Sharpe’s Triumph: The Battle of Assaye, September 1803

‘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 enemies of 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’s compoos. He was a great warrior, Sergeant, and Beny Singh was his rival. He invited my father to a feast and served him poison. That was three years ago. My mother killed herself, but my younger brother serves Beny Singh and my sister is one of his concubines. They too will die.’

‘And you escaped, sir?’ Sharpe asked.

‘I was serving in the East India Company cavalry, Sergeant,’ Sevajee answered. ‘My father believed a man should know his enemy, so sent me to Madras.’

‘Where we met,’ McCandless said brusquely, ‘and now Sevajee serves me.’

‘Because in return,’ Sevajee explained, ‘your British bayonets will hand Beny Singh to my revenge. And with him, of course, the reward for Dodd. Four thousand, two hundred rupees, is it not?’

‘So long as he’s taken alive,’ McCandless said dourly, ‘and it might be increased once the Court of Directors hears what he did at Chasalgaon.’

‘And to think I almost caught him,’ Sevajee said, and described how he and his few men had visited Ahmednuggur posing as brindarries who were loyal 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 his regiment, telling them how they would chase you British out of India.’

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 Indian service. He has never lost a battle, and his compoo is probably the finest infantry army in India. It already outnumbers Wellesley’s army, but if Scindia releases his other compoos, then together they will outnumber your Wellesley three to one. And if Scindia waits until Berar’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 are invincible. You believe you cannot be defeated, but you have not fought the Mahrattas. Your little army marches north full of confidence, 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 we would 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 so very far away.’ Two armies, both small, were invading the Mahratta Confederation, though Wellesley, as the senior officer, had control of both. ‘I reckon the mice will startle you yet,’ McCandless said.

They spent that night in a village. To the north, just beyond the horizon, the sky glowed red from the reflection of flames on the smoke of thousands of campfires, the sign that the British army was just a short march away. McCandless bargained with the headman for food and shelter, then frowned when Sevajee purchased a jar of fierce local arrack. Sevajee ignored the Scotsman’s disapproval, then went to join his men who were gaming in the village’s tavern. McCandless shook his head. ‘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 it he’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 confident about this whole business.’

‘The war, sir?’

McCandless shook his head. ‘We’ll win that. It doesn’t matter by how many they outnumber us, they won’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 the table, attracting huge winged moths, and in its dull light the Colonel’s thin face looked more cadaverous than ever. McCandless finally grimaced. ‘I’ve never been one for believing in the supernatural, Sharpe, other than the providences of Almighty God. Some of my countrymen claim they see and hear signs. They tell of foxes howling about the house when a death is imminent, or seals coming ashore when a man’s to be lost at sea, but I never credited such things. It’s mere superstition, Sharpe, pagan superstition, but I can’t chase away my dread about Dodd.’ He shook 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 the Company isn’t so sure of my worth now. They’d like to give me a pension, and I can’t blame them. A full colonel’s salary is a heavy item on the Company’s accounts.’ McCandless offered Sharpe a rueful look. ‘You fight for King and country, Sharpe, but I fight and die for the shareholders.’

‘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, so they tell me I am a “supernumerary upon the establishment”.’ He shrugged. ‘They want to put me out to pasture, Sharpe, but they did give me this one last errand, and that’s the apprehension of Lieutenant William Dodd, 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 better swordsman than I am, and that’s why I thought of you. I saw you fight at 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 the job, sir.’

‘I pray you’re right, Sharpe,’ McCandless said, ‘I pray you’re right.’ And they would start at Ahmednuggur, where Dodd waited and where Sharpe’s new war would begin.

CHAPTER 3

Colonel McCandless led his small force into Sir Arthur Wellesley’s encampment late the following afternoon. For most of the morning they had been shadowed by a band of enemy horsemen who sometimes galloped close as if inviting Sevajee’s men to ride out and fight, but McCandless kept Sevajee on a tight leash and at midday a patrol of horsemen in blue coats with yellow facings had chased the enemy away. The blue-coated cavalry were from the 19th Light Dragoons and the Captain leading the troop gave McCandless a cheerful wave as he cantered after the enemy who had been prowling the road in hope of finding a laggard supply wagon. Four hours later McCandless topped a gentle rise to see the army’s lines spread across the countryside while, four miles farther north, the red walls of Ahmednuggur stood in the westering sun. From this angle the fort and the city appeared as one 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, no glacis and no outworks. It’ll take us no more than three days to punch a hole.’

‘Then pity the poor souls who must go through the hole,’ Sevajee commented.

‘It’s what they’re paid to do,’ McCandless said brusquely.