be well armed andsuperbly trained, but it was not happy.The four bodyguards finished tying the prisoner down, then walked awayto leave him alone in the centre of the execution ground. An Indianofficer, resplendent in silk robes and with a lavishly curved tulwarhanging from his belt, made a speech. Sharpe did not understand aword, but he guessed that the watching soldiers were being haranguedabout the fate which awaited any thief. The officer finished, glancedonce at the prisoner, then walked back to the tent and, just as heentered its shade, so Pohlmann’s great elephant with its silver-encasedtusks and cascading metal coat was led out from behind the marquee.

Themahout guided the beast by tugging on one of its ears, but as soon asthe elephant saw the prisoner it needed no guidance, but just ploddedacross to the spreadeagled man. The victim shouted for mercy, butPohlmann was deaf to the pleas.The Colonel twisted round.“You’re watching, Sharpe?“You’ve got the wrong man, sir. You should have Dodd there.“Justice must be done,” the Colonel said, and turned back to theelephant that was standing quietly beside the victim who twisted in hisbonds, thrashed, and even managed to free one hand, but instead ofusing that free hand to tug at the other three ropes that held him, heflailed uselessly at the elephant’s trunk. A murmur ran through thewatching sixteen companies, but the jemadars and havildars shouted andthe sullen murmur ceased. Pohlmann watched the prisoner struggle for a few more seconds, then took a deep breath.“Haddahl’ he shouted.Had daM The prisoner screamed in anticipation as, very slowly, theelephant lifted one ponderous forefoot and moved its body slightlyforward.

The great foot came down on the prisoner’s chest and seemedto rest there.The man tried to push the foot away, but he might as well haveattempted to shove a mountain aside. Pohlmann leaned forward, hismouth open, as, slowly, very slowly, the elephant transferred itsweight onto the man’s chest. There was another scream, then the mancould not draw breath to scream again, but still he jerked and twitchedand still the weight pressed on him, and Sharpe saw his legs try tocontract against the bonds at his ankles, and saw his head jerk up, andthen he heard the splinter of ribs and saw the blood spill and bubbleat the victim’s mouth.He winced, trying to imagine the pain as the elephant pressed on down,crushing bone and lung and spine. The prisoner gave one last jerk, hishair flapping, then his head fell back and a great wash of bloodbrimmed from his open mouth and puddled beside his corpse.There was a last crunching sound, then the elephant stepped back and asigh sounded gently through the watching ranks. Pohlmann applauded,and the officers joined in. Sharpe turned away. Bastards, he thought,bastards.

And that night Pohlmann marched north.Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill was not an educated man, and he was not evenparticularly clever unless slyness passed for wits, but he didunderstand one thing very well, and that was the impression he made onother men. They feared him. It did not matter whether the other manwas a raw private, fresh from the recruiting sergeant, or a generalwhose coat was bright with gold lace and heavy with braid. They allfeared him, all but two, and those two frightened Obadiah Hakeswill.One was Sergeant Richard Sharpe, in whom Hakeswill sensed a violencethat was equal to his own, while the other was Major General Sir ArthurWellesley who, when he had been colonel of the 33rd, had always beenserenely impervious to Hakeswill’s threats.So Sergeant Hakeswill would have much preferred not to confront GeneralWellesley, but when his convoy reached Ahmednuggur his enquiriesestablished that Colonel McCandless had ridden north and had takenSharpe with him, and the Sergeant had known he could do nothing furtherwithout Wellesley’s permission and so he had gone to the General’s tentwhere he announced himself to an orderly who had informed an aide whohad commanded the Sergeant to wait in the shade of a banyan tree.He waited the best part of a morning while the army readied itself toleave Ahmednuggur. Guns were being attached to limbers, oxen harnessedto carts and tents being struck by lascars. The fortress ofAhmednuggur, fearing the same fate as the city, had meekly surrenderedafter a few cannon shots and, with both the city and its fort safe inhis hands, Wellesley was now planning to march north, cross theGodavery and seek out the enemy army.

Sergeant Hakeswill had no greatwish to take part in that adventure, but he could see no other way ofcatching up with Sharpe and so he was resigned to his fate.“Sergeant Hakeswill?” An aide came from the General’s big tent.“Sir!” Hakeswill scrambled to his feet and stiffened to attention.“Sir Arthur will see you now, Sergeant.“Hakeswill marched into the tent, snatched off his shako, turned smartlyto the left, quick-marched three short paces, then slammed to a halt infront of the camp table where the General was doing paperwork.Hakeswill stood quivering at attention. His face shuddered.“At ease, Sergeant,” Wellesley, bareheaded, had barely glanced up fromhis papers as the Sergeant entered.“Sir!” Hakeswill allowed his muscles to relax slightly.“Papers for you, sir!” He pulled the warrant for Sharpe’s arrest fromhis pouch and offered it to the General.

Wellesley made no move to accept the warrant. Instead he leaned backin his chair and examined Hakeswill as though he had never seen theSergeant before. Hakeswill stood rigid, his eyes staring at the tent’sbrown wall above the General’s head. Wellesley sighed and leanedforward again, still ignoring the warrant.“Just tell me, Sergeant,” he said, his attention already returned tothe documents on his desk. An aide was taking whatever sheets theGeneral signed, sprinkling sand on the signatures, then placing morepapers on the table.“I’m ordered here by Lieutenant Colonel Gore, sir. To apprehendSergeant Sharpe, sir.“Wellesley looked up again and Hakeswill almost quailed before the coldeyes. He sensed that Wellesley could see right through him, and thesensation made his face quiver in a series of uncontrollabletwitches.

Wellesley waited for the spasms to end.“On your own, are you, Sergeant?” the General asked casually.“Detail of six men, sir.“Seven of you! To arrest one man?“Dangerous man, sir. I’m ordered to take him back to Hurryhur, sir, sohe can “Spare me the details,” Wellesley said, looking back to the nextpaper needing his signature. He tallied up a list of figures.“Since when did four twelves and eighteen yield a sum of sixty-eight?“he asked no one in particular, then corrected the calculation beforesigning the paper.“And since when did Captain Lampert dispose of the artillery train?“The aide wielding the sand-sprinkler blushed.“Colonel Eldredge, sir, is indisposed.” Drunk, if the truth was known,which it was, but it was impolitic to say that a colonel was drunk infront of a sergeant.

“Then invite Captain Lampert to supper. We must feed him somearithmetic along with a measure of common sense,” Sir Arthur said. Hesigned another paper, then rested his pen on a small silver standbefore leaning back and looking at Hakeswill. He resented theSergeant’s presence, not because he disliked Sergeant Hakeswill, thoughhe did, but rather because Wellesley had long ago left behind the caresof being the commander of the 33rd and he did not want to be remindedof those duties now. Nor did he want to be in a position to approve ordisapprove of his successor’s orders for that would be animpertinence.“Sergeant Sharpe is not here,” he said coldly.“So I hear, sir. But he was, sir?“Nor am I the person you should be troubling with this matter,Sergeant,” Wellesley went on, ignoring Hakeswill’s question. He tookup the pen again, dipped it in ink, and crossed a name from a listbefore adding his signature.“In a few days,” he continued, “Colonel McCandless will return to thearmy and you will report to him with your warrant and I’ve no doubt hewill give the matter its due attention.

Till then I shall employ you usefully. I won’t have seven men idlingwhile the rest of the army works.” Wellesley turned to the aide.“Where do we lack men, Barclay?“The aide considered for a moment.“Captain Mackay could certainly use some assistance, sir.“Very well.” Wellesley pointed the pen’s steel nib at Hakeswill.“You’ll attach yourself to Captain Mackay. Captain Mackay commands ourbullock train and you will do whatever he desires until ColonelMcCandless relieves you of that duty. Dismissed.

“Sir!” Hakeswill said dutifully, but inwardly he was furious that theGeneral had not shared his indignation about Sharpe. He about-turned,stamped from the tent, and went to find his men.“Going to the dogs,” he said bitterly.“Sergeant?” Flaherty asked.“The dogs. Time was in this army when even a general officer respectedsergeants. Now we’re to be bullock guards. Pick up your bleeding firelocks”Sharpe ain’t here, Sergeant?“Of course he ain’t here! If he was here we wouldn’t be ordered towipe bullocks’ arses, would we? But he’s coming back. General’s wordon it. Just a few days, lads, just a few days and he’ll be back withall his glittering stones hidden away.

” Hakeswill’s fury was abating.At least he had not been ordered to attach himself to a fightingbattalion, and he was beginning to realize that any duty attached tothe baggage animals would give him a fine chance to fillet the armystores. Pickings were to be made there, and more than just thepickings of stores, for the baggage always travelled with the army’stail of women and that meant more opportunity. It could be worse,Hakeswill thought, so long as this Captain Mackay was no martinet.“You know what the trouble is with this army?” Hakeswill demanded.“What?” Lowry asked.“Full of bleeding Scotchmen.” Hakeswill glowered.“I hates Scotchmen. Not English, are they? Peasant bleedingScotchmen.

Sawney creatures, they are, sawney! Should have killed them all whenwe had the chance, but we takes pity on them instead. Scorpions in ourbosoms, that’s what they are. Says so in the scriptures. Now get ableeding move on!“But it would only be a few days, the Sergeant consoled himself, only afew days, and Sharpe would be finished.Colonel Pohlmann’s bodyguard carried McCandless to a small house thatlay at the edge of the encampment. A widow and three children livedthere, and the woman shrank away from the Mahratta soldiers who hadraped her, stolen all her food and fouled her well with their sewage.The Swiss doctor left Sharpe with strict instructions that the dressingon the Colonel’s leg was to be kept damp.“I’d give you some medicine for his fever, but I have none,” the doctorsaid, ‘so if the fever gets worse just keep him warm and make himsweat.” The doctor shrugged.“It might help.

“Pohlmann left food and a leather bag of silver coins.“Tell McCandless that’s for his horses,” he told Sharpe.“Yes, sir.“The widow will look after you,” Pohlmann said, ‘and when the Colonel’swell enough you can move him to Aurungabad. And if you change yourmind, Sharpe, you know I’ll welcome you.” The Colonel shook Sharpe’shand, then mounted the silver steps to his howdah. A horseman unfurledhis banner of the white horse of Hanover.“I’ll spread word that you’re not to be molested,” Pohlmann calledback, then his mahout tapped the elephant’s skull and the great beastset off northwards.Simone Joubert was the last to say farewell.“I wish you were staying with us,” she said unhappily.

“I can’t.“I know, and maybe it’s for the best.” She looked left and right tomake certain no one was watching, then leaned swiftly forward andkissed Sharpe on the cheek.“Au revoir, Richard.“He watched her ride away, then went back into the hovel which wasnothing but a palm thatch roof set above walls made of decayed reedmats. The interior of the hut was blackened by years of smoke, and itsonly furniture was the rope cot on which McCandless lay.“She’s an outcast,” the Colonel told Sharpe, indicating the woman.“She refused to jump onto her husband’s funeral fire, so her familysent her away.” The Colonel flinched as a stab of pain scythed throughhis thigh.“Give her the food, Sergeant, and some cash out of that bag.

How muchdid Pohlmann leave us?“The coins in Pohlmann’s bag were of silver and copper, and Sharpesorted and counted each different denomination, and McCandless thentranslated their rough worth into pounds.“Sixty!” He announced the total bitterly.“That might just buy one cavalry hack, but it won’t buy a horse thatcan stay over country for days on end.“How much did your gelding cost, sir?” Sharpe asked.“Five hundred and twenty guineas,” McCandless said ruefully.“Ibought him four years ago, when you and I were released fromSeringapatam, and I prayed he’d be the last horse I’d ever buy. Exceptfor the mare, of course, but she was just a remount. Even so she costme a hundred and forty guineas. A bargain, too! I bought her inMadras, fresh off the boat and she was just skin and bones then, buttwo months of pasture put some muscle on her.“The figures were almost incomprehensible to Sharpe.

Five hundred andtwenty guineas for a horse? A man could live his whole life on fivehundred and forty-six pounds, and live well. Ale every day.“Won’t the Company replace the horses, sir?” he asked.McCandless smiled sadly.“They might, Sharpe, but I doubt it. I doubt it very much.“Why not, sir?“I’m an old man,” the Scotsman said, ‘and my salary is a heavy imposton the Company’s debit column. I told you they’d like me to retire,Sharpe, and if I indent for the value of two horses they might wellinsist on my retirement.” He sighed.“I knew this pursuit of Dodd was doomed.

I felt it in my bones.“We’ll get you another horse, sir,” Sharpe said.McCandless grimaced.“How, pray?“We can’t have you walking, sir. Not a full colonel. Besides, it wasmy fault, really.“Your fault? Don’t be absurd, Sharpe.“I should have been with you, sir. But I wasn’t. I was offthinking.

“The Colonel looked at him steadily for what seemed a long while.“Ishould imagine, Sergeant,” he said at last, ‘that you had a lot tothink about. How was your elephant ride with Colonel Pohlmann?“He showed me Aurungabad, sir.“I think he took you to the mountain top and showed you the kingdoms ofthis world,” the Colonel said.“What did he offer you? A lieutenancy?“Yes, sir.” Sharpe blushed to admit as much, but it was dark insidethe widow’s hovel and the Colonel did not see.“He told you of Benoit de Boigne,” McCandless asked, ‘and of that rogueGeorge Thomas? And he said you could be a rich man in two or threeyears, aren’t I right?“Something like that, sir.“McCandless shrugged.“I won’t deceive you, Sharpe, he’s right.Everything he told you is true.

Out there’ he waved towards thesetting sun which glinted through the chinks in the reedmat walls’ isa lawless society that for years has rewarded the soldier with gold. The soldier, mark me, not the honest farmer or the hard-workingmerchant. The princedoms grow fat, Sharpe, and the people grow lean,but there is nothing to stop you serving those princes. Nothing butthe oath you took to serve your King.“I’m still here, sir, aren’t I?” Sharpe said indign andy”Yes, Sharpe, you are,” McCandless said, then he closed his eyes andgroaned.“I fear the fever is going to come. Maybe not.“So what do we do, sir?“Do? Nothing. Nothing helps the fever except a week of shivering inthe heat.“I meant about getting you back to the army, sir.

I could go toAurungabad and see if I can find someone to take a message.“Not unless you speak their language, you won’t,” McCandless said, thenhe lay for a while in silence.“Sevajee will find us,” he went on eventually.“News carries far in this countryside, and Sevajee will smell us out inthe end.” Again he fell silent, and Sharpe thought he had fallenasleep, but then he saw the Colonel shake his head.“Doomed,” the Colonel said.“Lieutenant Dodd is going to be the end of me.“We’ll capture Dodd, sir, I promise.“I pray so, I pray so.” The Colonel pointed to his saddlebags in thecorner of the hut.

“Would you find my Bible, Sharpe? And perhaps you’d read to me whilethere’s still a little light? Something from the Book of Job, Ithink.“McCandless fell into days of fever and Sharpe into days of isolation.For all he knew the war might have been won or lost, for he saw no oneand no news came to the thatched hovel under its thin-leaved trees. Tokeep himself busy he cleared out an old irrigation ditch that rannorthwards across the woman’s land, and he hacked at the brush, killedsnakes and shovelled earth until he was rewarded by a trickle ofwater.That done, he tackled the hovel’s roof, laying new palm thatch on theold and binding it in place with twists of frond. He went hungry, forthe woman had little food other than the grain Pohlmann had left andsome dried beans. Sharpe stripped to the waist when he worked and hisskin went as brown as the stock of his musket. In the evenings heplayed with the woman’s three children, making forts out of the redsoil that they bombarded with stones and, in one memorable twilight,when a toy rampart proved impregnable to thrown pebbles, Sharpe laid afuse of powder and blew a breach with three of his musket cartridges.He did his best to tend McCandless, washing the Colonel’s face,reading him the scriptures and feeding him spoonfuls of bittergunpowder diluted in water. He was not sure that the powder helped,but every soldier swore that it was the best medicine for the fever,and so Sharpe forced spoonfuls of the salty mixture down the Colonel’sthroat.

He worried about the bullet wound in McCandless’s thigh, for the widowhad shyly pushed him aside one day when he was dampening the dressingand had insisted on untying the bandage and putting a poultice of herown making onto the raw wound. There were moss and cobwebs in thepoultice, and Sharpe wondered if he had done the right thing by lettingher apply the mixture, but as the first week passed the wound did notseem to worsen and, in his more lucid moments, the Colonel claimed thepain was lessening.Once the irrigation ditch was cleared Sharpe tackled the widow’swell.He devised a dredge out of a broken wooden bucket and used it to scoopout handfuls of foul-smelling mud from the base of the well, and allthe while he thought about his future. He knew Major Stokes wouldwelcome him back to the Seringapatam armoury, but after a time theregiment would surely remember his existence and want him back and thatwould mean rejoining the Light Company with Captain Morris and SergeantHakeswill, and Sharpe shuddered at that thought. Maybe Colonel Gorewould transfer him? The lads said that Gore was a decent fellow, notas chilling as Wellesley, and that was good news, yet even so Sharpeoften wondered whether he should have accepted Pohlmann’s offer.Lieutenant Sharpe, he muttered it aloud, Lieutenant Sharpe. Why not?And in those moments he would daydream of the joy of going back to thefoundling home in Brewhouse Lane. He would wear a sword and a cockedhat, have braid on his jacket and spurs at his heels, and for everylash the bastards had ever laid on small Richard Sharpe he would paythem back tenfold. He felt a terrible anger when he remembered thosebeatings and he would haul at his makeshift dredge as if he could slakethe anger with hard work.

But in all those daydreams he never once returned to Brewhouse Lane ina white coat, or in a purple coat, or in any other coat except a redone.No one in Britain had ever heard of Anthony Pohlmann, and why shouldthey care that a child had gone from the gutters of Wapping to acommission in the Maharajah of Gwalior’s army? A man might as wellclaim to be Colonel of the Moon for all anyone would care. Unless itwas a red coat, they would condemn him as a flash bastard, and be donewith him, but if he walked back in Britain’s scarlet coat then theywould take him seriously and that meant he had to become an officer inhis own army.So one night, when the rain was beating on the widow’s repaired thatchand the Colonel was sitting on the rope bed declaring that his feverwas abating, Sharpe asked McCandless how a man became an officer inBritain’s army.“I mean I know it can be done, sir,” he said awkwardly, ‘because we hada Mister Devlin back in England and he came up from the ranks. He’dbeen a shepherd’s boy on the dales before he took the shilling, but hewas Lieutenant Devlin when I knew him.“And was most likely to die as an old and embittered Lieutenant Devlin,McCandless thought, but he did not say as much. Instead he pausedbefore saying anything. He was even tempted to evade the questionaltogether by pretending that his fever had suddenly taken a turn forthe worse for he understood only too well what lay behind Sharpe’squestion. Most officers would have mocked the ambition, but HectorMcCandless was not a mocker.

But he also knew that for a man to aspireto rise from the ranks to the officers’ mess was to risk twodisappointments: the disappointments of both failure and success. Themost likely outcome was failure, for such promotions were as scarce ashens’ teeth, but a few men did make the leap and their successinevitably led to unhappiness. They lacked the education of the otherofficers, they lacked their manners and they lacked their confidence.They were generally disdained by the other officers, and set to work asquartermasters in the belief that they could not be trusted to” leadmen in battle. And there was even some truth to that belief, for themen themselves did not like their officers to have come from the ranks,but McCandless decided Sharpe knew all that for himself and so hespared him the need to listen to it all over again.“There are two ways, Sharpe,” McCandless said.“First you can buy a commission. The rank of ensign will cost you fourhundred pounds, but you’ll need another hundred and fifty to equipyourself, and even that will only buy a barely adequate horse, afour-guinea sword and a serviceable uniform, and you’ll still need aprivate income to cover your mess bills. An ensign earns close toninety-five pounds a year, but the army stops some of that for expensesand more for the income tax. Have you heard of that new tax,Sharpe?“No, sir.

“A pernicious thing. Taking from a man what he has honestly earned!It’s thievery, Sharpe, disguised as government.” The Colonelscowled.“So an ensign is lucky to see seventy pounds out of his salary, andeven if he lives frugal that won’t cover his mess bills. Mostregiments charge an officer two shillings for dinner every day, ashilling for wine, though of course you could go without wine wellenough and water’s free, but there’s sixpence a day for the messservant, another sixpence for breakfast and sixpence for washing andmending. You can’t live as an officer without at least a hundredpounds a year on top of your salary. Have you got the money?“No, sir,” Sharpe lied. In truth he had enough jewels sewn into hisred coat to buy himself a majority, but he did not want McCandless toknow that.“Good,” McCandless said, ‘because that isn’t the best way. Mostregiments won’t look at a man buying himself out of the ranks.

Whyshould they? They’ve got plenty of young hopefuls coming from theshires with their parents’ cash hot in their purses, so the last thingthey need is some half-educated ranker who can’t meet his mess bills.I’m not saying it’s impossible. Any regiment posted to the West Indieswill sell you an ensign’s post cheap, but that’s because they can’t getanyone else on account of the yellow fever. A posting to the WestIndies is a death sentence. But if a man wants to get into anythingother than a West Indies-bound regiment, Sharpe, then he must hope forthe second route.He must be a sergeant and he must be able to read and write, butthere’s a third requirement too. The fellow must perform a quiteimpossibly gallant act. Leading a Forlorn Hope will do the trick, butany act, so long as it’s suicidal, will serve, though of course he mustdo it under the General’s eye or else it’s all a waste of time.“Sharpe sat in silence for a while, daunted by the obstacles that lay inthe way of his daydream’s fulfilment.“Do they give him a test, sir?” he asked.

“In reading?” That thought worried him for, although his reading wasimproving night by night, he still stumbled over quite simple words. Heclaimed that the Bible’s print was too small, and McCandless was kindenough to believe the excuse.“A test in reading? Good Lord, no! For an officer!” McCandlesssmiled tiredly.“They take his word, of course.” The Colonel paused for a second.“But I’ve often wondered, Sharpe,” he went on, ‘why a man from theranks would want to be an officer?“So he could go back to Brewhouse Lane, Sharpe thought, and kick someteeth in.“I was just wondering about it, sir,” he said instead.“Just thinking, sir.“Because in many ways,” McCandless said, ‘sergeants have more influencewith the men. Less formal prestige, perhaps, but certainly moreinfluence than any junior officer.

Ensigns and lieutenants, Sharpe,are very insignificant creatures. They’re really of very little usemost of the time. It’s not till a man reaches his captaincy that hebegins to be valuable.“I’m sure you’re right, sir,” Sharpe said lamely.“I was just thinking.” That night the Colonel relapsed into fever, andSharpe sat in the hut doorway and listened to the rain beat on theland. He could not shake the daydream, could not drive away thepicture of him ducking through the gate in Brewhouse Lane and seeingthe faces he hated. He wanted it, he wanted it terribly, and so hedreamed on, dreaming the impossible, but unable to check the dream. Hedid not know how, but he would somehow make the leap. Or else die inthe attempt.

CHAPTER 7

Dodd called his new gelding Peter.“Because it’s got no balls, Monsewer,” he informed Pierre Joubert, andhe repeated the poor joke a dozen times in the next two days just tomake certain that its insult was understood. Joubert smiled and saidnothing, and the Major would launch himself into a panegyric on Peter’smerits. His old horse had whistling lungs, while this one could beridden all day and still had its head up and a spring in its longstride.“A thoroughbred, Captain,” he told Joubert, ‘an English thoroughbred.Not some screw-backed old French nag, but a proper horse.“The men in Dodd’s Cobras liked to see their Major on his fine bighorse. It was true that one man had died in the beast’s acquisition,yet the theft had still been a fine piece of banditry, and the men hadlaughed to see the English Sergeant searching the camp while all thewhile Major Dodd’s jemadar, Gopal, was hiding the horses a long way tothe north.Colonel Pohlmann was less amused.“I promised McCandless safe conduct, Major,” he growled at Dodd thefirst time he saw the Englishman on his new gelding.

“Quite right, sir.“And you’ve added horse-thieving to your catalogue of crimes?“I can’t think what you mean, sir,” Dodd protested in mock innocence.“I purchased this beast off a horse trader yesterday, sir.Gypsy-looking fellow from Korpalgaon. Took the last of my savings.“And your jemadar’s new horse?” Pohlmann asked, pointing to Gopal whowas riding Colonel McCandless’s mare.“He bought her from the same fellow,” Dodd said.“Of course he did, Major,” Pohlmann said wearily. The Colonel knew itwas pointless to chide a man for theft in an army that was encouragedto steal for its very existence, yet he was offended byDodd’s abuse of the hospitality that had been extended to McCandless.The Scotsman was right, Pohlmann thought, Dodd was a man withouthonour, yet the Hanoverian knew that if Scindia employed none butsaints then he would have no European officers.

The theft of McCandless’s horses only added more reason for Pohlmann todislike William Dodd. He found the Englishman too dour, too jealousand too humourless, yet still, despite his dislike, he recognized thatthe Major was a fine soldier. His rescue of his regiment fromAhmednuggur had been an inglorious operation executed superbly, andPohlmann, at least, understood the achievement, just as he appreciatedthat Dodd’s men liked their new commanding officer. The Hanoverian wasnot certain why Dodd was popular, for he was not an easy man; he had nosmall talk, he smiled rarely, and he was punctilious about details thatother officers might let pass, yet still the men liked him. Maybe theysensed that he was on their side, wholly on their side, recognizingthat nothing is achieved in war by officers without men, and a gooddeal by men without officers, and for that reason, if no other, theywere glad he was their commanding officer. And men who like theircommanding officer are more likely to fight well than men who do not,and so Pohlmann was glad that he had William Dodd as a regimentalcommander even if he did disdain him as little better than a commonthief.Pohlmann’s compoo had now joined the rest of Scindia’s army, which hadalready been swollen by the troops of the Rajah of Berar, so that overa hundred thousand men and all their animals now wandered the DeccanPlain in search of grazing, forage and grain. The vast army hugelyoutnumbered its enemy, but Scindia made no attempt to bring Wellesleyto battle. Instead he led his horde in an apparently aimless fashion.They went south towards the enemy, then withdrew north, they made alumbering surge to the east and then retraced their steps to the west,and everywhere they marched they stripped the farms, slashed downcrops, broke into granaries, slaughtered livestock and rifled humblehomes in search of rice, wheat or lentils.

Every day a score ofcavalry patrols rode south to find the enemy armies, but the Mahrattahorsemen rarely came close to the redcoats for the British cavalrycounter-patrolled aggressively and each day left dead horses on theplain while Scindia’s great host wandered mindlessly on.“Now that you have such a fine horse,” Pohlmann said to Dodd a weekafter the Major’s theft, ‘perhaps you can lead a cavalry patrol?“Gladly, sir.“Someone has to find out what the British are doing,” Pohlmanngrumbled.Dodd rode south with some of Pohlmann’s own cavalry and his patrolsucceeded where so many others had failed, but only because the Majordonned his old red coat so that it would appear as if his score ofhorsemen were under the command of a British officer, and the ruseworked for Dodd came across a much smaller force of Mysore cavalry whorode unsuspecting into the trap. Six enemy escaped, eight died, andtheir leader yielded a mass of information before Dodd shot him throughthe head.“You might have brought him back to us,” Pohlmann remonstrated gentlywhen Dodd returned.“I could have talked with him myself,” the Colonel added, peering downfrom his green-curtained howdah. The elephant plodded behind apurple-coated horseman who carried Pohlmann’s red flag emblazoned withthe white horse of Hanover.There was a girl with Pohlmann, but all Dodd could see of her was adark languid hand bright with gems hanging over the howdatfs edge.“So tell me what you learned, Major,” Pohlmann ordered.

“The British are back close to the Godavery, sir, but they’re stillsplit into two forces and neither has more than six thousandinfantry.Wellesley’s nearest to us while Stevenson’s moving off to the west.I’ve made a map, sir, with their dispositions.” Dodd held the paper uptowards the swaying howdah.“Hoping to pincer us, are they?” Pohlmann asked, reaching down topluck the map from the Major’s hand.“Not now, Lwbchen,” he added, though not to Dodd.“I imagine they’re staying divided because of the roads, sir,” Doddsaid.“Of course,” Pohlmann said, wondering why Dodd was teaching him to suckeggs. The British need for decent roads was much greater than theMahrattas’, for the British carried all their foodstuffs in ox wagonsand the cumbersome vehicles could not manage any country other than thesmoothest grass plains. Which meant that the two enemy armies couldonly advance where the ground was smooth or the roads adequate.

Itmade their movements clumsy, and it made any attempt to pincerScindia’s army doubly difficult, though by now, Pohlmann reflected, theBritish commander must be thoroughly confused about Scindia’sintentions. So was Scindia, for that matter, for the Maharajah wastaking his tactical advice from astrologers rather than from hisEuropean officers which meant that the great horde was impelled to itswanderings by the glimmer of stars, the import of dreams and theentrails of goats.“If we marched south now,” Dodd urged Pohlmann, ‘we could trapWellesley’s men south of Aurungabad. Stevenson’s too far away tosupport him.“It does sound a good idea,” Pohlmann agreed genially, pocketing Dodd’smap.“There must be some plan,” Dodd suggested irritably.“Must there?” Pohlmann asked airily.“Higher up, Liebchen, just there!That’s good!” The bejewelled hand had vanished inside the howdah.Pohlmann closed his eyes for an instant, then opened them and smileddown on Dodd.“The plan,” the Hanoverian said grandly, ‘is to wait and see whetherHolkar will join us.

” Holkar was the most powerful of all the Mahrattachieftains, but he was biding his time, uncertain whether to joinScindia and the Rajah of Berar or whether to sit out the war with hishuge forces intact.“And the next part of the plan,” Pohlmann went on, ‘is to hold adurbar. Have you ever attended a durbar, Dodd?“No, sir.“It is a council, a committee of the old and the wise, or rather of thesenile and the talkative. The war will be discussed, as will theposition of the stars and the mood of the gods and the failure of themonsoon and, once the durbar is over, if indeed it ever ends, we shallcommence our wandering once again, but perhaps a decision of sorts willhave been made, though whether that decision will be to retire onNagpoor, or to advance on Hyderabad, or to choose a battlefield andallow the British to attack us, or simply to march from now until theDay of Judgment, I cannot yet tell you. I shall offer advice, ofcourse, but if Scindia dreams of monkeys on the night before the durbarthen not even Alexander the Great could persuade him to fight.“But Scindia must know better than to let the two British forces unite,sir?” Dodd said.“He does, he does, indeed he does. Our lord and master is no fool, buthe is inscrutable. We are waiting for the omens to be propitious.

“They’re propitious now,” Dodd protested.“That is not for you or me to decide. We Europeans can be relied uponto fight, but not to read the messages of the stars or to understandthe meaning of dreams. But when it comes to the battle, Major, you canbe sure that the stars and the dreams will be ignored and that Scindiawill leave all the decisions to me.” Pohlmann smiled benignly at Dodd,then gazed out at the horde of cavalry that covered the plain. Theremust have been fifty thousand horsemen in view, but Pohlmann wouldhappily have marched with only a thousand. Most of the Mahrattahorsemen were only present for the loot they hoped to steal aftervictory and, though they were all fine riders and brave fighters, theyhad no conception of picquet duty and none was willing to charge intothe face of an infantry unit. They did not understand that a cavalrytroop needed to take horrific casualties if it was to break infantry;instead they reckoned Scindia’s great guns and his mercenary infantrywould do the shattering and they would then pursue the broken enemylike hornets, and until that happy moment they were just so manyuseless mouths to feed. If they all went away tomorrow it would makeno difference to the war’s outcome for the victory would still be wonby the artillery and the infantry. Pohlmann knew that and he imaginedlining his guns wheel to wheel in batteries, with his infantry formedjust behind and then watching the redcoats walk into a tumult of fireand iron and death.

A flail of fire! A storm of metal whipping theair into a gale of bloody ruin amongst which the British would bechopped into butcher’s scraps.“You’re hurting me,” the girl said.“Liebchen, I’m so sorry,” Pohlmann said, releasing his grip.“I was thinking.“Sir?” Dodd asked, thinking the Hanoverian was speaking to him.“I was thinking, Dodd, that it is no bad thing that we wander soaimlessly.“It isn’t?” Dodd retorted with astonishment.“Because if we do not know where we are going, then nor will theBritish, so one day they will march a few miles too far and then weshall pounce on them. Someone will blunder, Dodd, because in warsomeone always does blunder. It is an immutable rule of war; someonewill blunder.

We must just have patience.” In truth Pohlmann was justas impatient as Dodd, but the Colonel knew it would not serve anypurpose to betray that impatience. In India, he had learned, mattersmoved at their own pace, as imponderable and unstoppable as anelephant. But soon, Pohlmann reckoned, one of the British forces wouldmake a march too far and find itself so close to the vast Mahratta armythat even Scindia could not refuse battle. And even if the two enemyarmies joined, what did that matter? Their combined forces were small,the Mahratta horde was vast, and the outcome of their meeting ascertain as anything could be in war. And Pohlmann was confident thatScindia would eventually give him command of the army, and Pohlmannwould then roll over the enemy like the great Juggernaut of Hindulegend and with that happy prospect he was content.Dodd looked up to say something more, but the howdah’s green curtainshad been drawn shut. The girl giggled, while the mahout, seated justin front of the closed howdah, stared impassively ahead. The Mahrattaswere on the march, covering the earth like a swarm, just waiting fortheir enemies to blunder.Sharpe was tired of being hungry so one day he took his musket andwalked in search of game.

He reckoned anything would do, even a tiger,but he hoped to find beef. India seemed full of beeves, but that dayhe saw none, though after four miles he found a herd of goats grazingin a small wood. He drew his bayonet, reckoning it would be easier tocut one of the beast’s throats than shoot it and so attract theattention of the herd’s vengeful owner, but when he came close to theanimals a dog burst out of the trees and attacked him.He clubbed the dog down with his musket butt, and the brief commotionput the goats to flight and it took him the best part of an hour tofind the animals again and by then he could not have cared if heattracted half the population of India and so he aimed and fired, andall he succeeded in doing was wounding one poor beast that startedbleating pitifully. He ran to it, cut its throat, which was harderthan he had thought, then hoisted the carcass onto his shoulder.The widow boiled the stringy flesh which tasted foul, but it was stillmeat and Sharpe wolfed it down as though he had not eaten in months.The smell of the meat roused Colonel McCandless who sat up in his bedand frowned at the pot.“I could almost eat that,” he said.“You want some, sir?“I haven’t eaten meat in eighteen years, Sharpe, I won’t start now.“He ran a hand through his lank white hair.

“I do declare I’m feeling better, God be praised.“The Colonel swung his feet onto the floor and tried to stand.“But I’m weak as a kitten,” he said.ifin”Plate of meat will put some strength in you, sir.”’ “Get thee behind me, Satan,” the Colonel said, then put a hand on oneof the posts which held up the roof and hauled himself to his feet.“I might take a walk tomorrow.“How’s the leg, sir?“Mending, Sharpe, mending.” The Colonel put some weight on his leftleg and seemed pleasantly surprised that it did not buckle.“God has preserved me again.“Thank God for that, sir.

“I do, Sharpe, I do.“Next morning the Colonel felt better still. He ducked out of the hutand blinked in the bright sunlight.“Have you seen any soldiers these last two weeks?“Not a one, sir. Nothing but farmers.“The Colonel scraped a hand across the white bristles on his chin.“Ashave, I think. Would you be so kind as to fetch my box of razors? Andperhaps you could heat some water?“Sharpe dutifully put a pot of water on the fire, then stropped one ofthe Colonel’s razors on a saddle’s girth strap. He was just perfectingthe edge when McCandless called him from outside the house.“Sharpe!“Something in McCandless’s voice made Sharpe snatch up his musket, thenhe heard the beat of hooves as he ducked under the low doorway and hehauled back the musket’s cock in expectation of enemies, but McCandlesswaved the weapon down.

“I said Sevajee would find us!“the Colonel said happily.“Nothing stays secret in this countryside, Sharpe.“Sharpe lowered the musket’s flint as he watched Sevajee lead his mentowards the widow’s house. The young Indian grinned at McCandless’sdishevelled condition.“I heard there was a white devil near here, and I knew it would beyou.“I wish you’d come sooner,” McCandless grumbled.“Why? You were ill. The folks I spoke to said you would die.” Sevajeeslid out of the saddle and led his horse to the well.“Besides, we’ve been too busy.

“Following Scindia, I trust?” the Colonel asked.“Here, there and everywhere.” Sevajee hauled up a skin of water andheld it under his horse’s nose.“They’ve been south, east, back north again. But now they’re going tohold a durbar, Colonel.“A durbar]’ McCandless brightened, and Sharpe wondered what on earth adurbar was.“They’ve gone to Borkardan,” Sevajee announced happily.“All of them! Scindia, the Rajah of Berar, the whole lot! A sea ofenemies.“Borkardan,” McCandless said, summoning a mental map in his head.“Where’s that? Two days’ march north?“One for a horseman, two on foot,” Sevajee agreed.

McCandless, his shave forgotten, stared northwards.“But how long will they stay there?“Long enough,” Sevajee said gleefully, ‘and first they have to make aplace fit for a prince’s durbar and that will take them two or threedays, and then they’ll talk for another two or three days. And theyneed to rest their animals too, and in Borkardan they’ve found plentyof forage.“How do you know?” McCandless asked.“Because we met some brin dames Sevajee said with a smile, and turnedat the same time to indicate four small, lean and riderless horses thatwere the trophies of that meeting.“We had a talk with them,” Sevajee said airily, and Sharpe wondered howbrutal that talk had been.“Forty thousand infantry, sixty thousand cavalry,” Sevajee said, ‘andover a hundred guns.“McCandless limped back into the house to fetch paper and ink from hissaddlebag. Then, back in the sunlight, he wrote a despatch and Sevajeedetailed six of his horsemen to take the precious news south as fast asthey could. They would need to search for Wellesley’s army and Sevajeetold them to whip their horses bloody because, if the British movedfast, there was a chance to catch the Mahrattas while they wereencamped for their durbar and then to attack them before they couldform their battle array.

“That would even things up,” McCandless announced happily.“A surprise attack!“They’re not fools,” Sevajee warned, ‘they’ll have a host ofpicquets.“But it takes time to organize a hundred thousand men, Sevajee, a lotof time! They’ll be milling about like sheep while we march intobattle!“The six horsemen rode away with the precious despatch and McCandless,tired again, let Sharpe shave him.“All we can do now is wait,” the Colonel said.“Wait?” Sharpe asked indignantly, believing that McCandless wasimplying that they would do nothing while the battle was beingfought.“If Scindia’s at Borkardan,” the Colonel said, ‘then our armies willhave to march this way to reach him. So we might as well wait for themto come to us. Then we can join up again.“It was time to stop dreaming. It was time to fight.

