leaf-shaped steel so that it did not get trapped in the flesh and then
he ripped it out, and blood washed across the temple floor and
Prithviraj was bending forward as if he could seal the pain in his
belly by folding over, and then the spear sliced from the side to slash
across his throat.
The crowd sighed.
Prithviraj was on the stones now, curled up with blood bubbling from
his sliced belly and pulsing from his neck.
Sharpe kicked the tulwar from the jettt’s unresisting hand, then turned
and looked at Jama.
“You and your brother did business with Captain Torrance?”
Jama said nothing.
Sharpe walked towards the shrine. The guards moved to stop him, but
Sevajee’s men raised their muskets and some, grinning, jumped down into
the courtyard. Ahmed also jumped down and snatched the tulwar from the
flagstones. Prithviraj was on his side now, dying.
Jama stood as Sharpe reached the steps, but he could not move fast with
his limp and suddenly the spear was at his belly.
“I asked you a question,” Sharpe said.
Jama still said nothing.
“You want to live?” Sharpe asked. Jama looked down at the spear blade
that was thick with blood.
“Was it Torrance who gave me to you?” Sharpe asked.
“Yes,” Jama said.
“If I see you again,” Sharpe said, “I’ll kill you. If you go back to
the British camp I’ll hang you like your brother, and if you so much as
send a message to Torrance, I’ll follow you to the last corner on God’s
earth and I’ll castrate you with my bare hands.” He jabbed the spear
just enough to prick Jama’s belly, then turned away. The crowd was
silent, cowed by Sevajee’s men and by the ferocity they had witnessed
in the temple courtyard. Sharpe tossed away the spear, pulled Ahmed
towards him and patted the boy’s head.
“You’re a good lad, Ahmed. A bloody good lad. And I need a drink. By
Christ, I’m thirsty.”
But he was also alive.
Which meant some other men would soon be dead.
Because Sharpe was more than alive. He was angry. Angry as hell.
And wanting revenge.
Sharpe borrowed a cloak from one of Sevajee’s men, then pulled himself
up behind Ahmed onto Major Stokes’s horse. They rode slowly away from
the village where the torches guttered in the temple towards the smear
of red light that betrayed where the British encampment lay some miles
to the west. Sevajee talked as they rode, telling Sharpe how Ahmed had
fled straight into the arms of his men.
“Luckily for you, Ensign,” the Indian said, “I recognized him.”
“Which is why you sent for help, isn’t it?” Sharpe asked
sarcastically.
“It’s why you fetched some redcoats to get me out of that bloody
tent.”
“Your gratitude touches me deeply,” Sevajee said with a smile.
“It took us a long time to make sense of what your boy was saying, and
I confess we didn’t wholly believe him even then, and by the time we
thought to take him seriously, you were already being carried away.
So we followed. I thought we might fetch some entertainment from the
evening, and so we did.”
“Glad to be of service, sahib,” Sharpe said.
“I knew you could beat ajetti in a fair fight.”
“I beat three at once in Seringapatam,” Sharpe said, ‘but I don’t know
as it was a fair fight. I’m not much in favour of fair fights. I like
them to be unfair. Fair fights are for gentlemen who don’t know any
better.”
“Which is why you gave the sword to the jetti,” Sevajee observed
drily.
“I knew he’d make a bollocks of it,” Sharpe said. He was tired
suddenly, and all the aches and throbs and agony had come back.
Above him the sky was brilliant with stars, while a thin sickle moon
hung just above the faraway fortress. Dodd was up there, Sharpe
thought, another life to take. Dodd and Torrance, Hakeswill and his
two men. A debt to be paid by sending all the bastards to hell.
“Where shall I take you?” Sevajee asked.
“Take me?”
“You want to go to the General?”
“Christ, no.” Sharpe could not imagine complaining to Wellesley. The