‘No chance of us still being here then, is there, sir?’
‘It depends, Sharpe, whether we take the city or not.’
‘We will, sir,’ Sharpe said.
‘Maybe.’ The Colonel smiled at Sharpe’s serene confidence. ‘But the Tippoo might decide to kill us first.’ McCandless fell silent for a while, then shook his head. ‘I wish I understood the Tippoo.’
‘Nothing to understand, sir. He’s just an evil bastard, sir.’
‘No, he’s not that,’ the Colonel said severely. ‘He’s actually rather a good ruler. Better, I suspect, than most of our Christian monarchs. He’s certainly been good for Mysore. He’s fetched it a deal of wealth, given it more justice than most countries enjoy in India and he’s been tolerant to most religions, though I fear he did persecute some unfortunate Christians.’ The Colonel grimaced as a shudder racked his body. ‘He’s even kept the Rajah and his family alive, not in comfort, but alive, and that’s more than most monarchs would ever do. Most usurpers kill their country’s old ruler, but not here. I can’t forgive him for what he did to those poor prisoners of ours, of course, but I suppose some capricious cruelty is probably necessary in a ruler. All in all, I think, and judging him by the standards of our own monarchy, we should have to give the Tippoo fairly high marks.’
‘So why the hell are we fighting him, sir?’
McCandless smiled. ‘Because we want to be here, and he doesn’t want us to be here. Two dogs in a small cage, Sharpe. And if he beats us out of Mysore he’ll bring in the French to chase us out of the rest of India and then we can bid farewell to the best part of our eastern trade. That’s what it’s about, Sharpe, trade. That’s why you’re fighting here, trade.’
Sharpe grimaced. ‘It seems a funny thing to be fighting about, sir.’
‘Does it?’ McCandless seemed surprised. ‘Not to me, Sharpe. Without trade there’s no wealth, and without wealth there’s no society worth having. Without trade, Private Sharpe, we’d be nothing but beasts in the mud. Trade is indeed worth fighting for, though the good Lord knows we don’t appreciate trade much. We celebrate kings, we honour great men, we admire aristocrats, we applaud actors, we shower gold on portrait painters and we even, sometimes, reward soldiers, but we always despise merchants. But why? It’s the merchant’s wealth that drives the mills, Sharpe; it moves the looms, it keeps the hammers falling, it fills the fleets, it makes the roads, it forges the iron, it grows the wheat, it bakes the bread and it builds the churches and the cottages and the palaces. Without God and trade we would be nothing.’
Sharpe laughed softly. ‘Trade never did ‘owt for me, sir.’
‘Did it not?’ McCandless asked gently. The Colonel smiled. ‘So what do you think is worth fighting for, Private?’
‘Friends, sir. And pride. We have to show that we’re better bastards than the other side.’
‘You don’t fight for King or country?’
T’ve never met the King, sir. Never even seen him.’
‘He’s not much to look at, but he’s a decent enough man when he’s not mad.’ McCandless stared across at Hakeswill. ‘Is he mad?’
‘I think so, sir.’
‘Poor soul.’
‘He’s evil, too,’ Sharpe said, speaking too softly for Hakeswill to hear him. ‘Takes a joy, sir, in having men punished. He thieves, he lies, he rapes, he murders.’
‘And you’ve done none of those things?’
‘Never raped, sir, and as for the others, only when I had to.’
‘Then I pray God you’ll never have to again,’ McCandless said fervently, and with that he leaned his grey head against the wall and tried to sleep.
Sharpe watched the dawn light seep into the dungeon pit. The last bats of the night wheeled in the patch of sky above, but soon they were gone and the first gun of the day spoke. It was clearing its throat, as the gunners liked to say, for the city and its besiegers were waking and the fight would go on.
The opening shot of the day was aimed at the low mud wall that plugged the gap in the glacis and kept the water dammed in the ditch behind. The wall was thick and the shot, which fell low and so lost much of its force as it ricocheted up from the river bank, did little more than shiver dust from the wall’s crevices.