Dodd looked up to say something more, but the howdah’s green curtains had been drawn shut. The girl giggled, while the mahout, seated just in front of the closed howdah, stared impassively ahead. The Mahrattas were on the march, covering the earth like a swarm, just waiting for their enemies to blunder.
Sharpe was tired of being hungry so one day he took his musket and walked in search of game. He reckoned anything would do, even a tiger, but he hoped to find beef. India seemed full of beeves, but that day he saw none, though after four miles he found a herd of goats grazing in a small wood. He drew his bayonet, reckoning it would be easier to cut one of the beast’s throats than shoot it and so attract the attention of the herd’s vengeful owner, but when he came close to the animals a dog burst out of the trees and attacked him.
He clubbed the dog down with his musket butt, and the brief commotion put the goats to flight and it took him the best part of an hour to find the animals again and by then he could not have cared if he attracted half the population of India and so he aimed and fired, and all he succeeded in doing was wounding one poor beast that started bleating pitifully. He ran to it, cut its throat, which was harder than he had thought, then hoisted the carcass onto his shoulder.
The widow boiled the stringy flesh which tasted foul, but it was still meat and Sharpe wolfed it down as though he had not eaten in months.
The smell of the meat roused Colonel McCandless who sat up in his bed and frowned at the pot.
“I could almost eat that,” he said.
“You want some, sir?”
“I haven’t eaten meat in eighteen years, Sharpe, I won’t start now.”
He ran a hand through his lank white hair.
“I do declare I’m feeling better, God be praised.”
The Colonel swung his feet onto the floor and tried to stand.
“But I’m weak as a kitten,” he said. ifin
“Plate of meat will put some strength in you, sir.”
‘ “Get thee behind me, Satan,” the Colonel said, then put a hand on one of the posts which held up the roof and hauled himself to his feet.
“I might take a walk tomorrow.”
“How’s the leg, sir?”
“Mending, Sharpe, mending.” The Colonel put some weight on his left leg and seemed pleasantly surprised that it did not buckle.
“God has preserved me again.”
“Thank God for that, sir.”
“I do, Sharpe, I do.”
Next morning the Colonel felt better still. He ducked out of the hut and blinked in the bright sunlight.
“Have you seen any soldiers these last two weeks?”
“Not a one, sir. Nothing but farmers.”
The Colonel scraped a hand across the white bristles on his chin.
“A shave, I think. Would you be so kind as to fetch my box of razors? And perhaps you could heat some water?”
Sharpe dutifully put a pot of water on the fire, then stropped one of the Colonel’s razors on a saddle’s girth strap. He was just perfecting the edge when McCandless called him from outside the house.
“Sharpe!”
Something in McCandless’s voice made Sharpe snatch up his musket, then he heard the beat of hooves as he ducked under the low doorway and he hauled back the musket’s cock in expectation of enemies, but McCandless waved the weapon down.
“I said Sevajee would find us!” the Colonel said happily.
“Nothing stays secret in this countryside, Sharpe.”
Sharpe lowered the musket’s flint as he watched Sevajee lead his men towards the widow’s house. The young Indian grinned at McCandless’s dishevelled condition.
“I heard there was a white devil near here, and I knew it would be you.”
“I wish you’d come sooner,” McCandless grumbled.
“Why? You were ill. The folks I spoke to said you would die.” Sevajee slid out of the saddle and led his horse to the well.
“Besides, we’ve been too busy.”
“Following Scindia, I trust?” the Colonel asked.
“Here, there and everywhere.” Sevajee hauled up a skin of water and held it under his horse’s nose.