‘Your woman, Sharpe?’ Gudin teased. ‘You become a corporal and all you want is your woman back?’
‘I just want to see her, sir.’
‘She’s in Appah Rao’s household. I’ll have a word with the General, but first you’re to go to the palace at midday.’
‘Me, sir?’ Sharpe felt an instant pang of alarm, fearing that Hakeswill had betrayed him.
‘To get an award, Sharpe,’ Gudin reassured him. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll be there to steal most of your glory.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Sharpe grinned. He liked Gudin, and he could not help contrasting the kind and easy-going Frenchman with his own Colonel who always appeared to treat common soldiers as if they were a nuisance that had to be endured. Of course Wellesley was sheltered from his ranks by his officers and sergeants, while Gudin had such a small battalion that in truth he was more like a captain than a colonel. Gudin did have the assistance of a Swiss adjutant and the occasional help of the two French captains when they were not drinking in the city’s best brothel, but the battalion had no lieutenants or ensigns, and only three sergeants, which meant that the rank and file had an unprecedented access to their Colonel. Gudin liked it that way for he had litde else to occupy him. Officially he was France’s adviser to the Tippoo, but the Tippoo rarely sought anyone’s advice. Gudin confessed as much as he walked with Sharpe to the palace at midday. ‘Knows it all, does he, sir?’ Sharpe asked.
‘He’s a good soldier, Sharpe. Very good. What he really wants is a French army, not a French adviser.’
‘What does he want a French army for, sir?’
‘To beat you British out of India.’
‘But then he’d just be stuck with you French instead,’ Sharpe pointed out.
‘But he likes the French, Sharpe. You find that strange?’
‘I find everything in India strange, sir. Haven’t had a proper meal since I got here.’
Gudin laughed. ‘And a proper meal is what?’
‘Bit of beef, sir, with some potatoes and a gravy thick enough to choke a rat.’
Gudin shuddered. ‘La cuisine anglaise!’
‘Sir?’
‘Never mind, Sharpe, never mind.’
A half-dozen men waited to be presented to the Tippoo,
all of them soldiers who had somehow distinguished themselves in the defence of the tope the previous night. There was also one prisoner, a Hindu soldier who had been seen to run away when the attackers had first crossed the aqueduct. All of them, coward and heroes alike, waited in the courtyard where Sharpe and Lawford had been tested by the Tippoo, though today five of the six tigers had been taken away, leaving only a big old docile male. Gudin crossed to the beast and tickled its chin, then scratched it between the ears. ‘This one’s tame as a cat, Sharpe.’
‘I’ll let you stroke it, sir. Wild horses wouldn’t get me near a beast like that.’
The tiger liked being scratched. It closed its yeEow eyes and for a few seconds Sharpe could almost persuade himself the big beast was purring, then it yawned hugely, displaying a massive mouth with old worn teeth, and when it had yawned it stretched out its long forepaws and, from its furry pads, two sets of long, hooked claws emerged. ‘That’s how it kills,’ Gudin said, gesturing at the claws as he backed away. ‘Holds you down with its teeth, then slits your belly open with the claws. Not this one, though. He’s just an old soft pet. Flea-bitten too.’ Gudin picked a flea off his hand, then turned as a doorway to the courtyard was opened and a procession of palace attendants filed into the sunlight. It was led by two robed men who carried staffs tipped with silver tiger heads. They served as chamberlains, mustering the heroes into line and pushing the coward to one side, and behind them came two extraordinary men.
Sharpe gaped at them. They were both huge; tall and muscled like prizefighters. Their dark skin, naked to their waists, was oiled to a glistening shine, while their long black hair had been twisted round and round their heads and then tied with white ribbons. They had bristling black beards and wide moustaches that had been stiffened into points with wax. ‘Jettis,’ Gudin whispered to Sharpe.