hundreds of them every year. Hungry men, Sergeant, who come from 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 wants the business
over. He insists they won't be expecting an escalade and thus 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 our ladder parties
do get into the city. And once we're inside we hunt for Dodd. That's our job.”
“Yes, sir,” Sharpe said.
“And once we have the traitor we take him to Madras, put him on trial and have him hanged,”
McCandless said with satisfaction, as though the job was as good as done. His gloomy
forebodings of the previous night seemed 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 he slept anyway.
And woke when it was still dark to see shadowy men straggling past with long ladders
across their shoulders. Dawn was near and it was time for an escalade. Time for ladders and
murder.
Sanjit Pandee was kill adar of the city, which meant that he commanded Ahmednuggur'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 northern gatehouse and
substituted his own men? Pandee had sent no orders, but the deed had been done anyway and
no one could explain why, and when Sanjit Pandee sent a message to Major Dodd and
demanded an answer, the messenger was told to wait and, so far as the kill adar knew, was
still waiting.
Sanjit Pandee finally summoned the courage to confront the Major himself. It was
dawn, a time when the kill adar was not usually stirring, and he discovered Dodd and a
group of his white-coated officers on the southern wall from where the Major was
watching the British camp through a heavy telescope mounted on a tripod. Sanjit Pandee did
not like to disturb the tall Dodd who was being forced to stoop awkwardly because the
tripod was incapable of raising the glass to the level of his eye. The kill adar cleared
his throat, but that had no effect, and then he scraped a foot on the fire step and still Dodd
did not even glance at him, so finally the kill adar demanded his explanation, though in
very flowery terms just in case he gave the Englishman offence. Sanjit Pandee had already
lost the battle over the city treasury which Dodd had simply commandeered without so much
as a by-your-leave, and the kill adar was nervous of the scowling foreigner.
“Tell the bloody man,” Dodd told his interpreter without taking his eye from the
telescope, 'that he's wasting my bloody time. Tell him to go and 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 was wholly consumed by the
approaching enemy, but that as soon as he had a moment of leisure, the Major would be
delighted to hold a conversation with the honoured kill adar
The kill adar gazed southwards. Horsemen, British and Indian, were ranging far ahead of
the approaching enemy column. Not that Sanjit Pandee could see the column properly,
only a dark smudge among the distant green that he supposed was the enemy. Their feet
kicked up no dust, but that was because of the rain that had fallen the day before.
“Are the enemy truly coming?” he enquired politely.
“Of course they're not bloody coming,” Dodd said, standing upright and massaging the
small of
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 wants the business
over. He insists they won't be expecting an escalade and thus 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 our ladder parties
do get into the city. And once we're inside we hunt for Dodd. That's our job.”
“Yes, sir,” Sharpe said.
“And once we have the traitor we take him to Madras, put him on trial and have him hanged,”
McCandless said with satisfaction, as though the job was as good as done. His gloomy
forebodings of the previous night seemed 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 he slept anyway.
And woke when it was still dark to see shadowy men straggling past with long ladders
across their shoulders. Dawn was near and it was time for an escalade. Time for ladders and
murder.
Sanjit Pandee was kill adar of the city, which meant that he commanded Ahmednuggur'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 northern gatehouse and
substituted his own men? Pandee had sent no orders, but the deed had been done anyway and
no one could explain why, and when Sanjit Pandee sent a message to Major Dodd and
demanded an answer, the messenger was told to wait and, so far as the kill adar knew, was
still waiting.
Sanjit Pandee finally summoned the courage to confront the Major himself. It was
dawn, a time when the kill adar was not usually stirring, and he discovered Dodd and a
group of his white-coated officers on the southern wall from where the Major was
watching the British camp through a heavy telescope mounted on a tripod. Sanjit Pandee did
not like to disturb the tall Dodd who was being forced to stoop awkwardly because the
tripod was incapable of raising the glass to the level of his eye. The kill adar cleared
his throat, but that had no effect, and then he scraped a foot on the fire step and still Dodd
did not even glance at him, so finally the kill adar demanded his explanation, though in
very flowery terms just in case he gave the Englishman offence. Sanjit Pandee had already
lost the battle over the city treasury which Dodd had simply commandeered without so much
as a by-your-leave, and the kill adar was nervous of the scowling foreigner.
“Tell the bloody man,” Dodd told his interpreter without taking his eye from the
telescope, 'that he's wasting my bloody time. Tell him to go and 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 was wholly consumed by the
approaching enemy, but that as soon as he had a moment of leisure, the Major would be
delighted to hold a conversation with the honoured kill adar
The kill adar gazed southwards. Horsemen, British and Indian, were ranging far ahead of
the approaching enemy column. Not that Sanjit Pandee could see the column properly,
only a dark smudge among the distant green that he supposed was the enemy. Their feet
kicked up no dust, but that was because of the rain that had fallen the day before.
“Are the enemy truly coming?” he enquired politely.
“Of course they're not bloody coming,” Dodd said, standing upright and massaging the
small of
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