Wellesley’s army had crossed the Godavery and marched towardsAurungabad, then heard that Scindia’s forces had gone far to the eastbefore lunging south towards the heartland of Hyderabad, and the reportmade sense for the old Nizam had just died and left a young son on thethrone and a young ruler’s state could make for rich pickings, and soWellesley had turned his small army and hurried back to the Godavery.They laboriously recrossed the river, swimming the horses, bullocks andelephants to the southern bank, and floating the guns, limbers andwagons across on rafts. The men used boats made from inflatedbladders, and it took two whole days to make the crossing and then,after a day’s march south towards threatened Hyderabad, more news camethat the enemy had turned about and gone back northwards.“Don’t know what they’re bleeding doing,” Hakeswill declared.“Captain Mackay says we’re looking for the enemy,” Private Lowrysuggested helpfully.“Looking for his arse, more like. Bloody Wellesley.” Hakeswill wassitting beside the river, watching the bullocks being goaded back intothe water to cross once again to the north bank.“In the water, out the water, up one road, down the next, walk inbleeding circles, then back through the bleeding river again.” Hisblue eyes opened wide in indignation and his face twitched.

“Arthur Wellesley should never be a general.“Why not, Sarge?” Private Kendrick asked, knowing that Hakeswillwanted the opportunity to explain.“Stands to reason, lad, stands to reason.” Hakeswill paused to light aclay pipe.“No bleeding experience. You remember that wood outside Seringapatam?Bloody chaos, that’s what it was, bloody chaos and who caused it? Hedid, that’s who.” He gestured at Wellesley who, mounted on a tallwhite horse, had come to the bluff above the river.“He’s a general,” Hakeswill explained, ‘because his father’s an earland because his elder brother’s the Governor General, that’s why. Ifmy father had been a bleeding earl, then I’d be a bleeding general,says so in the scriptures. Lord Obadiah Hakeswill, I’d be, and youwouldn’t see me buggering about like a dog chasing fleas up its arse.

I’d bleeding well get the job done. On your feet, lads, look smartnow!“The General, with nothing to do except wait while his army crossed theriver, had turned his horse up the bank and his path brought him closeto where Hakeswill had been seated. Wellesley looked across,recognized the Sergeant and seemed about to turn away, but then aninnate courtesy overcame his distaste for speaking with the lowerranks.“Still here, Sergeant?” he asked awkwardly.“Still here, sir,” Hakeswill said. He was quivering at attention, hisclay pipe thrust into a pocket and his firelock by his side.“Doing my duty, sir, like a soldier.“Your duty?” Wellesley asked.“You came to arrest Sergeant Sharpe, isn’t that right?“Sir!” Hakeswill affirmed.The General grimaced.

“Let me know if you see him. He’s with Colonel McCandless, and theyboth seem to be missing. Dead, probably.” And on that cheerful notethe General tugged on his reins and spurred away.Hakeswill watched him go, then retrieved his clay pipe and sucked thetobacco back to glowing life. Then he spat onto the bank.“Sharpie ain’t dead,” he said malevolently.“I’m the one who’s going to kill Sharpie. Says so in thescriptures.“Then Captain Mackay arrived and insisted that Hakeswill and his six menhelp organize the transfer of the bullocks across the river.

Theanimals carried packs loaded with spare round shot for the artillery,and the Captain had been provided with two rafts for that preciousammunition.“They’re to transfer the shot to the rafts, understand?Then swim the beasts over. I don’t want chaos, Sergeant. Make them |,line up decently. And make sure they don’t roll the shot into theriver w to save themselves the bother of reloading it.” y “It isn’t asoldier’s job,” Hakeswill complained when the Captain was || gone.“Chivvying bullocks? I ain’t a bleeding Scotchman. That’s all?lthey’re good for, chivvying bullocks. Do it all the time, they do,down ”’ the green roads to London, but it ain’t a job for anEnglishman.” But [he nevertheless did an effective job, using hisbayonet to prod men and animals into the queue which slowly snaked itsway down to the water.

By nightfall the whole army was over, and nextmorning, long | before dawn, they marched north again. They campedbefore midday, thus avoiding the worst of the heat, and bymid-afternoon me first 164.enemy cavalry patrols showed in the distance and the army’s own cavalryrode out to drive the horsemen away.They did not move at all for the next two days. Cavalry scouts triedto discover the enemy’s intentions, while Company spies spread goldthroughout the north country in search of news, but the gold was wastedfor every scrap of intelligence was contradicted by another. One saidHolkar had joined Scindia, another said Holkar was declaring war onScindia, then the Mahrattas were said to be marching west, or east, orperhaps north, until Wellesley felt he was playing a slow version ofblind man’s buff.Then, at last, some reliable news arrived. Six Mahratta horsemen inthe service of Syud Sevajee came to Wellesley’s camp with a hastilywritten despatch from Colonel McCandless. The Colonel regretted hisabsence and explained that he had taken a wound that had been slow toheal, but he could assure Sir Arthur that he had not abandoned his dutyand could thus report, with a fair degree of certainty, that the forcesof Dowlut Rao Scindia and the Rajah of Berar had finally ceased theirwanderings at Borkardan. They planned to stay there, McCandless wrote,to hold a durbar and to let their animals recover their strength, andhe estimated those intentions implied a stay in Borkardan of five orsix days.

The enemy numbered, he reported, at least eighty thousandmen and possessed around a hundred pieces of field artillery, many ofinferior calibre, but an appreciable number throwing much heaviershot.He reckoned, from his own earlier observations in Pohlmann’s camp, thatonly fifteen thousand of the enemy’s infantry were trained to Companystandards, while the rest were make weights but the guns, he addedominously, were well served and well maintained. The despatch had beenwritten in a hurry, and in a shaky hand, but it was concise, confidentand comprehensive.The Colonel’s despatch drove the General to his maps and then to aflurry of orders. The army was readied to march that night, and agalloper went to Colonel Stevenson’s force, west of Wellesley’s, withorders to march north on a parallel course. The two small armiesshould combine at Borkardan in four days’ time.“That will give us, what?“Wellesley thought for a second or two.“Eleven thousand prime infantry and forty-eight guns.” He jotted thefigures on the map, then absentmindedly tapped the numbers with apencil.“Eleven thousand against eighty,” he said dubiously, then grimaced.

“It will serve,” he concluded, ‘it will serve very well.“Eleven against eighty will serve, sir?” Captain Campbell asked withastonishment. Campbell was the young Scottish officer who had thriceclimbed the ladder to be the first man into Ahmednuggur and his rewardhad been a promotion and an appointment as Wellesley’s aide.Now he stared at the General, a man Campbell considered as sensible asany he had ever met, yet the odds that Wellesley was welcoming seemedinsane.“I’d rather have more men,” Wellesley admitted, ‘but we can probably dothe job with eleven thousand. You can forget Scindia’s cavalry,Campbell, because it won’t manage a thing on a battlefield, and theRajah of Berar’s infantry will simply get in everyone else’s way, whichmeans we’ll be fighting against fifteen thousand good infantry andrather too many well-served guns. The rest don’t matter. If we beatthe guns and the infantry, the rest of them will run. Depend on it,they’ll run.“Suppose they adopt a defensive position, sir?” Campbell felt impelledto insert a note of caution into the General’s hopes.

“Suppose they’re behind a river, sir? Or behind walls?“We can suppose what we like, Campbell” but supposing is only fancy,and if we take fright at fancies then we might as well abandonsoldiering. We’ll decide how to deal with the rogues once we findthem, but the first thing to do is find them.” Wellesley rolled up themap.“Can’t kill your fox till you’ve run him down. So let’s be about ourbusiness.“The army marched that night. Six thousand cavalry, nearly all of themIndian, led the way, and behind them were twenty-two pieces ofartillery, four thousand sepoys of the East India Company and twobattalions of Scots, while the great clumsy tail of bullocks, wives,children, wagons and merchants brought up the rear. They marched hard,and if any man was daunted by the size of the enemy’s army, they showedno sign of it. They were as well trained as any men that had ever wornthe red coat in India, they had been promised victory by theirlong-nosed General, and now they were going for the kill. And,whatever the odds, they believed they would win.

So long as no oneblundered.Borkardan was a mere village with no building fit for a prince, and sothe great durbar of the Mahratta chiefs was held in an enormous tentthat was hastily made by sewing a score of smaller tents together, thenlining the canvas with swathes of brightly coloured silk, and it wouldhave made a marvellously impressive structure had the heavens notopened when the durbar began so that the sound of men’s voices was halfdrowned by the beat of rain on stretched canvas and if the hastily madeseams had not opened to let the water pour through in streams.“It’s all a waste of time,” Pohlmann grumbled to Dodd, ‘but we have toattend.” The Colonel was fixing his newly tied stock with a diamondstudded pin.“And it isn’t a time for any European opinion except mine,understand?“Yours?” Dodd, who had rather hoped to make a case for boldness, askeddourly.“Mine,” Pohlmann said forcibly.“I want to twist their tails, and I need every European officer noddinglike a demented monkey in agreement with me.“A hundred men had gathered under the dripping silk. Scindia, theMaharajah of Gwalior, and Bhonsla, the Rajah of Berar, sat on musnuds,elegant raised platform-thrones that were draped in brocade andsheltered from the intrusive rain by silk parasols. Their Highnesseswere cooled by men waving long-handled fans while the rest of thedurbar sweltered in the close, damp heat.

The high-class brahmins, allin baggy trousers cut from gold brocade, white tunics and tall whiteturbans, sat closest to the two thrones, while behind them stood themilitary officers, Indian and European, who were perspiring in theirfinest uniforms. Servants moved unobtrusively through the crowdoffering silver dishes of almonds, sweetmeats or raisins soaked inarrack. The three senior European officers stood together. Pohlmann,in a purple coat hung with golden braid and loops of chain, toweredover Colonel Dupont, a wiry Dutchman who commanded Scindia’s secondcompoo, and over Colonel Saleur, a Frenchman, who led the infantry ofthe Begum Somroo. Dodd lingered just behind the trio and listened totheir private durbar. The three men agreed that their troops wouldhave to take the brunt of the British attack, and that one of them mustexercise overall command. It could not be Saleur, for the Begum Somroowas a client ruler of Scindia’s, so her commander could hardly takeprecedence over her feudal overlord’s officers, which meant that it hadto be either Dupont or Pohlmann, but the Dutchman generously ceded thehonour to the Hanoverian.“Scindia would have chosen you anyway,” Dupont said.“Wisely,” Pohlmann said cheerfully, ‘very wisely. You’re content,Saleur?“Indeed,” the Frenchman said.

He was a tall, dour man with a badlyscarred face and a formidable reputation as a disciplinarian. He wasalso reputed to be the Begum Somroo’s lover, a post that evidentlyaccompanied the command of that lady’s infantry.“What are the bastards talking about now?” he asked in English.Pohlmann listened for a few seconds.“Discussing whether to retreat to Gawilghur,” he said. Gawilghur was ahill fort that lay north and east of Borkardan and a group of brahminswere urging the army to retire there and let the British break theirskulls against its cliffs and high walls.“Goddamn brahmins,” Pohlmann said in disgust.“Don’t know a damn thing about soldiering. Know how to talk, but nothow to fight.“But then an older brahmin, his white beard reaching to his waist, stoodup and declared that the omens were more suitable for battle.

“You have assembled a great army, dread Lord,” he addressed Scindia,‘and you would lock it away in a citadel?“Where did they find him?” Pohlmann muttered.“He’s actually talking sense!“Scindia said little, preferring to let Surjee Rao, his chief minister,do the talking, while he himself sat plump and inscrutable on histhrone.He was wearing a rich gown of yellow silk that had emeralds and pearlssewn into patterns of flowers, while a great yellow diamond gleamedfrom his pale-blue turban.Another brahmin pleaded for the army to march south on Seringapatam,but he was ignored. The Rajah of Berar, darker-skinned than the paleScindia, frowned at the durbar in an attempt to look warlike, but saidvery little.“He’ll run away,” Colonel Saleur growled, ‘as soon as the first gun isfired. He always does.“Beny Singh, the Rajah’s warlord, argued for battle.“I have five hundred camels laden with rockets, I have guns fresh fromAgra, I have infantry hungry for enemy blood. Let them loose!“God help us if we do,” Dupont growled.

“Bastards don’t have any discipline.“Is it always like this?,” Dodd asked Pohlmann.“Good God, no!” the Hanoverian said.“This durbar is positively decisive!Usually it’s three days of talk and a final decision to delay anydecision until the next time.“You think they’ll come to a decision today?” Saleur askedcynically.“They’ll have to,” Pohlmann said.“They can’t keep this army together for much longer. We’re running outof forage! We’re stripping the country bare.” The soldiers were stillreceiving just enough to eat, and the cavalrymen made certain theirhorses were fed, but the camp followers were near starvation and in afew days the suffering of the women and children would cause the army’smorale to plummet. Only that morning Pohlmann had seen a woman sawingat what he had assumed was brown bread, then realized that no Indianwould bake a European loaf and that the great lump was actually a pieceof elephant dung and that the woman was crumbling it apart in search ofundigested grains.

They must fight now.“So if we fight,” Saleur asked, ‘how will you win?“Pohlmann smiled.“I think we can give young Wellesley a problem or two,” he saidcheerfully.“We’ll put the Rajah’s men behind some strong walls where they can’t doany damage, and we three will line our guns wheel to wheel, hammer themhard for their whole approach, then finish them off with some smartvolleys. After that we’ll let the cavalry loose on their remnants.“But when?” Dupont asked.“Soon,” Pohlmann said, ‘soon. Has to be soon. Buggers are eating dungfor breakfast these days.” There was a sudden silence in the tent andPohlmann realized a question had been addressed to him.

Surjee Rao, asinister man whose reputation for cruelty was as widespread as it wasdeserved, raised an eyebrow to the Hanoverian.“The rain, Your Serene Excellency,” Pohlmann explained, ‘the raindeafened me so I could not hear your question.“What my Lord wishes to know,” the minister said, ‘is whether we candestroy the British?“Oh, utterly,” Pohlmann said as though it was risible to even ask thequestion.“They fight hard,” Beny Singh pointed out.“And they die like other men when fought hard in return,” Pohlmann saiddismissively.Scindia leaned forward and whispered in Surjee Rao’s ear.“What the Lord of our land and the conqueror of our enemy’s landswishes to know,” the minister said, ‘is how you will beat theBritish?“In the way that His Royal Highness suggested, Excellency, when he gaveme his wise advice yesterday,” Pohlmann said, and it was true that hehad enjoyed a private talk with Scindia the day before, though theadvice had all been given by Pohlmann, but if he was to sway thisdurbar then he knew he must let them think that he was simply repeatingScindia’s suggestions.“Tell us, please,” Surjee Rao, who knew full well that his master hadno ideas except how to increase the tax yields, asked suavely.“As we all know,” Pohlmann said, ‘the British have divided their forcesinto two parts. By now both those small armies will know that we arehere at Borkardan and, because they are fools eager for death, theywill both be marching towards us.

Both armies lie to our south, butthey are separated by some miles. They nevertheless hope to jointogether, then attack us, but yesterday, in his unparalleled wisdom,His Royal Highness suggested that if we move eastwards we shall drawthe enemy’s eastern most column towards us and so make them march awayfrom their allies. We can then fight the two armies in turn, defeatthem in turn, and then let our dogs chew the flesh from theircarcasses. And when the last enemy is dead, Excellency, I shall bringtheir General to our ruler’s tents in chains and send their women to behis slaves.” More to the point, Pohlmann thought, he would captureWellesley’s food supplies, but he dared not say that in case Scindiatook the words as a criticism. But Pohlmann’s bravado was rewarded bya scatter of applause that was unfortunately spoiled as a whole sectionof the tent roof collapsed to let in a deluge of rain.If the British are doomed,” Surjee Rao asked when the commotion hadsubsided, ‘why do they advance on us?“It was a good question, and one that had worried Pohlmann slightly,though he believed he had found an answer.“Because, Excellency,” he said, ‘they have the confidence of fools.Because they believe that their combined armies will prove sufficient.Because they do not truly understand that our army has been trained tothe same level as their own, and because their General is young andinexperienced and too eager for a reputation.

“And you believe, Colonel, that we can keep their two armies apart?“If we march tomorrow, yes.“How big is the British General’s army?“Pohlmann smiled.“Wellesley has five thousand infantrymen, Excellency, and six thousandcavalry. We could lose as many men as that and not even notice theywere gone! He has eleven thousand men, but the only ones he relies onare his five thousand infantry. Five thousand men! Five thousand!” Hepaused, making sure that everyone in the tent had heard the figure.“And we have eighty thousand men. Five against eighty!“He has guns,” the minister observed sourly.“We have five guns for every one of his. Five against one. And ourguns are bigger and they are served just as well as his.

“Scindia whispered to Surjee Rao who then demanded that the otherEuropean officers give their advice, but all had been forewarned byPohlmann to sing his tune. March east, they said, draw one Britisharmy into battle, then turn on the other. The minister thanked theforeign officers for their advice, then pointedly turned back to thebrahmins for their comments. Some advised that emissaries should besent to Holkar, begging his help, but Pohlmann’s confidence had workedits magic and another man indignantly demanded to know why Holkarshould be offered a share in the glory of victory. The tide of thedurbar was turning in Pohlmann’s favour, and he said nothing more, butnor did he need to.The durbar talked all day and no course of action was formally agreed,but at dusk Scindia and the Rajah of Berar conferred briefly, thenScindia took his leave between rows of brahmins who bowed as theirruler passed. He paused in the huge tent’s doorway while his servantsbrought the palanquin that would preserve him from the rain.Only when the palanquin was ready did he turn and speak loudly enoughfor all the durbar to hear.“We march east tomorrow,” he said, ‘then we shall ponder anotherdecision. Colonel Pohlmann will make the arrangements.

” He stood fora second, looking up at the rain, then ducked under the palanquin’scanopy.“Praise God,” Pohlmann said, for he reckoned that the decision to marcheastwards was sufficient to bring on battle. The enemy was closing allthe time, and so long as the Mahrattas did not run northwards, the twosides must eventually meet. And if Scindia’s men went eastwards thenthey would meet on Pohlmann’s terms. He rammed on his cocked hat andstalked from the tent, followed by all the European officers.“We’ll march east along the Kaitna!” he said excitedly.“That’s where we’ll march tomorrow, and the river bank will be ourkilling ground.” He whooped like an excited child.“One short march, gentlemen, and we shall be close to Wellesley’s men,and in two or three days we’ll fight whether our lords and masters wantit or not.“The army marched early next morning.

It covered the earth like a darkswarm that flowed beneath the clearing clouds alongside the muddy RiverKaitna which slowly deepened and widened as the army followed iteastwards. Pohlmann gave them a very short march, a mere six miles, sothat the leading horsemen had reached Pohlmann’s chosen campsite longbefore dawn and by nightfall the slowest of the Mahratta infantry hadreached a small, mudwalled village that lay just two miles north ofthe Kaitna. Scindia and the Rajah of Berar pitched their lavish tentsjust outside the village, while the Rajah’s infantry was ordered tobarricade the streets and make loopholes in the thick mud walls of theoutermost houses.The village lay on the southern bank of the River Juah, a tributary ofthe Kaitna, and south of the village stretched two miles of openfarmland that ended at the steep bank of the River Kaitna. Pohlmannplaced his best infantry, his three compoos of superbly trainedkillers, south of the village on the high bluff of the Kaitna’snorthern bank, and in front of them he ranged his eighty best guns.Wellesley, if he wished to reach Borkardan, must come to the Kaitna andhe would find his path blocked by a river, by a fearsome line of heavyguns, by an array of infantry and, behind them, like a fortress, avillage crammed with the Rajah of Berar’s troops. The trap was laid.In the fields of a village called Assaye.The two British armies were close to each other now, close enough forGeneral Wellesley to ride across country to see Colonel Stevenson, thecommander of the second army. The General rode with his aides and anescort of Indian cavalry, but they saw no enemy on their way westwardsacross a long flat plain greened by the previous day’s rain.

ColonelStevenson, old enough to be Wellesley’s father, was alarmed by hisGeneral’s high spirits. He had seen such elation in young officersbefore, and seen “it crushed by humiliating defeats brought on byoverconfidence.“Are you sure you’re not hurrying too much?” he asked.“We must hurry, Stevenson, must.” Wellesley unrolled a map onto theColonel’s table and pointed to Borkardan.“We hear they’re likely to stay there, but they won’t stay for ever. Ifwe don’t close on them now, they’ll slip away.“If the bastards are that close,” Stevenson said, peering at the map,‘then maybe we should join forces now?“And if we do,” the General said, ‘it will take us twice as long toreach Borkardan.” The two roads on which the armies advanced werenarrow and, a few miles south of the River Kaitna, those roads followedpasses through a small but steep range of hills. Every wheeled vehiclein both armies would have to be fed through those defiles in the hills,and if the two small armies combined the cumbersome business ofnegotiating the pass would take a whole day, a day in which theMahrattas might escape northwards.

Instead the two armies would advance separately and meet atBorkardan.“Tomorrow night,” Wellesley ordered, ‘y u camp here’ he made a cross onthe map at a village called Hussainabad - ‘and we’ll be here.” Thepencil made another cross at a village called Naulniah which lay fourmiles south of the River Kaitna. The villages were ten miles apart,and both about the same distance south of Borkardan.“On the twenty-fourth,” Wellesley said, ‘we march and join here.” Hedashed a circle about the village of Borkardan.“There!” he added, jabbing the pencil down and breaking its point.Stevenson hesitated. He was a good soldier with a long experience ofIndia, but he was cautious by nature and it seemed to him thatWellesley was being headstrong and foolish. The Mahratta army wasvast, the British armies small, yet Wellesley was rushing into battle.

There was a dangerous excitement in the usually cool-headed Wellesley,and Stevenson now tried to rein it in.“We could meet at Naulniah,” he suggested, thinking it better if thearmies combined the day before the battle rather than attempt to maketheir junction under fire.“We have no time,” Wellesley declared, ‘no time!” He swept aside theweights holding down the map’s corners so that the big sheet rolled upwith a snap.“Providence has put their army within striking distance, so let usstrike!” He tossed the map to his aide, Campbell, then ducked out ofthe tent into the day’s late sunlight and there found himself staringat Colonel McCandless who was mounted on a small, bony horse.“You!“Wellesley said with surprise.“I thought you were wounded, McCandless?“I am, sir, but it’s healing.” The Scotsman patted his left thigh.“So what are you doing here?“Seeking you, sir,” McCandless answered, though in truth he had come toStevenson’s army by mistake. One of Sevajee’s men, scouting the area,had seen the redcoats and McCandless had thought it must be Wellesley’smen.“And what on earth are you riding?” Wellesley asked, pulling himselfonto Diomed’s back.

“Looks like a gypsy nag, McCandless. I’ve seen ponies that arebigger.“McCandless patted the captured Mahratta horse.“She’s the best I can do, sir. I lost my own gelding.“‘For four hundred guineas you can have my spare. Give me a note,McCandless, and he’s all yours. Aeolus, he’s called, a six-year-oldgelding out of County Meath. Good lungs, got a capped hock, but itdon’t stop him. I’ll see you in two days, Colonel,” Wellesley nowaddressed Stevenson.

“Two days! We’ll test our Mahrattas, eh? See if their vauntedinfantry can stand some pounding. Good day, Stevenson!Are you coming, McCandless?“I am, sir, I am.“Sharpe fell in beside Daniel Fletcher, the General’s orderly.“I’ve never seen the General so happy,” Sharpe said to Fletcher.“Got the bit between his teeth,” Fletcher said.“He reckons we’re going to surprise the enemy.“He ain’t worried? There are thousands of the buggers.“He ain’t showing nothing if he is frightened,” Fletcher said.“Up and at them, that’s his mood.“Then God help the rest of us,” Sharpe said.

The General talked with McCandless on his way back, but nothing theScotsman said diminished Wellesley’s eagerness, even though McCandlesswarned him of the effectiveness of the Mahratta artillery and theefficiency of the infantry.“We knew all that when we declared war,” Wellesley said testily, ‘andif it didn’t deter us then, why should it now?“Don’t underestimate them, sir,” McCandless said grimly.“I rather hope they’ll underestimate me!” Wellesley said.“You want that gelding of mine?“I don’t have the money, sir.“Oh come, McCandless! You on a Company colonel’s salary! You musthave a fortune stacked away!“I’ve some savings, sir, for my retirement, which is not far off.“I’ll make it three hundred and eighty guineas, seeing as it’s you, andin a couple of years you can sell him for four hundred. You can’t gointo battle on that thing.” He gestured at the Mahratta horse.“I’ll think on it, sir, I’ll think on it,” McCandless said gloomily. Heprayed that the good Lord would restore his own horse to him, alongwith Lieutenant Dodd, but if that did not happen soon then he knew hewould have to buy a decent horse, though the prospect of spending sucha vast sum grieved him.

“You’ll take supper with me tonight, McCandless?” Wellesley asked.“We have a fine leg of mutton. A rare leg!“I eschew meat, sir,” the Scotsman answered.“You eschew meat? And chew vegetables?” The General decided this wasa splendid joke and frightened his horse by uttering a fierce neigh ofa laugh.“That’s droll! Very. You eschew meat to chew vegetables.Never mind, McCandless, we shall find you some chewable shrubs.“McCandless chewed his vegetables that night, and afterwards, excusinghimself, went to the tent that Wellesley had lent to him. He wastired, his leg was throbbing, but there had been no sign of the feverall day and for that he was grateful. He read his Bible, knelt inprayer beside the cot, then blew out the lantern to sleep.

An hourlater he was woken by the thump of hooves, the sound of suppressedvoices, a giggle, and the brush of someone half falling against thetent.“Who is it?” McCandless demanded angrily.“Colonel?” Sharpe’s voice answered.“Me, sir. Sorry, sir. Lost my footing, sir.“I was sleeping, man.“Didn’t mean to wake you, sir, sorry, sir. Stand still, you bugger!Not you, sir, sorry, sir.“McCandless, dressed in shirt and breeches, snatched the tent flapopen.

“Are you drunk?” he demanded, then fell silent as he gazed at thehorse Sharpe was holding. The horse was a gelding, a splendid baygelding with pricked ears and a quick, nervous energy.“He’s six years old, sir,” Sharpe said. Daniel Fletcher was trying tohammer in the picket and doing a very bad job because of the drinkinside him.“He’s got a capped hock, sir, whatever that is, but nothing that’llstop him. Comes from Ireland, he does. All that green grass, sir,makes a good horse. Aeolus, he’s called.“Aeolus,” McCandless said, ‘the god of the wind.“Is he one of those Indian idols, sir? All arms and snake heads?“No, Sharpe, Aeolus is Greek.

” McCandless took the reins from Sharpeand stroked the gelding’s nose.“Is Wellesley lending him to me?“Oh no, sir.” Sharpe had taken the mallet from the half-drunkFletcher and now banged the picket firmly into the soil.“He’s yours, sir, all yours.“But

” McCandless said, then stopped, not understanding thesituation at all.“He’s paid for, sir,” Sharpe said.“Paid for by whom?” McCandless demanded sternly.“Just paid for, sir.“You’re blithering, Sharpe!“Sorry, sir.“Explain yourself!” the Colonel demanded.

General Wellesley had said much the same thing when, just forty minutesbefore, an aide had told him that Sergeant Sharpe was begging to seehim and the General, who was just bidding goodnight to the last of hissupper guests, had reluctantly agreed.“Make it quick, Sergeant,” he had said, his fine mood disguised by hisusual coldness.“It’s Colonel McCandless, sir,” Sharpe said woodenly.“He’s decided to buy your horse, sir, and he sent me with the money.“He stepped forward and tipped a bag of gold onto the General’s maptable. The gold was Indian, from every state and princedom, but it wasreal gold and it lay shining like butter in the candle flames.Wellesley gazed in astonishment at the treasure.“He said he didn’t have the money!“He’s a Scotsman, sir, the Colonel,” Sharpe had said, as though thatexplained everything, ‘and he’s sorry it ain’t real money, sir.Guineas.But it’s the full price, sir.

Four hundred.“Three hundred and eighty,” Wellesley said.“Tell the Colonel I’ll return some to him. But a note would have donejust as well! I’m supposed to carry gold on me?“Sorry, sir,” Sharpe had said lamely, but he could never have provideda note for the General, so instead he had sought out one of thebhinjanies who followed the army, and that merchant had exchangedemeralds for gold. Sharpe suspected he had been cheated, but he hadwanted to give the Colonel the pleasure of owning a fine horse and sohe had accepted the bhinjarrie’s price.“Is it all right, sir?“he had asked Wellesley anxiously.“Extraordinary way to do business,” Wellesley had said, but he hadnodded his agreement.“A fair sale, Sergeant,” he said, and he had almost held out his handto shake Sharpe’s as a man always shook hands on the sale of a horse,then he remembered that Sharpe was a sergeant and so he had hastilyconverted his gesture into a vague wave.And after Sharpe had gone and while he was scooping the coins intotheir bag, the General also remembered Sergeant Hakeswill. Not that itwas any of his business, so perhaps it had been sensible not to mentionthe Sergeant’s presence to Sharpe.

McCandless now admired the gelding.“Who paid for it?“Good-looking horse, ain’t he, sir?” Sharpe said.“Good as your other, I’d say.“Sharpe! You’re blithering again. Who paid for it?“Sharpe hesitated, but knew he was not going to be spared theinterrogation.“In a manner of speaking, sir,” he said, ‘the Tippoo did.“The Tippoo? Are you mad?“Sharpe blushed.“The fellow that killed the Tippoo, sir, he took some jewels offhim.“A king’s ransom, I should imagine,” McCandless snorted.“So I persuaded the fellow to buy the horse, sir.

As a gift for you,sir.“McCandless stared at Sharpe.“It was you.“It was me who did what, sir?“You killed the Tippoo.” It was almost an accusation.“Me, sir?” Sharpe asked innocently.“No, sir.“McCandless stared at the gelding.“I can’t possibly accept, Sergeant.“He’s no good to me, sir.

A sergeant can’t own a horse. Not a properhorse from Ireland, sir. And if I hadn’t been daydreaming inPohlmann’s camp, sir, I might have stopped those thieves, so it’s onlyfair that you should let me get you another.“You can’t do this, Sharpe!” McCandless protested, embarrassed by thegenerosity of the gift.“Besides, in a day or two I hope to get my own horse back along withMister Dodd.“Sharpe had not thought of that, and for a second he cursed himself forthrowing away his money. Then he shrugged.“It’s done anyway, sir. General’s got the money and you’ve got thehorse. Besides, sir, you’ve always been fair to me, so I wanted to dosomething for you.

“It’s intolerable!” McCandless protested.“Uncalled for. I shall have to repay you.“Four hundred guineas?” Sharpe asked.“That’s the price of an ensign’s commission, sir.“So?” McCandless stared fiercely at Sharpe.“So we’re going into battle, sir. You on that horse, and me on aMahratta pony. It’s a chance, sir, a chance, but if I do well, sir,real well, I’ll need you to talk to the General.” Sharpe blushed as hespoke, amazed at his own temerity.

“That’s how you repay me, sir, but that’s not why I bought him. I justwanted you to have a proper horse, sir. Colonel like you shouldn’t besitting on a scabby native pony, sir.“McCandless, appalled at Sharpe’s ambition, did not know what to say.He stroked the gelding, felt tears in his eyes and could not tellwhether they were for Sharpe’s impossible dreams or because he had beenso touched by the Sergeant’s gift.“If you do well, Sharpe,” he promised, “I’ll talk to Colonel Wallace.He’s a good friend. It’s possible he’ll have a vacant ensign’s post,but don’t raise your hopes too high!” He paused, wondering if emotionhad driven him to promise far too much.“How did the Tippoo die?” he asked after a while.“And don’t lie to me, Sharpe, it must have been you who killed him.

“Like a man, sir. Bravely. Facing front, he was. Never gave up.“He was a good soldier,” McCandless said, reflecting that the Tippoohad been beaten by a better one.“I trust you’ve still got some of his jewels?“Jewels, sir?” Sharpe asked.“I don’t know about jewels, sir.“Of course not,” McCandless said. If the Company ever heard thatSharpe was carrying the Tippoo’s gems their prize agents would descendon the Sergeant like locusts.“Thank you, Sharpe,” McCandless said fulsomely, ‘thank you very much.

Ishall repay you, of course, but you’ve touched me.“Pon my soul, you have touched me.” He insisted upon shaking Sharpe’shand, then watched the Sergeant walk away with the General’s orderly.So much sin there, McCandless thought, and so much goodness. But whyhad Pohknann ever put the idea of a commission into Sharpe’s head? Itwas an impossible dream, doomed to disappointment.Another man also watched Sharpe walk away. It was Private Lowry, ofthe King’s 33rd, who now hurried back to the baggage camp. Tt was him,Sergeant,” he told Hakeswill.“You sure?“Large as life.“God bless you, Lowry, God bless you.

” And God, Hakeswill thought, hadcertainly blessed him. He had feared that he would have to endure abattle, but now Sharpe had come and Hakeswill could produce hisprecious warrant and be on his way south. Let the army fight itsbattle, and let it win or lose, Hakeswill did not care, for SergeantHakeswill had what he wanted and he would be rich.

CHAPTER 8

General Wellesley was like a gambler who had emptied his purse onto thetable and now had to wait for the cards to fall. There was still timeto scoop the money back and walk away from the game, but if he everfelt that temptation, he did not betray it to his aides, nor to any ofthe army’s senior officers. The colonels in his army were all olderthan Wellesley, some much older, and Wellesley courteously sought theiradvice, though he largely ignored it. Orrock, a Company colonel andcommander of the 78th Madras Infantry, recommended an extravagantoutflanking march to the east, though so far as Wellesley coulddetermine the only ambition of such a manoeuvre was to remove the armyas far as possible from the enemy horde. The General was forced to paymore attention to his two Williams, Wallace and Harness, the commandingofficers of his two Scottish battalions who were also his brigadeleaders.“If we join Stevenson, sir, we might manage the business,” Wallaceopined, his tone making it clear that, even combined, the two Britisharmies would be dangerously outnumbered.“I’ve no doubt Harness will agree with me, sir,” Wallace added, thoughWilliam Harness, the commander of the 778th, seemed surprised to havehis opinion sought.

“Your business how you fight them, Wellesley,” he growled.“Point my men and I warrant they’ll fight. The bastards had betterfight. I’ll flog the scum witless if they don’t.“Wellesley forbore to point out that if the 778th refused to fight thenthere would be no one left to flog, for there would be no army. Harnesswould not have listened anyway, for he had taken the opportunity tolecture the General on the ameliorative effects of a flogging.“My first colonel liked to see one well-scourged back a week,Wellesley,” he said.“He reckoned it kept the men to their duty. He once flogged asergeant’s wife, I recall. He wanted to know if a woman could take thepain, you see, and she couldn’t.

The lass was fair wriggling.” Harnesssighed, recalling happier days.“D’you dream, Wellesley?“Dream, Harness?“When you sleep.“At times.“A flogging will stop it. Nothing to bring on a good night’s sleeplike a well-whipped back.” Harness, a tall black-browed man who seemedto wear a constant expression of wide-eyed disapproval, shook his headsadly.“A dreamless sleep, that’s what I dream of! Loosens the bowels too,y’know?“Sleep?“A flogging!” Harness snapped angrily.“Stimulates the blood, y’see?“Wellesley disliked making enquiries about senior officers, but he tookcare to ride alongside his new aide, Colin Campbell.“Was there much flogging in the ySth?” he asked the aide who, untilthe siege of Ahmednuggur, had served under Harness.

“There’s been much recent talk of it, sir, but not in practice.“Your Colonel seems much enamoured of the practice.“His enthusiasms come and go,” Campbell said blandly.“But until a few weeks ago, sir, he was not a man for enthusiasms. Now,suddenly, he is. He encouraged us to eat snakes in July, though hedidn’t insist on it.I gather he tried some cobra seethed in milk, but it didn’t agree withhim.“Ah!” the General said, understanding the carefully phrased message.So Harness was going out of his wits? Wellesley chided himself for notguessing as much from the Colonel’s fixed glare.“The battalion has a doctor?“You can take a horse to water, sir,” Campbell said carefully.

“Indeed, indeed.” Not that the General could do anything aboutHarness’s incipient madness now, nor had the Colonel done anything thatdeserved dismissal. Indeed, mad or not, he led a fine battalion andWellesley would need the Scotsmen when he came to Borkardan.He thought constantly of Borkardan, though what that place was otherthan a mark on the map, he did not know. He simply imagined thevillage as swirls of dust and bellowing noise, a place of gallopinghorses where big guns would flatten the air with their hot thumps andthe sky would be ripped apart with shrieking metal and murderousvolleys. It would be Wellesley’s first field battle. He had foughtskirmishes enough, and led a cavalry charge that rode a bandit armyinto bloody oblivion, but he had never commanded guns and horse andinfantry together, and he had never tried to impose his own will on anenemy general. He did not doubt his ability, nor did he doubt that hewould stay calm amidst the dust and smoke and flame and blood, but hedid fear that some unlucky shot would kill or maim him and the armywould then be in the hands of a man without a vision of victory.Stevenson or Wallace would be competent enough, though Wellesleyprivately thought them both too cautious, but God help an army guidedby Harness’s enthusiasms.The other colonels, all Company men, echoed Wallace’s advice to makesure of the junction with Stevenson before battle was joined, andWellesley recognized the wisdom of that opinion, even while he refusedto deflect his army to join Stevenson before they both reachedBorkardan.

There was no time for such a nicety, so instead whichever army firstcame to the enemy must engage him first, and the other must join thebattle, to which end Wellesley knew he must keep his left flank open,for that was where Stevenson’s men would join his own. The Generalreckoned he must put the bulk of his cavalry on the left and stationone of his two Highland regiments to serve as a bulwark on that flank,but beyond that he did not know what he would do once he reachedBorkardan except attack, attack and attack again. He reasoned thatwhen a small army faced a great horde then the small army had betterkeep moving and so destroy the enemy piece by piece, but if the smallarmy stayed still then it risked being surrounded and pulverized intosurrender.Borkardan on the twenty-fourth day of September, that was the goal, andWellesley marched his men hard. The cavalry vanguard and the infantrypicquets of the day were roused at midnight and, an hour later, just asthe rest of the army was being stirred into sullen wakefulness, thosemen would start the northwards march. By two o’clock the whole armywas moving. Dogs barked as the cavalry vanguard clattered through thevillages, and after the horsemen came heavy guns hauled by oxen,marching Highlanders and long ranks of sepoys under their leather-casedcolours. Ten miles to the west Stevenson’s army marched parallel toWellesley’s, but ten miles was a half-day’s march and if either forcewas confronted by the enemy then the other could do nothing to help.Everything hinged on their meeting at Borkardan.Most of the men had little idea of what waited for them.

