“And if any of you prove to be cowards,” Dodd finished, “I shall kill you myself.”
He let that threat sink in, then abruptly ordered the regiment back to its duties before summoning Joubert to follow him up the red stone steps of the city wall to where Arab guards stood behind the merlons ranged along the fire step Far to the south, beyond the horizon, a dusky cloud was just visible. It could have been mistaken for a distant rain cloud, but Dodd guessed it was the smear of smoke from the British campfires.
“How long do you think the city will last?” Dodd asked Joubert.
The Frenchman considered the question.
“A month?” he guessed.
“Don’t be a fool,” Dodd snarled. He might want the loyalty of his men, but he did not give a fig for the good opinion of its two European officers. Both were Frenchmen and Dodd had the usual Englishman’s opinion of the Frogs. Good dancing masters, and experts in tying a stock or arranging lace to fall prettily on a uniform, but about as much use in a fight as spavined lap dogs Lieutenant Silliere, who had followed Joubert to the fire step was tall and looked strong, but Dodd mistrusted a man who took such care with his uniform and he could have sworn he detected a whiff of lavender water coming from the young Lieutenant’s carefully brushed hair.
“How long are the city walls?” he asked Joubert.
The Captain thought for a moment.
“Two miles?”
“At least, and how many men in the garrison?”
“Two thousand.”
“So work it out, Monsewer,” Dodd said.
“One man every two yards?
We’ll be lucky if the city holds for three days.” Dodd climbed to one of the bastions from where he could stare between the crenellations at the great fort which stood close to the city. That two-hundred-year-old fortress was an altogether more formidable stronghold than the city, though its very size made it vulnerable, for the fort’s garrison, like the city’s, was much too small. But the fort’s high wall was faced by a big ditch, its embrasures were crammed with cannon and its bastions were high and strong, although the fort was worth nothing without the city.
The city was the prize, not the fort, and Dodd doubted that General Wellesley would waste men against the fort’s garrison. Boy Wellesley would attack the city, breach the walls, storm the gap and send his men to slaughter the defenders in the rat’s tangle of alleys and courtyards, and once the city had fallen the redcoats would hunt for supplies that would help feed the British army. Only then, with the city in his possession, would Wellesley turn his guns against the fort, and it was possible that the fort would hold the British advance for two or three weeks and thus give Scindia more time to assemble his army, and the longer the fort held the better, for the overdue rains might come and hamper the British advance. But of one thing Dodd was quite certain; as Pohlmann had said, the war would not be won here, and to William Dodd the most important thing was to extricate his men so that they could share that victory.
“You will take the regiment’s guns and three hundred men and garrison the north gate,” Dodd ordered Joubert.
The Frenchman frowned.
“You think the British will attack in the north?”
“I think, Monsewer, that the British will attack here, in the south.
Our orders are to kill as many as we can, then escape to join Colonel Pohlmann. We shall make that escape through the north gate, but even an idiot can see that half the city’s inhabitants will also try to escape through the north gate and your job, Joubert, is to keep the bastards from blocking our way. I intend to save the regiment, not lose it with the city. That means you open fire on any civilian who tries to leave the city, do you understand?” Joubert wanted to argue,
J] but one look at Dodd’s face persuaded him into hasty agreement.
“I shall be at the north gate in one hour,” Dodd said, ‘and God help you, Monsewer, if your three hundred men are not in position.”