‘Trounced ’em proper, sir.’
‘And we’ll trounce them again, Sharpe, when they attack the city. They don’t know what’s waiting for them!’
‘What is waiting for them, sir?’ Sharpe asked.
‘You’ll see. You’ll see,’ Gudin said, then hauled himself up into his saddle. Sergeant Rothière wanted to stay in the tope to retrieve British muskets, so the Colonel insisted that Sharpe ride the second horse back to the city with the disconsolate prisoners who were under the guard of a gleeful company of the Tippoo’s troops.
Hakeswill looked up at Sharpe and spat. ‘Bloody traitor!’
‘Ignore him,’ Gudin said.
‘Snake!’ Hakeswill hissed. ‘Piece of no-good shit, that’s what you are, Sharpie. Jesus Christ!’ This last imprecation was because one of the escorting soldiers had hit the back of Hakeswill’s head with a musket barrel. ‘Black bastard,’ Hakeswill muttered.
‘I’d like to kick his bloody teeth in, sir,’ Sharpe said to Gudin. ‘In fact, if you’ve no objection, sir, I’ll take the bastard into the dark and finish him off.’
Gudin sighed. ‘I do object,’ the Colonel said mildly, ‘because it’s rather important we treat prisoners well, Sharpe. I sometimes fear the Tippoo doesn’t understand the courtesies of war, but so far I’ve managed to persuade him that if we treat our prisoners properly then our enemies will treat theirs properly in return.’
‘I’d still like to kick the bastard’s teeth in, sir.’
‘I assure you the Tippoo might do that without any help from you,’ Gudin said grimly.
Sharpe and the Colonel spurred ahead of the prisoners to cross the bridge back to the city where they dismounted at the Mysore Gate. Sharpe handed the mare’s reins to Gudin who thanked him yet again and tossed him a whole golden haideri as a reward. ‘Go and get drunk, Sharpe,’ the Colonel said, ‘you deserve it.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘And believe me, I’ll tell the Tippoo. He admires bravery!’
Lieutenant Lawford was among the curious crowd who waited just inside the gate. ‘What happened?’ he asked Sharpe.
‘I buggered up,’ Sharpe said bitterly. ‘I bloody well buggered it up. Come on, let’s spend some money. Get drunk.’
‘No, wait.’ Lawford had seen the redcoats coming through the flame light of the gate torches and he pulled away from Sharpe to watch as the thirteen prisoners were pushed at bayonet point into the city. The crowd began jeering.
‘Come away!’ Sharpe insisted and he tugged at Lawford’s elbow.
Lawford shook off the tug and stared at the prisoners, unable to hide his chagrin at the sight of British soldiers being herded into captivity. Then he recognized Hakeswill who, at the same instant, stared into the Lieutenant’s face, and Sharpe saw Hakeswill’s look of utter astonishment. For a second the world seemed to pause in its turning. Lawford appeared unable to move, while Hakeswill was gaping with disbelief and seemed about to shout his recognition. Sharpe was reaching to snatch a musket from one of the Tippoo’s infantrymen, but then Hakeswill turned deliberately away and composed his features as though sending a silent message that he would not remark on Lawford’s presence. The twelve grenadier prisoners were still a few yards behind and Lawford, suddenly realizing that yet more men of his battalion might recognize him, at last turned away. He pulled Sharpe with him. Sharpe protested. ‘I want to kill Hakeswill!’
‘Come on!’ Lawford hurried down an alley. The Lieutenant had gone pale. He stopped beside the arched doorway of a small temple that was surmounted by a carving of a cow resting beneath a parasol. Little flames sputtered inside the sanctuary. ‘Will he say anything?’ Lawford asked.
‘That bastard?’ Sharpe said. ‘Anything’s possible.’
‘Surely not. He wouldn’t betray us,’ Lawford said, then shuddered. ‘What happened, for God’s sake?’
Sharpe told him of the night’s events and how close he had come to making a clean break back to the British lines. ‘It were bloody Hakeswill that stopped me,’ he complained.
‘He could have misunderstood you,’ Lawford said.
‘Not him.’
‘But what happens if he does betray us?’ Lawford asked.
‘Then we join your uncle in the bloody cells,’ Sharpe said gloomily. ‘You should have let me shoot the bastard back at the gate.’
‘Don’t be a fool!’ Lawford snapped. ‘You’re still in the army, Sharpe. So am I.’ He suddenly shook his head. ‘God Almighty!’ he swore. ‘We need to find Ravi Shekhar.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if we can’t get the news out, then maybe he can!’ Lawford said angrily. His anger was at himself. He had been so beguiled by exploring the existence of a common soldier that he had forgotten his duty, and that dereliction now filled him with guilt. ‘We have to find him, Sharpe!’
‘How? We can’t ask in the streets for him!’
‘Then find Mrs Bickerstaff,’ Lawford said urgently. ‘Find her, Sharpe!’ He lowered his voice. ‘And that’s an order.’
‘I outrank you,’ Sharpe said.
Lawford turned on him furiously. ‘What did you say?’
‘I’m a corporal now, Private.’ Sharpe grinned.
‘This is not a joke, Sharpe!’ Lawford snapped. There was a sudden authority in his voice. ‘We’re not here to enjoy ourselves. We’re here to do a job.’
‘We’ve done it bloody well so far,’ Sharpe said defensively.
‘No, we haven’t,’ Lawford said firmly. ‘Because we haven’t got the news out, have we? And until we do that, Sharpe, we’ve achieved nothing. Absolutely nothing. So talk to your woman and tell her what we know and get her to find Shekhar. That’s an order, Private Sharpe. So do it!’ Lawford abruptly turned and stalked away.
Sharpe felt the comforting weight of the haideri in his tunic pocket. He thought about following Lawford, then decided to hell with it. Tonight he could afford the best and life was too short to pass up that sort of chance. He decided he would go back to the brothel. He had liked the place, a house filled with curtains, rugs and shaded oil lamps where two giggling girls had given Lawford and Sharpe baths before letting them go up the stairs to the bedrooms. A haideri would buy a whole night in one of those rooms, perhaps with Lali, the tall girl who had left Lieutenant Lawford exhausted and guilt-ridden.
So he went to spend his gold.
The 33rd marched unhappily back to the encampment. The wounded were carried or limped back and one man cried out every time he put his left foot down, but otherwise the battalion was silent. They had been whipped, and the distant jeers of the Tippoo’s men rubbed salt into their wounds. A last few rockets pursued them, their flames streaking wildly askew across the stars.
The Grenadier and Light Companies had taken the casualties. Men were missing and Wellesley knew that some of those missing were dead and he feared that others were prisoners or else still lying wounded among the dark trees. The remaining eight companies of the battalion had marched to support the flank companies, but in the dark they had crossed the aqueduct too far to the south and, while Wellesley had tried to find his beleaguered flank companies, Major Shee had stolidly marched straight through the tope and out across the aqueduct on the far side without encountering the enemy or firing a shot. The two sepoy battalions could easily have turned the night’s disaster into a victory, but they had received no orders, though one of the battalions, fearing disaster, had fired a panicked volley that had killed