The city walls were bright with flags, while its embrasures glinted with the reflection of sunlight from gun barrels.
“That’s Aurungabad,” Pohlmann said, ‘and everyone inside those walls is pissing themselves in fear that I’m about to start a siege.”
“But you’re not?”
I’m looking for Wellesley,” Pohlmann said, ‘and you know why?
Because I’ve never lost a battle, Sharpe, and I’m going to add a British major-general’s sword to my trophies. Then I’ll build myself a palace, a bloody great marble palace, and I’ll line the halls with British guns and hang British colours to shield my bedroom from the sun and I’ll bounce my bibb is on a mattress stuffed with the hair of British horses.”
Pohlmann luxuriated in that dream for a while and then, with a last glance at the city, ordered the mahout to turn the elephant about.
“When is McCandless leaving?” he asked Sharpe.
“Tonight, sir.”
“After dark?”
“Around midnight, sir, I think.”
“That gives you plenty of time to think, Sergeant. To think of your future. To contemplate what the red coat offers you, and what I offer you. And when you have thought about those things, come to me.”
I’m thinking on it, sir,” Sharpe said, “I’m thinking on it.” And he was.
CHAPTER 6
Colonel McCandless excused himself from Pohlmann’s supper, but did not forbid Sharpe to attend “But don’t get drunk,” he warned the Sergeant, ‘and be at my tent at midnight. I want to be back at the River Godavery by dawn.”
“Yes, sir,” Sharpe said dutifully, then went to Pohlmann’s tent where most of the compoo’s officers had gathered. Dodd was there, and so were a half-dozen wives of Pohlmann’s European officers and among them was Simone Joubert, though there was no sign of her husband.
“He is in charge of the army picquets tonight,” Simone explained when Sharpe asked her, ‘and Colonel Pohlmann invited me to eat.”
“He invited me to join his army,” Sharpe told her.
“He did?” Her eyes widened as she stared up from her chair.
“And will you?”
“It would mean I’d be close to you, Ma’am,” Sharpe said, ‘and that’s an inducement.”
Simone half smiled at the clumsy gallantry.
“I think you would not be a good soldier if you changed your loyalty for a woman, Sergeant.”
“He says I’ll be an officer,” Sharpe said.
“And is that what you want?”
Sharpe squatted on his heels so that he could be closer to her. The other European wives saw him crouch and pursed their mouths with a disapproval born of envy, but Sharpe was oblivious of their gaze.
“I think I’d like to be an officer, yes. And I can think of one very good reason to be an officer in this army.”
Simone blushed.
“I am a married woman, Sergeant. You know that.”
“But even married women need friends,” Sharpe said, and just then a large hand took unceremonious hold of his clubbed hair and hauled him to his feet.
Sharpe turned belligerently on whoever had manhandled him, then ’33 saw that it was a smiling Major Dodd.
“Can’t have you stooping to women, Sharpe,” Dodd said before offering an ungainly bow to Simone.
“Good evening, Madame.”
“Major,” Simone acknowledged him coldly.
“You will forgive me, Madame, if I steal Sergeant Sharpe from you?” Dodd asked.
“I want a word with him. Come on, Sharpe.” He plucked Sharpe’s arm, guiding him across the tent. The Major was very slightly drunk and evidently intent on becoming more drunk for he snatched a whole jug of arrack from a servant, then scooped up two beakers from a table.
“Fancy Madame Joubert, do you?” he asked Sharpe.
“I like her well enough, sir.”
“She’s spoken for, Sergeant. Remember that if you join us, she’s spoken for.”
“You mean she’s married, sir?”
“Married?” Dodd laughed, then poured the arrack and gave one beaker to Sharpe.
“How many European officers can you see here?
And how many European women? And how many of them are young and pretty like Madame Joubert? Work it out, lad. And you’re not jumping the queue.” Dodd smiled as he spoke, evidently meaning his tone to be jocular.
“But you are joining us, aren’t you?”