They sensedthe sudden urgency and guessed it presaged battle, but though therumours spoke of the enemy as a numberless horde, they marchedconfidently. They grumbled, of course, for all soldiers grumble. Theycomplained about being hungry, they swore at being made to trampthrough the cavalry’s manure, and they cursed the oppressive heat thatseemed scarcely alleviated by marching at night. Each march finishedby midday when the men would rig their tents and sprawl in the shadewhile the picquets set guards, the cavalry watered horses and thecommissary butchered bullocks to provide ration meat.The cavalry were the busiest men. Their job was to ride ahead and tothe flanks of the army to drive any enemy scouts far away so thatScindia would not know that the two redcoated armies marched to traphim, but each morning, as the eastern horizon turned grey, then flushedwith pink, then glowed gold and red before finally exploding intolight, the patrols searched in vain for any enemies. The Mahrattahorse seemed to be staying home, and some of the cavalry officersfeared that their enemy might have slipped away again.As they were nearing Naulniah which would be Wellesley’s last restingplace before he marched through the night to Borkardan, the Generalcalled his patrols closer to the army, ordering them to ride just amile or two in front of his column. If the enemy was asleep, heexplained to his aides, then it was best to do nothing to wake him. Itwas Sunday, and if the enemy was still engaged in its durbar, then thenext day would bring battle.

One day to let fears harass hope, thoughWellesley’s aides seemed careless enough as they marched the last fewmiles to Naulniah. Major John Blackiston, an engineer on Wellesley’sstaff, was needling Captain Campbell by saying that the Scots had noharvest to speak of.“Oats alone, isn’t that it, Captain?“You’ve not seen barley, Major, till you’ve been to Scotland,” Campbelldeclared.“You could hide a regiment in a field of Scottish barley.“Can’t think why you’d want to do such a thing, but doubtless you haveyour reasons. But as I understand it, Campbell, you heathen Scots haveno order of service to give thanks to God for a harvest?“You’ve not heard of the kirn, Major? The mell feast?“Kirn?“Harvest-home, you call it, when you scavenge those few weeds inEngland, then beg us generous Scots to send you food. Which we do,being Christian folk who take pity on those less fortunate thanourselves.And talking of the less fortunate, Major, here’s the sick list.“Campbell handed Blackiston a piece of paper on which was tallied thenumber of men from each regiment who were too sick to march. Those menwere now being carried on the ox carts of the baggage train and,routinely, those who were unlikely to recover quickly were sentsouthwards on returning convoys, but Blackiston knew the General wouldnot want to detach any cavalry to protect a convoy just before abattle.

“Tell Sears the sick can all wait in Naulniah,” Blackiston ordered,‘and warn Captain Mackay to have at least a score of empty wagonsready.“He did not specify why Mackay should prepare empty wagons, but nor didhe need to do so. The wagons would carry the men wounded in battle,and Blackiston fervently prayed that no more than a score of ox cartswould be needed.Captain Mackay had anticipated the need for empty wagons and hadalready put chalk marks on those whose burdens were light and could betransferred to other carts. Once at Naulniah he would have the cargoesrearranged, and he sought out Sergeant Hakeswill to supervise thebusiness, but Obadiah Hakeswill had other plans.“My criminal’s back with the army, sir.“And you haven’t arrested him already?” Mackay asked in surprise.“Can’t march a man in irons, sir, not at this pace. But if you’reestablishing a camp, sir, at Naulniah, sir, I can hold my prisonerunder guard like my duties say I should.“So I shall be losing your services, Sergeant?“It ain’t what I want, sir,” Hakeswill lied, ‘but I has myresponsibilities, sir, and if we’re leaving baggage at Naulniah, sir,then I shall have to stay there with my prisoner.

Colonel Gore’sorders, sir. Is that Naulniah up ahead, sir?“It seems to be,” Mackay said, for the distant village was busy withmen laying out the lines for the regiments’ tents.“Then, if you’ll forgive, sir, I have to be about my duties.“Hakeswill had deliberately waited for this moment, reckoning that itwould be far too great a bother to keep marching northwards with Sharpeunder escort. It would be better to wait until the army hadestablished the baggage camp where Hakeswill could keep Sharpe whilethe battle was fought, and if one more redcoat died that day, who wouldmiss him? So now, freed from Mackay’s baggage guard, the Sergeanthurried his six men up the column to find Colonel McCandless.McCandless’s leg was still throbbing, and the fever had left him weak,but his spirits had recovered, because riding Aeolus had convinced himthat no finer horse had ever stepped on earth. The gelding wastireless, McCandless declared, and better schooled than any horse hehad ever ridden. Sevajee was amused by the Colonel’s enthusiasm.“You sound like a man with a new woman, McCandless.“If you say so, Sevajee, if you say so,” McCandless said, not rising tothe Indian’s bait.

“But isn’t he a beauty?“Magnificent.“County Meath,” the Colonel said.“They breed good hunters in County Meath. They have big hedges! Likejumping a haystack.“County Meath is in Ireland?” Sevajee asked.“It is, it is.“Another country beneath Britain’s heel?“For a man beneath my heel, Sevajee,” the Colonel said, ‘you look inremarkably fine fettle. Can we talk about tomorrow? Sharpe! I wantyou to listen.“Sharpe urged his small Mahratta horse alongside the Colonel’s biggelding. Like Wellesley, Colonel McCandless was planning what he woulddo at Borkardan and, though the Colonel’s task was much smaller thanthe General’s, it was no less important to him.

“Let us assume, gentlemen, that we shall win this battle at Borkardantomorrow,” he said, and waited for the invariable riposte from Sevajee,but the tall Indian said nothing.“Our task, then,” the Colonel went on, ‘is to hunt Dodd among thefugitives. Hunt him and capture him.“If he still lives,” Sevajee remarked.“Which I pray God he does. He must face British justice before he goesto God’s condemnation. So when the battle is joined, gentlemen, ourtask is not to get involved with the fighting, but to search for Dodd’smen. It won’t be difficult. So far as I know they’re the onlyregiment in white jackets, and once we have them, we stay close. Stayclose till they break, then we pursue.

“And if they don’t break?” Sevajee asked.“Then we march again and fight again,” the Colonel answered grimly.“But by God’s grace, Sevajee, we shall find this man even if we have tohunt him into the deserts of Persia. Britain has more than a heavyheel, Sevajee, it has a long arm.“Long arms are easily cut off,” Sevajee said.Sharpe had stopped listening. He had heard a commotion behind as agroup of army wives were thrust off the road and had turned to see whohad barged the women aside and, at first, all he had seen was a groupof redcoats. Then he had recognized the red facings on the jackets andhe had wondered what on earth men of the 33rd were doing here, and thenhe had recognized Sergeant Hakeswill.Obadiah Hakeswill! Of all people, Hakeswill! Sharpe stared in horrorat his long-time enemy and Obadiah Hakeswill caught his eye and grinnedmaliciously and Sharpe knew that his appearance boded no good.Hakeswill broke into a lumbering run so that his haversack, pouches,bayonet and musket thumped against his body.

“Sir!” he called up to Colonel McCandless.“Colonel McCandless, sir!“McCandless turned and frowned at the interruption, then, like Sharpe,he stared at the Sergeant as though he did not believe his eyes.McCandless knew Hakeswill, for Hakeswill had been imprisoned in theTippoo Sultan’s dungeons at the same time as Sharpe and the Colonel,and what McCandless knew he did not like. The Scotsman scowled.“Sergeant Hakeswill? You’re far from home.“As are we all, sir, doing our duties to King and country in an eat henland, sir.” Hakeswill slowed to a march, keeping pace with theScotsman’s horse.“I’m ordered to see you, sir, by the General himself, sir. By SirArthur Wellesley, sir, God bless him, sir.“I know who the General is, Sergeant,” McCandless said coldly.

“Glad to hear it, sir. Got a paper for you, sir. Urgent paper, sir,what needs your urgent attention, sir.” Hakeswill gave a venomousglance at Sharpe, then held the warrant up to McCandless.“This paper, sir, what I’ve been carrying in my pouch, sir, on ColonelGore’s orders, sir.“McCandless unfolded the warrant. Sevajee had hurried ahead, going tofind somewhere to billet his men in the village and, while McCandlessread the orders for Sharpe’s arrest, Hakeswill fell back so that he waswalking beside Sharpe.“We’ll have you off that horse in a quick minute, Sharpie,” he said.“Go and boil your head, Obadiah.“You always did have ideas above your station, Sharpie.

Won’t do!Not in this army. We ain’t the Frogs. We don’t wear pretty long redboots like yours, we don’t, ‘cos we don’t have airs and graces, not inthis army. Says so in the scriptures.“Sharpe tugged on his rein so that his small horse swerved intoHakeswill’s path. The Sergeant skipped aside.“Under arrest, you are, Sharpie!” Hakeswill crowed.“Under arrest! Court-martial offence. Be a shooting job, I dare say.“Hakeswill grinned, showing his yellow teeth.

“Bang bang, you’re dead. Taken me a long time, Sharpie, but I’m goingto be evens with you. All over for you, it is. Says so in thescriptures.“It says nothing of the sort, Sergeant!” McCandless snapped, turningin his saddle and glaring at the Sergeant.“I’ve had occasion to speak to you before about the scriptures, and ifI hear you cite their authority one more time I shall break you,Sergeant Hakeswill, I shall break you!“Sir!” Hakeswill acknowledged. He doubted that McCandless, a Companyofficer, could break anyone in the King’s army, at least not without adeal of effort, but he did not let his scepticism show for ObadiahHakeswill believed in showing complete subservience to all officers.“Never meant to upset you, sir,” he said, ‘apologize, sir. No offencemeant, sir.“McCandless read the warrant a third time.

Something about the wordingworried him, but he could not quite place his concern.“It says here, Sharpe,” McCandless said, ‘that you struck an officer onAugust the fifth this year.“I did what, sir?” Sharpe asked, horrified.“Assaulted Captain Morris. Here.” And McCandless thrust the warranttowards Sharpe.“Take it, man. Read it.“Sharpe took the paper and while he read Sergeant Hakeswill embellishedthe charge to Colonel McCandless.“An assault, sir, with a jakes pot, sir.

A full one, sir. Liquids andsolids, sir, both. Right on the Captain’s head, sir.“And you were the only witness?” McCandless asked.“Me and Captain Morris, sir.“I don’t believe a word of it,” McCandless growled.“Up to a court to decide, sir, begging your pardon. Your job, sir, isto deliver the prisoner to my keeping.“You do not instruct me in my duties, Sergeant!” McCandless saidangrily.“I just knows you will do your duty, sir, like we all does.

Except forsome as I could mention.” Hakeswill smiled at Sharpe.“Finding the long words difficult, are we, Sharpie?“McCandless reached over and took the warrant back from Sharpe, who had,indeed, been finding some of the longer words difficult. The Colonelhad expressed his disbelief in the charge, but that was more out ofloyalty to Sharpe than from any conviction, though there was stillsomething out of kilter in the warrant.“Is it true, Sharpe?” McCandless now asked.“No, sir!” Sharpe said indignantly.“He was always a good liar, sir,” Hakeswill said helpfully.“Lies like a rug, sir, he does. Famous for it.” The Sergeant wasbecoming breathless as he hurried to keep pace with the Scotsman’shorse.

“So what do you intend to do with Sergeant Sharpe?” McCandlessasked.“Do, sir? Do my duty, of course, sir. Escort the prisoner back tobattalion, sir, as is ordered.” Hakeswill gestured at his six men whomarched a few paces behind.“We’ll guard him nice and proper, sir, all the way home and then havehim stand trial for his filthy crime.“McCandless bit his right thumb and shook his head. He rode in silencefor a few paces, and when Sharpe protested he ignored the indignantwords. He put the warrant in his right hand again and seemed to readit yet another time. Far off to the east, at least a mile away, therewas a sudden flurry of dust and the sparkle of sword blades catchingthe sun. Some enemy horsemen had been waiting in a grove of trees fromwhere they had been watching the British march, but now they wereflushed out by a troop of Mysore horsemen who pursued them northwards.

McCandless glanced at the distant action.“So they’ll know we’re here now, more’s the pity. How do you spellyour name, Sharpe?With or without an “e”?“With, sir.“You will correct me if I’m wrong,” McCandless said, ‘but it seems tome that this is not your name.” He handed the warrant back to Sharpewho saw that the ‘e’ at the end of his name had been smeared out.There was a smudge of black ink there, and beneath it the impression ofthe ‘e’ made by the steel nib in the paper, but the ink had beendiluted and nearly erased.Sharpe hid his astonishment that McCandless, a stickler for honesty andstraight-dealing, had resorted to such a subterfuge.“Not my name, sir,” Sharpe said woodenly.Hakeswill looked from Sharpe to McCandless, then back to Sharpe andfinally at McCandless again.“Sir!” The word exploded from him.

“You’re out of breath, Sergeant,” McCandless said, taking the warrantback from Sharpe.“But you will see here that you are expressly ordered to arrest asergeant whose name is Richard Sharp. No “e”, Sergeant. This SergeantSharpe uses an “e” on his name so he cannot be the man you want, and Icertainly cannot release him to your custody on the authority of thispiece of paper. Here.” McCandless held the warrant out, letting itdrop a heartbeat before Hakeswill could take it.The paper fluttered down to the dusty road.Hakeswill snatched the warrant up and peered at the writing.“Ink’s run, sir!” he protested.“Sir?” He ran after McCandless’s horse, stumbling on the unevenroad.

“Look, sir! Ink’s run, sir.“McCandless ignored the offered warrant.“It is clear, Sergeant Hakeswill, that the spelling of the name hasbeen corrected. In all conscience I cannot act upon that warrant. Whatyou must do, Sergeant, is send a message to Lieutenant Colonel Goreasking him to clear up the confusion. A new warrant, I think, would bebest, and until such time as I see such a warrant, legibly written, Icannot release Sergeant Sharpe from his present duties. Good day,Hakeswill.“You can’t do this, sir!” Hakeswill protested.McCandless smiled.“You fundamentally misunderstand the hierarchy of the army, Sergeant.

It is I, a colonel, who define your duties, not you, a sergeant, whodefine mine.“I say to a man, go, and he goeth.” It says so in the scriptures. Ibid you good day.” And with that the Scotsman touched his spurs to thegelding’s flanks.Hakeswill’s face twitched as he turned on Sharpe.“I’ll have you, Sharpie, I will have you. I ain’t forgottennothing.“You ain’t learned nothing either,” Sharpe said, then spurred after theColonel. He lifted two fingers as he passed Hakeswill, then left himbehind in the dust.

He was, for the moment, free.Simone Joubert placed the eight diamonds on the window ledge of thetiny house where the wives of Scindia’s European officers had beenquartered. She was alone for the moment, for the other women had goneto visit the three compoos that were stationed on the Kaitna’s northernbank, but Simone had not wanted their company and so she had pleaded aturbulent stomach, though she supposed she ought to visit Pierre beforethe battle, if indeed there was to be a fight. Not that Simone caredmuch. Let them have their battle, she thought, and at the end of it,when the river was dark with British blood, her life would be nobetter. She gazed at the diamonds again, thinking about the man whohad given them to her. Pierre would be angry if he learned she wasconcealing such wealth, but once his anger had passed he would sell thestones and send the money back to his rapacious family in France.“Madame Joubert!” A voice hailed her from outside the window andSimone guiltily swept the diamonds into her small purse, though,because she was on an upper floor, no one could see the gems. Shepeered down from the window and saw a cheerful Colonel Pohlmann inshirtsleeves and braces standing among the straw in the courtyard ofthe neighbouring house.“Colonel,” she responded dutifully.

“I am hiding my elephants,” the Colonel said, gesturing at the threebeasts which were being led into the courtyard. The tallest carriedPohlmann’s howdah, while the other two were burdened with the woodenchests in which the Colonel was reputed to keep his gold.“Might I leave you to guard my menagerie?” the Colonel asked.“From what?” Simone asked.“From thieves,” the Colonel said happily.“Not the British?“They will never reach this far, Madame,” Pohlmann said, ‘except asprisoners.” And Simone had a sudden vision of Sergeant Richard Sharpeagain. She had been raised to believe that the British were apiratical race, a nation without a conscience who mindlessly impededthe spread of French enlightenment, but perhaps, she thought, she likedpirates.“I will guard your elephants, Colonel,” she called down.“And have some dinner with me?” Pohlmann asked.

“I have some cold chicken and warm wine.“I have promised to join Pierre,” Simone said, dreading the two-mileride across the drab fields to where Dodd’s Cobras waited beside theKaitna.“Then I shall escort you to his side, Madame,” Pohlmann saidcourteously. Once the battle was over he reckoned he might mount anassault on Madame Joubert’s virtue. It would be an amusing diversion,but not, he thought, an especially difficult campaign. Unhappy womenyielded to patience and sympathy, and there would be plenty of time forboth once Wellesley and Stevenson had been destroyed. And there wouldbe a pleasure, too, in beating Major Dodd to the prize of Simone’svirtue.Pohlmann detailed twenty of his bodyguard to guard the three elephants.He never rode one of the beasts in battle, for an elephant became thetarget of every enemy gunner, but he looked forward to mounting thehowdah for a great victory parade after the campaign. And victorywould leave Pohlmann rich, rich enough to start building his greatmarble palace in which he planned to hang the captured banners of hisenemy.

From sergeant to princeling in ten years, and the key to thatprincedom was the gold that he was storing in Assaye. He ordered hisbodyguard that no one, not even the Rajah of Berar whose troops weregarrisoning the village, should be allowed into the courtyard, then heinstructed his servants to detach the golden panels from the howdah andadd them to the boxes of treasure.“If the worst should happen,” he told the sub adar who was in charge ofthe men guarding the treasure, “I’ll join you here. Not that it will,“he added cheerfully.A clatter of hooves in the alley outside the courtyard announced thearrival of a patrol of horsemen returning from a foray south of theKaitna. For three days Pohlmann had kept his cavalry on a tight rein,not wanting to alarm Wellesley as the British General marched northtowards the trap, but that morning he had released a few patrolssouthwards and one of those now returned with the welcome news that theenemy was only four miles south of the Kaitna. Pohlmann already knewthat the second British army, that of Colonel Stevenson, was still tenmiles off to the west, and that meant that the British had blundered.Wellesley, in his eagerness to reach Borkardan, had brought his men tothe waiting arms of the whole Mahratta army.The Colonel thought about waiting for Madame Joubert, then decided hecould not afford the time and so he mounted the horse he rode in battleand, with those of his bodyguard not deputed to guard his gold, andwith a string of aides surrounding him, he galloped south from Assayeto the Kaitna’s bank where his trap was set. He passed the news toDupont and Saleur, then rode to prepare his own troops.

He spoke withhis officers, finishing with Major William Dodd.“I hear the British are making camp in Naulniah,” Pohlmann said, ‘sowhat we should do is march south and hammer him. It’s one thing tohave Wellesley so close, but it’s quite another to bring him tobattle.“So why don’t we march?” Dodd asked.“Because Scindia won’t have it, that’s why. Scindia insists we fighton the defensive. He’s nervous.” Dodd spat, but made no other commenton his employer’s timidity.“So there’s a nasty danger,” Pohlmann went on, ‘that Wellesley won’tattack us at all, but will retreat towards Stevenson.“So we beat them both at once,” Dodd said confidently.

“As we shall, if we must,” Pohlmann agreed drily, ‘but I’d rather fightthem separately.” He was confident of victory, no soldier could;be more confident, but he was no fool and given the chance to defeat (two small armies instead of one medium-sized force, he would prefer}the former.“If you have a god, Major,” he said, ‘pray that Wellesley;} isover-confident. Pray that he attacks us.” I It was a fervent prayer,for if Wellesley did attack he would be forced to send his men acrossthe Kaitna which was some sixty or seventy paces broad and flowingbrown between high banks that were over a hundred paces apart. If themonsoon had come the river would have filled its bed and been twelve orfifteen feet deep, while now it was only six or seven, though that wasquite deep enough to stop an army crossing, but right in front ofPohlmann’s position there was a series of fords, and Pohlmann’s prayerwas that the British would try to cross the fords and attack straightup the road to Assaye. Wellesley would have no other choice, not if hewanted a battle, for Pohlmann had summoned farmers from every villagein the vicinity, from Assaye and Waroor, from Kodully, Taunklee andPeepulgaon, and asked them where a man could drive a herd of cattlethrough the river. He had used the example of a herd of oxen becausewhere such a herd could go so could oxen drawing guns, and every manhad agreed that in this season the only crossing places were the fordsbetween Kodully and Taunklee. A man could drive his herds upriver toBorkardan, they told Pohlmann’s interpreter, and cross there, but thatwas a half-day’s walk away and why would be a man be that foolish whenthe river provided eight safe fords between the two villages?“Are there any crossing places downstream?” Pohlmann asked.A score of dark faces shook in unison.

“No, sahib, not in the wet season.“This season isn’t wet.“There are still no fords, sahib.” They were sure, as sure as onlylocal men who had lived all their lives bounded by the same water andtrees and soil could be sure.Pohlmann had still been unconvinced.“And if a man does not want to drive a herd, but just wants to crosshimself, where would he cross?“The villagers provided the same answer.“Between Kodully and Taunklee, sahib.“Nowhere else?“Nowhere else, they assured him, and that meant Wellesley would beforced to cross the river in the face of Pohlmann’s waiting army. TheBritish infantry and guns would have to slither down the steep southernbank of the Kaitna, cross a wide expanse of mud, wade through theriver, then climb the steep northern bank, and all the while they wouldbe under fire from the Mahratta guns until, when they reached the greenfields on the northern shore, they would re-form their ranks and marchforward into a double storm of musketry and artillery. Wherever theBritish crossed the Kaitna, anywhere between Kodully and Taunklee, theywould find the same murderous reception waiting, for Pohlmann’s threeprime compoos were arrayed in one long line that fronted that wholestretch of the river.

There were eighty guns in that line, and thoughsome threw nothing but a five-or sixpound ball, at least half wereheavy artillery and all were manned by Goanese gunners who knew theirbusiness. The cannon were grouped in eight batteries, one for eachford, and there was not an inch of ground between the batteries thatcould not be flailed by canister or beaten by round shot or scorched byshells.Pohlmann’s well-trained infantry waited to pour a devastating weight ofvolley fire into redcoated regiments already deafened and demoralizedby the cannon fire that would have torn their ranks into shreds as theystruggled across the bloody fords. The numberless Mahratta cavalrywere off to the west, strung along the bank towards Borkardan, andthere it would wait until the British were defeated and Pohlmannreleased the horsemen to the joys of pursuit and slaughter.The Hanoverian reckoned that his battle line waiting at the fords woulddecimate the enemy and the horsemen would turn the British defeat intoa bloody rout, but there was always a small chance that the enemy mightsurvive the river crossing and succeed in gaining the Kaitna’s northernbank in good order. He doubted the British could force his threecompoos back, but in case they did Pohlmann planned to retreat twomiles to the village of Assaye and invite the British to waste more menin an assault on what was now a miniature fortress. Assaye, like everyother village on the plain, lived in fear of bandit raids and so theoutermost houses had high, windowless walls made of thick mud, and thehouses were joined so that their walls formed a continous rampart ashigh as the wall at Ahmednuggur. Pohlmann had blocked the village’sstreets with ox carts, he had ordered loopholes hacked in the outerwall, he had placed all his smaller guns, a score of two-andthree-pounder cannon, at the foot of the wall and then he hadgarrisoned the houses with the Rajah of Berar’s twenty thousandinfantrymen. Pohlmann doubted that any of those twenty thousand menwould need to fight, but he had the luxury of knowing they were inreserve should anything go wrong at the Kaitna.He had just one problem left and to solve it he asked Dodd to accompanyhim eastwards along the river bank.

“If you were Wellesley,” he asked Dodd, ‘how would you attack?“Dodd considered the question, then shrugged as if to suggest that theanswer was obvious.“Concentrate all my best troops at one end of the line and hammer myway through.“Which end?“Dodd thought for a few seconds. He had been tempted to say thatWellesley would attack in the west, at the fords by Kodully, for thatwould keep him closest to Stevenson’s army, but Stevenson was a longway away and Pohlmann was deliberately riding eastwards.“The eastern end?” Dodd suggested diffidently.Pohlmann nodded.“Because if he drives our left flank back he can place his army betweenus and Assaye. He divides us.“And we surround him,” Dodd observed.“I’d rather we weren’t divided,” Pohlmann said, for if Wellesley didsucceed in driving back the left flank he might well succeed incapturing Assaye, and while that would still leave Pohlmann’s compooson the field, it would mean that the Colonel would lose his gold.

Sothe Colonel needed a good hard anchor at the eastern end of his line toprevent his left flank being turned, and of all the regiments under hiscommand he reckoned Dodd’s Cobras were the best. The left flank wasnow being held by one of Dupont’s regiments, a good one, but not asgood as Dodd’s.Pohlmann gestured at the Dutchman’s brown-coated troops who lookedacross the river towards the small village of Taunklee.“Good men,” he said, ‘but not as good as yours.“Few of them are.“But we’d best pray those fellows hold,” Pohlmann said, ‘because if Iwas Wellesley that’s where I’d put my sharpest attack. Straight up,turn our flank, cut us off from Assaye. It worries me, it does.“‘94Dodd could not see that it was overmuch cause for worry, for he doubtedthat the best troops in the world could survive the river crossingunder the massed fire of Pohlmann’s batteries, but he did see the leftflank’s importance.“So reinforce Dupont,” he suggested carelessly.

Pohlmann looked surprised, as though the idea had not already occurredto him.“Reinforce him? Why not? Would you care to hold the left, Major?“The left?” Dodd said suspiciously. Traditionally the right of theline was the station of honour on a battlefield and, while most ofPohlmann’s troops neither cared nor knew about such courtesies, WilliamDodd certainly knew, which was why Pohlmann had let the Major suggestthat the left should be reinforced rather than simply order the touchyDodd to move his precious Cobras.“You would not be under Dupont’s orders, of course not,” Pohlmannreassured Dodd.“You’ll be your own master, Major, answerable to me, only to me.“Pohlmann paused.“Of course, if you’d rather not take post on the left I’d entirelyunderstand, and some other fellows can have the honour of defeating theBritish right.“My fellows can do it!” Dodd said belligerently.“It is a very responsible post,” Pohlmann said diffidently.“We can do it, sir!” Dodd insisted.

Pohlmann smiled his gratitude.“I was hoping you’d say so. Every other regiment is commanded by aFrog or a Dutchman, Major, and I need an Englishman to fight thehardest battle.“And you’ve found one, sir,” Dodd said.I’ve found an idiot, Pohlmann thought as he rode back to the line’scentre, but Dodd was a reliable idiot and a hard-fighting man. Hewatched as Dodd’s men left the line, and as the line closed up to fillthe gap, and then as the Cobras took their place on the left flank. Theline was complete now, it was deadly, it was anchored firmly, and itwas ready. All it needed was the enemy to compound their blunder bytrying to attack, and then Pohlmann would crown his career by fillingthe Kaitna with British blood. Let them attack, he prayed, just letthem attack, and the day, with all its glory, would be his.The British camp spread around Naulniah.

Lines of tents shelteredinfantry, quartermasters sought out the village headman and arrangedthat the women of the village would bake bread in return for rupees,‘95while the cavalry led their horses down to drink from the River Purnawhich flowed just to the north of the village. One squadron of theigth Dragoons was ordered to cross the river and ride a couple of milesnorth in search of enemy patrols and those troopers dropped their bagsof forage in the village, watered their horses, washed the dust fromtheir faces, then remounted and rode on out of sight.Colonel McCandless picked a broad tree as his tent. He had no servant,nor wanted one, so he brushed down Aeolus with handfuls of straw whileSharpe fetched a pail of water from the river. The Colonel, in hisshirtsleeves, straightened as Sharpe came back.“You do realize, Sergeant, that I am guilty of some dishonesty in thematter of that warrant?“I wanted to thank you, sir.“I doubt I deserve any thanks, except that my deception might havestaved off a greater evil.” The Colonel crossed to his saddlebags andbrought out his Bible which he gave to Sharpe.“Put your right hand on the scriptures, Sergeant, and swear to me youare innocent of the charge.“Sharpe placed his right palm on the Bible’s worn cover.

He feltfoolish, but McCandless’s face was stern and Sharpe made his own facesolemn.“I do swear it, sir. I never touched the man that night, didn’t evensee him.” His voice proclaimed both his indignation and his innocence,but that was small consolation. The warrant might be defeated for themoment, but Sharpe knew such things did not go away.“What will happen now, sir?“We’ll just have to make certain the truth prevails,” McCandless saidvaguely. He was still trying to decide what had been wrong with thewarrant, but he could not identify what had troubled him. He took theBible, stowed it away, then put his hands in the small of his back andarched his spine.“How far have we come today? Fourteen miles?Fifteen?“Thereabouts, sir.“I’m feeling my age, Sharpe, feeling my age.

The leg’s mending wellenough, but now my back aches. Not good. But just a short marchtomorrow, God be thanked, no more than ten miles, then battle.” Hepulled a watch from his fob pocket and snapped open the lid.“We have fifteen minutes, Sergeant, so it might be wise to prepare ourweapons.“Fifteen minutes, sir?“It’s Sunday, Sharpe! The Lord’s day. Colonel Wallace’s chaplain willbe holding divine service on the hour, and I expect you to come withme. He preaches a fine sermon. But there’s still time for you toclean your musket first.“The musket was cleaned with boiling water which Sharpe poured down thebarrel, then sloshed about so that the very last remnants of powderresidue were washed free.

He doubted the musket needed cleaning, buthe dutifully did it, then oiled the lock and put a new flint into thedog head He borrowed a sharpening stone from one of Sevajee’s men andhoned the bayonet’s point so that the tip shone white and deadly, thenhe dabbed some oil on the blade before sliding it home into itsscabbard. There was nothing else to do now except listen to thesermon, sleep and do the mundane tasks. There would be a meal to cookand the horses to water again, but those commonplace jobs wereovershadowed by the knowledge that the enemy was just a short marchaway at Borkardan. Sharpe felt a shudder of nerves. What would battlebe like? Would he stand? Or would he turn out like that corporal atBoxtel who had started to rave about angels and then had run like aspring hare through the Flanders rain?A half-mile behind Sharpe the baggage train began to trudge into a widefield where the oxen were hobbled, the camels picketed and theelephants tethered to trees. Grass-cutters spread out into thecountryside to find forage for the animals which were watered from amuddy irrigation channel. The elephants were fed piles of palm leavesand buckets of rice soaked in butter, while Captain Mackay scurriedthrough the chaos on his small bay horse, making sure that theammunition was being properly stowed and the animals suitably fed.He suddenly caught sight of a disconsolate Sergeant Hakeswill and hissix men.“Sergeant! You’re still here? I thought you’d have your rogue safelypinioned by now?“Problems, sir,” Hakeswill said, standing rigidly to attention.“Easy, Sergeant, stand easy.

No rogue?“Not yet, sir.“So you’re back in my command, are you? That’s splendid, justsplendid.” Mackay was an eager young officer who did his best to seethe good in everybody, and though he found the Sergeant from the 33rdsomewhat daunting, he did his best to communicate his own enthusiasm.“Puckalees, Sergeant,” he said brightly, pucka leesHakeswill’s face wrenched in a series of spasms.“Puckalees, sir?“Water carriers, Sergeant.“I knows what a pucka lee is, sir, on account of having lived in thisheathen land more years than I can count, but begging your pardon, sir,what has a pucka lee to do with me?“We have to establish a collecting point for them,” Mackay said. Thepucka lees were all on the strengths of the individual regiments and inbattle their job was to keep the fighting men supplied with water.“I need a man to watch over them,” Mackay said.“They’re good fellows, all of them, but oddly frightened of bullets!They need chivvying along. I’ll be busy enough with the ammunitionwagons tomorrow, so can I rely on you to make sure the puckakes dotheir job like the stout fellows they are?“The ‘stout fellows’ were boys, grandfathers, cripples, the half-blindand the half witted”Excellent! Excellent!” the young Captain said.

“A problem solved! Make sure you get some rest, Sergeant. We’ll allneed to be sprightly tomorrow. And if you feel the need for somespiritual refreshment you’ll find the 74th are holding divine serviceany moment now.” Mackay smiled at Hakeswill, then set off in pursuitof an errant group of bullock carts.“You! You! You with the tents! Not there! Come here!“Puckalees,” Hakeswill said, spitting, pucka lees None of his menresponded for they knew well enough to leave Sergeant Hakeswill alonewhen he was in a more than usually foul mood.“Could be worse, though,” he said.“Worse?” Private Flaherty ventured.Hakeswill’s face twitched.“We has a problem, boys,” he said dourly, ‘and the problem is oneScottish Colonel who is attempting to bugger up the good order of ourregiment. I won’t abide it, I won’t.

Regimental honour is at stake,it is. He’s been wool-pulling, ain’t he? And he thinks he’s pulled itclean over our eyes, but he ain’t, because I’ve seen through him, Ihave, I’ve seen through his Scotch soul and it’s as rotten as rotteneggs. Sharpie’s paying him off, ain’t he? Stands to reason!Corruption, boys, nothing but corruption.” Hakeswill blinked, his mindracing.“If we’re flogging pucka lees halfway across bleeding India tomorrow,lads, then we will have our moment and the regiment would want us toseize it.“Seize it?” Lowry asked.“Kill the bugger, you block headed toad.“Kill Sharpie?“God help me for leading half wits Hakeswill said.“Not Sharpie!We wants him private like, where we can fillet him fair and square. Youkills the Scotchman! Once Mister bleeding McCandless is gone,Sharpie’s ours.

“You can’t kill a colonel!” Kendrick said aghast.“You points your firelock, Private Kendrick,” Hakeswill said, ramminghis own musket’s muzzle hard into Kendrick’s midriff.“You cocks your musket, Private Kendrick’ Hakeswill pulled back the doghead and the heavy lock clicked into place ‘and then you shoots thebugger clear through.” Hakeswill pulled his trigger. The powder inthe pan exploded with a small crackle and fizz, and Kendrick leapedback as the smoke drifted away from the lock, but the musket had notbeen charged.Hakeswill laughed.“Got you, didn’t I? You thought I was putting a goalie in your belly!But that’s what you do to McCandless. A goo he in his belly or in hisbrain or in any other part what kills him. And you do it tomorrow.“The six men looked dubious, and Hakeswill grinned.

“Extra shares for you all if it happens, boys, extra shares. You’ll bepaying the officers’ whores when you get home, and all it will take isone goo he He smiled wolfishly.“Tomorrow, boys, tomorrow.“But across the river, where the blue-coated patrol of the igth Dragoonswas exploring the countryside south of the Kaitna, everything waschanging.Wellesley had dismounted, stripped off his jacket and was washing hisface from a basin of water held on a tripod. Lieutenant ColonelOrrock, the Company officer who commanded the picquets that day, wascomplaining about the two galloper guns that were supposedly attachedto his small command.“They wouldn’t keep up, sir. Laggards, sir. I found myself fourhundred yards ahead of them! Four hundred yards!“I asked you to set a brisk pace, Orrock,” the General said, wishingthe fool would go away. He reached for a towel and vigorously scrubbedhis face dry.

“But if we’d been challenged!” Orrock protested.“Gallopers can move briskly when they must,” the General said, thensighed as he realized the prickly Orrock needed placating.“Who commanded the guns?“Barlow, sir.“I’ll speak to him,” the General promised, then turned as the patrol ofiqth Dragoons that had crossed the River Purna to reconnoitre theground on the far bank came threading through the rising tents towardshim. Wellesley had not expected the patrol back this scon and theirreturn puzzled him, then he saw they were escorting a groupofbkinjarries, the black-cloaked merchants who traversed India buyingand selling food.“You’ll excuse me, Orrock,” the General said, plucking his coat from astool.“You will talk with Barlow, sir?” Orrock asked.“I said so, didn’t I?” Wellesley called as he walked towards thehorsemen.The patrol leader, a captain, slid off his horse and gestured at thebhinjarries’ leader.“We found these fellows a half-mile north of the river, sir.

They’vegot eighteen pack oxen loaded with grain and they reckon the enemyain’t in Borkardan at all. They were planning to sell the grain inAssaye.“Assaye?” The General frowned at the unfamiliar name.“It’s a village four or five miles north of here, sir. He says it’sthick with the enemy.“Four or five miles?” Wellesley asked in astonishment.“Four or five?“The cavalry captain shrugged.“That’s what they say, sir.” He gestured at the grain merchants whostood impassively among the mounted troopers.Dear God, Wellesley thought, four or five miles? He had beenhumbugged! The enemy had stolen a march on him, and at any moment thatenemy might appear to the north and launch an attack on the Britishencampment and there was no chance for Stevenson to come to his help.

The 74th were singing hymns and the enemy was five miles away, maybeless? The General spun round.“Barclay! Campbell! Horses!Quick now!“The flurry of activity at the General’s tent sent a rumour whippingthrough the camp, and the rumour was fanned into alarm when the wholeof the igth Dragoons and the 4th Native Cavalry trotted through theriver on the heels of the General and his two aides. ColonelMcCandless had been walking with Sharpe towards the 74th’s lines, butseeing the sudden excitement, he turned and hurried back towards hishorse.“Come on, Sharpe!“Where to, sir?“We’ll find out. Sevajee?“We’re ready.“McCandless’s party left the camp five minutes after the General.They could see the dust left by the cavalry ahead and McCandlesshurried to catch up. They rode through a landscape of small fields cutby deep dry gulches and cactusthorn hedges. Wellesley had beenfollowing the earth road northwards, but after a while the Generalswerved westwards onto a field of stubble and McCandless did notfollow, but kept straight on up the road.“No point in tiring the horses unnecessarily,” he explained, thoughSharpe suspected the Colonel was merely impatient to go north and seewhatever had caused the excitement.

The two British cavalry regimentswere in sight to the east, but there was no enemy visible.Sevajee and his men had ridden ahead, but when they reached a crestsome two hundred yards in front of McCandless they suddenly wrenched ontheir reins and swerved back. Sharpe expected to see a horde ofMahratta cavalry come boiling over the crest, but the skyline stayedempty as Sevajee and his men halted a few yards short of the ridge andthere dismounted.“You’ll not want them to see you, Colonel,” Sevajee said drily whenMcCandless caught up.Them?“Sevajee gestured at the crest.“Take a look. You’ll want to dismount.“McCandless and Sharpe both slid from their saddles, then walked to theskyline where a cactus hedge offered concealment and from where theycould stare at the country to the north and Sharpe, who had never seensuch a sight before, simply gazed in amazement.It was not an army. It was a horde, a whole people, a nation.

