LITMIR.BIZ

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Sharpe to the palace at midday. ‘Knows it all, does he, sir?’ Sharpe asked.

      ‘He’s a good soldier, Sharpe. Very good. What he really wants is a French army, not a French adviser.’

      ‘What does he want a French army for, sir?’

      ‘To beat you British out of India.’

      ‘But then he’d just be stuck with you French instead,’ Sharpe pointed out.

      ‘But he likes the French, Sharpe. You find that strange?’

      ‘I find everything in India strange, sir. Haven’t had a proper meal since I got here.’

      Gudin laughed. ‘And a proper meal is what?’

      ‘Bit of beef, sir, with some potatoes and a gravy thick enough to choke a rat.’

      Gudin shuddered. ‘La cuisine anglaise!’

      ‘Sir?’

      ‘Never mind, Sharpe, never mind.’

      A half-dozen men waited to be presented to the Tippoo, all of them soldiers who had somehow distinguished themselves in the defence of the tope the previous night. There was also one prisoner, a Hindu soldier who had been seen to run away when the attackers had first crossed the aqueduct. All of them, coward and heroes alike, waited in the courtyard where Sharpe and Lawford had been tested by the Tippoo, though today five of the six tigers had been taken away, leaving only a big old docile male. Gudin crossed to the beast and tickled its chin, then scratched it between the ears. ‘This one’s tame as a cat, Sharpe.’

      ‘I’ll let you stroke it, sir. Wild horses wouldn’t get me near a beast like that.’

      The tiger liked being scratched. It closed its yellow eyes and for a few seconds Sharpe could almost persuade himself the big beast was purring, then it yawned hugely, displaying a massive mouth with old worn teeth, and when it had yawned it stretched out its long forepaws and, from its furry pads, two sets of long, hooked claws emerged. ‘That’s how it kills,’ Gudin said, gesturing at the claws as he backed away. ‘Holds you down with its teeth, then slits your belly open with the claws. Not this one, though. He’s just an old soft pet. Fleabitten too.’ Gudin picked a flea off his hand, then turned as a doorway to the courtyard was opened and a procession of palace attendants filed into the sunlight. It was led by two robed men who carried staffs tipped with silver tiger heads. They served as chamberlains, mustering the heroes into line and pushing the coward to one side, and behind them came two extraordinary men.

      Sharpe gaped at them. They were both huge; tall and muscled like prizefighters. Their dark skin, naked to their waists, was oiled to a glistening shine, while their long black hair had been twisted round and round their heads and then tied with white ribbons. They had bristling black beards and wide moustaches that had been stiffened into points with wax. ‘Jettis,’ Gudin whispered to Sharpe.

      ‘Jettis? What are they, sir?’

      ‘Strongmen,’ Gudin said, ‘and executioners.’ The soldier who had fled from the attacking British dropped to his knees and shouted an appeal to the chamberlains. They ignored him.

      Sharpe stood at the left-hand end of the line of heroes, who straightened proudly when the Tippoo himself entered the courtyard. He was escorted by six more servants, four of whom held a tiger-striped canopy above his head. The silken canopy was supported by poles with tiger finials and had a fringe of pearl drops. The Tippoo was in a green robe hung with more pearls and with his tiger-hilted sword hanging in its jewelled scabbard from a yellow silk sash. His broad turban was also green and wrapped about with more pearls, while in a plume at its crown there glittered a ruby so huge that Sharpe at first assumed it must be made of glass for surely no precious stone could be that massive, except perhaps for the big yellow-white diamond that formed the pommel of a dagger that the Tippoo wore in his yellow sash.

      The Tippoo glanced at the quivering soldier, then nodded at the jettis.

      ‘This is not pleasant, Sharpe,’ Colonel Gudin warned softly from just behind Sharpe.

      One of the jettis seized the terrified prisoner and dragged him upright, then half carried and half led him so that he stood directly in front of the Tippoo. There the jetti forced the man to make a half-turn, then pushed him down to his knees, knelt behind him and wrapped his arms around the prisoner’s arms and torso so that he could not move. The condemned man called piteously to the Tippoo who ignored the plea as the second jetti stood in front of the prisoner. The Tippoo nodded and the standing jetti placed his big hands on either side of the doomed man’s head. The man screamed, then the scream was cut off as the jetti tightened his grip.

      ‘God almighty!’ Sharpe said in wonderment as he watched the man’s head being wrung like a chicken. He had never seen such a thing, nor dreamed it was even possible. Behind him Colonel Gudin made a small noise of disapproval, but Sharpe had been impressed. It was a quicker death than being flogged, and quicker too than most hangings where the prisoners were left to dangle and dance as the rope choked them. The Tippoo applauded the jetti’s display, rewarded him, then ordered the dead man to be dragged away.

      Then, one by one, the night’s heroes were led up to the tiger-striped canopy and to the short plump man who stood in its shade. Each soldier knelt as he was named, and each time the Tippoo leaned down and used both hands to lift the man up before talking to him and presenting the hero with a large medallion. The medallions looked as if they were gold, but Sharpe guessed they had to be made of polished brass, for surely no one would give away that much gold! Each of the men kissed the gift, then shuffled backwards to his place in the line.

      At last it was Sharpe’s turn. ‘You know what to do,’ Gudin said encouragingly.

      Sharpe did. He disliked going on his knees to any man, let alone this plump little monarch who was his country’s enemy, but there was no future in unnecessary defiance and so he obediently went down on one knee. The yellow-white stone in the dagger’s hilt glinted at him, and Sharpe could have sworn it was a real diamond. A huge diamond. Then the Tippoo smiled, leaned forward and raised Sharpe by putting his hands under his armpits. He was surprisingly strong.

      Gudin had come forward with Sharpe and now spoke to the Tippoo’s interpreter in French, and the interpreter translated into Persian, which left Sharpe none the wiser. So far as he was concerned the events of the previous night had been a shambles, but it was evident that Gudin was telling a tale of high heroics for the Tippoo kept giving Sharpe appreciative glances. Sharpe stared back in fascination. The Tippoo had grey eyes, a dark skin and a finely trimmed black moustache. At a distance he looked plump, even soft, but closer there was a grimness to his face which persuaded Sharpe that Colonel Gudin had been right when he claimed that this man was a fine soldier. Sharpe towered over the Tippoo so much that if he looked straight ahead he found himself gazing at the huge stone in the Tippoo’s plume. It did not look like glass. It looked like one giant ruby, the size of a piece of grapeshot. It was held in a delicate gold clasp, and had to be worth a bloody fortune. Sharpe remembered his promise to give Mary a proper ruby on the day he married her, and he almost grinned at the thought of stealing the Tippoo’s stone. Then he forgot the stone as the Tippoo asked some questions, but Sharpe was not required to answer for Colonel Gudin did all his speaking for him. Once the questions were answered the Tippoo looked up into Sharpe’s eyes and spoke directly to him. ‘He says,’ Gudin translated the interpreter’s words, ‘that you have proved yourself a worthy soldier of Mysore. He is proud to have you in his forces, and he looks forward to the day when, with the infidel beaten back from the city, you can become a full and proper member of his army.’

      ‘Does that mean I’ll have to be circumvented, sir?’ Sharpe asked.

      ‘It means you are extraordinarily grateful to His Majesty, as I shall now tell him,’ Gudin said and duly did so, and when that statement had been translated, the Tippoo smiled and turned to an attendant, took the last of the medallions from its silk-lined basket, and reached up to put it round Sharpe’s neck. Sharpe stooped to make it easier, and blushed as the Tippoo’s face came close. He could smell a pungent

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