As he shouted the jetti twisted the merchant’s head. He was wringing his victim’s neck like a man would wring a chicken’s gullet, only this neck was thick and fat, but thejettfs first great effort twisted it so far around that the face was already looking back across its right shoulder when the executioner made his second effort, marked by a grunt, which pulled the head all the way around and Gudin, flinching from the sight on the
balcony, heard the distinct crack as the merchant’s spine was broken. The jetti let go of the head and sprang back, proud of his work as the dead merchant collapsed off the stool. The Tippoo applauded, then tossed down two small bags of gold. ‘Take that one to the pigs,’ he said, pointing at the Muslim. ‘And leave the other here. Let the tigers loose.’
The balcony shutters were closed. Somewhere deep in the palace, perhaps from the harem where the Tippoo’s six hundred wives, concubines and handmaidens all lived, a harp tinkled prettily, while down in the courtyard the tigers’ keepers used their long staves to herd the beasts as they released them from their chains. The Tippoo smiled at his followers. ‘Back to the walls, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘We have work to do.’
The keepers released the last tiger, then followed the jettis out through the gateway. The dead soldier had been dragged away. For a moment the tigers watched the remaining body, then one of the beasts crossed to the merchant’s corpse and eviscerated the fat belly with one blow of its huge paw.
And so Ravi Shekhar had died. And now was eaten.
Sharpe was back with his company before sunset. He was greeted ebulliendy by men who saw in his release from the flogging a small victory for the lower ranks against blind authority. Private Mallinson even clapped Sharpe on the back, and was rewarded with a stream of curses.
Sharpe ate with his usual six companions who, as ever, were joined by three wives and by Mary. The supper was a stew of beans, rice and salt beef, and it was at the end of the small meal, when they were sharing a canteen of arrack, that Sergeant Hakeswill appeared. ‘Private Sharpe!’ He was carrying a cane that he pointed towards Sharpe. ‘I wants you!’
‘Sergeant.’ Sharpe acknowledged Hakeswill, but did not move.
‘A word with you, Private. On your feet now!’
Sharpe still did not move. ‘I’m excused company duties, Sergeant. Colonel’s orders.’
Hakeswill’s face wrenched itself in a grotesque twitch. ‘This ain’t your duty,’ the Sergeant said, ‘this is your bleeding pleasure. So get on your bloody feet and come here.’
Sharpe obediently stood, flinching as his coat tugged at his grievously wounded back. He followed the Sergeant to an open space behind the surgeon’s tent where Hakeswill turned and rammed his cane into Sharpe’s chest. ‘How the hell did you escape that flogging, Sharpie?’
Sharpe ignored the question. Hakeswill’s broken nose was still swollen and bruised, and Sharpe could see the worry in the Sergeant’s eyes.
‘Didn’t you hear me, boy?’ Hakeswill shoved the cane’s tip into Sharpe’s belly. ‘How come you was cut down?’
‘How come you were cut down from the scaffold, Sergeant?’ Sharpe asked.
‘No lip from you, boy. No lip, or by God I’ll have you strapped to the tripod again. Now tell me what the General wanted.’
Sharpe shook his head. Tf you want to know that, Sergeant,’ he said, ‘you’d better ask General Harris yourself.’
‘Stand still! Stand straight!’ Hakeswill snapped, then cut with his cane at a nearby guy rope. He sniffed, wondering how best to worm the information out of Sharpe and decided, for a change, to try gentleness. ‘I admire you, Sharpie,’ the Sergeant said hoarsely. ‘Not many men have the guts to walk after getting two hundred tickles of the whip. Takes a strong man to do that, Sharpie, and I’d hate to see you getting even more tickles. It’s in your best interest to tell me, Sharpie. You know that. It’ll go bad with you else. So why was you released, lad?’
Sharpe pretended to relent. ‘You know why I was released, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘The Colonel announced it.’