Thousands upon thousands of the enemy, all in line, mile after mile ofthem. Men and women and children and guns and camels and bullocks androcket batteries and horses and tents and still more men until thereseemed to be no end to them.“Jesus!” Sharpe said, the imprecation torn from him.“Sharpe!“Sorry, sir.” But no wonder he had sworn, for Sharpe had neverimagined that an army could look so vast. The nearest men were no morethan half a mile away, beyond a discoloured river that flowed betweensteep mud banks. A village lay on the nearer bank, but on the northernside, just beyond the mud bluff, there was a line of guns.Big guns, the same painted and sculpted cannon that Sharpe had seen inPohlmann’s camp. Beyond the guns was the infantry and behind theinfantry, and spreading far out of sight to the east, was a mass ofcavalry and beyond them the myriad of camp followers. More infantrywere posted about a distant village where Sharpe could just see acluster of bright flags.

“How many are there?” he asked.“At least a hundred thousand men?” McCandless ventured.“At least,” Sevajee agreed, ‘but most are adventurers come for loot.“The Indian was peering through a long ivory-clad telescope.“And the cavalry won’t help in a battle.“It’ll be down to these fellows,” McCandless said, indicating theinfantry just behind the gun line.“Fifteen thousand?“Fourteen or fifteen,” Sevajee said.“Too many.“Too many guns,” McCandless said gloomily.“It’ll be a retreat.

“I thought we came here to fight!” Sharpe said belligerentiy.“We came here expecting to rest, then march on Borkardan tomorrow,“McCandless said testily.“We didn’t come here to take on the whole enemy army with just fivethousand infantry. They know we’re coming, they’re ready for us andthey simply want us to walk into their fire. Wellesley’s not a fool,Sharpe. He’ll march us back, link up with Stevenson, then find themagain.“Sharpe felt a pang of relief that he would not discover the realitiesof bat de but the relief was tempered by a tinge of disappointment. Thedisappointment surprised him, and the relief made him fear he might bea coward.“If we retreat,” Sevajee warned, ‘those horsemen will harry us all theway.“We’ll just have to fight them off,” McCandless said confidently, thenlet out a long satisfied breath.

“Got him! There, the left flank!” He pointed and Sharpe saw, far awayat the very end of the enemy gun line a scatter of white uniforms.“Not that it helps us,” McCandless said wryly, ‘but at least we’re onhis heels.“Or he’s on ours,” Sevajee said, then he offered his telescope toSharpe.“See for yourself, Sergeant.“Sharpe rested the glass’s long barrel on a thick cactus leaf. He movedthe lens slowly along the line of infantry. Men slept in the shade,some were in their small tents and others sat in groups and he couldhave sworn a few were gambling. Officers, Indian and European,strolled behind their men, while in front of them the massive line ofguns waited with their ammunition limbers. He moved the glass to thevery far left of the enemy line and saw the white jackets of Dodd’smen, and saw something else. Two huge guns, much bigger than anythinghe had seen before.

“They’ve got their siege guns in the line, sir,” he told McCandless,who trained his own telescope.“Eighteenpounders,” McCandless guessed, ‘maybe bigger?” The Colonelcollapsed his glass.“Why aren’t they patrolling this side of the river?“Because they don’t want to frighten us away,” Sevajee said.“They want us to stroll up to their guns and die in the river, butthey’ll still have some horsemen hidden on this bank, waiting to tellthem when we retreat.“The sound of hooves made Sharpe whip round in expectation of thoseenemy cavalry, but it was only General Wellesley and his two aides whocantered along the lower ground beneath the crest.“They’re all there, McCandless,” the General shouted happily.“So it seems, sir.“The General reined in, waiting for McCandless to come down from theskyline and join him.“They seem to presume we’ll make a frontal attack,” Wellesley saidwryly, as though he found the idea amusing.“They’re certainly formed for it, sir.

“They must assume we’re blockheads. What time is it?“One of his aides consulted a watch.“Ten minutes of noon, sir.“Plenty of time,” the General murmured.“Onwards, gentlemen, stay below the skyline. We don’t want to frightenthem away!“Frighten them away?” Sevajee asked with a smile, but Wellesleyignored the comment as he spurred on eastwards, parallel with theriver. Some troops of Company cavalry were scouring the fields and atfirst Sharpe thought they were looking for concealed enemy picquets,then he saw they were hunting down local farmers and harrying themalong in the General’s wake.Wellesley rode two miles eastwards, a string of horsemen behind him.The farmers were breathless by the time they reached the place wherehis horse was picketed just beneath a low hill. The General waskneeling on the crest, staring east through a glass.

“Ask those fellows if there are any fords east of here!” he shouteddown to his aides.A hurried consultation followed, but the farmers were quite sure therewas no ford. The only crossing places, they insisted, were directly infront of Scindia’s army.“Find a clever one,” Wellesley ordered, ‘and bring him up here.Colonel? Maybe you’d translate?“McCandless picked one of the farmers and led him up the hill.Sharpe, without being asked, followed and Wellesley did not order himback, but just muttered that they should all keep their heads low.“There’ the General pointed eastwards to a village on the Kaitna’ssouthern bank ‘that village, what’s it called?“Teepulgaon,” the farmer said, and added that his mother and two sisterslived in the huddle of mudwalled houses with their thatched roofs.Peepulgaon lay only a half-mile from the low hill, but it was all oftwo miles east of Taunklee, the village that was opposite the easternextremity of the Mahratta line. Both villages were on the river’ssouthern bank while the enemy waited on the Kaitna’s northern side, andSharpe did not understand Wellesley’s interest.“Ask him if he has any relatives north of the river,” the Generalordered McCandless.

“He has a brother and several cousins, sir,” McCandless translated.“So how does his mother visit her son north of the river?” Wellesleyasked.The farmer launched himself into a long explanation. In the dryseason, he said, she walked across the river bed, but in the wetseason, when the waters rose, she was forced to come upstream and crossat Taunklee. Wellesley listened, then grunted in apparent disbelief.He was staring intently through the glass.“Campbell?” he called, but his aide had gone to another low rise ahundred yards westwards that offered a better view of the enemyranks.“Campbell?” Wellesley called again and, getting no answer, turned.“Sharpe, you’ll do. Come here.

“Sir?“You’ve got young eyes. Come here, and keep low.“Sharpe joined the General on the crest where, to his surprise, he washanded the telescope.“Look at the village,” Wellesley ordered, ‘then look at the oppositebank and tell me what you see.“It took Sharpe a moment to find Peepulgaon in the lens, but suddenlyits mud walls filled the glass. He moved the telescope slowly, slidingits view past oxen, goats and chickens, past clothes set to dry onbushes by the river bank, and then the lens slid across the brown waterof the River Kaitna and up its opposite bank where he saw a muddy blufftopped by trees and, just beyond the trees, a fold of land. And in thefold of land were roofs, straw roofs.“There’s another village there, sir,” Sharpe said.“You’re sure?” Wellesley asked urgently.“Pretty sure, sir.

Might just be cat de sheds.“You don’t keep cattle sheds apart from a village,” the General saidscathingly, ‘not in a country infested by bandits.” Wellesley twistedround.“McCandless? Ask your fellow if there’s a village on the other side ofthe river from Peepulgaon.“The farmer listened to the question, then nodded.“Waroor,” he said, then helpfully informed the General that his cousinwas the village headman, the naique.“How far apart are those villages, Sharpe?” Wellesley asked.Sharpe judged the distance for a couple of seconds.“Three hundred yards, sir?“Wellesley took the telescope back and moved away from the crest.“Never in my life,” he said, ‘have I seen two villages on oppositebanks of a river that weren’t connected by a ford.

“He insists not, sir,” McCandless said, indicating the farmer.“Then he’s a rogue, a liar or a blockhead,” Wellesley saidcheerfully.“The latter, probably.” He frowned in thought, his right hand drumminga tattoo on the telescope’s barrel.“I’ll warrant there is a ford,” he said to himself.“Sir?” Captain Campbell had run back from the western knoll.“Enemy’s breaking camp, sir.“Are they, by God!” Wellesley returned to the crest and stared throughthe glass again. The infantry immediately on the Kaitna’s north bankwere not moving, but far away, close to the fortified village, tentswere being struck.“Preparing to run away, I daresay,” Wellesley muttered.

“Or readying to cross the river and attack us,” McCandless saidgrimly.“And they’re sending cavalry across the river,” Campbell addedominously.“Nothing to worry us,” Wellesley said, then turned back to stare at theopposing villages of Peepulgaon and Waroor.“There has to be a ford,” he said to himself again, so quietly thatonly Sharpe could hear him.“Stands to reason,” he said, then he went silent for a long time.“That enemy cavalry, sir,” Campbell prompted him.Wellesley seemed startled.“What?“There, sir.” Campbell pointed westwards to a large group of enemyhorsemen who had appeared from a grove of trees, but who seemed contentto watch Wellesley’s group from a half-mile away.“Time we were away,” Wellesley said.

“Give that lying blockhead a rupee, McCandless, then let’s be off.“You plan to retreat, sir?” McCandless asked.Wellesley had been hurrying down the slope, but now stopped and staredin surprise at the Scotsman.“Retreat?“McCandless blinked.“You surely don’t intend to fight, sir, do you?“How else are we to do His Majesty’s business? Of course we’llfight!There’s a ford there.” Wellesley flung his arm east towardsPeepulgaon.“That wretched farmer might deny it, but he’s a blockhead! There hasto be a ford. We’ll cross it, turn their left flank and pound theminto scraps! But we must hurry! Noon already. Three hours,gentlemen, three hours to bring on battle. Three hours to turn hisflank.

” He ran on down the hill to where Diomed, his white Arab horse,waited.“Good God,” McCandless said.“Good God.” For five thousand infantry would now cross the Kaitna at aplace where men said the river was uncross able then fight an enemyhorde at least ten times their number.“Good God,” the Colonel said again, then hurried to follow Wellesleysouth. The enemy had stolen a march, the redcoats had journeyed allnight and were bone tired, but Wellesley would have his bat de

CHAPTER 9

“There!” Dodd said, pointing.“I can’t see,” Simone Joubert complained.“Drop the telescope, use your naked eye, Madame. There! It’sflashing.“Where?“There!” Dodd pointed again.

“Across the river. Three trees, low hill.“Ah!” Simone at last saw the flash of reflected sunlight from the lensof a telescope that was being used on the far bank of the river andwell downstream from where Dodd’s Cobras held the left of Pohlmann’sline.Simone and her husband had dined with the Major who was grimly happy inanticipation of a British attack which, he claimed, must inevitablyfall hardest on his Cobras.“It will be slaughter, Ma’am,” Dodd said wolfishly, ‘sheer slaughter!“He and Captain Joubert had walked Simone to the edge of the bluff abovethe Kaitna and shown her the fords, and demonstrated how any mencrossing the fords must be caught in the mangling crossfire of theMahratta cannon, then maintained that the British had no option but towalk forward into that weltering onslaught of canister, round shot andshell.“If you wish to stay and watch, Madame,” Dodd had offered, “I can finda place of safety for you.” He gestured towards a low rise of groundjust behind the regiment.“You could watch from there, and I credit no British soldier will comenear you.“I could not bear to watch a slaughter, Major,” Simone had saidfeelingly.“Your squeamishness does you credit, Ma’am,” Dodd had answered.

“War is man’s work.” It was then that Dodd had spotted the Britishsoldiers on the opposite bank and had trained his telescope on thedistant men. Simone, knowing now where to look, rested the glass onher husband’s shoulder and trained its lens on the far hill. She couldsee two men there, one in a cocked hat and the other in a shako. Bothwere keeping low.“Why are they so far down the river?” she asked.“They’re looking for a way round our flank,” Dodd said.“Is there one?“No. They must cross here, Ma’am, or else they don’t cross at all.“Dodd gestured at the fords in front of the compoo.

A band ofcavalrymen was galloping through the shallow water, spraying silverfrom their horses’ hooves as they crossed to the Kaitna’s south bank.“And those horsemen,” Dodd explained, ‘are going to see whether theywill cross or not.“Simone collapsed the telescope and handed it back to the Major.“They might not attack?“They won’t,” her husband answered in English for Dodd’s benefit.“They have too much sense.“Boy Wellesley don’t have sense,” Dodd said scathingly.“Look how he attacked at Ahmednuggur? Straight at the wall! A hundredrupees says he will attack.“Captain Joubert shook his head. ‘I do not gamble, Major.“A soldier should relish risk,” Dodd said.

“And if they don’t cross,” Simone asked, ‘there is no battle?“There’ll be a battle, Ma’am,” Dodd said grimly.“Pohlmann’s gone to fetch Scindia’s permission for us to cross theriver. If they won’t come to us, we’ll go to them.“Pohlmann had indeed gone to find Scindia. The Hanoverian had dressedfor battle, donning his finest coat, which was a blue silk jacket,trimmed in scarlet and decorated with loops of gold braid and blackaiguillettes. He wore a white silk sash on which was blazoned a starof diamonds and from which hung a gold-hiked sword, though Dupont, theDutchman, who accompanied Pohlmann to meet Scindia, noted that theColonel’s breeches and boots were old and shabby.“I wear them for luck,” Pohlmann said, noting Dupont’s puzzled glanceat his decrepit breeches.“They’re from my old East India Company uniform.” The Hanoverian wasin a fine mood. His short march eastwards had achieved all he haddesired, for it had brought one of the two small British armies intohis lap while it was still far away from the other.

All he needed to do now was snap it up like a minnow, then march onStevenson’s force, but Scindia had been insistent that no infantry wereto cross the Kaitna’s fords without his permission and Pohlmann nowneeded that permission. The Hanoverian did not plan to crossimmediately, for first he wanted to be certain that the British wereretreating, but nor did he wish to wait for permission once he heardnews of the enemy’s withdrawal.“Our lord and master will be scared at the thought of attacking,“Pohlmann told Dupont, ‘so we’ll flatter the bugger. Slap on the gheewith a shovel, Dupont. Tell him he’ll be lord of all India if he letsus loose.“Tell him there are a hundred white women in Wellesley’s camp and he’lllead the attack himself,” Dupont observed drily.“Then that is what we shall tell him,” Pohlmann said, ‘and promise himthat every little darling will be his concubine.“Except that when Pohlmann and Dupont reached the tree-shaded stretch ofground above the River Juah where the Maharajah of Gwalior had beenawaiting his army’s victory, there was no sign of his lavish tents.They had been struck, all of them, together with the striped tents ofthe Rajah of Berar, and all that remained were the cook tents that evennow were being collapsed and folded onto the beds of a dozen oxcarts.All the elephants but one were gone, the horses of the royal bodyguardswere gone, the concubines were gone and the two princes were gone.

The one remaining elephant belonged to Surjee Rao and that minister,ensconced in his howdah where he was being fanned by a servant, smiledbenevolently down on the two sweating and red-faced Europeans.“His Serene Majesty deemed it safer to withdraw westwards,” heexplained airily, ‘and the Rajah of Berar agreed with him.“They did what?” Pohlmann snarled.“The omens,” Surjee Rao said vaguely, waving a bejewelled hand toindicate that the subtleties of such supernatural messages would bebeyond Pohlmann’s comprehension.“The bloody omens are propitious!” Pohlmann insisted.“We’ve got the buggers by the balls! What more omens can you want?“Surjee Rao smiled.“His Majesty has sublime confidence in your skill, Colonel.“To do what?” the Hanoverian demanded.“Whatever is necessary,” Surjee Rao said, then smiled.“We shall wait in Borkardan for news of your triumph, Colonel, andeagerly anticipate seeing the banners of our enemies heaped in triumphat the foot ofHis Serene Majesty’s throne.

” And with that hope expressed he snappedhis fingers and the mahout prodded the elephant which lumbered awaywestwards.“Bastards,” Pohlmann said to Dupont, loudly enough for the retreatingminister to hear.“Lily-livered bastards! Cowards!” Not that he cared whether Scindiaand the Rajah of Berar were present at the battle;indeed, given the choice, he would much prefer to fight without them,but that was not true of his men who, like all soldiers, fought betterwhen their rulers were watching, and so Pohlmann was angry for his men.Yet, he consoled himself as he returned southwards, they would stillfight well. Pride would see to that, and confidence, and the promiseof plunder.And Surjee Rao’s final words, Pohlmann decided, had been more thanenough to give him permission to cross the River Kaitna. He had beentold to do whatever was necessary, and Pohlmann reckoned that gave hima free hand, so he would give Scindia a victory even if the yellowbastard did not deserve it.Pohlmann and Dupont cantered back to the left of the line where theysaw that Major Dodd had called his men out from the shade of the treesand into their ranks. The sight suggested that the enemy wasapproaching the Kaitna and Pohlmann spurred his horse into a gallop,clamping one hand onto his extravagantly plumed hat to stop it fallingoff. He slewed to a stop just short of Dodd’s regiment and staredabove their heads across the river.

The enemy had come, except this enemy was merely a long line ofcavalrymen with two small horse-drawn galloper guns. It was a screen,of course. A screen of British and Indian horsemen intended to stophis own patrols from discovering what was happening in the hiddencountry beyond.“Any sign of their infantry?” he called to Dodd.“None, sir.“The buggers are running!” Pohlmann exulted.“That’s why they’ve put up a screen.” He suddenly noticed SimoneJoubert and hastily took off his feathered hat.“My apologies for my language, Madame.” He put his hat back on andtwisted his horse about.

“Harness the guns!” he shouted.“What is happening?” Simone asked anxiously.“We’re crossing the river,” her husband said quietly, ‘and you must goback to Assaye.“Simone knew she must say something loving to him, for was that notexpected of a wife at a moment such as this?“I shall pray for you,” she said shyly.“Go back to Assaye,” her husband said again, noting that she had notgiven him any love, ‘and stay there till it is all over.“It would not take long. The guns needed to be attached to theirlimbers, but the infantry were ready to march and the cavalry wereeager to begin their pursuit. The existence of the British cavalryscreen suggested that Wellesley must be withdrawing, so all Pohlmannneeded to do was cross the river and then crush the enemy. Dodd drewhis elephanthilted sword, felt its newly honed edge and waited for theorders to begin the slaughter.The Mahratta cavalry pursued Wellesley’s party the moment they saw thatthe General was retreating from his observation post above the river.

“We must look to ourselves, gentlemen!” Wellesley had called anddriven back his heels so that Diomed had sprung ahead. The otherhorsemen matched his pace, but Sharpe, on his small captured Mahrattahorse, could not keep up. He had mounted in a hurry, and in his hastehe could not fit his right boot into the stirrup and the horse’sjolting motion made it all the more difficult, but he dared not curbthe beast for he could hear the enemy’s shouts and the beat of theirhooves not far behind. For a few moments he was in a panic. The thudof the pursuing hooves grew louder, he could see his companions drawingever farther ahead of him and his horse was blowing hard and trying toresist the frantic kicks he gave, and each kick threatened to unseathim so that he clung to the saddle’s pommel and still his right bootwould not find the stirrup. Sevajee, racing free on the right flank,saw his predicament and curved back towards him.“You’re not a horseman, Sergeant.“Never bloody was, sir. Hate the bloody things.“A warrior and his horse, Sergeant, are like a man and a woman,“Sevajee said, leaning over and pushing the stirrup iron onto Sharpe’sboot.

He did it without once checking his own horse’s furious pace,then he slapped Sharpe’s small mare on the rump and she took off likeone of the enemy’s rockets, almost tipping Sharpe backwards.Sharpe clung on to the pommel, while his musket, which was hanging byits sling from his left elbow, banged and thumped his thigh. His shakoblew off and he had no time to rescue it, but then a trumpet soundedoff to his right and he saw a stream of British cavalrymen riding tohead off the pursuit. Still more cavalrymen were spurring north fromNaulniah and Wellesley, as he passed them, urged them on towards theKaitna.“Thank you, sir,” Sharpe said to Sevajee.“You should learn horsemanship.“I’ll stay a foot soldier, sir. Safer. Don’t like sitting on thingswith hooves and teeth.“Sevajee laughed.

Wellesley had slowed now and was patting the neck ofhis horse, but the brief pursuit had only increased his high spirits.He turned Diomed to watch the Mahratta cavalry spur away.“A good omen!“he said happily.‘For what, sir?” Sevajee asked.Wellesley heard the Indian’s sceptical tone.“You don’t think we should give battle?“Sevajee shrugged, seeking some tactful way of expressing hisdisagreement with Wellesley’s decision.“The battle isn’t always to the largest army, sir.“Always, no,” Wellesley said, ‘but usually, yes? You think I am beingimpetuous?” Sevajee refused to be drawn and simply shrugged again inanswer.“We shall see, we shall see,” the General said.“Their army looks fine, I grant you, but once we break the regularcompoos, the others will run.

“I do hope so, sir.“Depend on it,” Wellesley said, then spurred on.Sharpe looked at Sevajee.“Are we mad to fight, sir?“Quite mad,” Sevajee said, ‘completely mad. But maybe there’s nochoice.“No choice?“We blundered, Sergeant. We marched too far and came too close to theenemy, so either we attack him or run away from him, and either way wehave to fight. By attacking him we just make the fight shorter.” Hetwisted in the saddle and pointed towards the now hidden Kaitna.“Do you know what’s beyond that river?“No, sir.

“Another river, Sharpe, and they meet just a couple of milesdownstream’ he pointed eastwards towards the place where the waters met’and if we cross that ford we shall find ourselves on a tongue of landand the only way out is forward, through a hundred thousandMahrattas. Death on one side and water on the other.” Sevajeelaughed.“Blundering, Sergeant, blundering!“But if Wellesley had blundered he was still in high spirits. Once backat Naulniah he ordered Diomed unsaddled and rubbed down, then beganissuing commands. The army’s baggage would stay at Naulniah, draggedinto the village’s alleyways which were to be barricaded so that nomarauding Mahratta cavalry could plunder the wagons which would beguarded by the smallest battalion of sepoys. McCandless heard thatorder given, understood its necessity, but groaned aloud when herealized that almost five hundred infantrymen were thus being shornfrom the attacking army.The cavalry that remained in Naulniah were ordered to saddle theirhorses and ride to the Kaitna, there to form a screen on the southernbank, while the tired infantry, who had marched all morning, were nowrousted from their tents and chivvied into ranks.“No packs!” the sergeants called.“Firelocks and cartridge boxes only.

No packs! Off to a Sundaybattle, lads! Save your bleeding prayers and hurry up! Come on,Johnny, boots on, lad! There’s a horde of heathens to kill. Looklively, now! Wake yourselves up! On your feet!“The picquets of the day, composed of a half company from each of thearmy’s seven battalions, marched first. They splashed through thesmall river north of Naulniah and were met on its far bank by one ofthe General’s aides who guided them onto the farm track that led toPeepulgaon. The picquets were followed by the King’s 74th accompaniedby their battalion artillery, while behind them came the secondbattalion of the 12th Madras Regiment, the first battalion of the 4thMadras, the first of the 78th Madras and the first of the 10th Madras,and lastly the kilted Highlanders of the King’s 778th. Six battalionscrossed the river and followed the beaten-earth track between fields ofmillet beneath the furnace of an Indian sun. No enemy was visible asthey marched, though rumour said the whole of the Mahratta army was notfar away.Two guns fired around one o’clock. The sound was flat and hard,echoing across the heat-shimmering land, but the infantry could seenothing. The sound came from their left, and the battalion officerssaid there was cavalry somewhere out there, and that doubtless meantthat the cavalry’s light galloper guns had engaged the enemy, or elsethe enemy had brought cannon to face the British cavalry, but thefighting did not seem to be ominous for there was silence after the twoshots. McCandless, his nerves strung by the disaster he feared wasimminent, galloped Aeolus a few yards westwards as if wanting to findan explanation for the two gunshots, but then he thought better of itand turned his horse back to the road.

More cannon fire sounded a few moments later, but there was nothingurgent in the distant shots which were monotonous, flat and sporadic.If battle had been brewing to the boil the gunshots would have soundedhard and fast, but these shots were almost lackadaisical, as though thegunners were merely practising on Aldershot Heath on a lazy summer’sday.“Their guns or ours, sir?” Sharpe asked McCandless.“Ours, I suspect,” the Scotsman said.“Cavalry galloper guns keeping the enemy horse on their toes.” Hetugged on Aeolus’s rein, moving the gelding out of the path of sixtysepoy pioneers who were doubling down the road’s left verge withpick-axes and shovels on their shoulders.The pioneers’ task was to reach the Kaitna and make certain that itsbanks were not too steep for the ox-drawn artillery. Wellesleycantered after the pioneers, riding to the head of the column andtrailing a succession of aides. McCandless joined the General’s partyand Sharpe kicked his horse alongside Daniel Fletcher who was mountedon a big roan mare and leading an unsaddled Diomed by a long rein.“He’ll want him when the bay’s tired,” Fletcher told Sharpe, noddingahead at Wellesley who was now riding a tall bay stallion.

“And the mare’s in case both horses get shot,” he added, slapping therump of the horse he rode.“So what do you do?” Sharpe asked the dragoon.“Just stay close until he wants to change horses and keep him fromgetting thirsty,” Fletcher said. He carried no less than five watercanteens on his belt, bulked over a heavy sabre in a metal scabbard,the first time Sharpe had ever seen the orderly carrying a weapon.“Vicious thing, that,” Fletcher said when he saw Sharpe glance at theweapon, ‘a good wide blade, perfect for slicing.“Ever used it?” Sharpe asked.“Against Dhoondiah,” Fletcher answered. Dhoondiah had been a banditchieftain whose depredations in Mysore had finally persuaded Wellesleyto pursue him with cavalry. The resultant battle had been a shortclash of horsemen that had been won in moments by the British.“And I killed a goat with it for the General’s supper a week ago,“Fletcher continued, drawing the heavy curved blade, ‘and I think thepoor bugger died of fright when it saw the blade coming.

Took its headclean off, it did. Look at this, Sergeant.” He handed the blade toSharpe.“See what it says there? Just above the hilt?“Sharpe tipped the sabre to the sun. ‘“Warranted Never to Fail”,” heread aloud. He grinned, for the boast seemed oddly out of place on athing designed to kill or maim.“Made in Sheffield,” Fletcher said, taking the blade back, ‘andguaranteed never to fail! Good slicer this is, real good. You can cuta man in half with one of these if you get the stroke right.“Sharpe grinned.“I’ll stick with a musket.

“Not on horseback, you won’t, Sergeant,” Fletcher said.“A firelock’s no good on horseback. You want a blade.“Never learned to use one,” Sharpe said.“It ain’t difficult,” Fletcher said with the scorn of a man who hadmastered a difficult trade.“Keep your arm straight and use the point when you’re fighting cavalry,because if you bend the elbow the bastards will chop through your wristas sure as eggs, and slash away like a haymaker at infantry becausethere ain’t bugger all they can do back to you, not once they’re on therun. Not that you could use any kind of sword off the back of thathorse.” He nodded at Sharpe’s small native beast.“It’s more like an overgrown dog, that is. Does it fetch?“The road reached the high point between the two rivers and Fletcher,mounted high on the General’s mare, caught his first glimpse of theenemy army on the distant northern bank of the Kaitna.

He whistledsoftly.“Millions of the buggers!“We’re going to turn their flank,” Sharpe said, repeating what he hadheard the General say. So far as Sharpe understood, the idea was tocross the river at the ford which no one except Wellesley believedexisted, then make an attack on the left flank of the waitinginfantry.The idea made sense to Sharpe, for the enemy line was facing south and,by coming at them from the east, the British could well plunge thecompoos into confusion.“Millions of the buggers!” Fletcher said again in wonderment, but thenthe road dropped and took the enemy out of their view. The dragoonorderly sheathed his sabre.“But he’s confident,” he said, nodding ahead at Wellesley who wasdressed in his old uniform coat of the 33rd. The General wore a slimstraight sword, but had no other weapon, not even a pistol.“He was always confident,” Sharpe said.“Cool as you like.

“He’s a good fellow,” Fletcher said loyally.“Proper officer. He ain’t friendly, of course, but he’s always fair.“He touched his spurs to the mare’s flanks because Wellesley and hisaides had hurried ahead into the village of Peepulgaon where thevillagers gaped at the foreigners in their red coats and black cockedhats. Wellesley scattered chickens from his path as he cantered downthe dusty village street to where the road dropped down a precipitousbluff into the half-dry bed of the Kaitna.The pioneers arrived a moment later and began attacking the bluff tosmooth its steep slope. On the river’s far bank Sharpe could see theroad twist up into the trees that half obscured the village of Waroor.The General was right, he reckoned, and there had to be a ford, for whyelse would the road show on both banks? But whether the ford wasshallow enough for the army to cross no one yet knew.Wellesley stood his horse at the top of the bluff and drummed thefingers of his right hand on his thigh. It was the only sign ofnerves.

He was staring across the river, thinking. No enemy was insight, but nor should they have been for the Mahratta line was now twomiles to the west, which meant that Scindia’s army was now between himand Stevenson. Wellesley grimaced, realizing that he had alreadyabandoned his first principle for fighting this battle, which had beento secure his left flank so Stevenson could join. Doubtless, themoment the guns began their proper, concentrated work, the sound oftheir cannonade would bring Stevenson hurrying across country, but nowthe older man would simply have to join the fight as best he could. ButWellesley had no regrets at posing such difficulties for Stevenson, forthe chance to turn the enemy’s flank was heavensent. So long, thatis, as the ford was practicable.The pioneer Captain led a dozen of his sepoys down towards the river.“I’ll just see to that far bank, sir,” the Captain called up to theGeneral, startling Wellesley out of his reverie.“Come back!” Wellesley shouted angrily.“Back!“The Captain had almost reached the water, but now turned and stared atWellesley in puzzlement.

“Have to grade that bluff, sir,” he shouted, pointing to where the roadclimbed steeply to the screen of trees on the Kaitna’s northern bank.“Too steep for guns, sir.“Come back!” Wellesley called again, then waited as the dozen mentrudged back to the southern bank.“The enemy can see the river, Captain,” the General explained, ‘and Ihave no wish that they should see us yet. I do not want them knowingour intentions, so you will wait until the first infantry make thecrossing, then do your work.“But the enemy had already seen the pioneers. The dozen men had onlybeen visible in the river’s open bed for a few seconds, but someone inthe Mahratta gun line was wide awake and there was a sudden and violentplume of water in the river and, almost simultaneously, the skybattering sound of a heavy gun.“Good shooting,” McCandless said quietly when the fifteen-foot-highfountain had subsided to leave nothing but a whirling eddy in theriver’s brown water. The range must have been almost two miles, yetthe Mahrattas had turned a gun, trained and fired it in seconds, andtheir aim had been almost perfect. A second gun fired and its heavyball ploughed a furrow in the dry, crazed mud beside the river andbounced up to scatter bucket-loads of dry earth from the bluff’sface.

“Eighteenpounders,” McCandless guessed aloud, thinking of the two heavysiege guns that he had seen in front of Dodd’s men.“Damn,” Wellesley said quietly.“But no real harm done, I suppose.“The first of the infantry were now marching down Peepulgaon’s steepstreet. Lieutenant Colonel Orrock led the picquets of the day, whilebehind them Sharpe could see the grenadier company of the 74th. TheScottish drums were beating a march rhythm and the sound of theflurries made Sharpe’s blood race. The sound presaged battle. Itseemed like a dream, but there would be a battle this Sunday afternoonand a bloody one too.“Afternoon, Orrock,” Wellesley spurred his horse to meet the infantryvanguard.“Straight across, I think.

“Has the ford been sounded?” Colonel Orrock, a lugubrious andworried-looking man, asked nervously.“Our task, I think,” Wellesley said cheerfully.“Gentlemen?” This last invitation was to his aides and orderly.“Shall we open proceedings?“Come on, Sharpe,” McCandless said.“You can cross after us, Captain!” Wellesley called to the eagerpioneer Captain, then he put his big bay stallion down the slope of thebluff and trotted towards the river. Daniel Fletcher followed closebehind with Diomed’s leading rein in his hand, while the aides andMcCandless and Sevajee and Sharpe all followed. Forty horsemen wouldbe the first men across the Kaitna and the General would be the firstof all, and Sharpe watched as Wellesley’s stallion trotted into theriver. He wanted to see how deep the water was, and he was determinedto watch the General all the way through, but suddenly the bang of aneighteen-pounder gun bullied the sky and Sharpe glanced upstream to seea puff of gunsmoke smear the horizon, then he heard a horse screamingand he looked back to see that Daniel Fletcher’s mount was rearing atthe water’s edge. Fletcher was still in the saddle, but the orderlyhad no head left, only a pulsing spurt of blood from his ragged neck.Diomed’s rein was still in the dead man’s hand, but somehow the bodywould not fall from the mare’s saddle and she was screaming in fear asher rider’s blood splashed across her face.

A second gun fired, but high, and the shot crashed low overhead to tearinto the trees on the southern bank. A third ball smashed into thewater, drenching McCandless. Fletcher’s mare bolted upstream, but waschecked by a fallen tree and so she stood, quivering, and still thetrooper’s decapitated body was in the saddle and Diomed’s rein in hisdead hand. The grey horse’s left flank was reddened with Fletcher’sblood. The trooper had slumped now, his headless trunk leaning eerilyto drip blood into the river.To Sharpe it seemed as if time had stopped. He was aware of someoneshouting, aware of the blood dripping from the dragoon’s collar, awareof his small horse shivering, but the sudden violence had immobilizedhim. Another gun fired, this one of smaller calibre, and the ballstruck the water a hundred yards upstream, ricocheted once, thenvanished in a plume of white spray.“Sharpe!” a voice snapped. Horsemen were wheeling in the river’sshallows and reaching for the dead man’s bridle.

“Sharpe!” It was Wellesley who shouted. The General was in the middleof the river where the water did not even reach his stirrups, so therewas a ford after all and the river could be crossed, but the enemy washardly going to be taken by surprise now.“Take over as orderly, Sharpe!” Wellesley shouted.“Hurry, man!” There was no one else to replace Fletcher, not unlessone of Wellesley’s aides took over his duties, and Sharpe was thenearest man.“Go on, Sharpe!” McCandless said.“Hurry, man!“Captain Campbell had secured Fletcher’s mare.“Ride her, Sharpe!” the Captain called.“That little horse won’t keep up with us. Just let her go.Let her go.

“Sharpe dismounted and ran to the mare. Campbell was trying to dislodgeFletcher’s blood-soaked body, but the trooper’s feet were caught in thestirrups. Sharpe heaved Fletcher’s left boot free, then gave thebooted leg a tug and the corpse slid towards him. He jumped back asthe bloody remnants of the neck, all sinew and flesh and tatteredscraps, slapped at his face. The corpse fell into the edge of theriver and Sharpe stepped over it to mount the General’s mare.“Get the General’s canteens,” Campbell ordered him, and an instantlater another eighteenpounder shot hammered low overhead like a clapof thunder.“The canteens, man, hurry!” Campbell urged Sharpe, but Sharpe washaving trouble untying the water bottles from Fletcher’s belt, soinstead he heaved the body over so that a gush of blood spurted fromthe neck to be instantly diluted in the shallow water. He tugged atthe trooper’s belt buckle, unfastened it, then hauled the belt freewith its pouches, canteens and the heavy sabre. He wrapped the beltover his own, hastily buckled it, then clambered up into the mare’ssaddle and fiddled his right foot into the stirrup. Campbell washolding out Diomed’s rein.

Sharpe took the rein.“Sorry, sir.” He apologized for making the aide wait.“Stay close to the General,” Campbell ordered him, then leaned over andpatted Sharpe’s arm.“Stay close, be alert, enjoy the day, Sergeant,” he said with a grin.“It looks as if it’s going to be a lively afternoon!“Thank you, sir,” Sharpe said. The first infantry were in the ford nowand Sharpe turned the mare, kicked back his heels and tugged Diomedthrough the water. Campbell was spurring ahead to catch up withWellesley and Sharpe clumsily kicked the mare into a canter and wasalmost thrown as she stumbled on the riverbed, but he somehow clung toher mane as she recovered. A round shot thrashed the water white tohis left, drenching him with spray. The musket had fallen off hisshoulder and was dangling awkwardly from his elbow and he could notmanage both it and Diomed’s rein, so he let the firelock drop into theriver, then wrenched the sword and the heavy canteens into a morecomfortable position.

Bugger this, he thought. Lost a hat, a horseand a gun in less than an hour!The pioneers were hacking at the bluff on the northern bank to make theslope less steep, but the first galloper guns, those that accompaniedthe picquets of the day, were already in the Kaitna. Galloper gunswere drawn by horses and the gunners shouted at the pioneers to clearout of their way. The pioneers scattered as the horses came up fromthe river with water streaming from the leading gun’s spinning wheels;a whip cracked over the leader’s head and the team galloped up thebluff with the gun and limber bouncing erratically behind. Agunner was thrown off the limber, but he picked himself up and ranafter the cannon. Sharpe kicked his horse up the bluff once the secondgun was safely past and suddenly he was in low ground, protected fromthe enemy’s cannonade by the rising land to his left.But where the hell was Wellesley? He could see no one on the highground that led towards the enemy, and the only men on the roadstraight ahead were the leading companies of the picquets of the daywho continued to march northwards. A slapping sound came from theriver and he twisted in his saddle to see that a round shot had whippedthrough a file of infantry. A body floated downstream in eddies ofblood, then the sergeants shouted at the ranks to close up and theinfantry kept on coming. But where the hell was Sharpe to go? To hisright was the village of Waroor, half hidden behind its trees and for asecond Sharpe thought the General must have gone there, but then he sawLieutenant Colonel Orrock riding up onto the higher ground to the leftand Sharpe guessed the Colonel was following Wellesley and so he tuggedthe mare that way.

The land climbed to a gentle crest across stubble fields dotted by afew trees. Colonel Orrock was the only man in sight and he was forcinghis horse up the slope towards the skyline and so Sharpe followedhim.He could hear the enemy guns firing, presumably still bombarding theford that had not been supposed to exist, but as he kicked the mare upthrough the growing crop the guns suddenly ceased and all he could hearwas the thump of hooves, the banging of the sabre’s metal scabbardagainst his boot and the dull sound of the Scottish drums behind.Orrock had turned north along the skyline and Sharpe, following him,saw that the General and his aides were clustered under a group oftrees from where they were gazing westwards through their telescopes.He joined them in the shade, and felt awkward to be in such exaltedcompany without McCandless, but Campbell turned in his saddle andgrinned.“Well done, Sergeant. Still with us, eh?“Managing, sir,” Sharpe said, rearranging the canteens that had tangledthemselves into a lump.“Oh, dear God,” Colonel Orrock said a moment later. He was gazingthrough his own telescope, and whatever he saw made him shake his headbefore peering through the glass again.“Dear me,” he said, and Sharpe stood in his stirrups to see what had soupset the East India Company Colonel.

