“You would not be under Dupont’s orders, of course not,” Pohlmann reassured 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 entirely understand, and some other fellows can have the honour of defeating the British 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 a Frog or a Dutchman, Major, and I need an Englishman to fight the hardest battle.”
“And you’ve found one, sir,” Dodd said.
I’ve found an idiot, Pohlmann thought as he rode back to the line’s centre, but Dodd was a reliable idiot and a hard-fighting man. He watched as Dodd’s men left the line, and as the line closed up to fill the gap, and then as the Cobras took their place on the left flank. The line was complete now, it was deadly, it was anchored firmly, and it was ready. All it needed was the enemy to compound their blunder by trying to attack, and then Pohlmann would crown his career by filling the Kaitna with British blood. Let them attack, he prayed, just let them attack, and the day, with all its glory, would be his.
The British camp spread around Naulniah. Lines of tents sheltered infantry, quartermasters sought out the village headman and arranged that the women of the village would bake bread in return for rupees, ’95 while the cavalry led their horses down to drink from the River Purna which flowed just to the north of the village. One squadron of the igth Dragoons was ordered to cross the river and ride a couple of miles north in search of enemy patrols and those troopers dropped their bags of forage in the village, watered their horses, washed the dust from their 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 while Sharpe fetched a pail of water from the river. The Colonel, in his shirtsleeves, straightened as Sharpe came back.
“You do realize, Sergeant, that I am guilty of some dishonesty in the matter of that warrant?”
“I wanted to thank you, sir.”
“I doubt I deserve any thanks, except that my deception might have staved off a greater evil.” The Colonel crossed to his saddlebags and brought out his Bible which he gave to Sharpe.
“Put your right hand on the scriptures, Sergeant, and swear to me you are innocent of the charge.”
Sharpe placed his right palm on the Bible’s worn cover. He felt foolish, but McCandless’s face was stern and Sharpe made his own face solemn.
“I do swear it, sir. I never touched the man that night, didn’t even see him.” His voice proclaimed both his indignation and his innocence, but that was small consolation. The warrant might be defeated for the moment, 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 said vaguely. He was still trying to decide what had been wrong with the warrant, but he could not identify what had troubled him. He took the Bible, stowed it away, then put his hands in the small of his back and arched 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 well enough, but now my back aches. Not good. But just a short march tomorrow, God be thanked, no more than ten miles, then battle.” He pulled a watch from his fob pocket and snapped open the lid.
“We have fifteen minutes, Sergeant, so it might be wise to prepare our weapons.”
“Fifteen minutes, sir?”
“It’s Sunday, Sharpe! The Lord’s day. Colonel Wallace’s chaplain will be holding divine service on the hour, and I expect you to come with me. He preaches a fine sermon. But there’s still time for you to clean your musket first.”