be wrapped in reed mats and buried in an unmarked grave.
But if the Tippoo lost then the British would rule in Mysore. True, if they kept their word, the Rajah would be restored to his palace and to his ancient throne, but the power of the palace would still rest with the British advisers, and the Rajah’s treasury would be required to pay for the upkeep of British troops. But if the Tippoo won, Appah Rao thought, then the French would come and what evidence was there that the French were any better than the British?
He stood above the southern gate, waiting for an unseen enemy to erupt from their trenches and assault the city, and he felt like a man buffeted between two implacable forces. If he had been less discreet he might have considered rebelling openly against the Tippoo and ordering his troops to help the invading British, but such a risk was too great for a cautious man. Yet if the Tippoo lost this day’s battle, and if Appah Rao was perceived to be loyal to the defeated man, then what future did he have? Whichever side won, Appah Rao thought, he lost, but there was one small act that might yet snatch survival from defeat. He walked out to the end of a jutting cavalier, waved the gunners posted there away from their cannon, and beckoned Kunwar Singh to his side. ‘Where are your men?’ he asked Singh.
‘At the house, Lord.’ Kunwar Singh was a soldier, but not in any of the Tippoo’s cushoons. His loyalty was to his kinsman, Appah Rao, and his duty was to protect Appah Rao and his family.
‘Take six men,’ the General said, ‘and make sure they are not dressed in my livery. Then go to the dungeons, find Colonel McCandless, and take him back to my house. He speaks our tongue, so gain his trust by reminding him that you came with me to the temple at Somanathapura, and tell him that I am trusting him to keep my family alive.’ The General had been staring southwards as he spoke, but he now turned to look into Kunwar Singh’s eyes. ‘If the British
do get into the city then McCandless will protect our women.’ Appah Rao added this last assurance as though to justify the order he was giving, but Kunwar Singh still hesitated. Singh was a loyal man, but that loyalty was being dangerously stretched for he was being asked to rebel against the Tippoo. He might need to kill the Tippoo’s men to free this enemy soldier, and Appah Rao understood his hesitation. ‘Do this for me, Kunwar Singh,’ the General promised, ‘and I shall restore your family’s land.’
‘Lord,’ Kunwar Singh said, then stepped back, turned and was gone. Appah Rao watched him go, then stared past the city’s south-western corner to where he could see a portion of the enemy trenches. It was past noon and there were still no signs of life from the British lines except for a desultory gunshot once in a while. If the Tippoo won this day, Appah Rao thought, then his anger at McCandless’s disappearance would be terrible. In which case, Appah Rao decided, McCandless must die before he could ever be discovered and have the truth beaten out of him. But if the Tippoo lost, then McCandless was Appah Rao’s best guarantor of survival. And a Hindu living in a Muslim state was an expert at survival. Appah Rao, despite the risk he was running, knew he had acted for the best. He drew his sword, kissed its blade for luck, then waited for the assault.
It took only a minute for Kunwar Singh to reach the General’s house. He ordered six of his best men to discard their tunics which bore Appah Rao’s badge and to put on tiger-striped tunics instead. He changed his own coat, then borrowed a gold chain with a jewelled pendant from the General’s treasure chest. Such a jewel was a sign of authority in the city and Kunwar Singh reckoned he might need it. He armed himself with a pistol and a sword, then waited for his picked squad.
Mary came to the courtyard and demanded to know what