The enemy was redeploying. Wellesley had crossed the ford to bring hissmall army onto the enemy’s left flank, but the Mahratta commander hadseen his purpose and was now denying him the advantage. The enemy linewas marching towards the Peepulgaon ford, then wheeling left to make anew defence line that stretched clean across the land between the tworivers; a line that would now face head on towards Wellesley’s army.Instead of attacking a vulnerable flank, Wellesley would be forced tomake a head-on assault. Nor were the Mahrattas making their manoeuvrein a panicked hurry, but were marching calmly in disciplined ranks. Theguns were moving with them, drawn by bullocks or elephants. The enemywas less than a mile away now and their steady unhurried re deploymentwas obvious to the watching officers.“They anticipate us, sir!” Orrock informed Wellesley, as though theGeneral might not have understood the purpose of the enemy’smanoeuvre.“They do,” Wellesley agreed calmly, ‘they do indeed.” He collapsed histelescope and patted his horse’s neck.

“And they manoeuvre very well!” he added admiringly, as though he wasengaged in nothing more ominous than watching a brigade go through itspaces in Hyde Park.“Your men are through the ford?” he asked Orrock.“They are, sir, they are,” Orrock said. The Colonel had a nervoushabit of jutting his head forward every few seconds as if his collarwas too tight.“And they can reverse themselves,” he added meaningfully.Wellesley ignored the defeatist sentiment.“Take them one half-mile up the road,” he ordered Orrock, ‘then deployon the high ground this side of the road. I shall see you before weadvance.“Orrock gazed goggle-eyed at the General.“Deploy?“On this side of the road, if you please, Colonel.

You will form theright of our line, Colonel, and have Wallace’s brigade on your left.Let us do it now, Colonel, if you would so oblige me?“Oblige you

” Orrock said, his head darting forward like aturtle.“Of course,” he added nervously, then turned his horse and spurred itback towards the road.“Barclay?” the General addressed one of his aides.“My compliments to Colonel Maxwell and he will bring all Company andKing’s cavalry to take post to Orrock’s right. Native horse will staysouth of the river.“There was still enemy cavalry south of the Kaitna and the horsemen fromBritain’s Indian allies would stay on that bank to keep those enemiesat bay.“Then stay at the ford,” Wellesley went on addressing Barclay, ‘andtell the rest of the infantry to form on Orrock’s picquets.Two lines, Barclay, two lines, and the 778th will form the left flankhere.“The General, who had been gazing at the enemy’s calm re deployment nowturned to Barclay who was scribbling in pencil on a scrap of paper.

“First line, from the left. The 778th, Dallas’s 10th, Corben’s 78th,Orrock’s picquets. Second line, from the left. Hill’s 4th, Macleod’si2th, then the 74th. They are to form their lines and wait for myorders. You understand? They are to wait.” Barclay nodded, thentugged on his reins and spurred his horse back towards the ford as theGeneral turned again to watch the enemy’s re deployment”Very fine work,” he said approvingly.“I doubt we could have manoeuvred any more smartly than that. Youthink they were readying to cross the river and attack us?“Major Blackiston, his engineer aide, nodded.“It would explain why they were ready to move, sir.

“We shall just have to discover whether they fight as well as theymanoeuvre,” Wellesley said, collapsing his telescope, then he sentBlackiston north to explore the ground up to the River Juah.“Come on, Campbell,” Wellesley said when Blackiston was gone and, toSharpe’s surprise, instead of riding back to where the army wascrossing the ford, the General spurred his horse still further westtowards the enemy.Campbell followed and Sharpe decided he had better go as well.The three men rode into a steep-sided valley that was thick with treesand brush, then up its far side to another stretch of open farmland.They cantered through a field of unharvested millet, then acrosspastureland, always inclining north towards another low hill crest.“I’ll oblige you for a canteen, Sergeant,” Wellesley called as theyneared the crest and Sharpe thumped his heels on the mare’s flanks tocatch up with the General, then fumbled a canteen free and held it out,but that meant taking his left hand off the reins while his right wasstill holding Diomed’s tether and the mare, freed of the rein, swervedaway from the General. Wellesley caught up with Sharpe and took thecanteen.“You might tie Diomed’s rein to your belt, Sergeant,” he said.“It will provide you with another hand.“A man needed three hands to do Sharpe’s job, but once they reached thelow crest the General halted again and so gave Sharpe time to fastenthe Arab’s rein to Fletcher’s belt.

The General was staring at theenemy who was now only a quarter-mile away, well inside cannon shot,but either the enemy guns were not ready to fire or else they wereunder orders not to waste powder on a mere three horsemen. Sharpe tookthe opportunity to explore what was in Fletcher’s pouch. There was apiece of mouldy bread that had been soaked when the trooper’s body fellinto the river, a piece of salted meat that Sharpe suspected was driedgoat, and a sharpening stone. That made him half draw the sabre tofeel its edge. It was keen.“A nasty little settlement!” Wellesley said cheerfully.“Aye, it is, sir!” Campbell agreed enthusiastically.“That must be Assaye,” Wellesley remarked.“You think we’re about to make it famous?“I trust so, sir,” Campbell said.“Not infamous, I hope,” Wellesley said, and gave his short, highpitched laugh.

Sharpe saw they were both staring towards a village that lay to thenorth of the enemy’s new line. Like every village in this part ofIndia it was provided with a rampart made of the outermost houses’ mudwalls.Such walls could be five or six feet in thickness, and though theymight crumble to the touch of an artillery bombardment, they still madea formidable obstacle to infantry. Enemy soldiers stood on everyrooftop, while outside the wall, in an array as thick as a hedgehog’squills, was an assortment of cannon.“A very nasty little place,” the General said.“We must avoid it. I see your fellows are there, Sharpe!“My fellows, sir?” Sharpe asked in puzzlement.“White coats, Sergeant.“So Dodd’s regiment had taken their place just to the south of Assaye.They were still on the left of Pohlmann’s line, but now that linestretched southwards from the bristling de fences about the village tothe bank of the River Kaitna.

The infantry were already in place andthe last of the guns were now being hauled into their positions infront of the enemy line, and Sharpe remembered Syud Sevajee’s grimwords about the rivers meeting, and he knew that the only way out ofthis narrowing neck of land was either back through the fords or elsestraight ahead through the enemy’s army.“I see we shall have to earn our pay today,” the General said to no onein particular.“How far ahead of the infantry is their gun line, Campbell?“A hundred yards, sir?” the young Scotsman guessed after gazingthrough his spyglass for a while.“A hundred and fifty, I think,” Wellesley said.Sharpe was watching the village. A lane led from its eastern wall anda file of cavalry was riding out from the houses towards some trees.“They think to allow us to take the guns,” Wellesley guessed,‘reckoning we’ll be so pounded by round shot and peppered by canisterthat their infantry can then administer the coup de grace. They wishto treat us to a double dose! Guns and fire locksThe trees where the cavalry had disappeared dropped into a steep gullythat twisted towards the higher ground from where Wellesley wasobserving the enemy. Sharpe, watching the tree-filled gully, saw birdsfly out of the branches as the cavalry advanced beneath the thickleaves.“Horsemen, sir,” Sharpe warned.

“Where, man, where?” Wellesley asked.Sharpe pointed towards the gully.“It’s full of the bastards, sir. They came out of the village a coupleof moments ago. You can’t see them, sir, but I think there might be ahundred men hidden there.“Wellesley did not dispute Sharpe.“They want to put us in the bag,” he said in seeming amusement.“Keep an eye out for them, Sharpe. I have no wish to watch the battlefrom the comfort of Scindia’s tent.” He looked back to the enemy’sline where the last of the heavy guns were being lugged into place.

Those last two guns were the big eighteen pounder siege guns that haddone the damage as the British army crossed the ford, and now the hugepieces were being em placed in front of Dodd’s regiment. Elephantspulled the guns into position, then were led away towards the baggagepark beyond the village.“How many guns do you reckon, Campbell?” the General asked.“Eighty-two, sir, not counting the ones by Assaye.“Around twenty there, I think. We shall be earning our pay! And theirline’s longer than I thought. We shall have to extend.” He was not somuch speaking to Campbell as to himself, but now he glanced at theyoung Scots officer.“Did you count their infantry?“Fifteen thousand in the line, sir?” Campbell hazarded.“And at least as many again in the village,” Wellesley said, snappinghis telescope shut, ‘not to mention a horde of horsemen behind them,but they’ll only count if we meet disaster.

It’s the fifteen thousandin front who concern us. Beat them and we beat all.” He made apencilled note in a small black book, then stared again at the enemyline beneath its bright flags.“They did manoeuvre well! A creditable performance. But do theyfight, eh? That’s the nub of it. Do they fight?“Sir!” Sharpe called urgently, for, not two hundred paces away, thefirst enemy horsemen had emerged from the gully with their tulwars andlances bright in the afternoon sun, and now were spurring towardsWellesley.“Back the way we came,” the General said, ‘and fairly briskly, Ithink.“This was the second time in one day that Sharpe had been pursued byMahratta cavalry, but the first time he had been mounted on a smallnative horse and now he was on one of the General’s own chargers andthe difference was night and day. The Mahrattas were at a full gallop,but Wellesley and his two companions never went above a canter andstill their big horses easily outstripped the frantic pursuit. Sharpe,clinging for dear life to the mare’s pommel, glanced behind after twominutes and saw the enemy horsemen pulling up.

So that, he thought,was why officers were willing to pay a small fortune for British andIrish horses.The three men dropped into the valley, climbed its farther side andSharpe saw that the British infantry had now advanced from the road toform its line of attack along the low ridge that lay parallel to theroad, and the redcoat array looked pitifully small compared to thegreat enemy host less than a mile to the west. Instead of a line ofheavy guns, there was only a scatter of light sixpounder cannon and asingle battery of fourteen bigger guns, and to face Pohlmann’s threecompoos of fifteen thousand men there were scarcely five thousandred-coated infantry, but Wellesley seemed unworried by the odds. Sharpedid not see how the battle was to be won, indeed he wondered why it wasbeing fought at all, but whenever the doubt made his fears surge heonly had to look at Wellesley and take comfort from the General’sserene confidence.Wellesley rode first to the left of his line where the kiltedHighlanders of the 778th waited in line.“You’ll advance in a moment or two, Harness,” he told their Colonel.“Straight ahead! I fancy you’ll find bayonets will be useful. Tellyour skirmishers that there are cavalry about, though I doubt you’llmeet them at this end of the line.“Harness appeared not to hear the General. He sat on a big horse asblack as his towering bearskin hat and carried a huge claymore thatlooked as if it had been killing the enemies of Scotland for a centuryor more.

“It’s the Sabbath, Wellesley,” he finally spoke, though without lookingat the General. “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work, but the seventh is theSabbath of the Lord thy God. In it thou shalt not do any work.” TheColonel glowered at Wellesley.“Are you sure, man, that you want to fight today?“Quite sure, Colonel,” Wellesley answered very equably.Harness grimaced.“Won’t be the first commandment I’ve broken, so to hell and away withit.” He gave his huge claymore a flourish.“You’ll not need to worry about my rogues, Wellesley, they can kill aswell as any man, even if it is a Sunday.

“I never doubted it.“Straight ahead, eh? And I’ll lay the lash on any dog who falters. Youhear that, you bastards! I’ll flog you red!“I wish you joy of the afternoon, Colonel,” Wellesley said to Harness,then he rode north to speak with his other five battalion commanders.He gave them much the same instructions as he had given ColonelHarness, though because the Madrassi sepoys deployed no skirmishers, hesimply warned them that they had one chance of victory and that was tomarch straight into the enemy fire and, by enduring it, carry theirbayonets into the Mahratta ranks. He told the commanding officers ofthe two sepoy battalions in the second line that they would now need tojoin the front line.“You’ll incline right,” he told them, ‘forming between Corben’s 78th andColonel Orrock’s picquets.” He had hoped to attack in two lines, sothat the men behind could reinforce those in front, but the enemy arraywas too wide and so he would need to throw every infantryman forward inone line. There would be no reserves. The General rode to meetColonel Wallace who today would command a brigade of his own 74thHighlanders and two sepoy battalions which, with Orrock’s picquets,would form the right side of the attacking force. He warned Wallace ofthe line’s extension.

“I’ll have Orrock incline right to give your sepoys room,” he promisedWallace, ‘and I’m putting your own regiment on Orrock’s right flank.“Wallace, because he was commanding the brigade, would not lead his ownHighlanders who would be under the command of his deputy, MajorSwinton. Colonel McCandless had joined his friend Wallace, andWellesley greeted him.“I see your man holds their left, McCandless.“So I’ve seen, sir.“But I don’t wish to tangle with him early on. He’s hard by thevillage and they’ve made it a stronghold, so we’ll take the right oftheir line, then swing north and pin the rest against the Juah. You’llget your chance, McCandless, get your chance.“I’m depending on it, sir,” McCandless answered. The Colonel nodded amute greeting to Sharpe, who then had to follow Wellesley to the ranksof the 74th.

“You’ll oblige me, Swinton,” Wellesley said, ‘by doubling your fellowsto the right and taking station beyond Colonel Orrock’s picquets.You’re to form the new right flank. I’ve told Colonel Orrock to movesomewhat to his right, so you’ll have a good way to go to make your newposition. You understand?“Perfectly, sir,” Swinton said.“Orrock will incline right and we double round behind him to form thenew flank and sepoys replace us here.“Good man!” Wellesley said, then rode on to Colonel Orrock. Sharpeguessed that the General had ordered the 74th to move outside Orrockbecause he did not trust the nervous Colonel to hold the right flank.Orrock’s contingent of half companies was a small but potent force, butit lacked the cohesion of the men’s parent battalions.“You’re to lead them right wards Wellesley told the red-faced Colonel,‘but not too far. You comprehend? Not too far right! Because you’llfind a defended village on your front right flank and it’s a brute.

Idon’t want any of our men near it until we’ve sent the enemy infantrypacking.“I go right?” Orrock asked.“You incline right,” Wellesley said, ‘then straighten up. Two hundredpaces should do it. Incline right, Orrock, give the line two hundredpaces more width, then straighten and march straight for the enemy.Swinton will be bringing his men onto your right flank. Don’t wait forhim, let him catch you, and don’t hesitate when we attack. Just gostraight in with the bayonet.“Orrock jutted his head, scratched his chin and blinked.“I go right wards”Then straight ahead,” Wellesley said patiently.

“Yes, sir,” Orrock said, then jerked nervously as one of his smallsix-pounder cannon, which had been deployed fifty yards in front of hisline, fired.“What the devil?” Wellesley asked, turning to look at the small gunthat had leaped back five or six yards. He could not see what the gunhad fired at, for the smoke of the discharge made a thick cloud infront of the muzzle, but a second later an enemy round shot screamedthrough the smoke, twitching it, to bounce between two of Orrock’s halfcompanies. Wellesley cantered to his left to see that the enemy gunshad opened fire. For the moment they were merely sending rangingshots, but soon the guns would be pouring their metal at the redranks.The General cantered back southwards. It was close to mid afternoonnow and the sun was burning the world white. The air was humid, hardto breathe, and every man in the British line was sweating. The enemyround shot bounced on the ground in front of them, and one shotricocheted up to churn a file of sepoys into blood and bone. The soundof the enemy cannon was harsh, banging over the warm ground insuccessive punches that came closer and closer together as more gunsjoined the cannonade.

The British guns replied, and the smoke of theirdischarges betrayed their positions, and the enemy gunners leveredtheir pieces to aim at the British cannon which, hugely outnumbered,were having by far the worst of the exchange. Sharpe saw the eartharound one sixpounder struck again and again by enemy round shot, eachstrike kicking up a barrow-load of soil, and then the small gun seemedto disintegrate as a heavy ball struck it plumb on the front of itscarriage.Splinters flew to eviscerate the crew that had been ramming the gun.The barrel reared up, its trunnions tearing out of the carriage, thenthe heavy metal tube slowly toppled onto a wounded man. Another gunnerreeled away, gasping for breath, while a third lay on the groundlooking as though he slept.A piper began to play as the General neared the kilted 778th.“I thought I ordered all musicians to leave their instruments behind,drummers excepted,” Wellesley said angrily.“Very hard to go into battle without the pipes, sir,” Campbell saidreprovingly.“Hard to save the wounded without orderlies,” Wellesley complained. Inbattle the pipers’ job was to save the wounded, but Harness hadblithely disobeyed the order and brought his bagpipers.

However, itwas too late to worry about that disobedience now. Another round shotfound its mark in a sepoy battalion, flinging men aside like brokendolls, while a high ball struck a tall tree, shaking its topmost leavesand provoking a small green parrot to squawk as it fled the branches.Wellesley reined in close to the 778th. He glanced to his right, thenlooked back to the eight or nine hundred yards of country thatseparated his small force from the enemy. The sound of the guns wasconstant now, its thunder deafening, and the smoke of their cannonadewas hiding the Mahratta infantry that waited for his assault. If theGeneral was nervous he showed no sign of it, unless the fingersdrumming softly against his thigh betrayed some worry. This was hisfirst proper battle in the field, gun against gun and infantry againstinfantry, yet he seemed entirely cool.Sharpe licked dry lips. His mare fidgeted and Diomed kept pricking hisears at the gunfire. Another British gun was hit, this time losing awheel to an enemy round shot.

The gunners rolled a new wheel forward,while the officer commanding the small battery ran forward with ahandspike. The infantry waited beneath their bright silk colours,their long line of two ranks tipped with shining bayonets.“Time to go,” Wellesley said very quietly.“Forward, gentlemen,” he said, but still not loudly. He took abreath.“Forward!” he shouted and, at the same time, took off his cocked hatand waved it towards the enemy.The British drums began their beat. Sergeants shouted. Officers drewswords. The men began to march.

And the battle had begun.

CHAPTER 10

The redcoats advanced in a line of two ranks. The troops spread out asthey walked and sergeants shouted at the files to keep closed. Theinfantry first had to pass the British gun line that was sufferingbadly in an unequal artillery duel with the Goanese gunners. The enemywas firing shell as well as solid shot, and Sharpe flinched as a shellexploded among a team of oxen that was picketed a hundred yards behindtheir gun. The wounded beasts bellowed, and one broke from its picketto limp with a bleeding and trailing leg towards the 10th Madrasinfantry.A British officer ran and put the beast out of its misery with hispistol and the sepoys stepped delicately about the shuddering corpse.Colonel Harness, seeing that his two small battalion guns wouldinevitably be destroyed if they stayed in action, ordered his gunnersto limber up and follow the regiment forward.“Do it fast, you rogues! I want you close behind me.“The enemy gunners, seeing that they had won the fight between thebatteries, turned their pieces on the infantry.

They were firing atseven hundred yards now, much too far for canister, but a round shotcould whip a file into bloody scraps in the blinking of an eye. Thesound of the guns was unending, one shot melding into the next and thewhole making a thunderous noise of deafening violence. The enemy linewas shrouded in grey-white smoke which was constantly lit by flashes ofgunfire deep in the smoke’s heart. Sometimes a Mahratta battery wouldpause to let the smoke thin and Sharpe, riding twenty paces behind theGeneral who was advancing just to the right of the 778th, could watchthe enemy gunners heave at their pieces, see them back away as the guncaptain swung the linstock over the barrel, then the gun woulddisappear again in a cloud of powder smoke and, an instant later, aball would plunge down in front of the infantry. Sometimes it wouldbounce clean over the men’s heads, but too often the heavy shotsslammed into the files and men would be broken apart in a spray ofblood. Sharpe saw the front half of a shattered musket wheel up out ofthe Highlanders’ ranks. It turned in the air, pursued by its owner’sblood, then fell to impale its bayonet into the turf. A gentle northwind blew a patch of gunsmoke away from the centre of the enemy linewhere the guns were almost axle boss to axle boss. Sharpe watched menram the barrels, watched them run clear, watched the smoke blossomagain and heard the shriek of a round shot just overhead. SometimesSharpe could see the tongue of dark-red fire streaking towards him inthe cloud’s heart, and then the lead-grey stroke of a ball arcingtowards him in the sky, and once he saw the madly spiralling wisp ofsmoke left by the burning fuse of a shell, but every time the shotswent wide or else fell short to churn up a dusty patch of earth.

“Close the files!” the sergeants shouted.“Close up!“The drummer boys beat the advance. There was low ground ahead, and thesooner the attacking line was in that gentle valley, the sooner theywould be out of sight of the gunners. Wellesley looked to his rightand saw that Orrock had paused in his advance and that the 74th, whoshould have been forming to the right of Orrock’s men, had stopped aswell.“Tell Orrock to go! Tell him to go!” the General called to Campbellwho spurred across the advancing line. His horse galloped through acloud of shell smoke, leaped a broken limber, then Sharpe lost sight ofthe aide. Wellesley urged his horse closer to the ySth who were nowdrawing ahead of the sepoys. The Highlanders were taller than theMadrassi battalions and their stride was longer as they hurried to gainthe dead ground where the bombardment could not reach them. A bouncingshell came to rest near the grenadier company that was on the right ofthe 778this line and the kilted soldiers skipped aside, all but for oneman who dashed out of the front rank as the missile spun crazily on theground with its fuse spitting out a tangle of smoke. He rammed hisright boot on the shell to make it still, then struck hard down withthe brass butt of his musket to knock the fuse free.

“Am I spared the punishment now, Sergeant?” he called.“You get in file, John, get in file,” the sergeant answered.Wellesley grinned, then shuddered as a ball went perilously close tohis hat. He looked round, seeking his aides, and saw Barclay.“The calm before the storm,” the General remarked.“Some calm, sir.“Some storm,” an Indian answered. He was one of the Mahratta chiefswho were allied to the British and whose horsemen were keeping thecavalry busy south of the river. Three such men rode with Wellesleyand one had a badly trained horse that kept skittering sidewayswhenever a shell exploded.Major Blackiston, the engineer on Wellesley’s staff who had been sentto reconnoitre the land north of the army, now galloped back behind theadvancing line.

“Broken ground up by the village, sir, cut by gullies,” he reported,‘no place to advance.“Wellesley grunted. He had no intention of sending infantry near thevillage yet, so Blackiston’s report was not immediately useful.“Did you see Orrock?“He was worried about his two guns, sir. Can’t take them forwardbecause the teams have all been killed, but Campbell’s chivvying himon.“Wellesley stood in his stirrups to look north and saw Orrock’s picquetsat last moving smartly away. They were marching obliquely, withouttheir two small guns, making space for the two sepoy battalions to comeinto the line. The 74th was beyond them, vanishing into a fold ofground.“Not too far, Orrock, not too far,” Wellesley muttered, then he lostsight of Orrock’s men as his horse followed the 778th into the lowerground.“Once we have them pinned against the river,” he asked Blackiston,gesturing to show he meant the River Juah to the north, ‘can they getaway?“Eminently fordable, sir, I’m afraid,” Blackiston answered.

“I doubt they can move more than a handful of the guns down the bank,but a man can escape easily enough.“Wellesley grunted an acknowledgement and spurred ahead, leaving theengineer behind.“He didn’t even ask if I was chased!” Blackiston said to Barclay withmock indignation.“Were you, John?“Damned sure I was. Two dozen of the bastards on those wiry littleponies. They look like children riding to hounds.“But no bullet holes?” Barclay asked.“Not a one,” Blackiston said regretfully, then saw Sharpe’s surprisedlook.“It’s a wager, Sergeant,” the engineer explained.“Whichever of the General’s family ends up with the most bullet holeswins the pot.

“Do I count, sir?“You replace Fletcher, and he didn’t have to pay to get in because heclaimed he was penniless. We admitted him from the goodness of ourhearts. But no cheating now. We can’t have fellows poking their coatswith swords to win points.“How many points does Fletcher get, sir?” Sharpe asked.“For having his head blown off?“He’s disqualified, of course, on grounds of extreme carelessness.“Sharpe laughed. Blackiston’s words were not funny, of course, but thelaughter burst out of him, causing Wellesley to turn in his saddle andgive him a scowl. In truth Sharpe was fighting a growing fear. Forthe moment he was safe enough, for the left flank of the attack was nowin dead ground and the enemy bombardment was concentrating on the sepoybattalions who had still not reached the valley, but Sharpe could hearthe whip-fast rumble of the round shots tearing up the air, he couldhear the cannon fire, and every few seconds a howitzer shell would fallinto the valley and explode in a puff of flaming smoke.

So far thehowitzers had failed to do any damage, but Sharpe could see the smallbushes bend away from their blasts and hear the scraps of shell casingrip through leaves. In places the dry brush had caught fire.He tried to concentrate on the small things. One of the canteens had abroken strap, so he knotted it. He watched his mare’s ears flicker atevery shell burst and he wondered if horses felt fear. Did theyunderstand this kind of danger? He watched the Scots, stolidlyadvancing through the shrubs and trees, magnificent in their featheredbearskin hats and their pleated kilts. They were a long way frombloody home, he thought, and was surprised that he did not really feelthat for himself, but he did not know where home was. Not London, forsure, though he had grown up there. England? He supposed so, but whatwas England to him? Not what it was to Major Blackiston, he guessed.He wondered again about Pohlmann’s offer, and thought what it would belike to be standing in sash and sword behind that line of Mahrattaguns.

Safe as houses, he reckoned, just standing there and watchingthrough the smoke as a thin line of redcoat enemies marched intohorror. So why had he not accepted? And he knew the real reason wasnot some half-felt love of country, nor an aversion to Dodd, butbecause the only sash and sword he wanted were the ones that would lethim go back to England and spit on the men who had made his lifemiserable. Except there would be no sash and sword. Sergeants did notget made into officers, not often, and he was suddenly ashamed of everhaving quizzed McCandless about the matter. But at least the Colonelhad not laughed at him.Wellesley had turned to speak to Colonel Harness.“We’ll give the guns a volley of musketry, Harness, at your discretion.That should give us time to reload, but save the second volley fortheir infantry.“I’d already worked out the same for myself,” Harness answered with ascowl.“And I’ll not use skirmishers, not on a Sunday.

” Usually the lightcompany went ahead of the rest of the battalion and scattered into aloose line that would fire at the enemy before the main attack arrived,but Harness must have decided that he would rather reserve the lightcompany’s fire for the one volley he planned to unload on thegunners.“Soon be over,” Wellesley said, not contesting Harness’s decision tokeep his light company in line, and Sharpe decided the General must benervous for those last three words were unusually loquacious. Wellesleyhimself must have decided he had betrayed his feelings, for he lookedblacker than ever. His high spirits had vanished ever since the enemyartillery had started firing.The Scots were climbing now. They were tramping through stubble and atany minute they would cross the brow of the gentle hill and findthemselves back in the gunners’ sights. The first the gunners wouldsee would be the two regimental standards, then the officers onhorseback, then the line of bearskins, and after that the whole red,white and black array of a battalion in line with the glint of theirfixed bayonets showing in the sun. And God help us then, Sharpethought, because every buggering gun straight ahead must be reloaded bynow and just waiting for its target, and suddenly the first round shotbanged on the crest just a few paces ahead and ricocheted harmlesslyoverhead.“That man fired early,” Barclay said.“Take his name.

“Sharpe looked to his right. The next four battalions, all sepoys, weresafe in the dead ground now, while Orrock’s picquets and the 74th hadvanished among the trees north of the valley. Harness’s Scots wouldclimb into view first and, for a moment or two, would have the gunners’undivided attention. Some of the Highlanders were hurrying, as if toget the ordeal over.“Hold your dressing!” Harness bellowed at them.“This ain’t a race to the tavern! Damn you!“Elsie. Sharpe suddenly remembered the name of a girl who had worked inthe tavern near Wetherby where he had fled after running away fromBrewhouse Lane. Why had he thought of her, he wondered,and he had a sudden vision of the taproom, all steaming on a winternight from men’s wet coats, and Elsie and the other girls carrying theale on trays and the fire sputtering in the hearth and the blindshepherd getting drunk and the dogs sleeping under the tables, and heimagined walking back into that smoke-blackened room with his officer’ssash and sword, and then he forgot all about Yorkshire as the 778th,with Wellesley’s family on its right, emerged onto the flat land infront of the enemy guns.Sharpe’s first surprised reaction was how close they were. The lowground had brought them within a hundred and fifty paces of the enemyguns, and his second reaction was how splendid the enemy looked, fortheir guns were lined up as though for inspection, while behind themthe Mahratta battalions stood in four closely dressed ranks beneaththeir flags, and then he thought that this was what death must looklike, and just as he thought that, so the whole gorgeous array of theenemy army vanished behind a vast bank of smoke, a roiling bank inwhich the smoke twisted as though it was tortured, and every few yardsthere was a spear of flame in the whiteness, while in front of thecloud the crops flattened away from the blast of the exploding powderas the heavy round shots tore through the Highlanders’ files.

There seemed to be blood everywhere, and broken men falling or slidingin the carnage. Somewhere a man gasped, but no one was screaming. Apiper dropped his instrument and ran to a fallen man whose leg had beentorn away. Every few yards there was a tangle of dead and dying men,showing where the round shot had snatched files from the regiment. Ayoung officer tried to calm his horse which was edging sideways infright, its eyes white and head tossing. Colonel Harness guided hisown horse round a disembowelled man without giving the dead man aglance. Sergeants shouted angrily for the files to close up, as thoughit was the Highlanders’ fault that there were gaps in the line. Theneverything seemed oddly silent. Wellesley turned and spoke to Barclay,but Sharpe did not hear a thing, then he realized that his ears wereringing from the terrible sound of that discharge of gunnery. Diomedpulled away from him and he tugged the grey horse back.

Fletcher’sblood had dried to a crust on Diomed’s flank. Flies crawled all overthe blood. A Highlander was swearing terribly as his comrades marchedaway from him. He was on his hands and knees, with no obvious wound,but then he looked up at Sharpe, spoke one last obscenity and collapsedforward.More flies congregated on the shining blue spill of the disembowelledman’s guts. Another man crawled through stubble, dragging his musketby its whitened sling.“Steady now!” Harness shouted.“Damn your haste! Ain’t running a race! Think of your mothers!“Mothers?” Blackiston asked.“Close up!” a sergeant shouted.“Close up!“The Mahratta gunners would be frantically reloading, but this time withcanister.

The gunsmoke was dissipating, twisting as the small breezecarried it away, and Sharpe could see the misty shapes of men rammingbarrels and carrying charges to muzzles. Other men hand spiked guntrails to line the recoiled weapons on the Scots.Wellesley was curbing his stallion lest it get too far ahead of theHighlanders. Nothing showed on the right. The sepoys were still indead ground and the right flank was lost among the scatter of trees andbroken ground to the north, so that for the moment it seemed as ifHarness’s Highlanders were fighting the battle all on their own, sixhundred men against a hundred thousand, but the Scotsmen did notfalter. They just left their wounded and dead behind and crossed theopen land towards the guns that were loaded with their deaths. Thepiper began playing again, and the wild music seemed to put a newspring in the Highlanders’ steps. They were walking to death, but theywent in perfect order and in seeming calm. No wonder men made songsabout the Scots, Sharpe thought, then turned as hooves sounded behindand he saw it was Captain Campbell returning from his errand.The Captain grinned at Sharpe.

“I thought I’d be too late.“You’re in time, sir. Just in time, sir,” Sharpe said, but for what?he wondered.Campbell rode on to Wellesley to make his report. The Generallistened, nodded, then the guns straight ahead started firing again,only raggedly this time as each enemy gun fired as soon as it wasloaded.The sound of each gun was a terrible bang, as deafening as a thump onthe ear, and the canister flecked the field in front of the Scots witha myriad puffs of dust before bouncing up to snatch men backwards.Each round was a metal canister, crammed with musket balls or shards ofmetal and scraps of stone, and as it left the barrel the canister wasripped apart to spread its missiles like a giant blast of duck shotAnother cannon fired, then another, each gunshot pummelling the landand each taking its share of Scotsmen to eternity, or else makinganother cripple for the parish or a sufferer for the surgeon. Thedrummer boys were still playing, though one was limping and another wasdripping blood onto his drums king The piper began playing a jauntiertune, as though this walk into an enemy horde was something tocelebrate, and some of the Highlanders quickened their pace.“Not so eager!” Harness shouted.“Not so eager!” His basket-hilted claymore was in his hand and he wasclose behind his men’s two ranks as though he wanted to spur throughand carry the dreadful blade against the gunners who were flaying hisregiment.

A bearskin was blown apart by canister, leaving the manbeneath untouched.“Steady now!” a major called.“Close up! Close up!” the sergeants shouted.“Close the files!“Corporals, designated as file-closers, hurried behind the ranks anddragged men left and right to seal the gaps blown by the guns. Thegaps were bigger now, for a well-aimed barrel of canister could takefour or five files down, while a round shot could only blast away asingle file at a time.Four guns fired, a fifth, then a whole succession of guns explodedtogether and the air around Sharpe seemed to be filled with a rushing,shrieking wind, and the Highlanders’ line seemed to twist in thatviolent gale, but though it left men behind, men who were bleeding andvomiting and crying and calling for their comrades or their mothers,the others closed their ranks and marched stolidly on. More gunsfired, blanketing the enemy with smoke, and Sharpe could hear thecanister hitting the regiment. Each blast brought a rattling sound asbullets struck muskets, while the Highlanders, like infantryeverywhere, made sure their guns’ wide stocks covered their groins. Theline was shorter now, much shorter, and it had almost reached thelingering edge of the great bank of smoke pumped out by the enemy’sguns.‘ySth,” Harness shouted in a huge voice, ‘halt!“Wellesley curbed his horse.

Sharpe looked to his right and saw thesepoys coming out of the valley in one long red line, a broken line,for there were gaps between the battalions and the passage through theshrub-choked valley had skewed the sepoys’ dressing, and then the gunsin the northern part of the Mahratta line opened fire and the line ofsepoys became even more ragged. Yet still, like the Scots to theirleft, they pressed on into the gunfire.“Present!” Harness shouted, a note of anticipation in his voice.The Scotsmen brought their fire locks to their shoulders. They wereonly sixty yards from the guns and even a smoothbore musket wasaccurate enough at that range.“Don’t fire high, you dogs!” Harness warned them.“I’ll flog every man who fires high. Fire!“The volley sounded feeble compared to the thunder of the big guns, butit was a comfort all the same and Sharpe almost cheered as theHighlanders fired and their crackling volley whipped away across thestubble. The gunners were vanishing. Some must have been killed, butothers were merely sheltering behind the big trails of their cannon.

“Reload!” Harness shouted.“No dallying! Reload!“This was where the Highlanders’ training paid its dividends, for amusket was an awkward brute to reload, and made more cumbersome stillby the seventeen-inch bayonet fixed to its muzzle. The triangularblade made it difficult to ram the gun properly, and some of theHighlanders twisted the blades off to make their job easier, but allreloaded swiftly, just as they had been trained to do in hard longweeks at home. They loaded, rammed, primed, then slotted the ramrodsback into the barrel hoops. Those who had removed their bayonetsrefastened them to the lugs, then brought the guns back to the ready.“You save that volley for the infantry!” Harness warned them.“Now, boys, forward, and give the heathen bastards a proper Sabbathkilling!“This was revenge. This was anger let loose. The enemy guns were stillnot loaded and their crews had been hard hit by the volley, and most ofthe guns would not have time to charge their barrels before the Scotswere on them. Some of the gunners fled.

Sharpe saw a mounted Mahrattaofficer rounding them up and driving them back to their pieces with theflat of his sword, but he also saw one gun, a painted monster directlyto his front, being rammed hard by two men who heaved on the rammer,plucked it free then ran aside.“For what we are about to receive,” Blackiston murmured. The engineerhad also seen the gunners charge their barrel.The gun fired, and its jet of smoke almost engulfed the General’sfamily. For an instant Sharpe saw Wellesley’s tall figure outlinedagainst the pale smoke, then he could see nothing but blood and theGeneral falling. The heat and discharge of the gun’s gasses rushedpast Sharpe just a heartbeat after the scraps of canister had filledthe air about him, but he had been directly behind the General and wasin his shadow, and it was Wellesley who had taken the gun’s blast.Or rather it was his horse. The stallion had been struck a dozen timeswhile Wellesley, charmed, had not taken a scratch. The big horse ii [toppled, dead before he struck the ground, and Sharpe saw the Generalkick his feet out from the stirrups and use his hands to push himselfup from the saddle as the horse collapsed. Wellesley’s right foottouched the ground first and, before the stallion’s weight could rollonto his leg, he jumped away, staggering slightly in his hurry.

Campbell turned towards him, but the General waved him away. Sharpekicked the mare on and untied Diomed’s reins from his belt. Was hesupposed to get the saddle off the dead horse? He supposed so, andthus slid out of his own saddle. But what the hell was he to do withthe mare and Diomed while he untangled the saddle from the deadstallion? |” Then he thought to tie both to the dead horse’s bridle.“Four hundred guineas gone to a penny bullet,” Wellesley saidsarcastically, watching as Sharpe unbuckled the girth from the deadstallion. Or near dead, for the beast still twitched and kicked as theflies came to feast on its new blood.“I’ll take Diomed,” Wellesley told Sharpe, then stooped to help,tugging the saddle with its attached bags and holsters free of thedying horse, but then a feral scream made the General turn back towatch as Harness’s men charged into the gun line. The scream was thenoise they made as they struck home, a scream that was the release ofall their fears and a terrible noise presaging their enemies’ death.And how they gave it. The Scotsmen found the gunners who had stayed attheir posts crouching under the trails and they dragged them out andbayoneted them again and again.

“Bastard,” one man screamed, plunging his blade repeatedly into a deadgunner’s belly.“Heathen black bastard!” He kicked the man’s head, then stabbed downwith his bayonet again. Colonel Harness back swung his sword to kill aman, then casually wiped the blood off the blade onto his horse’s blackmane.“Form line!” he shouted.“Form line! Hurry, you rogues!“A scatter of gunners had fled back from the Scots to the safety of theMahratta infantry who were now little more than a hundred paces away.They should have charged, Sharpe thought. While the Scots were blindlyhacking away at the gunners, the infantry should have advanced, butinstead they waited for the next stage of the Scots attack. To hisright there were still guns firing at the sepoys, but that was aseparate battle, unrelated to the scramble as sergeants draggedHighlanders away from the dead and dying gunners and pushed them intotheir ranks.“There are still gunners alive, sir!” a lieutenant shouted atHarness.“Form up!” Harness shouted, ignoring the lieutenant.

