encampment and saw what he wanted just a few paces away. It was some
straw, and near it was a smouldering campfire, and he screwed a handful
of the straw stalks into a spill that he lit and carried to the rear of
the smaller tent. He pushed the flaming spill into a fold of the
canvas.
A child watched, wide-eyed.
“If you say anything,” Sharpe told the halfnaked child, “I’ll screw
your head off back to front.” The child, who did not understand a
word, grinned broadly.
“You’re not really supposed to be doing this, are you?” Lockhart
asked.
“No,” Sharpe said. Lockhart grinned, but said nothing. Instead he
just watched as the flames licked at the faded green canvas which, for
a moment or two, resisted the fire. The material blackened, but did
not burn, then suddenly it burst into fire that licked greedily up the
tent’s high side.
“That’ll wake ’em up,” Sharpe said.
“What now?” Lockhart asked, watching the flame sear up the tent’s
side.
“We rescue what’s inside, of course.” Sharpe drew his sabre.
“Come on, lads!” He ran back to? the front of the tent.
“Fire!” he shouted.
“Fire!
Fetch water! Fire!”
The four guards stared uncomprehendingly at the Englishman, then leaped
to their feet as Sharpe slashed at the laces of the small tent’s
doorway. One of them called a protest to Sharpe.
“Fire!” Lockhart bellowed at the guards who, still unsure of what was
happening, did not try to stop Sharpe. Then one of them saw the smoke
billowing over the ridge of the tent. He yelled a warning into the
larger tent as his companions suddenly moved to pull the Englishman
away from the tent’s entrance.
“Hold them off!” Sharpe called, and Lockhart’s six troopers closed on
the three men. Sharpe slashed at the lacing, hacking down through the
tough rope as the troopers thumped into the guards. Someone swore,
there was a grunt as a fist landed, then a yelp as a trooper’s boot
slammed into ajettfs groin. Sharpe sawed through the last knot, then
pushed through the loosened tent flaps.
“Jesus!” He stopped, staring at the boxes and barrels and crates that
were stacked in the tent’s smoky gloom.
Lockhart had followed him inside.
“Doesn’t even bother to hide the stuff properly, does he?” the
Sergeant said in amazement, then crossed to a barrel and pointed to a
19 that had been cut into one of the staves.
“That’s our mark! The bugger’s got half our supplies!” He looked up
at the flames that were now eating away the tent roof.
“We’ll lose the bloody lot if we don’t watch it.”
“Cut the tent ropes,” Sharpe suggested, ‘and push it all down.”
The two men ran outside and slashed at the guy ropes with their sabres,
but more of Naig’s men were coming from the larger tent now.
“Watch your back, Eli!” Sharpe called, then turned and sliced the
curved blade towards ajetti’s face. The man stepped back, and Sharpe
followed up hard, slashing again, driving the huge man farther back.
“Now bugger off!” he shouted at the vast brute.
“There’s a bloody fire! Fire!”
Lockhart had put his attacker on the ground and was now stamping on his
face with a spurred boot. The troopers were coming to help and Sharpe
let them deal with Naig’s men while he cut through the last of the guy
ropes, then ran back into the tent and heaved on the nearest pole. The
air inside the tent was choking with swirling smoke, but at last the
whole heavy array of canvas sagged towards the fire, lifting the canvas
wall behind Sharpe into the air.
“Sahib!” Ahmed’s shrill voice shouted and Sharpe turned to see a man
aiming a musket at him. The lifting tent flap was exposing Sharpe, but
he was too far away to rush the man, then Ahmed fired his own musket
and the man shuddered, turned to look at the boy, then winced as the
pain in his shoulder struck home. He dropped the gun and clapped a
hand onto the wound. The sound of the shot startled the other guards
and some reached for their own muskets, but Sharpe ran at them and used