Sergeants andcorporals shoved men into line.“Forward!” Harness shouted.“Hurry, man,” Wellesley said to Sharpe, but not angrily. Sharpe hadheaved the saddle over Diomed’s back and now stooped under the greyhorse’s belly to gather the girth.“He doesn’t like it too tight,” the General said.Sharpe buckled the strap and Wellesley took Diomed’s reins from him andheaved himself up into the saddle without another word. The General’scoat was smeared with blood, but it was horse blood, not his own.“Well done, Harness!” he called ahead to the Scotsman, then rode awayand Sharpe unhitched the mare from the dead horse’s bridle, clamberedonto her back and followed.Three pipers played for the y78th now. They were far from home, under afurnace sun in a blinding sky, and they brought the mad music ofScotland’s wars to India.

And it was madness. The ySth had sufferedhard from the gunfire and the line of their advance was littered withdead, dying and broken men, yet the survivors now reformed to attackthe main Mahratta battle line. They were back in two ranks, they heldtheir bloody bayonets in front, and they advanced against Pohlmann’sown compoo on the right of the enemy line. The Highlanders lookedhuge, made into giants by their tall bearskin hats with their featherplumes, and they looked terrible, for they were. These were northernwarriors from a hard country and not a man spoke as they advanced. Tothe waiting Mahrattas they must have seemed like creatures fromnightmare, as terrible as the gods who writhed on their temple walls.Yet the Mahratta infantry in their blue and yellow coats were just asproud. They were warriors recruited from the martial tribes ofnorthern India, and now they levelled their muskets as the two Scottishranks approached.The Scots were terribly outnumbered and it seemed to Sharpe that theymust all die in the coming volley. Sharpe himself was in a half dazestunned by the noise yet aware that his mood was swinging betweenelation at the Scottish bravery and the pure terror of battle.

Heheard a cheer and looked right to see the sepoys charging into theguns.He watched gunners flee, then saw the Madrassi sepoys tear into thelaggards with their bayonets.“Now we’ll see how their infantry fights,” Wellesley said savagely toCampbell, and Sharpe understood that this was the real testing point,for infantry was everything. The infantry was despised for it did nothave the cavalry’s glamour, nor the killing capacity of the gunners,but it was still the infantry that won battles. Defeat the enemy’sinfantry and the cavalry and gunners had nowhere to hide.The Mahrattas waited with levelled muskets. The Highlanders, silentagain, marched on. Ninety paces to go, eighty, and then an officer’ssword swung down in the Mahratta ranks and the volley came. It seemedragged to Sharpe, maybe because most men did not fire on the word ofcommand, but instead fired after they heard their neighbour’sdischarge, and he was not even aware of a bullet going close past hishead because he was watching the Scots, terrified for them, but itseemed to him that not a man fell. Some men must have been hit, for hesaw ripples where the files opened to step past the fallen, but the778th, or what was left of the y78th, was intact still and still Harnessdid not fire, but just kept marching them onward.

“They fired high!” Campbell exulted.“They drill well, fire badly,” Barclay observed happily.“Seventy paces to go, then sixty. A Highlander staggered from the lineand collapsed. Two other men who had been wounded by the canister, butwere now recovered, hurried from the rear and pushed their way into theranks.“Halt!” Harness suddenly called.“Present!“The guns, tipped by their bloodstained steel blades, came up into theHighlanders’ shoulders so that the whole line seemed to take a quarterturn to the right. The Mahratta gunsmoke was clearing and the enemysoldiers could see the Scots’ heavy muskets, with hate behind them, andthe Highlanders waited a heartbeat so the enemy could also see theirdeath in the levelled muskets.“You’ll fire low, you bastards, or I’ll want to know why,” Harnessgrowled, then took a deep breath.“Fire!” he shouted, and his Highlanders did not fire high.

They firedlow and their heavy balls ripped into bellies and thighs and groins.“Now go for them!” Harness shouted.“Just go for the bastards!” And the Highlanders, unleashed, ranforward with their bayonets and began to utter their shrill war cries,as discordant as the music of the pipes that flayed them onwards. Theywere killers loosed to the joys of slaughter and the enemy did not waitfor its coming, but just turned and fled.The enemy in the rearward ranks of the compoo had room to run, butthose in front were impeded by those behind and could not escape. Aterrible despairing wail sounded as the ~j78th struck home and as theirbayonets rose and fell in an orgy of killing. An officer led an attackon a knot of standard-bearers who tried desperately to save theirflags, but the Scots would not be denied and Sharpe watched as thekilted men stepped over the dead to lunge their blades at the living.The flags fell, then were raised again in Scottish hands. A cheer wentup, and just then Sharpe heard another cheer and saw the sepoyscharging home at the next section of the enemy line and, just as thefirst Mahratta troops had run from the Scots, so now the neighbouringbattalions fled from the sepoys. The enemy’s vaunted infantry hadcrumpled at the first contact.

They had watched the thin line cometowards them, and they must have assumed that the red coats would beturned even redder by the heavy fire of the artillery, but the line hadtaken the guns’ punishment and just kept coming, battered and bleeding,and it must have seemed to the Mahrattas that such men were invincible.The huge Scots in their strange kilts had started the rout, but thesepoy battalions from Madras now set about the destruction of all theenemy’s centre and right. Only his left still stood its ground.The sepoys killed, then pursued the fugitives who streamed westwards.“Hold them!” Wellesley shouted at the nearest battalion commanders.“Hold them!” But the sepoys would not be held. They wanted to pursuea beaten enemy and they streamed raggedly in his wake, killing as theywent. Wellesley wheeled Diomed.“Colonel Harness!“You’ll want me to form post here?” the Scotsman asked. Blood drippedfrom his sword.

“Here,” Wellesley agreed. The enemy infantry might have fled, butthere was a maelstrom of cavalry a half-mile away and those horsemenwere cantering forward to attack the disordered British pursuers.“Deploy your guns, Harness.“I’ve given the order already,” Harness said, gesturing towards his twosmall gun teams that were hurrying sixpounders into position.“Column of full companies!” Harness shouted.“Quarter distance!“The Scots, one minute so savage, now ran back into their ranks andfiles. The battalion faced no immediate enemy, for there was neitherinfantry nor artillery within range, but the distant cavalry was athreat and so Harness arranged them in their ten companies, closetogether, so that they resembled a square. The close formation coulddefend itself against any cavalry attack, and just as easily shakeitself into a line or into a column of assault. Harness’s twinsix-pounders were unlimbered and now began firing towards the horsemenwho, appalled by the wreckage of their infantry, paused rather thanattack the redcoats.British and Indian officers were galloping among the pursuing sepoys,ordering them back to their ranks, while Harness’s 778th stood like afortress to which the sepoys could retreat.

“So sanity is not a requisite of soldiering,” Wellesley said quietly.“Sir?” Sharpe was the only man close enough to hear the General andassumed that the words were addressed to him.“None of your business, Sharpe, none of your business,” Wellesley said,startled that he had been overheard.“A canteen, if you please.“It had been a good start, the General decided, for the right ofPohlmann’s army had been destroyed and that destruction had taken onlyminutes. He watched as the sepoys hurried back to their ranks and asthe first pucka lees appeared from the nearby Kaitna with their hugeloads of canteens and waterskins. He would let the men have theirdrink of water, then the line would be turned to face north and hecould finish the job by assaulting Assaye. The General kicked Diomedaround to examine the ground over which his infantry must advance and,just as he turned, so all hell erupted at the village.Wellesley frowned at the dense cloud of gunsmoke that had suddenlyappeared close to the mud walls. He heard volley fire, and he couldsee that it was the surviving Mahratta left wing that did the firing,not his redcoats, and, more ominously, a surge of Mahratta cavalry hadbroken through on the northern flank and was now riding free in thecountry behind Wellesley’s small army.

Someone had blundered.The left flank of William Dodd’s regiment lay just a hundred paces fromthe mud walls of Assaye where the twenty guns which defended thevillage gave that flank an added measure of safety. In front of theCobras were another six guns, two of them the longbarrelled eighteenpounders that had bombarded the ford, while Dodd’s own small battery offour-pounder guns was bunched in the small gap between his men’s rightflank and the neighbouring regiment. Pohlmann had chosen to array hisguns in front of the infantry, but Dodd expected the British to attackin line and a gun firing straight towards an oncoming line could domuch less damage than a gun firing obliquely down the line’s length,and so he had placed his cannon wide on the flank where they could workthe most havoc.It was not a bad position, Dodd reckoned. In front of his line weretwo hundred yards of open killing ground after which the land fell intoa steepish gully that angled away eastwards. An enemy could approachin the gully, but to reach Dodd’s men they would have to climb onto theflat farmland and there be slaughtered. A cactusthorn hedge ranacross the killing ground, and that would give the enemy some cover,but there were wide gaps in the thorns. If Dodd had been given time hewould have sent men to cut down the whole hedge, but the necessary axeswere back with the baggage a mile away. Dodd, naturally, blamed Joubmfor the missing tools.

“Why are they not here, Monsewer?” he had demanded.“I did not think. I’m sorry.“Sorry! Sorry don’t win battles, Monsewer.“I shall send for the axes,“Joubert said.“Not now,” Dodd said. He did not want to send any men back to thebaggage camp, for their loss would momentarily weaken his regiment andhe expected to be attacked at any moment. He looked forward to thatmoment, for the enemy would need to expose himself to a withering fire,and Dodd kept standing in his stirrups to search for any sign of anapproaching enemy. There were some British and Company cavalry far offto the east, but those horsemen were staying well out of range of theMahratta guns. Other enemies must have been within the range ofPohlmann’s guns, for Dodd could hear them firing and see the billowingclouds of grey-white smoke pumped out by each shot, but that cannonadewas well to his south and it did not spread down the line towards himand it slowly dawned on Dodd that Wellesley was deliberately avoidingAssaye.

“God damn him!” he shouted aloud.“Monsieur?” Captain Joubert asked resignedly, expecting anotherreprimand.“We’re going to be left out,” Dodd complained.Captain Joubert thought that was probably a blessing. The Captain hadbeen saving his meagre salary in the hope of retiring to Lyons, and ifGeneral Wellesley chose to ignore Cap tain Joubert then Captain Joubertwas entirely happy. And the longer he stayed in India, the moreattractive he found Lyons. And Simone would be better off in France,he thought, for the heat of India was not good for her. It had madeher restless, and inactivity gave her time to brood and no good evercame from a thinking woman. If Simone was in France she wouldbe kept busy. There would be meals to cook, clothes to mend, a gardento tend, even children to raise.

Those things were women’s work, inJoubert’s opinion, and the sooner he could take his Simone away fromIndia’s languorous temptations the better.Dodd stood in his stirrups again to stare southwards through his cheapglass.“The 778th,” he grunted.“Monsieur?” Joubert was startled from his happy reverie about a housenear Lyons where his mother could help Simone raise a busy little herdof children.“The 778th,” Dodd said again, and Joubert stood in his stirrups to gazeat the distant sight of the Scottish regiment emerging from low groundto advance against the Mahratta line.“And no support for them?” Dodd asked, puzzled, and he had begun tothink that Boy Wellesley had blundered very badly, but just then he sawthe sepoys coming from the valley. The attacking line looked very thinand frail, and he could see men being snatched backwards by theartillery fire.“Why won’t they come here?” he asked petulantly.“They are, Monsieur,” Joubert answered, and pointed eastwards.Dodd turned and stared.

“Praise God from Whom all blessings flow,” he said softly.“The fools!” For the enemy was not just coming towards Dodd’sposition, but approaching in a column of half companies. The enemyinfantry had suddenly appeared at the upper edge of the gully, but onDodd’s side of that obstacle, and it was clear that the redcoats musthave wandered far out of their position for they were a long way fromthe rest of the attacking British infantry. Better still, they had notdeployed into line. Their commander must have decided that they wouldmake better progress if they advanced in column and doubtless heplanned to deploy into line when he launched his attack, but the menshowed no sign of deploying yet.Dodd aimed his telescope and was momentarily puzzled. The leading halfcompany were King’s troops in red jackets, black shakoes and whitetrousers, while the forty or fifty men of the half company behind werein kilts, but the other five half companies were all sepoys of the EastIndia Company.“It’s the picquets of the day,” he said, suddenly understanding thestrange formation. He heard a shout as a gun captain ordered hiscannon to be levered around to take aim at the approaching men, and hehurriedly shouted to his gunners to hold their fire.“No one’s to fire yet, Joubert,” Dodd ordered, then he spurred hishorse northwards to the village.

The infantry and gunners defending the village of Assaye were not underDodd’s command, but he issued them orders anyway.“You’re to hold your fire,” he snapped at them, ‘hold your fire. Wait!Wait!” Some of the Goanese gunners spoke a little English, and theyunderstood him and passed the order on. The Rajah’s infantry, on themud walls above the guns, were not so quick and some of those menopened fire on the distant redcoats, but their muskets were faroutranged and Dodd ignored them.“You fire when we fire, understand?” he shouted at the gunners, andsome of them understood what he was doing, and they grinned approval ofhis cunning.He spurred back to the Cobras. A second British formation had appeareda hundred paces behind the picquets. This second unit was a completebattalion of redcoats advancing in line and, because marching anextended line across country was inevitably slower than advancing in acolumn of half companies, they had fallen behind the picquets who, insublime disregard of Assaye’s waiting defenders, continued theirprogress towards the cactus hedge. It seemed to be an isolated attack,far from the clamour in the south that Dodd now ignored. God had givenDodd a chance of victory and he felt the excitement rise in him.

Itwas bliss, pure bliss. He could not lose. He drew the elephant-hilledsword and, as if to give thanks, kissed the steel blade.The leading half company of picquets had reached the thorn hedge andthere they had checked, at last unwilling to continue their suicidalprogress towards the waiting Mahrattas. Some artillery from further upthe line, wrhich did not lie under Dodd’s control, had opened fire onthe column, but the white-coated Mahratta forces immediately to thefront of the column were silent and the picquets’ commanding officerseemed encouraged by that and now urged his men onwards.“Why doesn’t he deploy?” Dodd asked no one, and prayed that they wouldnot deploy, but as soon as the half company of kilted Highlanders hadfiled through a gap in the cactus thorn they began to spread out andDodd knew his moment was close. But wait, he told himself, wait formore victims, and sure enough the sepoys pushed through the breaks inthe hedge until all the picquets were in front of the cactus and theirofficers and sergeants began chivvying them forward onto the openpasture where there would be more space for the half companies todeploy into line.Captain Joubert was worried that Dodd was leaving the command to openfire too late. The second British formation was close to the hedgenow, and once they were through the gaps they would add a vast weightof musketry to the attack. But Dodd knew it would take that regiment along time to manoeuvre through the hedge, and he was concerned solelywith the three or four hundred men of the picquets who were now justeighty yards from his gun line and still not properly deployed.

Hisown men were a hundred paces behind the guns, but now he took themforward.“Regiment will advance,” he ordered, ‘at the double!” His interpretershouted the order and Dodd watched proudly as his men ran smartlyforward. They kept their ranks, and checked promptly on his commandwhen they reached the em placed artillery.“Thank you, Lord,” he prayed. The picquets, suddenly aware of thehorror that awaited them, began to hurry as they spread into line, butstill Dodd did not fire. Instead he rode his new horse behind hismen’s ranks.“You fire low!” he told his Cobras.“Make sure you fire low! Aim at their thighs.” Most troops fired highand thus a man who aimed at his enemy’s knees would as like as not hithis chest. Dodd paused to watch the picquets who were now advancing ina long double line.

Dodd took a deep breath.“Fire!“Forty guns and over eight hundred muskets were aimed at the picquetsand scarce a gun or a musket missed. One moment the ground in front ofthe hedge was alive with soldiers, the next it was a charnel house,swept by metal and flayed by fire, and though Dodd could see nothingthrough the powder smoke, he knew he had virtually annihilated theredcoat line. The volley had been massive. Two of the guns, indeed,had been the eighteenpounder siege guns and Dodd’s only regret wasthat they had been loaded with round shot instead of canister, but atleast they could now reload with canister and so savage the Britishbattalion that had almost reached the cactus hedge.“Reload!” Dodd called to his men. The smoke was writhing away,thinning as it went, and he could see enemy bodies on the ground. Hecould see men twitching, men crawling, men dying. Most did not move atall, though miraculously their commanding officer, or at least the onlyman who had been on horseback, still lived. He was whipping his horseback through the hedge.

“Fire!” Dodd shouted, and a second volley whipped across the killingground to thrash through the hedge and strike the battalion behind.That battalion was taking even worse punishment from the artillerywhich was now firing canister, and the blasts of metal were tearing thehedge apart, destroying the redcoats’ small cover. The littlefour-pounder guns, which fired such puny round shot, now served asgiant shotguns to spray the redcoats with Dodd’s home-made bags ofcanister. His sepoys loaded and rammed their muskets. The dry grassin front of them flickered with hundreds of small pale flames where theburning wadding had started fires.“Fire!” Dodd shouted again, and saw, just before the cloud of powdersmoke blotted out his view, that the enemy was stepping backwards.The volley crashed out, filling the air with the stench of rotteneggs.“Reload!” Dodd shouted and admired his men’s efficiency. Not one hadpanicked, not one had fired his ramrod by mistake. Clockwork soldiers,he thought, as soldiers ought to be, while the enemy’s return fire waspathetic.

One or two of Dodd’s men had been killed, and a handful werewounded, but in return they had destroyed the leading British unit andwere driving the next one back.“The regiment will advance!” he shouted and listened to hisinterpreter repeat the order.They marched in line through their own powder smoke and then across thescores of dead and dying enemy picquets. Soldiers stooped to thebodies to filch keepsakes and loot and Dodd shouted at them to keepgoing. The loot could wait. They reached the remnants of the cactushedge where Dodd halted them. The British battalion was still goingbackwards, evidently seeking the safety of the gull)’. “Fire!” heshouted, and his men’s volley seemed to push the redcoats even furtherback.“Reload!“Ramrods rattled in barrels, dog heads were dragged back to the full.The British line was retreating fast now, but from the north, from theland hard by the river, a mass of Mahratta cavalry was riding south tojoin the slaughter.

Dodd wished the cavalry would stay out of it, forhe had an idea that he could have pursued this British battalion cleardown the tongue of land to where the rivers met and the last of theirmen would die in the Kaitna’s muddy shallows, but he dared not fireanother volley in case he hit the cavalry.“The regiment will advance!” he told his interpreter. He would letthe cavalry have their moment, then go on with the slaughteringhimself.The British battalion commander saw the cavalry and knew his retreatmust stop. His men were still in line, a line of only two ranks, andcavalrymen dreamed of encountering infantry in line.“Form square!” their commanding officer shouted, and the two wings ofthe line dutifully withdrew towards the centre. The double rank becamefour, the four ranks wheeled and dressed, and suddenly the cavalryfaced a fortress of redcoats, muskets and bayonets. The front rank ofthe square knelt and braced their muskets on the ground while the otherthree readied their muskets for the coming horsemen.The cavalry should have sheered away at the sight of the square, butthey had seen the earlier slaughter and thought to add to it, and sothey dipped their penn anted lances, raised their tulwars and screamedtheir war cries as they galloped straight towards the redcoats. Andthe redcoats let them come, let them come perilously close before theorder was shouted and the face of the square nearest the cavalryexploded in flame and smoke and the horses screamed as they were hitand died.

The surviving horsemen swerved aside and received anotherkilling volley as they swept past the sides of the square. More horsestumbled, dust spewing from their sliding bodies. A tulwar spun alongthe ground, its owner shrieking as his trapped leg was ground intobloody ruin by the weight of his dying horse.“Reload!” a Scots voice shouted from inside the square and theredcoats recharged their muskets.The cavalry charged on into open country and there wheeled about.Some of the horses were riderless now, others were bloody, but all cameback towards the square.“Let them come close!” a mounted British officer shouted inside thesquare.“Let them come close. Wait for it! Fire!“More horses tumbled, their legs cracking as the bones shattered, andthis time the cavalry did not sheer away to ride down the square’slethal flanks, but instead wheeled clean about and spurred out ofrange. Two lessons were sufficient to teach them caution, but they didnot go far away, just far enough to be out of range of the redcoats’muskets.

The cavalry’s leaders had seen Dodd’s regiment come throughthe cactus hedge and they knew that their own infantry, attacking inline, must overwhelm the square with musketry and, when the squareshattered, as it must under the infantry’s assault, the horsemen couldsweep back to pick off the survivors and pluck the great gaudy bannersas trophies to lay before Scindia.Dodd could scarcely believe his luck. At first he had resented thecavalry’s intrusion, believing that they were about to steal hisvictory, but their two impotent charges had forced the enemy battalionto form square and mathematics alone dictated that a battalion insquare could only use one quarter of its muskets against an attack fromany one side.And the British battalion, which Dodd now recognized from its whitefacings as the 74th, was much smaller than Dodd’s Cobras, probablyhaving only half the numbers Dodd possessed. And, in addition toDodd’s men, a ragged regiment of the Rajah of Berar’s infantry hadpoured out of Assaye to join the slaughter while a battalion fromDupont’s compoo, which had been posted immediately on Dodd’s right, hadalso come to join the killing. Dodd resented the presence of those menwhom he feared might dilute the glory of his victory, but he couldscarcely order them away. The important thing was to slaughter theHighlanders.“We’re going to kill the bastards with volley fire,” he told his men,then waited for his translator to interpret.“And then we’ll finish them off with bayonets. And I want those twocolours! I want those flags hanging in Scindia’s tent tonight.

“The Scots were not waiting idly for the attack. Dodd could see smallgroups of men dashing out of the square and at first he thought theywere plundering the dead cavalrymen, and then he saw they were draggingthe bodies of men and horses back to make a low rampart. The fewsurvivors of the picquets were among the Scots, who were now caught ina terrible dilemma. By staying in square they would keep themselvessafe from any attack by the cavalry which still hovered to the south,though the square made them into an easy target for the enemy’smuskets, but if they deployed into line, so that they could use alltheir muskets against the enemy’s infantry line, they made themselvesinto cavalry bait. Their commanding officer decided to stay in square.Dodd reckoned he would do the same if he was ever so foolish as to betrapped like these fools were trapped. They still had to be finishedoff, and that promised to be grim work for the 74th was a notoriouslytough regiment, but Dodd had the advantage of numbers and the advantageof position and he knew he must win.Except that the Scotsmen did not agree with him. They crouched behindtheir barricade of dead men and horses and poured a blistering fire ofmusketry at the white-coated Cobras. A lone piper, who had disobeyedthe order to leave his instrument at Naulniah, played in the square’scentre.

Dodd could hear the sound, but he could not see the piper,nor, indeed, the square itself, which was hidden by a churning fog ofdark powder smoke. The smoke was illuminated by the flashes of musketfire, and Dodd could hear the heavy balls thumping into his men. TheCobras were no longer advancing, for the closer they got to the deadlysmoke the greater their casualties and so they had paused fifty yardsfrom the square to let their own muskets do the work. They werereloading as fast as their enemies, but too many of their bullets werebeing wasted on the barricade of corpses. All four faces of the squarewere firing now, for the 74th was surrounded. To the west they firedat Dodd’s attacking line, to the north they fired at the Rajah’sinfantry, while to the east and south they kept the cavalry at bay.The Mahratta horsemen, scenting the Scottish regiment’s death, wereprowling ever closer in the hope that they could dash in and take thecolours before the infantry.Dodd’s Cobras, together with the battalion from Dupont’s compoo, beganto curl about the southern flank of the trapped regiment. It shouldtake only three or four volleys, Dodd thought, to end the business,after which his men could go in with the bayonet. Not that his menwere firing volleys any longer; instead they were firing as soon astheir muskets were charged and Dodd felt their excitement and sought tocurb it.

“Don’t waste your fire!” he shouted.“Aim low!” William Dodd had no desire to lead a charge through thestinking smoke to find an unbroken formation of vengeful Highlanderswaiting with bayonets. Dodd might dislike the Scots, but he had ahealthy fear of fighting them with cold steel. Thin the bastardsfirst, he thought, batter them, bleed them, then massacre them, but hismen were too excited at the prospect of imminent victory and far toomuch of their fire was either going high or else being wasted on thebarricade of the dead.“Aim low!” he shouted again.“Aim low!“They won’t last,“Joubert said. Indeed the Frenchman was amazed thatthe Scots still survived.“Awkward things to kill, Scotsmen,” Dodd said. He took a drink fromhis canteen.“I do hate the bastards.

All preachers or thieves. StealingEnglishmen’s jobs. Aim low!” A man was thrown back near Dodd, bloodbright on his white coat.“Joubert?” Dodd called back to the Frenchman.“Monsieur?“Bring up two of the regiment’s guns. Load with canister.” That wouldend the bastards. Two gouts of canister from the fourpounders wouldblow great gaps in the Scottish square and Dodd could then lead his meninto those gaps and fillet the dying regiment from its inside out.He would be damned if the cavalry would take the flags. They were his!It was Dodd who had fought these Highlanders to a standstill and Doddwho planned to carry the silk banners to Scindia’s tent and there fetchhis proper reward.

“Hurry, Joubert!” he called.Dodd drew his pistol and fired over his men’s ranks into the smoke thathid the dying square.“Aim low!” he shouted.“Don’t waste your fire!“But it would not be long now. Two blasts of canister, he reckoned, andthen the bayonets would bring him victory.Major Samuel Swinton stood just behind the western face of the squarewhich looked towards the white-coated infantry. He could hear anEnglish voice shouting orders and encouragement in the enemy lines and,though Swinton himself was an Englishman, the accent angered him. NoEnglish bastard was going to destroy the 74th, not while Major Swintoncommanded, and he told his men that a Sassenach was their enemy andthat seemed to add zest to their efforts.“Keep low!” he told them.“Keep firing!” By staying low the Scots kept behind the protection oftheir makeshift barricade, but it also made their muskets much moredifficult to reload and some men took the risk of standing after eachshot.

Their only protection then was the mask of smoke that hid theregiment from its enemies. And thank God, Swinton thought, that theenemy had brought no artillery forward.The square was swept by musket fire. Much of it, especially from thenorth, flew high, but the white-coated regiment was better trained andtheir musketry was having an effect, so much so that Swinton took theinside rank of the eastern face and added it to the west. Thesergeants and corporals closed the ranks as the enemy bullets hurledmen back into the bloody interior of the shrinking square where theMajor stepped among the Scottish dead and wounded. Swinton’s horse haddied, struck by three musket balls and put out of its misery by theMajor’s own pistol. Colonel Orrock, who had first led the picquets todisaster, had also lost his horse.“It wasn’t my fault,” he kept telling Swinton, and Swinton wanted tohit the bastard every time he spoke.“I obeyed Wellesley’s orders!” Orrock insisted.Swinton ignored the fool.

Right from the beginning of the advanceSwinton had sensed that the picquets were going too far to the right.Orrock’s orders had been clear enough. He was to incline right, thusmaking space for the two sepoy battalions to come into the line, thenattack straight ahead, but the fool had led his men ever morenorthwards and Swinton, who had been trying to loop about the picquetsto come up on their right, never had a chance to get into position. Hehad sent the 74th’s adjutant to speak with Orrock, pleading with theEast India Company Colonel to turn ahead, but Orrock had arrogantlybrushed the man off and kept marching towards Assaye.Swinton had a choice then. He could have ignored Orrock andstraightened his own attack to form the right of the line thatWellesley had taken forward, but the leading half company of Orrock’spicquets were fifty men from Swinton’s own regiment and the Major wasnot willing to see those fifty men sacrificed by a fool and so he hadfollowed the picquets on their errant course in the hope that his men’sfire could rescue Orrock. It had failed. Only four of the fifty menof the half company had rejoined the regiment, the rest were dead anddying, and now the whole 74th seemed to be doomed. They wereencompassed by noise and smoke, surrounded by enemies, dying in theirsquare, but the piper was still playing and the men were still fightingand the regiment still lived, and the two flags were still lifted highthough by now the fringed squares of silk were ripped and tattered bythe blast of bullets.An ensign in the colour party took a musket ball in his left eye andfell backwards without a sound.

A sergeant gripped the staff in onehand and in his other was a halberd with a wicked blade. In a moment,the sergeant knew, he might have to fight with the halberd. The squarewould end with a huddle of bloodied men around the colours and theenemy would fall on them and for a few moments it would be steelagainst steel, and the sergeant reckoned he would give the flag to awounded man and do what harm he could with the heavy, long-shafted axe.It was a pity to die, but he was a soldier, and no one had yet deviseda way a man could live for ever, not even those clever bastards inEdinburgh. He thought of his wife in Dundee, and of his woman in thecamp at Naulniah, and he regretted his many sins for it was not goodfor a man to go to his God with a bad conscience, but it was too latenow and so he gripped the halberd and hid his fear and determined hewould die like a man and take a few other men with him.The muskets banged into Highlanders’ shoulders. They bit the tips fromnew cartridges and every bite added salty gunpowder to their mouths sothat they had no spittle, only bone-dry throats that breathed filthysmoke, and the regiment’s pucka lees were far away, lost somewhere inthe country behind. The Scots went on firing, and the powder sparksfrom the pan burned their cheeks, and they loaded and rammed and kneltand fired again, and somewhere beyond the smoke the enemy’s fire cameflashing in to shudder the corpses of the barricade or elseto snatch a man back in a spray of blood. Wounded men fought alongsidethe living, their faces blackened by powder, their mouths parched,their shoulders bruised, and the white facings and cuffs of their redcoats were spattered with the blood of men now dead or dying.“Close up!” the sergeants shouted and the square shrank another fewfeet as dying men were hauled back to the square’s centre and theliving closed the files.

Men who had started the day five or six filesapart were neighbours now.“It wasn’t my fault!” Orrock insisted.Swinton had nothing to say. There was nothing to say, and nothing moreto do except die, and so he picked up the musket of a dead man, tookthe cartridge box from the corpse’s pouch, and pushed into the square’swestern face. The man to his right was drunk, but Swinton did notcare, for the man was fighting.“Come to do some proper work, Major?” the drunken man greeted Swinton,with a toothless grin.“Come to do some proper work, Tarn,” Swinton agreed. He bit the endfrom a cartridge, charged the musket, primed the lock and fired intothe smoke. He reloaded, fired again, and prayed he would diebravely.Fifty yards away William Dodd watched the cloud of smoke made by theScottish muskets.

The cloud was getting smaller, he thought. Men weredying there and the square was shrinking, but it was still spittingflame and lead. Then he heard the jingle of chains and turned to seethe two fourpounder guns being hauled towards him. He would let theguns fire one blast of canister each, then he would have his men fixbayonets and he would lead them across the rampart of corpses into theheart of the smoke.And then the trumpet called.

CHAPTER 11

Colonel McCandless had stayed close to his friend Colonel Wallace, thecommander of the brigade which formed the right of Wellesley’s line.Wallace had seen the picquciets and his own regiment, the 74th, vanishsomewhere to the north, but he had been too busy bringing his two sepoybattalions into the s-attacking line to worry about Orrock or Swinton.He did charge an aid to keep watching for Orrock’s men, expecting tosee them veering baock towards him at any moment, then he forgot theerrant picquets as his men climbed from the low ground into the fireof the Mahratta gun line. Canister shredded Wallace’s ranks, it beatlike hail on his men’ss muskets and it swept the leaves from thescattered trees through which the Madrassi battalions marched, but,just like the 778th, the sepoys did not turn. They walked doggedly onlike men pushing into a storm, amid at sixty paces Wallace halted themto pour a vengeful volley into the gunners and McCandless could hearthe musket balls clanging off the ppainted gun barrels.

Sevajee waswith McCandless and he stared in as the sepoys reloaded and wentforward again, this time carrying their bayonets to the gunners. For amoment there was chaotic slaughter as Madrassi sepoys chased Goanesegunners around limbers and guns, but Wallace was already lookingahead and could see this. At the vaunted enemy infantry was wavering,evidently shaken by theae easy victory of the 778th, and so the Colonelshouted at his sepoys to ignore the gunners and re-form and push on toattack the infantry. It ~ took a moment to reform the line, then itadvanced from the guns. VAVallace gave the enemy infantry one volley,then charged, and all alon: j-g the line the vaunted Mahratta foot fledfrom the sepoy attack.McCandless was busy for the mext few moments. He knew that the assaulthad gone nowhere near Dodd’s regiment, but nor had he expected it to,and he was anticipating riding northwards with Wallace? 255to find the 74th, the regiment McCandless knew was nearest to his prey,but when the sepoys lost their self-control and broke ranks to pursuethe beaten enemy infantry, McCandless helped the other officers roundthem up and herd them back. Sevajee and his horsemen stayed behind,for there was a possibility that they would be mistaken for enemycavalry.For a moment or two there was a real danger that the scattered sepoyswould be charged and slaughtered by the mass of enemy cavalry to thewest, but its own fleeing infantry was in the cavalry’s way, the j78thstood like a fortress on the left flank, and the Scottish guns wereskipping balls along the cavalry’s face, and the Mahratta horsemen,after a tentative move forward, thought better of the charge. Thesepoys took their ranks again, grinning because of their victory.

McCandless, his small chore done, rejoined Sevajee.“So that’s how Mahrattas fight.” The Colonel could not resist theprovocation.“Mercenaries, Colonel, mercenaries,” Sevajee said, ‘not Mahrattas.“Five victorious redcoat regiments now stood in ranks on the southernhalf of the battlefield. To the west the enemy infantry was stilldisordered, though officers were trying to re-form them, while to theeast there was a horror of bodies and blood left on the ground acrosswhich the redcoats had advanced. The five regiments had swept throughthe gun line and chased away the infantry and now formed their rankssome two hundred paces west of where the Mahratta infantry had madetheir line so that they could look back on the trail of carnage theyhad caused.Riderless horses galloped through the thinning skeins of powder smokewhere dogs were already gnawing at the dead and birds with monstrousblack wings were flapping down to feast on corpses. Beyond thecorpses, on the distant ground where the Scots and sepoys had startedtheir advance, there were now Mahratta cavalrymen, and McCandless,gazing through his telescope, saw some of those cavalrymen harnessingBritish artillery that had been abandoned when its ox teams had beenkilled by the bombardment that had opened the battle.“Where’s Wellesley?” Colonel Wallace asked McCandless.

“He went northwards.” McCandless was now staring towards the villagewhere a dreadful battle was being fought, but he could see no detailsfor there were just enough trees to obscure the fight, though the massof powder smoke rising above the leaves was as eloquent as the unendingcrackle of musketry. McCandless knew his business was to be where thatbattle was being fought, for Dodd was surely close to the fight if notinvolved, but in McCandless’s path was the stub of the Mahratta defenceline, that part of the line which had not been attacked by the Scots orthe sepoys, and those men were turning to face southwards. To reachthat southern battle McCandless would have to loop wide to the east,but that stretch of country was full of marauding bands of enemycavalry.“I should have advanced with Swinton,” he said ruefully.“We’ll catch up with him soon enough,” Wallace said, though withoutconviction. It was clear to both men that Wallace’s regiment, the74th, had marched too far to the north and had become entangled in thethicket of Mahratta de fences about Assaye and their commandingofficer, removed from them to lead the brigade, was plainly worried.“Time to turn north, I think,” Wallace said, and he shouted at his twosepoy battalions to wheel right. He had no authority over theremaining two sepoy battalions, nor over the 778th, for those were inHarness’s brigade, but he was ready to march his two remainingbattalions towards the distant village in the hope of rescuing his ownregiment.McCandless watched as Wallace organized the two battalions.

This partof the battlefield, which minutes before had been so loud withscreaming canister and the hammer of volleys, was now strangelyquiet.Wellesley’s attack had been astonishingly successful, and the enemy wasregrouping while the attackers, left victorious on the Kaitna’snorthern bank, drew their breath and looked for the next target.McCandless thought of using Sevajee’s handful of horsemen as an escortto take him safely towards the village, but another rush of Mahrattacavalry galloped up from the low ground. Wellesley and his aides hadridden northwards and they seemed to have survived the milling enemyhorsemen, but the General’s passing had attracted more horsemen to thearea and McCandless had no mind to run the gauntlet of their venom andso he abandoned the idea of a galloping dash northwards. It was justthen that he noticed Sergeant Hakeswill, crouching by a dead enemy withthe reins of a riderless horse in one hand. A group of redcoats waswith him, all from his own regiment, the 33rd. And just as McCandlesssaw the Sergeant, so Hakeswill looked up and offered the Scotsman aglance of such malevolence that McCandless almost turned away inhorror. Instead he spurred his horse across the few yards thatseparated them.“What are you doing here, Sergeant?” he asked harshly.“My duty, sir, as is incumbent on me,” Hakeswill said.

As ever, whenaddressed by an officer, he had straightened to attention, his rightfoot tucked behind his left, his elbows back and his chest thrustout.“And what are your duties?” McCandless asked.“Puckalees, sir. In charge of pucka lees sir, making sure thescavenging little brutes does their duty, sir, and nothing else, sir.Which they does, sir, on account of me looking after them like afather.” He unbent sufficiently to give a swift nod in the directionof the 778th where, sure enough, a group of pucka lees was distributingheavy skins of water they had brought from the river.“Have you written to Colonel Gore yet?” McCandless asked.“Have I written to Colonel Gore yet, sir?” Hakeswill repeated thequestion, his face twitching horribly under the shako’s peak. He hadforgotten that he was supposed to have the warrant reissued, for he wasrelying instead on McCandless’s death to clear the way to Sharpe’sarrest.Not that this was the place to murder McCandless, for there were athousand witnesses within view.

“I’ve done everything what ought to be done, sir, like a soldiershould,” Hakeswill answered evasively.“I shall write to Colonel Gore myself,” McCandless now told Hakeswill,‘because I’ve been thinking about that warrant. You have it?“I do, sir.“Then let me see it again,” the Colonel demanded.Hakeswill unwillingly pulled the grubby paper from his pouch andoffered it to the Colonel. McCandless unfolded the warrant, quicklyscanned the lines, and suddenly the falsity in the words leaped out athim.“It says here that Captain Morris was assaulted on the night of Augustthe fifth.“So he was, sir. Foully assaulted, sir.“Then it could not have been Sharpe who committed the assault,Sergeant, for on the night of the fifth he was with me.

That was theday I collected Sergeant Sharpe from Seringapatam’s armoury.“McCandless’s face twisted with distaste as he looked down at theSergeant.“You say you were a witness to the assault?” he asked Hakeswill.Hakeswill knew when he was beaten.“Dark night, sir,” the Sergeant said woodenly.“You’re lying, Sergeant,” McCandless said icily, ‘and I know you arelying, and my letter to Colonel Gore will attest to your lying. Youhave no business here, and I shall so inform Major General Wellesley.If it was up to me then your punishment would take place here, but thatis for the General to decide. You will give me that horse.“This horse, sir? I found it, sir.

Wandering, sir.“Give it here!” McCandless snapped. Sergeants had no business havinghorses without permission. He snatched the reins from Hakeswill.“And if you do have duties with the pucka lees Sergeant, I suggest youattend to them rather than plunder the dead. As for this warrant

“The Colonel, before Hakeswill’s appalled gaze, tore the paper in two.“Good day, Sergeant,” McCandless said and, his small victory complete,turned his horse and spurred away.Hakeswill watched the Colonel ride away, then stooped and picked up thetwo halves of the warrant which he carefully stowed in his pouch.“Scotchman,” he spat.Private Lowry shifted uncomfortably.

“If he’s right, Sergeant, and Sharpie wasn’t there, then we shouldn’tbe here.“Hakeswill turned savagely on the private.“And since when, Private Lowry, did you dispose of soldiery? The Dukeof York has made you an officer, has he? His Grace put braid on yourcoat without telling me, did he? What Sharpie did is no business ofyours, Lowry.” The Sergeant was in trouble, and he knew it, but he wasnot broken yet.He turned and stared at McCandless who had given the horse to adismounted officer and was now in deep conversation with ColonelWallace. The two men glanced towards Hakeswill and the Sergeantguessed they were discussing him.“We follows that Scotchman,” Hakeswill said, ‘and this is for the manwho puts him under the sod.” He fished a gold coin from his pocket andshowed it to his six privates.The privates stared solemnly at the coin, then, all at once, theyducked as a cannonball screamed low over their heads. Hakeswill sworeand dropped flat.

Another gun sounded, and this time a barrelful ofcanister flecked the grass just south of Hakeswill.Colonel Wallace had been listening to McCandless, but now turnedeastwards. Not all the gunners in the Mahratta line had been killedand those who survived, together with the cavalry which had beenlooking for employment, were now manning their guns again. They hadturned the guns to face west instead of east and were now firing at thefive regiments who were waiting for the battle to begin again.Except the gunners had surprised them, and the captured British guns,fetched from the east, now joined the battery to pour their shot, shelland canister into the redcoated infantry. They fired at three hundredpaces, point-blank range, and their missiles tore bloodily through theranks.For the Mahrattas, it seemed, were not beaten yet.William Dodd could smell victory. He could almost feel the sheen ofthe captured silk colours in his hands, and all it would take was twoblasts of canister, a mucky slaughter with bayonets, and then the 74thwould be destroyed. Horse Guards in London could cross the firstbattalion of the regiment off the army list, all of it, and mark downthat it had been sacrificed to William Dodd’s talent.

He snarled athis gunners to load their home-made canister, watched as the loadersrammed the missiles home, and then the trumpet sounded.The British and Company cavalry had been posted in the northern half ofthe battlefield to guard against enemy horsemen sweeping about theinfantry’s rear, but now they came to the 74th’s rescue. The igthDragoons emerged from the gully behind the Highlanders and their chargecurved northwards out of the low ground towards the 74th and thevillage beyond. The troopers were mostly recruits from the Englishshires, young men brought up to know horses and made strong by farmwork, and they all carried the new light cavalry sabre that waswarranted never to fail. Nor did it.They struck the Mahratta horse first. The English riders wereoutnumbered, but they rode bigger horses and their blades were bettermade, and they cut through the cavalry with a maniacal savagery. Itwas hacking work, brutal work, screaming and fast work, and theMahrattas turned their lighter horses away from the bloody sabres andfled northwards, and once the enemy horsemen were killed or fleeing,the British cavalry raked back their spurs and charged at the Mahrattainfantry.They struck the battalion from Dupont’s compoo first, and because thosemen were not prepared for cavalry, but were still in line, it was morean execution than a fight. The cavalry were mounted on tall horses,and every man had spent hours of sabre drill learning how to cut,thrust and parry, but all they had to do now was slash with theirheavy, wide-bladed weapons that were designed for just such butchery.

Slash and hack, scream and spur, then push on through panicking menwhose only thought was flight. The sabres made dreadful injuries, theweight of the blade gave the weapons a deep bite and the curve of thesteel dragged the newly sharpened edges back through flesh and muscleand bone to lengthen the wound.Some Mahratta cavalry bravely tried to stem the charge, but their lighttulwars were no match for Sheffield steel. The 74th were standing andcheering as they watched the English horsemen carve into the enemy whohad come so terribly close, and behind the Englishmen rode Companycavalry, Indians on smaller horses, some carrying lances, who spreadthe attack wider to drive the broken Mahratta horsemen northwards.Dodd did not panic. He knew he had lost this skirmish, but thehelpless mass of Dupont’s battalion was protecting his right flank andthose doomed men gave Dodd the few seconds he needed.“Back,” he shouted, ‘back!” and he needed no interpreter now. TheCobras hurried back towards the cactusthorn hedge. They did not run,they did not break ranks, but stepped swiftly backwards to leave theenemy’s horse room to sweep across their front, and, as the horsemenpassed, those of Dodd’s men who still had loaded muskets fired. Horsesstumbled and fell, riders sprawled, and still the Cobras wentbackwards.

But the regiment was still in line and Dupont’s panicked infantry werenow pushing their way into Dodd’s right-hand companies, and the secondrank of dragoons rode in among that chaos to slash their sabres downonto the white-coated men. Dodd shouted at his men to form square, andthey obeyed, but the two right-hand companies had been reduced toragged ruin and their survivors never joined the square which was sohastily made that it was more of a huddle than an ordered formation.Some of the fugitives from the two doomed companies tried to join theircomrades in the square, but the horsemen were among them and Doddshouted at the square to fire. The volley cut down his own men withthe enemy, but it served to drive the horsemen away and so gave Doddtime to send his men back through the hedge and still further back towhere they had first waited for the British attack. The Rajah ofBerar’s infantry, who had been on Dodd’s left, had escaped morelightly, but none had stayed to fight. Instead they ran back toAssaye’s mud walls. The gunners by the village saw the cavalry comingand fired canister, killing more of their own fugitives than enemycavalry, but the brief cannonade at least signalled to the dragoonsthat the village was defended and dangerous.The storm of cavalry passed northwards, leaving misery in its wake.The two fourpounder cannon that Joubert had taken forward wereabandoned now, their teams killed by the horsemen, and where the 74thhad been there was now nothing but an empty enclosure of dead men andhorses that had formed the barricade. The survivors of the beleagueredsquare had withdrawn eastwards, carrying their wounded with them, andit seemed to Dodd that a sudden silence had wrapped about the Cobras.

It was not a true silence, for the guns had started firing again on thesouthern half of the battlefield, the distant sound of hooves wasnevereriding and the moaning of the nearby wounded was loud, but it didseem quiet.Dodd spurred his horse southwards in an attempt to make some sense ofthe battle. Dupont’s compoo next to him had lost one regiment to thesabres, but the next three regiments were intact and the Dutchman wasnow turning those units to face southwards. Dodd could see Pohlmannriding along the back of those wheeling regiments and he suspected thatthe Hanoverian would now turn his whole line to face south. TheBritish had broken the far end of the line, but they had still notbroken the army.Yet the possibility of annihilation existed. Dodd fidgeted with theelephant hilt of his sword and contemplated what less than an hourbefore had seemed an impossibility: defeat. God damn Wellesley, hethought, but this was no time for anger, just for calculation. Doddcould not afford to be captured and he had no mind to die for Scindiaand so he must secure his line of retreat. He would fight to the end,he decided, then run like the wind.

“Captain Joubert?“The long-suffering Joubert trotted his horse to Dodd’s side.“Monsieur?“Dodd did not speak at once, for he was watching Pohlmann come nearer.It was clear now that the Hanoverian was making a new battle line, andone, moreover, that would lie to the west of Assaye with its backagainst the river. The regiments to Dodd’s right, which had yet to beattacked, were now pulling back and the guns were going with them.The whole line was being redeployed, and Dodd guessed the Cobras wouldmove from the east side of the mud walls to the west, but that was nomatter. The best ford across the Juah ran out of the village itself,and it was that ford Dodd wanted.“Take two companies, Joubert,” he ordered, ‘and march them into thevillage to guard this side of the ford.“Joubert frowned.“The Rajah’s troops, surely..

he began to protest.“The Rajah of Berar’s troops are useless!” Dodd snapped.“If we need to use the ford, then I want it secured by our men. Yousecure it.” He jabbed at the Frenchman with a finger.“Is your wife in the village?“Out, Monsieur.“Then now’s your chance to impress her, Monsewer Go and protect her.And make sure the damn ford isn’t captured or clogged up withfugitives.“Joubert was not unhappy to be sent away from the fighting, but he wasdismayed by Dodd’s evident defeatism. Nevertheless he took twocompanies, marched into the village, and posted his men to guard theford so that if all was lost, there would still be a way out.

Wellesley had ridden north to investigate the furious fighting that haderupted close to the village of Assaye. He rode with a half-dozenaides and with Sharpe trailing behind on the last of the General’shorses, the roan mare. It was a furious ride, for the area east of theinfantry was infested with Mahratta horsemen, but the General had faithin the size and speed of his big English and Irish horses and the enemywas easily out galloped Wellesley came within sight of the beleaguered74th just as the dragoons crashed in on their besiegers from thesouth.“Well done, Maxwell!” Wellesley shouted aloud, though he was far outof earshot of the cavalry’s leader, and then he curbed his horse towatch the dragoons at work.The mass of the Mahratta horsemen who had been waiting for the 74th’ssquare to collapse, now fled northwards and the British cavalry, havinghacked the best part of an enemy infantry regiment into ruin, pursuedthem. The cavalry’s good order was gone now, for the blue coatedtroopers were spurring their horses to chase their broken enemy acrosscountry. Men whooped like fox hunters, closed on their quarry, slashedwith sabre, then spurred on to the next victim. The Mahratta horsemenwere not even checked by the River Juah, but just plunged in andspurred their horses through the water and up the northern bank. TheBritish and Indian cavalry followed so that the pursuit vanished in thenorth. The 74th, who had fought so hard to stay alive, now marched outof range of the cannon by the village and Wellesley, who had smeltdisaster just a few minutes before, breathed a great sigh of relief.

“I told them to stay clear of the village, did I not?” he demanded ofhis aides, but before anyone could answer, new cannon fire sounded fromthe south.“What the devil?” Wellesley said, turning to see what the gunfiremeant.The remaining infantry of the Mahratta line were pulling back, takingtheir guns with them, but the artillery which had stood in front of theenemy’s defeated right wing, the same guns that had been overrun by theredcoated infantry, were now coming alive again. The weapons had beenturned and were crashing back on their trails and jetting smoke fromtheir muzzles, and behind the guns was a mass of enemy cavalry ready toprotect the gunners who were flaying the five battalions that haddefeated the enemy infantry.“Barclay?” Wellesley called.“Sir?” The aide spurred forward.“Can you reach Colonel Harness?“The aide looked at the southern part of the battlefield. A momentbefore it had been thick with Mahratta horsemen, but those men had nowwithdrawn behind the revived guns and there was a space in front ofthose guns, a horribly narrow space, but the only area of thebattlefield that was now free of enemy cavalry. If Barclay was toreach Harness then he would have to risk that narrow passage and, if hewas very lucky, he might even survive the canister. And dead or alive,Barclay thought, he would win the lottery of bullet holes in his coat.

The aide took a deep breath.“Yes, sir.“My compliments to Colonel Harness, and ask him to retake the guns withhis Highlanders. The rest of his brigade will stay where they are tokeep the cavalry at bay.” The General was referring to the mass ofcavalry that still threatened from the west, none of which had yetentered the battle.“And my compliments to Colonel Wallace,” the General went on, ‘and hissepoy battalions are to move northwards, but are not to engage theenemy until I reach them. Go!” He waved Barclay away, then twisted inhis saddle.“Campbell?“Sir?“Who’s that?” The General pointed eastwards to where one singlecavalry unit had been left out of the charge that had rescued the 74th,presumably in case the dragoons had galloped into disaster and needed arescue.Campbell peered at the distant unit, ‘yth Native Cavalry, sir.“Fetch them.

Quick now!” The General drew his sword as Campbellgalloped away.“Well, gentlemen,” he said to his remaining aides, ‘time to earn ourkeep, I think. Harness can drive the wretches away from thesouthernmost guns, but we shall have to take care of the nearerones.“For a moment Sharpe thought the General planned to charge the guns withjust the handful of men who remained with him, then he realizedWellesley was waiting for the yth Native Cavalry to arrive. For a fewseconds Wellesley had considered summoning the survivors of the 74th,but those men, who had retreated back across the gully, were stillrecovering from their ordeal. They were collecting their wounded,taking the roll call and reorganizing ten broken companies into six.The Native Cavalry would have to beat down the guns and Campbellbrought them across the battlefield, then led their commanding officer,a red-faced major with a bristling moustache, to Wellesley’s side. ‘Ineed to reach our infantry, Major,” the General explained, ‘and you’regoing to escort me to them, and the quickest way is through their gunline.“The Major gaped at the guns with their crowd of attendant cavalry.“Yes, sir,” he said nervously.

“Two lines, if you please,” the General ordered brusquely.“You will command the first line and drive off the cavalry. I shallride in the second and kill the gunners.“You’ll kill the gunners, sir?” the Major asked, as though he foundthat idea novel, then he realized his question was dangerously close toinsubordination.“Yes, sir,” he said hurriedly, ‘of course, sir.” The Major stared atthe gun line again. He would be charging the line’s flank, so at leastno gun would be pointing at his men. The greater danger was the massof Mahratta cavalry that had gathered behind the guns and which faroutnumbered his troopers, but then, sensing Wellesley’s impatience, hespurred his horse back to his men and shouted at his troopers.“Two lines by the right!” The Major commanded a hundred and eighty menand Sharpe saw them grin as they drew their sabres and spurred theirhorses into formation.“Ever been in a cavalry charge, Sergeant?” Campbell asked Sharpe.

“No, sir. Never wanted to be, sir.“Nor me. Should be interesting.” Campbell had his claymore drawn andhe gave the huge sword a cut in the air which almost took his horse’sears off.“You might find it more enjoyable, Sergeant,” he said helpfully, ‘ifyou drew your sabre.“Of course, sir,” Sharpe said, feeling foolish. He had somehowimagined that his first battle would be spent in an infantry battalion,firing and reloading as he had been trained to do, but instead itseemed that he was to fight as a cavalry trooper. He drew the heavyweapon which felt unnatural in his hand, but then this whole battleseemed unnatural.It swung from moments of bowel-loosening terror to sudden calm, thenback to terror again.

It also ebbed and flowed, flaring in one part ofthe field, then dying down as the tide of killing passed to anotherpatch of dun-coloured farmland.“And our job is to kill the gunners,” Campbell explained, ‘to make surethey don’t fire at us again. We’ll let the experts look after theircavalry and we just slaughter whatever they leave us. Simple.“Simple? All Sharpe could see was a mass of enemy horsemen behind thehuge guns that were bucking and rearing as they crashed out smoke,flame and death, and Campbell thought it was easy? Then he realizedthat the young Scots officer was just trying to reassure him, and hefelt grateful. Campbell was watching Captain Barclay ride through theartillery barrage. It seemed the Captain must be killed, for he wentso close to the Mahratta guns that at one point his horse vanished in acloud of powder smoke, but a moment later he reappeared, low in hissaddle, his horse galloping, and Campbell cheered when he saw Barclayswerve away towards Harness’s brigade.“A canteen, Sergeant, if you please?” Wellesley demanded, and Sharpe,who had been watching Barclay, fumbled to loosen one of the canteenstraps. He gave the water to the General, then opened his own canteenand drank from it. Sweat was pouring down his face and soaking hisshirt.

Wellesley drank half the water, stoppered it and gave thecanteen back, then trotted his horse into a gap in the right-hand sideof the second line of the cavalry. The General drew his slim sword.The other aides also found places in the line, but there seemed nospace for Sharpe and so he positioned himself a few yards behind theGeneral.“Go!” Wellesley shouted to the Major.“Forward line, by the centre,” the Major shouted.“Walk! March!“It seemed an odd order, for Sharpe had expected the two lines to startat the gallop, but instead the leading line of horsemen set off at awalk and the second line just waited. Leaving the wide gap made senseto Sharpe, for if the second line was too close to the first then itcould get entangled with whatever carnage the leading line made,whereas if there was a good distance between the two lines then therewas space for the second to swerve around obstacles, but even so,walking a horse into battle seemed idiocy to Sharpe. He licked hislips, already dry again, then wiped his sweaty hand on his trousersbefore re gripping the sabre’s hilt.“Now, gentlemen!” Wellesley said and the second line started forwardat the same sedate pace as the first. Curb chains jingled and emptyscabbards flapped.

After a few seconds the Major in the first linecalled out an order and the two lines went into the trot. Dust swirledaway from the hooves. The troopers’ black hats had tall scarlet plumesthat tossed prettily, while their curved sabres flashed with reflectedsunlight.Wellesley spoke to Blackiston beside him and Sharpe saw the Majorlaugh, then the trumpeter beside the Major blew a call and the twinlines went into the canter. Sharpe tried to keep up, but he was a badrider and the mare kept swerving aside and tossing her head.“Keep going!” Sharpe snarled at her. The Mahrattas had seen theattack coming now and the gunners were desperately trying to lever thenorthernmost gun about to face the threat while a mass of enemycavalrymen was spurring forward to confront the charge.“Go!” the Major shouted and his trumpeter sounded the full charge andSharpe saw the sabres of the leading line drop so that their pointswere jutting forward like spears. This was more like it, he thought,for the horses were galloping now, their hooves making a furiousthunder as they swept on to the enemy.The leading line crashed into the oncoming enemy cavalry.

Sharpeexpected to see the line stop, but it hardly seemed to check. Insteadthere was the flash of blades, an impression of a man and horse fallingand then the Major’s line was through the cavalry and riding over thefirst gun. Sabres rose and fell. The second line was swerving toavoid the fallen horses, then they too were among the enemy and closingon the first line which was at last being slowed by the enemy’sresistance.“Keep going!” Wellesley shouted at the foremost riders.“Keep going!Get me to the infantry!“The cavalry had charged so that their right flank would overrun theguns, while the rest of the attack would face the cavalry to the eastof the gun line. Those eastern most men were making good progress, butthe rightflank troopers were being held up by the big ammunitionlimbers that were parked behind the guns. The Indian troopers slashedat the Goanese gunners who dived beneath their cannon for shelter. Onegunner swung a rammer and swept a trooper off a horse. Muskets banged,a horse screamed and fell in a tangle of flailing hooves.

An arrowflicked towards Sharpe, missing him by a hair’s breadth. Sabresslashed and bit.Sharpe saw one tall trooper standing in his stirrups to give his swingmore room. The man screamed as he hacked down, then wrenched his bladefree from his victim and spurred on to find another. Sharpe clungdesperately to the saddle as the mare swerved to avoid a wounded horse,then he was among the guns himself. Two lines of cavalry had riddenover these weapons, but still some of the gunners lived and Sharpeswung at one man with the sabre, but at the last moment the mare’smotion unbalanced him and the blade went far above the enemy’s head. Itwas all bloody chaos now. The cavalry was fighting its way up theline, but some of the enemy horsemen were galloping around the firstline’s flank to attack the second line, and groups of gunners werefighting back like infantry. The gunners were armed with muskets andpikes, and Sharpe, kicking his horse behind Wellesley, saw a group ofthem appear from the shelter of a painted eighteenpounder gun and runtowards the General. He tried to shout a warning, but the sound thatemerged was more like a scream for help.

Wellesley was isolated. Major Blackiston had wheeled left to chop downat a tall Arab wielding a massive blade, while Campbell was loose onthe right where he was racing in pursuit of a fugitive horseman. TheIndian troopers were all in front of the General, sabring gunners asthey spurred ahead, while Sharpe was ten paces behind. Six menattacked the General, and one of them wielded a long, narrow-bladedpike that he thrust up at Wellesley’s horse. The General sawed onDiomed’s reins to wheel him out of the man’s path, but the big horsewas going too fast and ran straight onto the levelled pike.Sharpe saw the man holding the pike twist aside as the horse’s weightwrenched the staff out of his hands. He saw the white stallion fallingand sliding, and he saw Wellesley thrown forward onto the horse’sneck.He saw the halfdozen enemy closing in for the kill and suddenly thechaos and terror of the day all vanished. Sharpe knew what he had todo, and knew it as clearly as though his whole life had been spentwaiting for just this moment.He kicked the roan mare straight at the enemy.

He could not reach theGeneral, for Wellesley was still in the saddle of the wounded Diomedwho was sliding on the ground and trailing the pikestaff from hisbleeding chest, and the threat of the horse’s weight had driven theenemy aside, three to the left and three to the right. One fired hismusket at Wellesley, but the ball flew wide, and then, as Diomedslowed, the Mahrattas closed in and it was then that Sharpe struckthem. He used the mare as a battering ram, taking her perilously closeto where the General had fallen from the saddle, and he drove her intothe three gunners on the right, scattering them, and at the same timehe kicked his feet from the stirrups and swung himself off the horse sothat he fell just beside the dazed Wellesley. Sharpe stumbled as hefell, but he came up from the ground snarling with the sabre sweepingwide at the three men he had charged, but they had been driven back bythe mare’s impact, and so Sharpe whipped back to see a gunner standingright over the General with a bayonet raised, ready to strike, and helunged at the man, screaming at him, and felt the sabre’s tip tearthrough the muscles of the gunner’s belly. Sharpe pushed the sabre,toppling the gunner back onto Diomed’s blood-flecked flank.The sabre stuck in the wound. The gunner was thrashing, his musketfallen, and one of his comrades was climbing over Diomed with a tulwarin his hand. Sharpe heaved on the sabre, jerking the dying man, butthe blade would not free itself of the flesh’s suction and so hestepped over Wellesley, who was still dizzied and on his back, put hisleft boot on the gunner’s groin and heaved again. The man with thetulwar struck down, and Sharpe felt a blow on his left shoulder, butthen his own sabre came free and he swung it clumsily at his newattacker. The man stepped back to avoid the blade and tripped on oneof Diomed’s rear legs.

He fell.Sharpe turned, his sabre sweeping blindly wide with drops of bloodflicking from its tip as he sought to drive back any enemies comingfrom his right. There were none. The General said something, but hewas still scarcely conscious of what was happening, and Sharpe knewthat he and the General were both going to die here if he did not findsome shelter fast.The big painted eighteenpounder gun offered some small safety, and soSharpe stooped, took hold of Wellesley’s collar, and unceremoniouslydragged the General towards the cannon. The General was notunconscious, for he clung to his slim straight sword, but he was halfstunned and helpless. Two men ran to cut Sharpe off from the gun’ssanctuary and he let go of the General’s stiff collar and attacked thepair.“Bastards,” he screamed as he fought them. Bugger the advice aboutstraight arm and parrying, this was a time to kill in sheer rage and hewent for the two gunners in a berserk fury. The sabre was a clumsyweapon, but it was sharp and heavy and he almost severed the firstman’s neck and the subsequent backswing opened the second man’s arm tothe bone, and Sharpe turned back to Wellesley, who was still notrecovered from the impact of his fall, and he saw an Arab lancerspurring his horse straight at the fallen General.

Sharpe bellowed anobscenity at the man, then leaped forward and slashed the sabre’s heavyblade across the face of the lancer’s horse and saw the beast swerveaside. The lance blade jerked up into the air as the Arab tried tocontrol his pain-maddened horse, and Sharpe stooped, took Wellesley’scollar again, and hauled the General into the space between the gun’sgaudy barrel and one of its gigantic wheels.“Stay there!” Sharpe snapped to Wellesley, then turned around to seethat the Arab had been thrown from his horse, but was now leading acharge of gunners. Sharpe went to meet them. He swept the lance asidewith the sabre’s blade, then rammed the weapon’s bar hilt into theArab’s face. He felt the man’s nose break, kicked him in the balls,shoved him back, hacked down with the sabre, then turned to his leftand sliced the blade within an inch of a gunner’s eyes.The attackers backed away, leaving Sharpe panting. Wellesley at laststood, steadying himself with one hand on the gun wheel”Sergeant Sharpe?” Wellesley asked in puzzlement.“Stay there, sir,” Sharpe said, without turning round. He had four menin front of him now, four men with bared teeth and bright weapons.

Their eyes nicked from Sharpe to Wellesley and back to Sharpe. TheMahrattas did not know they had the British General trapped, but theyknew the man beside the gun must be a senior officer for his red coatwas bright with braid and lace, and they came to capture him, but toreach him they first needed to pass Sharpe. Two men came from thegun’s far side, and Wellesley parried a pike blade with his sword, thenstepped away from the gun to stand beside Sharpe and immediately a rushof enemy came to seize him.“Get back!” Sharpe shouted at Wellesley, then stepped into the enemy’scharge.He grabbed a pike that was reaching for the General’s belly, tugged ittowards him, and met the oncoming gunner with the sabre’s tip. Straightinto the man’s throat, and he twisted the blade free and swung it rightand felt the steel jar on a man’s skull, but there was no time toassess the damage, just to step left and stab at a third man. Hisshoulder was bleeding, but there was no pain. He was keening a madnoise as he fought and it seemed to Sharpe at that instant as though hecould do nothing wrong. It was as if the enemy had been magicallyslowed to half speed and he had been quickened. He was much tallerthan any of them, he was much stronger, and he was suddenly muchfaster.

He was even enjoying the fight, had he known anything of whathe felt, but he sensed only the madness of battle, the sublime madnessthat blots out fear, dulls pain and drives a man close to ecstasy. Hewas screaming obscenities at the enemy, begging them to come and bekilled.He moved to his right and slashed the blade in a huge downward cut thatopened a man’s face. The enemy had retreated, and Wellesley again cameto Sharpe’s side and so invited the attackers to close in again, andSharpe again pushed the General back into the space between the tallgun wheel and the huge painted barrel of the eighteenpounder.“Stay there,” he snapped, ‘and watch under the barrel!” He turned awayto face the attackers.“Come on, you bastards! Come on! I want you!“Two men came, and Sharpe stepped towards them and used both his handsto bring the heavy sabre down in a savage cut that bit through the hatand skull of the nearest enemy. Sharpe screamed a curse at the dyingman, for his sabre was trapped in his skull, but he wrenched it freeand sliced it right, a grey jelly sliding off its edge, to chase thesecond man back. That man held up his hands as he retreated, as if tosuggest that he did not want to fight after all, and Sharpe cursed himas he slashed the blade’s tip through his gullet. He spat on thestaggering man and spat dry-mouthed again at the enemies who werewatching him.“Come on! Come on!” he taunted them.

“Yellow bastards! Come on!“There were at last horsemen riding back to help now, but more Mahrattaswere closing in on the fight. Two men tried to reach Wellesley acrossthe cannon barrel and the General stabbed one in the face, then slashedat the arm of the other as he reached beneath the gun barrel. Behindhim Sharpe was screaming insults at the enemy and one man took up thechallenge and ran at Sharpe with a bayonet. Sharpe shouted in whatsounded like delight as he parried the lunge and then punched thesabre’s hilt into the man’s face. Another man was coming from theright and so Sharpe kicked his first assailant’s legs out from underhim, then slashed at the newcomer. Christ knows how many of thebastards there were, but Sharpe did not care. He had come here tofight and God had given him one screaming hell of a battle. The manparried Sharpe’s cut, lunged, and Sharpe stepped past the lunge andhammered the sabre’s bar hilt into the man’s eye. The man screamed andclutched at Sharpe, who tried to throw him off by punching the hiltinto his face again. The other attackers were vanishing now, fleeingfrom the horsemen who spurred back towards Wellesley.

But one Mahratta officer had been stalking Sharpe and he now saw hisopportunity as Sharpe was held by the half-blinded man. The officercame from behind Sharpe and he swung his tulwar at the back of theredcoat’s neck.The stroke was beautifully aimed. It hit Sharpe plumb on the nape ofhis neck, and it should have cut through his spine and dropped him deadto the bloody ground in an instant, but there was a dead king’s rubyhidden in the leather bag around which Sharpe’s hair was clubbed andthe big ruby stopped the blade dead. The jolt of the blow jerkedSharpe forward, but he kept his feet and the man who had been clutchinghim at last released his grip and Sharpe could turn. The officer swungagain and Sharpe parried so hard that the Sheffield steel slashed cleanthrough the tulwar’s light blade and the next stroke cut through theblade’s owner.“Bastard!” Sharpe shouted as he tugged the blade free and he whirledaround to kill the next man who came near, but instead it was CaptainCampbell who was there, and behind him were a dozen troopers whospurred their horses into the enemy and hacked down with theirsabres.For a second or two Sharpe could scarcely believe that he was alive.Nor could he believe that the fight was over. He wanted to killagain.

His blood was up, the rage was seething in him, and there was no moreenemy and so he contented himself by slashing the sabre down onto theMahratta officer’s head.“Bastard!” he shouted, then booted the man’s face to jolt the bladefree. Then, suddenly, he was shaking. He turned and saw thatWellesley was staring at him aghast and Sharpe was certain he must havedone something wrong. Then he remembered what it was.“Sorry, sir,” he said.“You’re sorry?” Wellesley said, though he seemed scarcely able tospeak. The General’s face was pale.“For pushing you, sir,” Sharpe said.“Sorry, sir.

Didn’t mean to, sir.“I hope you damn well did mean to,” Wellesley said forcibly, and Sharpesaw that the General, usually so calm, was shaking too.Sharpe felt he ought to say something more, but he could not think whatit was.“Lost your last horse, sir,” he said instead.“Sorry, sir.“Wellesley gazed at him. In all his life he had never seen a man fightlike Sergeant Sharpe, though in truth the General could not remembereverything that had happened in the last two minutes. He rememberedDiomed falling and he remembered trying to loosen his feet from thestirrups, and he remembered a blow on the head that was probably one ofDiomed’s flailing hooves, and he thought he remembered seeing a bayonetbright in the sky above him and he had known that he must be killed atthat moment, and then everything was a dizzy confusion. He recalledSharpe’s voice, using language that shocked even the General, who wasnot easily offended, and he remembered being thrust back against thegun so that the Sergeant could face the enemy alone, and Wellesley hadapproved of that decision, not because it spared him the need to fight,but because he had recognized that Sharpe would be hampered by hispresence.Then he had watched Sharpe kill, and he had been astonished by theferocity, enthusiasm and skill of that killing, and Wellesley knew thathis life had been saved, and he knew he must thank Sharpe, but for somereason he could not find the words and so he just stared at theembarrassed Sergeant whose face was spattered with blood and whose longhair had come loose so that he looked like a fiend from the pit.

Wellesley tried to frame the words that would express his gratitude,yet the syllables choked in his throat, but just then a trooper cametrotting to the gun with the reins of the roan mare in his hand. Themare had survived unhurt, and now the trooper offered the reins towardsWellesley who, as if in a dream, walked out of the sheltered spaceinside the gun’s tall wheel to step across the bodies Sharpe had putonto the ground. The General suddenly stooped and picked up a stone.“This is yours, Sergeant,” he said to Sharpe, holding out the ruby.“I saw it fall.“Thank you, sir. Thank you.” Sharpe took the ruby.The General frowned at the ruby. It seemed wrong for a sergeant tohave a stone that size, but once Sharpe had closed his fingers aboutthe stone, the General decided it must have been a blood-soaked pieceof rock.

It surely was not a ruby?“Are you all right, sir?” Major Blackiston asked anxiously.“Yes, yes, thank you, Blackiston.” The General seemed to shake off historpor and went to stand beside Campbell who had dismounted to kneelbeside Diomed. The horse was shaking and neighing softly.“Can he be saved?” Wellesley asked.“Don’t know, sir,” Campbell said.“The pike blade’s deep in his lung, poor thing.“Pull it out, Campbell. Gently. Maybe he’ll live.

” Wellesley lookedaround him to see that the yth Native Cavalry had scoured the gunnersaway and driven the remaining Mahratta horsemen off, while Harness’s778th had again marched into canister and round shot to capture thesouthern part of the Mahratta artillery. Harness’s adjutant nowcantered through the bodies scattered around the guns.“We’ve nails and mauls if you want us to spike the guns, sir,” he saidto Wellesley.“No, no. I think the gunners have learned their lesson, and we mighttake some of the cannon into our own service,” Wellesley said, then sawthat he was still holding his sword. He sheathed it.“Pity to spike good guns,” he added. It could take hours of hard workto drill a driven nail out of a touch-hole, and so long as the enemygunners were defeated then the guns would no longer be a danger. TheGeneral turned to an Indian trooper who had joined Campbell besideDiomed.“Can you save him?” he asked anxiously.

The Indian very gently pulled at the pike, but it would not move.“Harder, man, harder,” Campbell urged him, and laid his own hands onthe pike’s bloodied shaft.The two men tugged at the pike and the fallen horse screamed withpain.“Careful!” Wellesley snapped.“You want the pike in or out, sir?” Campbell asked.“Try and save him,” the General said, and Campbell shrugged, took holdof the shaft again, put his boot on the horse’s red wet chest, and gavea swift, hard heave. The horse screamed again as the blade left hishide and as a new rush of blood welled down to soak his white hair.“Nothing more we can do now, sir,” Campbell said.“Look after him,” Wellesley ordered the Indian trooper, then he frownedwhen he saw that his last horse, the roan mare, still had her trooper’ssaddle and that no one had thought to take his own saddle off Diomed.That was the orderly’s job and Wellesley looked for Sharpe, thenremembered he had to express his thanks to the Sergeant, but again thewords would not come and so Wellesley asked Campbell to change thesaddles, and once that was done he climbed onto the mare’s back.

Captain Barclay, who had survived his dash across the field, reined inbeside the General.“Wallace’s brigade is ready to attack, sir.“We need to get Harness’s fellows into line,” Wellesley said.“Any news of Maxwell?“Not yet, sir,” Barclay said. Colonel Maxwell had led the cavalry intheir pursuit across the River Juah.“Major!” Wellesley shouted at the commander of the NativeCavalry.“Have your men hunt down the gunners here. Make sure none of themlive, then guard the guns so they can’t be retaken. Gentlemen?“He spoke to his aides.“Let’s move on.

“Sharpe watched the General ride away into the thinning skein of cannonsmoke, then he looked down at the ruby in his hand and saw that it wasas red and shiny as the blood that dripped from his sabre tip. Hewondered if the ruby had been dipped in the fountain of Zum-Zum alongwith the Tippoo’s helmet. Was that why it had saved his life? It haddone bugger all for the Tippoo, but Sharpe was alive when he shouldhave been dead, and so, for that matter, was Major General Sir ArthurWellesley.The General had left Sharpe alone by the gun, all but for the dead anddying men and the trooper who was trying to staunch Diomed’s wound witha rag. Sharpe laughed suddenly, startling the trooper.“He didn’t even say thank you,” Sharpe said aloud.“What, sahib?” the trooper asked.“You don’t call me sahib,” Sharpe said.“I’m just another bloody soldier like you. Good for bloody nothingexcept fighting other people’s battles.

And ten to one the buggers won’t thank you.” He was thirsty so heopened one of the General’s canteens and drank from it greedily.“Is that horse going to live?“The Indian did not seem to understand everything Sharpe said, but thequestion must have made some sense for he pointed at Diomed’s mouth.The stallion’s lips were drawn back to reveal yellow teeth throughwhich a pale pink froth seeped. The Indian shook his head sadly.“I bled that horse,” Sharpe said, ‘and the General said he was greatlyobliged to me. Those were his very words, “greatly obliged”. Gave mea bloody coin, he did. But you save his life and he doesn’t even saythank you! I should have bled him, not his bloody horse. I shouldhave bled him to bloody death.

” He drank more of the water and wishedit were arrack or rum.“You know what the funny thing is?” he asked the Indian.“I didn’t even do it because he was the General. I did it because Ilike him. Not personally, but I do like him. In a strange sort ofway. I wouldn’t have done it for you. I’d have done it for TomGarrard, but he’s a friend, see? And I’d have done it for ColonelMcCandless, because he’s a proper gentleman, but I wouldn’t have doneit for too many others.” Sharpe sounded drunk, even to himself,but in truth he was stone cold sober in a battlefield that had suddenlygone silent beneath the westering sun. It was almost evening, butthere was still enough daylight left to finish the battle, thoughwhether Sharpe would have anything to do with the finishing seemeddebatable, for he had lost his job as the General’s orderly, had losthis horse, had lost his musket and was stranded with nothing but adented sabre.

“That ain’t really true,” he confessed to the uncomprehending Indian,‘what I said about liking him. I want him to like me, and that’sdifferent, ain’t it? I thought the miserable bugger might make me anofficer! Sod that for a hope, eh? No sash for me, lad. It’s back tobeing a bloody infantryman.“He used the bloody sabre to cut a strip of cloth from the robes of adead Arab, and he folded the strip into a pad that he pushed under hisjacket to staunch the blood from the tulwar wound on his left shoulder.It was not a serious injury, he decided, for he could feel no brokenbones and his left arm was unhindered. He tossed the dented sabreaway, found a discarded Mahratta musket, tugged the cartridge box andbayonet off the dead owner’s belt, then went to find someone to kill.It took half an hour to form the new line from the five battalions thathad marched through the Mahratta gunfire and put Pohlmann’s right toflight, but now the five battalions faced north towards Pohlmann’s newposition which rested its left flank on Assaye’s mud walls thenstretched along the southern bank of the River Juah. The Mahrattas hadforty guns remaining, Pohlmann still commanded eight thousand infantryand innumerable cavalry, and the Rajah of Berar’s twenty thousandinfantrymen still waited behind the village’s makeshift ramparts.Wellesley’s infantry numbered fewer than four thousand men, he had onlytwo light guns that were serviceable and scarcely six hundredcavalrymen mounted on horses that were bone weary and parched dry.“We can hold them!” Pohlmann roared at his men.

“We can hold them and beat them! Hold them and beat them.” He wasstill on horseback, and still in his gaudy silk coat. He had dreamedof riding his elephant across a field strewn with the enemy’s dead andpiled with the enemy’s captured weapons, but instead he was encouraginghis men to a last stand beside the river.“Hold them,” he shouted, ‘hold them and beat them.” The Juah flowedbehind his men, while in front of them the shadows stretched longacross Assaye’s battle-littered farmlands.Then the pipes sounded again, and Pohlmann turned his horse to look atthe right-hand end of his line and he saw the tall black bearskins andthe swinging kilts of the damned Scottish regiment coming forwardagain. The sun caught their white crossbelts and glinted from theirbayonets. Beyond them, half hidden by the trees, the British cavalrywas threatening, though they seemed to be checked by a battery ofcannon on the right of Pohlmann’s line. The Hanoverian knew thecavalry was no danger. It was the infantry, the unstoppablered-jacketed infantry, that was going to beat him, and he saw the sepoybattalions starting forward on the Highlanders’ flank and he halfturned his horse, thinking to ride to where the Scottish regiment wouldstrike his line.

It would hit Saleur’s compoo, and suddenly Pohlmanncould not care less any more. Let Saleur fight his battle, becausePohlmann knew it was lost. He stared at the y78th and he reckoned thatno force on earth could stop such men.“The best damned infantry on earth,” he said to one of his aides.“Sahib?“Watch them! You’ll not see better fighting men while you live,“Pohlmann said bitterly, then sheathed his sword as he gazed at theScots who were once again being battered by cannon fire, but stilltheir two lines kept marching forward. Pohlmann knew he should go westto encourage Saleur’s men, but instead he was thinking of the gold hehad left behind in Assaye. These last ten years had been a fineadventure, but the Mahratta Confederation was dying before his eyes andAnthony Pohlmann did not wish to die with it. The rest of the Mahrattaprincedoms might fight on, but Pohlmann had decided it was time to takehis gold and run.Saleur’s compoo was already edging backwards. Some of the men from therearward ranks were not even waiting for the Scots to arrive, but wererunning back to the River Juah and wading through its muddy water thatcame up to their chests.

The rest of the regiments began to waver.Pohlmann watched. He had thought these three compoos were as fine asany infantry in the world, but they had proved to be brittle. TheBritish fired a volley and Pohlmann heard the heavy balls thump intohis infantry and he heard the cheer from the redcoats as they chargedforward with the bayonet, and suddenly there was no army opposing them,just a mass of men fleeing to the river.Pohlmann took off his gaudily plumed hat that would mark him as a prizecapture and threw it away, then stripped off his sash and coat andtossed them after the hat as he spurred towards Assaye. He had a fewminutes, he reckoned, and those minutes should be enough to secure hismoney and get away. The battle was lost and, for Pohlmann, the warwith it. It was time to retire.

CHAPTER 12

Assaye alone remained in enemy hands for the rest of Pohlmann’s armyhad simply disintegrated. The great majority of the Mahratta horsemenhad spent the afternoon as spectators, but now they turned and spurredwest towards Borkardan while to the north, beyond the Juah, theremnants of Pohlmann’s three compoos fled in panic, pursued by ahandful of British and Company cavalry on tired horses.

Great banks ofgunsmoke lay like fog across the field where men of both armies groanedand died. Diomed gave a great shudder, lifted his head a final time,then rolled his eyes and went still. The sepoy trooper, charged withguarding the horse, stayed at his post and waved the flies away fromthe dead Diomed’s face.The sun reddened the layers of gunsmoke. There was an hour of daylightleft, a few moments of dusk, and then it would be night, and Wellesleyused the last of the light to turn his victorious infantry towards themud walls of Assaye. He summoned gunners and had them haul capturedenemy cannon towards the village.“They won’t stand,” he told his aides.“A handful of round shot and the sight of some bayonets will send thempacking.“The village still held a small army. The Rajah of Berar’s twentythousand men were behind its thick walls, and Major Dodd had succeededin marching his own regiment into the village.

He had seen theremainder of the Mahratta line crumple, he had watched Anthony Pohlmanndiscard his hat and coat as he fled to the village and, rather than letthe panic infect his own men, Dodd had turned them eastwards, orderedthe regiment’s cumbersome guns to be abandoned, then followed hiscommanding officer into the tangle of Assaye’s narrow alleys. BenySingh, the Rajah of Berar’s warlord and the kill adar of the village’sgarrison, was glad to see the European.“What do we do?” he asked Dodd.“Do? We get out, of course. The battle’s lost.“Beny Singh blinked at him.“We just go?“Dodd dismounted from his horse and steered Beny Singh away from hisaides.“Who are your best troops?” he asked.“The Arabs.“Tell them you’re going to fetch reinforcements, tell them to defendthe village, and promise that if they can hold the place till nightfallthen help will come in the morning.

“But it won’t,” Beny Singh protested.“But if they hold,” Dodd said, ‘they cover your escape, sahib.” Hesmiled ingratiatingly, knowing that men like Beny Singh could yet playa part in his future.“The British will pounce on any fugitives leaving the village,” Doddexplained, ‘but they won’t dare attack men who are well drilled andwell commanded. I proved that at Ahmednuggur. So you’re most welcometo march north with my men, sahib. I promise they won’t be broken likethe rest.” He climbed back into his saddle and rode back to his Cobrasand ordered them to join Captain Joubert at the ford.“You’re to wait for me there,” he told them, then shouted for his ownsepoy company to follow him deeper into the village.The battle might be lost, but Dodd’s men had not failed him and he wasdetermined they should have a reward and so he led them to the housewhere Colonel Pohlmann had stored his treasure.

Dodd knew that if hedid not give his men gold then they would melt away to find anotherwarlord who would reward them, but if he paid them they would stayunder his command while he sought another prince as employer.He heard the sonorous bang of a great gun being fired beyond thevillage and he reckoned that the British had begun to pound Assaye’smud wall. Dodd knew that wall could not last long, for every shotwould crumble the dried mud bricks and collapse the roof beams of theoutermost houses so that in a few minutes there would be a wide breachleading into Assaye’s heart. A moment later the redcoats would beordered into the dusty breach and the village’s alleys would be cloggedby panic and filled with screams and bayonets.Dodd reached the alley leading to the courtyard where Pohlmann hadplaced his elephants and he saw, as he had expected, that the big gatewas still shut. Pohlmann was undoubtedly inside the courtyard,readying to escape, but Dodd could not wait for the Hanoverian to throwopen the gates, so instead he ordered his men to fight their waythrough the house. He left a dozen men to block the alley, gave one ofthose men his horse to hold, then led the rest of the sepoys towardsthe house. Pohlmann’s bodyguard saw them coming and fired, but firedtoo early and Dodd survived the panicked volley and roared his menon.“Kill them!” he shouted as, sword in hand, he charged through themusket smoke. He kicked the house door open and plunged into a kitchencrowded with purple-coated men.

He lunged with his sword, driving thedefenders back, and then his sepoys arrived to carry their bayonets toPohlmann’s men.“Gopal!” Dodd shouted.“Sahib?” the Jemadar said, tugging his tulwar from the body of a deadman.“Find the gold! Make sure it’s loaded on the elephants, then open thecourtyard gate!” Dodd snapped the orders, then went on killing.He was consumed with a huge anger. How could any fool have lost thisbattle? How could a man, given a hundred thousand troops, be beaten bya handful of redcoats? It was Pohlmann’s fault, all Pohlmann, and Doddknew Pohlmann had to be somewhere in the house or courtyard and so hehunted him and vented his rage on Pohlmann’s guards, pursuing them fromroom to room, slaughtering them mercilessly, and all the while thegreat guns hammered the sky with their noise and the round shot thumpedinto the village walls.Most of the Rajah of Berar’s infantry fled. Those on the makeshiftramparts could see the redcoats massing beyond the smoke of the bigcannon and they did not wait for that infantry to attack, but insteadran northwards. Only the Arab mercenaries stayed, and some of thosemen decided caution was better than bravery and so joined the otherinfantry that splashed through the ford where Captain Joubert waitedwith Dodd’s regiment.Joubert was nervous.

The village’s defenders were fleeing, Dodd wasmissing, and Simone was still somewhere in the village. It was likeAhmednuggur all over again, he thought, only this time he wasdetermined that his wife would not be left behind and so he kicked backhis heels and urged his horse towards the house where she had takenrefuge.That house was hard by the courtyard where Dodd was searching forPohlmann, but the Hanoverian had vanished. His gold was all in itspanniers, and Pohlmann’s bodyguard had succeeded in strapping thepanniers onto the two pack elephants before Dodd’s men attacked,but there was no sign of Pohlmann himself. Dodd decided he would letthe bastard live, and so, abandoning the hunt, he sheathed his swordthen lifted the locking bar from the courtyard gates.“Where’s my horse?” he shouted to the men he had left guarding thealley.“Dead, sahib,” a man answered.Dodd ran down the alley to see that his precious new gelding had beenstruck by a bullet from the one volley fired by Pohlmann’s bodyguard.The beast was not yet dead, but it was leaning against the alley wallwith its head down, dulled eyes and blood dripping from its mouth. Doddswore.

The big guns were still firing beyond the village, showing thatthe redcoats were not advancing yet, but suddenly they went silent andDodd knew he had only minutes left to make his escape, and just then hesaw another horse turn into the alley. Captain Joubert was in thesaddle, and Dodd ran to him.“Joubert!“Joubert ignored Dodd. Instead he cupped his hands and shouted up atthe house where the wives had been sheltered during the fighting.“Simone!“Give me your horse, Captain!” Dodd demanded.Joubert still ignored the Major.“Simone!” he called again, then spurred his horse on up the alley. Hadshe already gone? Was she north of thejuah?“Simone?” he shouted.“Captain!” Dodd screamed behind him.Joubert turned, summoned the courage to tell the Englishman to go tohell, but as he turned he saw that Dodd was holding a big pistol.

“No!“Joubert protested.“Yes, Monsewer,” Dodd said, and fired. The ball snatched Joubert backagainst the alley wall and he slid down to leave a trail of blood. Awoman screamed from a window above the alley as Dodd pulled himselfinto the Frenchman’s saddle. Gopal was already leading the firstelephant out of the gate.“To the ford, Gopal!” Dodd shouted, then he spurred into the courtyardto make certain that the second elephant was ready to leave.While outside, in the alleys, there was a sudden silence. Most of thevillage’s garrison had fled, the dust drifted from its broken walls,and then the order was given for the redcoats to advance. Assaye wasdoomed.Colonel McCandless had watched Dodd’s men retreat into the village andhe doubted that the traitor was leading his men to reinforce the doomedgarrison.

“Sevajee!” McCandless called.“Take your men to the far side!“Across the river?” Sevajee asked.“Watch to see if he crosses the ford,” McCandless said.“Where will you be, Colonel?“In the village.” McCandless slid from Aeolus’s back and limpedtowards the captured guns that had started to fire at the mud walls.The shadows were long now, the daylight short and the battle ending,but there was still time for Dodd to be trapped. Let him be a hero,McCandless prayed, let him stay in the village just long enough to becaught.The big guns were only three hundred paces from the village’s thickwall and each shot pulverized the mud bricks and started great cloudsof red dust that billowed thick as gunsmoke. Wellesley summoned thesurvivors of the 74th and a Madrassi battalion and lined them both upbehind the guns.“They won’t stand, Wallace,” Wellesley said to the 74th’s commander.

“We’ll give them five minutes of artillery, then your fellows can takethe place.“Allow me to congratulate you, sir,” Wallace said, taking a hand fromhis reins and holding it towards the General.“Congratulate me?” Wellesley asked with a frown.“On a victory, sir.“I suppose it is a victory.“Pon my soul, so it is. Thank you, Wallace.“The General leaned across and shook the Scotsman’s hand.“A great victory,” Wallace said heartily, then climbed out of hissaddle so that he could lead the 74th into the village.McCandless joined him.

“You don’t mind if I come, Wallace?“Glad of your company, McCandless. A great day, is it not?“The Lord has been merciful to us,” McCandless agreed.“Praise His name.“The guns ceased, their smoke drifted northwards and the dying sun shoneon the broken walls. There were no defenders visible, nothing but dustand fallen bricks and broken timbers.“Go, Wallace!” Wellesley called, and the 74th’s lone piper hoisted hisinstrument and played the redcoats and the sepoys forward. The otherbattalions watched. Those other battalions had fought all afternoon,they had destroyed an army, and now they sprawled beside the Juah anddrank its muddy water to slake their powder-induced thirst. Nonecrossed the river, only a handful of cavalry splashed through the waterto chase the laggard fugitives on the farther bank.Major Blackiston brought Wellesley a captured standard, one of a scorethat had been abandoned by the fleeing Mahrattas.

“They left all their guns too, sir, every last one of them!“Wellesley acknowledged the standard with a smile.“I’d rather you brought me some water, Blackiston. Where are mycanteens?“Sergeant Sharpe still has them, sir,” Campbell answered, holding hisown canteen to the General.“Ah yes, Sharpe.” The General frowned, knowing there was unfinishedbusiness there.“If you see him, bring him to me.“I will, sir.“Sharpe was not far away. He had walked north through the litter of theMahratta battle line, going to where the guns fired on the village and,just as they stopped, so he saw McCandless walking behind the 74th asit advanced on the village. He hurried to catch up with the Coloneland was rewarded with a warm smile from McCandless.

“Thought I’d lost you, Sharpe.“Almost did, sir.“The General released you, did he?“He did, sir, in a manner of speaking. We ran out of horses, sir. Hehad two killed.“Two! An expensive day for him! It sounds as if you had an eventfultime!“Not really, sir,” Sharpe said.“Bit confusing, really.“The Colonel frowned at the blood staining the light infantry insigniaon Sharpe’s left shoulder.“You’re wounded, Sharpe.“A scratch, sir.

Bastard with sorry, sir man with a tulwar tried totickle me.“But you’re all right?” McCandless asked anxiously.“Fine, sir.” He raised his left arm to show that the wound was notserious.“The day’s not over yet,” McCandless said, then gestured at thevillage.“Dodd’s there, Sharpe, or he was. I’m glad you’re here. He’lldoubtless try to escape, but Sevajee’s on the far side of the river andbetween us we might yet trap the rogue.“Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill was a hundred paces behind McCandless.He too had seen the Colonel following the 74th and now Hakeswillfollowed McCandless, for if McCandless wrote his letter, then Hakeswillknew his sergeantcy was imperilled.

“It ain’t that I like doing it,” he said to his men as he stalked afterthe Colonel, ‘but he ain’t giving me a choice. No choice at all. Hisown fault. His own fault.” Three of his men were following him, theothers had refused to come.A musket fired from Assaye’s rooftops, showing that not all thedefenders had fled. The ball fluttered over Wallace’s head and theColonel, not wanting to expose his men to any other fire that mightcome from the village, shouted at his men to double.“Just get in among the houses, boys,” he called.“Get in and hunt them down! Quick now!“More muskets fired from the houses, but the 74th were running now, andcheering as they ran. The first men scrambled over the makeshiftbreach blown by the big guns, while others hauled aside a cart thatblocked an alleyway and, with that entrance opened, a twin stream ofScotsmen and sepoys hurried into the village.

The Arab defenders firedtheir last shots, then retreated ahead of the redcoat rush. A few weretrapped in houses and died under Scottish or Indian bayonets.“You go ahead, Sharpe,” McCandless said, for his wounded leg was makinghim limp and he was now far behind the Highlanders.“See if you can spot the man,” McCandless suggested, though he doubtedSharpe would. Dodd would be long gone by now, but there was always achance he had waited until the end and, if men of the 74th had trappedDodd, then Sharpe could at least try and make sure that the wretch wastaken alive.“Go, Sharpe,” the Colonel ordered, ‘hurry!“Sharpe dutifully ran on ahead. He clambered up the dust of the breachand jumped down into the pitiful wreckage of a room. He pushed throughthe house, stepped over a dead Arab sprawled in the outer door, edgedabout a dung heap in the courtyard, then plunged into an alleyway.Shots sounded from the river and so he headed that way past houses thatwere being looted of what little remained after the Mahrattaoccupation. A sepoy emerged from one house with a broken pot while aHighlander had found a broken brass weighing-scale, but the plunder wasnothing like the riches that had been taken in Ahmednuggur.

Anothervolley sounded ahead and Sharpe broke into a run, turned a corner andthen stopped above the village’s ford.Dodd’s regiment was on the far side of the river where two white coatedcompanies had formed a rear guard It was just like Ahmednuggur, whereDodd had guarded his escape route with volley fire, and now the Majorhad done it again. He was safely over the river withPohlmann’s two elephants, and his men had been firing at any redcoatswho dared show on the ford’s southern bank, but then, just as Sharpearrived at the ford, the rear guard about turned and marched north.“He got away,” a man said, ‘the bastard got clean away,” and Sharpelooked at the speaker and saw an East India Company sergeant in adoorway a few yards away. The man was smoking a cheroot and appearedto be standing guard over a group of prisoners in the house behindhim.Sharpe turned to watch Dodd’s regiment march into the shadow of sometrees.“The bastard,” Sharpe spat. He could see Dodd on his horse just aheadof the two rear guard companies, and he was tempted to raise his musketand try one last shot, but the range was much too great and then Doddvanished among the shadows. His rear guard followed him.Sharpe could see Sevajee off to the west, but the Indian washelpless.

Dodd had five hundred men in ranks and files, and Sevajee had but tenhorsemen.“He bloody got away again,” Sharpe said, and spat towards the river.“With my gold,” the East India Company sergeant said miserably, andSharpe looked again at the man.“Bloody hell,” Sharpe said in astonishment, for he was looking atAnthony Pohlmann who had donned his old sergeant’s uniform.Pohlmann’s ‘prisoners’ were a small group of his bodyguard.“A pity,” Pohlmann said, spitting a scrap of tobacco from between histeeth.“Ten minutes ago I was one of the richest men in India. Now I supposeI’m your prisoner?“I couldn’t care less about you, sir,” Sharpe said, slinging the musketon his shoulder.“You don’t want to march me to Wellesley?” the Hanoverian asked.“It would be a great feather in your cap.

“That bastard doesn’t give feathers,” Sharpe said.“He’s a stuck-up, cold-hearted bastard, he is, and I’d rather fillethim than you.“Pohlmann grinned.“So I can go, Sergeant Sharpe?“Do what you bloody like,” Sharpe said.“How many men have you got in there?“Five. That’s all he left me. He slaughtered the rest.“Dodd did?“He tried to kill me, but I hid under some straw. A shameful end to mycareer as a warlord, wouldn’t you say?” Pohlmann smiled.“I think you did well, Sergeant Sharpe, to turn down my commission.

“Sharpe laughed bitterly.“I know my place, sir. Down in the gutter.Officers don’t want men like me joining them. I might scratch my arseon parade or piss in their soup.” He walked to the small house andpeered through the open door.“Better tell your fellows to take their coats off, sir. They’ll beshot otherwise.” Then he went very still for, crouching at the back ofthe small room, was a woman in a shabby linen dress and a straw hat. Itwas Simone.

Sharpe pulled off his shako.“Madame?“She stared at him, seeing only his silhouette against the dazzle of theday’s last sun.“Simone?” Sharpe said.“Richard?“It’s me, love.” He grinned.“Don’t tell me you got left behind again!“He killed Pierre!” Simone cried. “I watched him. He shot him!“Dodd?“Who else?” Pohlmann asked behind Sharpe.Sharpe stepped into the room and held his hand towards Simone.“You want to stay here,” he asked her, ‘or come with me?“She hesitated a second, then stood and took his hand.

Pohlmannsighed.“I was hoping to console the widow, Sharpe.“You lost, sir,” Sharpe said, ‘you lost.” And he walked away withSimone, going to find McCandless to give him the bad news. Dodd hadescaped.Colonel McCandless limped up the breach and into Assaye. He sensedthat Dodd was gone, for there was no more fighting in the village,though some shots still sounded from the river bank, but even thoseshots ended as the Scotsman edged past the dead man in the housedoorway and through the courtyard into the street.And perhaps, he thought, it did not really matter any longer, for thisday’s victory would echo throughout all India. The redcoats had brokentwo armies, they had ruined the power of two mighty princes, and fromthis day on Dodd would be hunted from refuge to refuge as the Britishpower spread northwards. And it would spread, McCandless knew.

Eachnew advance was declared to be the last, but each brought new frontiersand new enemies and so the redcoats marched again, and maybe they wouldnever stop marching until they reached the great mountains in the verynorth. And maybe it was there,McCandless thought, that Dodd would at last be trapped and shot downlike a dog.And suddenly McCandless did not care very much. He felt old. The painin his leg was terrible. He was still weak from his fever. It wastime, he thought, to go home. Back to Scotland. He should sellAeolus, repay Sharpe, take his pension, and board a ship. Go home, hethought, to Lochaber and to the green slopes of Glen Scaddle.

Therewas work to be done in Britain, useful work, for he was correspondingwith men in London and Edinburgh who wished to establish a society tospread Bibles throughout the heathen world and McCandless decided hecould find a small house in Lochaber, hire a servant, and spend hisdays translating God’s word into the Indian languages. That, hethought, would be a job worth doing, and he wondered why he had waitedso long. A small house, a large fire, a library, a table, a supply ofink and paper and, with God’s help, he could do more for India fromthat one small house than he could ever achieve by hunting down onetraitor.The thought of the great task cheered him, then he turned a corner andsaw Pohlmann’s great elephant wandering free in an alleyway.“You’re lost, boy,” he said to the elephant and took hold of one of itsears.“Someone left the gate open, didn’t they?“He turned the elephant which followed him happily enough. They walkedpast a dead horse, and then McCandless saw a dead European in a whitejacket, and for an instant he thought it must be Dodd, then herecognized Captain Joubert lying on his back with a bullet hole in hisbreast.“Poor man,” he said, and he guided the elephant through the gate intothe courtyard.“I’ll make sure you’re brought some food,” he told the beast, then heturned and barred the gate.He left the courtyard through the house, picking his way across thewelter of bodies in the kitchen.

He pushed open the outer door andfound himself staring into Sergeant Hakeswill’s blue eyes.“I’ve been looking for you, sir,” Hakeswill said.“You and I have no business, Sergeant,” McCandless said.“Oh, but we does, sir,” Hakeswill said, and his three men blocked thealley behind him.“I wanted to talk to you, sir,” Hakeswill said, ‘about that letter youain’t going to write to my Colonel Gore.“McCandless shook his head.“I have nothing to say to you, Sergeant.“I hates the bleeding Scotch,” Hakeswill said, his face twitching.“All prayers and morals, ain’t you, Colonel? But I ain’t cumbered withmorals. It’s an advantage I have.

” He grinned, then drew his bayonetand slotted it onto the muzzle of his musket.“They hanged me once, Colonel, but I lived ‘cos God loves me, He does,and I ain’t going to be punished again, not ever. Not by you, Colonel,not by any man. Says so in the scriptures.” He advanced on McCandlesswith the bayonet. His three men hung back and McCandless reckoned theywere nervous, but Hakeswill showed no fear of this confrontation.“Put up your weapon, Sergeant,” McCandless snapped.“Oh, I will, sir, I’ll put it up inside you unless you promises me onthe holy word of God that you won’t write no letter.“I shall write the letter tonight,” McCandless said, then drew hisclaymore.“Now put up your weapon, Sergeant.

“Hakes wilTs face twitched. He stopped three paces from McCandless.“You’d like to strike me down, wouldn’t you, sir?“Cos you don’t like me, sir, do you? But God loves me, sir, he does.He looks after me.“You’re under arrest, Sergeant,” McCandless said, ‘for threatening anofficer.“Let’s see who God loves most, sir. Me or you.“Put up your weapon!” McCandless roared.“Bloody Scotch bastard,” Hakeswill said, and pulled his trigger. Thebullet caught McCandless in the gullet and blew out through the back ofhis spine, and the Colonel was dead before his body touched the floor.

The elephant in the nearby courtyard, startled by the shot, trumpeted,but Hakeswill ignored the beast.“Scotch bastard,” he said, then stepped through the doorway and kneltto the body which he searched for gold.“And if any one of you three says a bleeding word,” he threatened hismen, ‘you’ll join him in heaven. If he’s gone there, which I doubt, onaccount of God not wanting to clutter paradise with Scotchmen. Says soin the scriptures.” He found gold in McCandless’s sporran and turnedto show the coins to his men.“You want it?” he asked.“Then you keeps silent about it.“They nodded. They wanted gold.

Hakeswill tossed them the coins, thenled them deeper into the house to see if there was anything worthplundering in its rooms.“And once we’re done,” he said, ‘we’ll find the General, we will, andhave him give us Sharpie. We’re almost there, lads. It’s been a longroad, it has, and hard in places, but we’re almost there.“Sharpe searched the village for Colonel McCandless, but could not findhim in any of the alleys. He took Simone with him as he searched someof the larger houses and, from one high window, he found himselfstaring down into the courtyard where Pohlmann’s great elephant waspenned, but there was no sign of McCandless and Sharpe decided he waswasting his time.“I reckon we’ll give up, love,” he told Simone.“He’ll look for me, like enough, probably down by the river.” Theywalked back to the ford. Pohlmann had vanished and Dodd’s men had longdisappeared.

The sun was at the horizon now and the farmlands north ofthe Juah were stained black by long shadows. The men who had capturedthe village were filling their canteens from the river, and the firstfew campfires glittered in the dusk as men boiled water to makethemselves tea. Simone clung to him and kept talking of her husband.She felt guilty because she had not loved him, yet he had died becausehe had gone back into the village to find her, and Sharpe did not knowhow to console her.“He was a soldier, love,” he told her, ‘and he died in battle.“But I killed him!“No, you didn’t,” Sharpe said, and he heard hooves behind him and heturned, hoping to see Colonel McCandless, but instead it was GeneralWellesley and Colonel Wallace and a score of aides riding up to theford. He straightened to attention.“Sergeant Sharpe,” Wellesley said, sounding embarrassed.“Sir,” Sharpe said woodenly.The General slid from his saddle.

His face was red, and Sharpesupposed that was the effect of the sun.“I have been remiss, Sergeant,” the General said awkwardly, ‘for Ibelieve I owe you my life.“Sharpe felt himself blushing and was glad that the sun was low and theroadway where he stood was in deep shadow.“Just did my best, sir,” he muttered.“This is Madame Joubert, sir. Her husband was killed, sir, fightingfor Colonel Pohlmann.“The General took off his hat and bowed to Simone.“My commiserations, Madam”,” he said, then looked back to Sharpe whoselong black hair still spilled over his collar.“Do you know where Colonel McCandless is?” he asked.“No, sir.

I’ve been looking for him, sir.“Wellesley fidgeted with his hat, paused to take a deep breath, thennodded.“Colonel McCandless managed to have a long talk with Colonel Wallacethis afternoon,” the General said.“How they found time to have a conversation in battle, I don’t know!“This was evidently a jest, for the General smiled, though Sharpe stayedstraight-faced,and his lack of reaction disconcerted Wellesley.“I have to reward you, Sharpe,” Wellesley said curtly.“For what, sir?“For my life,” the General said in a tone of irritation.“I’m just glad I was there, sir,” Sharpe said, feeling as awkward asWellesley himself evidently felt.“I’m rather glad you were there too,” the General said, then took astep forward and held out his hand.“Thank you, Mister Sharpe.“Sharpe hesitated, astonished at the gesture, then made himself shakethe General’s hand.

It was only then that he noticed what Wellesleyhad said.“Mister, sir?” he asked.“It is customary in this army, Mister Sharpe, to reward uncommonbravery with uncommon promotion. Wallace tells me you desire acommission, and he has vacancies in the 74th. God knows he has toomany vacancies, so if you’re agreeable, Sharpe, you can join theColonel’s regiment as an ensign.“For a second Sharpe did not really comprehend what was being said, thenhe suddenly did and he smiled. There were tears in his eyes, but hereckoned that must be because of the powder smoke that lingered in thevillage.“Thank you, sir,” he said warmly, ‘thank you.“There, that’s done,” Wellesley said with relief.“My congratulations, Sharpe, and my sincere thanks.

” His aides wereall smiling at Sharpe, not Sergeant Sharpe any longer, but EnsignSharpe of the King’s 74th.Captain Campbell even climbed down from his saddle and offered his handto Sharpe who was still smiling as he shook it.“It’ll turn out badly, of course,” Wellesley said to Campbell as heturned away.“It always does. We promote them beyond their station and theyinevitably take to drink.“He’s a good man, sir,” Campbell said loyally.“I doubt that too. But he’s a good soldier, I’ll say that. He’s allyours now, Wallace, all yours!” The General pulled himself into hissaddle, then turned to Simone.“Madame? I can offer you very little but if you care to join me forsupper I would be honoured.

Captain Campbell will escort you.“Campbell held his hand out to Simone. She looked at Sharpe, who noddedat her, and she shyly accepted Campbell’s arm and followed the Generalback up the street. Colonel Wallace paused to lean down from his horseand shake Sharpe’s hand.“I’ll give you a few minutes to clean yourself up, Sharpe, and to getthose stripes off your arm.You might like to chop off some of that hair, while you’re about it.And I hate to suggest it, but if you walk a few paces east of thevillage you’ll find plenty of red sashes on corpses. Pick one, helpyourself to a sword, then come and meet your fellow officers. They’refew enough now, I fear, so you’ll surely be welcome. Even the menmight be glad of you, despite your being English.

” Wallace smiled.I’m very grateful to you, sir,” Sharpe said. He was still scarcelyable to believe what had happened. He was Mister Sharpe! Mister!“And what do you want?” Wallace suddenly asked in an icy tone, andSharpe saw that his new Colonel was staring at Obadiah Hakeswill.“Him, sir,” Hakeswill said, pointing at Sharpe.“Sergeant Sharpe, sir, what is under arrest.“Wallace smiled.“You may arrest Sergeant Sharpe, Sergeant, but you will certainly notarrest Ensign Sharpe.“Ensign?” Hakeswill said, going pale.“Mister Sharpe is a commissioned officer, Sergeant,” Wallace saidcrisply, ‘and you will treat him as such.

Good day.” Wallace touchedhis hat to Sharpe, then turned his horse and rode away.Hakeswill gaped at Sharpe.“You, Sharpie,” he said, ‘an officer?“Sharpe walked closer to the Sergeant.“That’s not how you address a King’s officer, Obadiah, and you knowit.“You?” HakeswilPs face twitched.“You?” he asked again in horror and amazement.Sharpe thumped him in the belly, doubling him over.“You call me “sir”, Obadiah,” he said.“I won’t call you “sir”,” Hakeswill said between gasps for breath.

“Not till hell freezes, Sharpie, and not even then.“Sharpe hit him again. Hakeswill’s three men watched, but didnothing.“You call me “sir”,” Sharpe said.“You ain’t an officer, Sharpie,” Hakeswill said, then yelped becauseSharpe had seized his hair and was dragging him up the street. Thethree men started to follow, but Sharpe snarled at them to stay wherethey were, and all three obeyed.“You’ll call me “sir”, Sergeant,” Sharpe said, ‘just you watch.” Andhe pulled Hakeswill up the street, going back to the house from wherehe had seen the elephant. He dragged Hakeswill through the door and upthe stairs. The Sergeant screamed at him, beat at him, but Hakeswillhad never been a match for Sharpe who now snatched the musket fromHakeswill’s hand, threw it away, then took him to the window thatopened just one floor above the courtyard.

“See that elephant, Obadiah?” he asked, holding the Sergeant’s face inthe open window.“Iwatched it trample a man to death not long ago.“You won’t dare, Sharpie,” Hakeswill squealed, then yelped as Sharpetook hold of the seat of his pants.“Call me “sir”,” Sharpe said.“Never! You ain’t an officer!“But I am, Obadiah, I am. I’m Mister Sharpe. I’ll wear a sword and asash and you’ll have to salute me.“Never!“Sharpe heaved Hakeswill onto the window ledge.“If you ask me to put you down,” he said, ‘and if you call me “sir”,I’ll let you go.“You ain’t an officer,” Hakeswill protested.

“You can’t be!“But I am, Obadiah,” Sharpe said, and he heaved the Sergeant over theledge. The Sergeant screamed as he fell into the straw below, and theelephant, made curious by this strange irruption into this alreadystrange day, plodded over to inspect him. Hakeswill beat feebly at theanimal which had him cornered.“Goodbye, Obadiah,” Sharpe called, then he used the words he rememberedPohlmann shouting when Dodd’s sepoy had been trampled to death.“Haddahl’ Sharpe snapped.Had daW “Get the bastard off me!” Hakeswill screamed as the elephantmoved still closer and raised a forefoot.“That won’t do, Obadiah,” Sharpe said.“Sir!” Hakeswill called.“Please, sir! Get it off me!“What did you say?” Sharpe asked, cupping a hand to his ear.“Sir! Sir! Please, sir! Mister Sharpe, sir!“Rot in hell, Obadiah,” Sharpe called down, and walked away.

The sunwas gone, the village was stinking with powder smoke, and two armieslay in ragged ruin on the bloody fields outside Assaye, but that greatvictory was not Sharpe’s. It was the voice calling from the courtyard,calling frantically as Sharpe ran down the wooden stairs and walkeddown the alleyway.“Sir! Sir!” Hakeswill shouted, and Sharpe listened and smiled, forthat, he reckoned, was his real victory. It was Mister Sharpe’striumph.Historical Note The background events to Sharpens Triumph, the siege ofAhmednuggur and the battle of Assaye, both happened much as describedin the novel, just as many of the characters in the story existed. Notjust the obvious characters, like Wellesley, but men like ColinCampbell, who was the first man over the wall at Ahmednuggur, andAnthony Pohlmann who truly was once a sergeant in the East IndiaCompany, but who commanded the Mahratta forces at Assaye. Whathappened to Pohlmann after the battle is something of a mystery, butthere is some evidence that he rejoined the East India Company armyagain, only this time as an officer. Colonel Gore, Colonel Wallace andColonel Harness all existed, and poor Harness was losing his wits andwould need to retire soon after the battle. The massacre at Chasalgaonis a complete invention, though there was a Lieutenant William Dodd whodid defect to the Mahrattas just before the campaign rather than face acivilian trial for the death of the goldsmith he had ordered beaten.Dodd had been sentenced to six months’ loss of pay and Wellesley,enraged by the leniency of the court martial, persuaded the East IndiaCompany to impose a new sentence, that of dismissal from their army,and planned to have Dodd tried for murder in a civilian court.

Dodd,hearing of the decision, fled, though I doubt that he took any sepoyswith him. Nevertheless desertion was a problem for the Company at thattime, for many sepoys knew that the Indian states would pay well forBritish-trained troops. They would pay even more for competentEuropean (or American) officers, and many such made their fortunes inthose years.The city of Ahmednuggur has grown so much that most traces of its wallhave now been swallowed by new building, but the adjacent fortressremains and is still a formidable stronghold. Today the fort is adepot of the Indian Army, and something of a shrine to Indians for itwas within the vast circuit of its red stone ramparts that the leadersof Indian independence were imprisoned by the British during the SecondWorld War. Visitors are welcome to explore the ramparts with theirimpressive bastions and concealed galleries. The height of the fort’swall was slightly greater than the city’s de fences and the fort,unlike the city, had a protective ditch, but the ramparts still offeran idea of the obstacle Wellesley’s men faced when they launched theirsurprise escalade on the morning of 8 August 1803. It was a bravedecision, and a calculated one, for Wellesley knew he would be heavilyoutnumbered in the Mahratta War and must have decided that a display ofarrogant confidence would abrade his enemy’s morale. The success ofthe attack certainly impressed some Indians. Goklah, a Mahratta leaderwho allied himself with the British, said of the capture ofAhmednuggur, “These English are a strange people, and their General awonderful man.

They came here in the morning, looked at the pettahwall, walked over it, killed all the garrison, and returned tobreakfast! What can withstand them?” Goklah’s tribute was apt, exceptthat it was Scotsmen who ‘walked over the wall’ and not Englishmen, andthe celerity of their victory helped establish Wellesley’s reputationfor invincibility. Lieutenant Colin Campbell of the y78th was rewardedfor his bravery with a promotion and a place on Wellesley’s staff. Heeventually became Sir Golin Campbell, governor of Ceylon.The story of Wellesley deducing the presence of the ford at Peepulgaonby observation and common sense is well attested. To use the ford wasan enormously brave decision, for no one knew if it truly existed untilWellesley himself spurred into the river. His orderly, from the igthDragoons, was killed as he approached the River Kaitna and nowhere isit recorded who took his place, but some soldier must have picked upthe dragoon’s duties for Wellesley did have two horses killed beneathhim that day and someone was close at hand on both occasions with aremount. Both horses died as described in the novel, the first duringthe 778this magnificent assault on Pohlmann’s right, and Diomed,Welesley’s favourite charger, during the scrappy fighting to retake theMahratta gun line. It was during that fight that Wellesley wasunhorsed and surrounded momentarily by enemies. He never told the talein detail, though it is believed he was forced to use his sword todefend himself, and it was probably the closest he ever came to deathin his long military career. Was his life saved by some unnamedsoldier? Probably not, for Wellesley would surely have given creditfor such an act that could well have resulted in a battlefieldcommission.

Wellesley was notorious for disliking such promotions from the ranks(‘they always take to drink’), though he did promote two men forconspicuous bravery on the evening of Assaye.Assaye is not the most famous of Arthur Wellesley’s battles, but it wasthe one of which he was most proud. Years later, long after he hadswept the French out of Portugal and Spain, and after he had defeatedNapoleon at Waterloo, the Duke of Wellington (as Arthur Wellesleybecame) was asked what had been his finest battle. He did nothesitate.“Assaye,” he answered, and so it surely was, for he out manoeuvred andoutfought a much larger enemy, and did it swiftly, brutally andbrilliantly.He did it, too, without Colonel Stevenson’s help. Stevenson tried toreinforce Wellesley, but his local guide misled him as he hurriedtowards the sound of the guns, and Stevenson was so upset by theguide’s error that he hanged the man.Assaye was one of the costliest of Wellesley’s battles: ‘the bloodiestfor the numbers that I ever saw,” the Duke recalled in later life.Pohlmann’s forces had 1200 killed and about 5000 wounded, whileWellesley suffered 456 dead (200 of them Scottish) and around 1200wounded. All the enemy guns, 102 of them, were captured and many werediscovered to be of such high quality that they were taken into Britishservice, though others, mostly because their calibres did not match theBritish standard artillery weights, were double-shot ted and blown upon the battlefield where some of their remnants still lie.

The battlefield remains virtually unchanged. No roads have been metalled the fords look as they did, and Assaye itself is scarcely largernow than it was in 1803. The outer walls of the houses are stillramparts of mud bricks, while bones and bullets are constantly ploughedout of the soil (‘they were very big men’, one farmer told me,indicating the ground where the 74th suffered so much). There is nomemorial at Assaye, except for a painted map of the armies’dispositions on one village wall and the grave of a British officerwhich has had its bronze plate stolen, but the inhabitants know thathistory was made in their fields, are proud of it and proved remarkablywelcoming when we visited. There ought to be some marker on the field,for the Scottish and Indian troops who fought at Assaye gained anastonishing victory. They were all extraordinarily brave men, andtheir campaign was not yet over, for some of the enemy have escaped andthe war will go on as Wellesley and his small army pursue the remainingMahrattas towards their great hill fastness at Gawilghur. Which meansthat Mister Sharpe must march again.