men of Victor’s and Lannes’s divisions. As far as Napoleon could see the battlefield was covered with white-coated figures streaming away from their French pursuers. Large bodies of men, still in column, laid down their arms and surrendered and their colours were snatched from their hands by jubilant Frenchmen.
As dusk gathered over the battlefield Napoleon made his way forward with Berthier. There was a thick belt of bodies where Marmont’s guns had torn into the leading battalions of the enemy column and then two lines of corpses where Desaix’s men had exchanged volleys with the enemy before they had finally broken. From the earliest reports to have reached headquarters it seemed that over five thousand of the enemy had been killed and an even larger number taken prisoner, along with forty guns, fifteen colours and General Zach, the second in command of the Austrian army. Nightfall, and the presence of strong detachments of Austrian cavalry, had ended the French pursuit and across the plain the exhausted men were re-forming their units and marching back to camp.
Amid all the reports there had been no word from Desaix and Napoleon felt a growing concern for his friend as he edged across the battlefield. Then, just outside the hamlet of Vigna Santa, he saw a group of officers gathered beside the road. Amongst them stood an Austrian general, head bowed in shame. Napoleon strode across the corpse-littered ground towards them and saw that they were clustered about a body sprawled on the ground. Napoleon pushed his way through and looked down.
Desaix lay on his back, head flung to one side, eyes wide open. A bloody hole had been torn through his breast. His sword lay at his side.
Napoleon knelt down. He stared at the body, and his throat tightened. No words came to him. His heart felt heavy and he reached forward and closed Desaix’s eyes as Berthier approached the group.
Berthier clapped his hands together as he gazed round the battlfield. ‘My God! We’ve won! We’ve beaten them. Sir, you’ve won a geat victory . . . sir?’ Then he saw Desaix. ‘Oh, no . . .’
‘Excuse me,’ a voice interrupted, in accented French. ‘General Bonaparte?’
Napoleon glanced up and saw the Austrian officer standing over him in the gloom, holding out his sword, handle first. Rising to his feet, Napoleon faced his enemy. General Zach stood stiffly as he surrendered his weapon.
‘To you the victory, General Bonaparte.’
Napoleon took the sword, noting its finely wrought hilt and jewelled guard. He held it for a moment and then shook his head.
‘The victory is not mine. Had it not been for Desaix I would be presenting you with my sword. No, the victory is not mine. Truly, it belongs to another.’
He knelt down again, and placed the sword across Desaix’s chest, and folded the dead man’s arms across the blade. Then he stood up and pushed his way through the cordon of officers and strode back towards his headquarters before anyone could see the first tears welling up in his eyes.
Chapter 55
As the sun rose on Tipoo’s capital, the day after the city had fallen, it revealed the men of General Baird’s assault column still plundering the city and wholly out of control. Smoke billowed up from several fires that were spreading, unchecked by the British forces inside the walls.
As he waded across the south Cauvery river with Captain Fitzroy Arthur looked at the columns of smoke billowing up into the rosy sky with growing anger. His companion sensed his mood and muttered, ‘What the hell does Baird think he’s playing at? If those fires aren’t put out we’ll lose half the city.’
‘Yes,’ Arthur replied quietly. ‘That’s something we’ll have to put right as soon as I take charge.’
He unconsciously touched the bulge in his jacket, where he had put the orders from General Harris authorising him to take command of all British forces in the city. The same orders required Baird and his staff to quit Seringapatam and return to Harris’s camp two miles to the west. Arthur had already given instructions for his regiment, the 33rd Foot, to be formed up and ready for action the moment he assumed command of the forces inside Seringapatam and restored order to end the looting, raping and murder.
By rights, as brigadier of the day, Baird should not be relieved until midday, but General Harris realised that the sacking of the city had to be ended as soon as possible. Baird was not the man to do it. His dislike of Indians generally, and his vengeful hatred of the people of Mysore in particular, meant that he was the very last man in the British army who could be trusted with bringing order back to the city and steering it towards a long-lasting alliance with Britain and the East India Company. By contrast, there was hardly a man more suitable for the job than Arthur Wellesley. He spoke the native tongue, and had the necessary tact and respect to work alongside the people of Mysore. More shrewdly, Harris was aware that the younger brother of the Governor General would be sure to do his utmost to implement Richard’s policy of expanding British power in India by way of treaties, alliances and, where necessary, force. A policy of which Harris wholeheartedly approved.
Arthur and Fitzroy emerged on the far side of the crossing and entered the wall through the breach. Baird had sent word that he had moved his headquarters to the Dowlut Baugh,Tipoo’s palace on the far side of the city. The streets were quiet, as most of the looters were sleeping off the debauchery of the previous night. The inhabitants of Seringapatam were still hiding, behind locked and barricaded doors, hoping that their homes would prove too much of a challenge to the looters and encourage them to search for easier pickings amongst their neighbours. There were some men, more resilient or simply more sober than their comrades, who were still looking for booty, women and drink, and they made no effort to stand to attention and salute as the two officers strode past. For his part, Arthur ignored them.There was no sense in getting caught up in an ugly scene that might well result in harm to him and his companion. The British soldiers were not the only looters on the street. A number of natives were breaking into shops to steal whatever they could while the city was lawless. The situation was made worse by the prisoners who had escaped from the city’s dungeons during the assault.
Those killed in the looting as well as the fighting lay in the streets and Fitzroy looked in disgust at the body of a dark-skinned native girl, no older than twelve or thirteen, who lay on her back, her sari thrust up around her waist and her legs apart.
‘That has to stop,’ Arthur said firmly. ‘At once. If ever I take another enemy city, then I’ll hang the first man I catch who commits rape and murder.’
The Dowlut Baugh had been built just beyond the wall of the city on the bank of the north Cauvery. It was surrounded with ornamental gardens. Unlike the palace in the city, the Dowlut Baugh was airy and spacious and seemed more suited to a philosopher king than a warrior tyrant like Tipoo. The gate was guarded by the grenadiers from Arthur’s regiment who had taken part in the assault. Major Shee emerged from the guardhouse as soon as he had word of Arthur’s arrival.
‘Good to see you, sir!’
‘And you. Where are the rest of the men?’
‘They’re gathering at the mosque. I’ve had the officers and sergeants rounding them up since we got your orders, sir.’
‘Very well.’ Arthur nodded approvingly. ‘You had better join them. I want twenty-man patrols ready to scour the city as soon as I take command.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Where’s General Baird?’
‘At breakfast.’ Shee nodded to the palace. ‘In the banquet hall. You can’t miss it, sir.’
‘Right. Come, Fitzroy.’
They left Shee and crunched up the gravel path to the ornately carved white stone of the entrance portico. The palace was guarded by more of the grenadiers, who stiffened to attention as their colonel entered the building. Inside the entrance was a large reception hall with arched doorways leading to other chambers. The sounds of light-hearted conversation could be heard through the door to the left and Arthur led the way over to it. Inside, the walls rose up to a domed roof decorated with hunting scenes.The room was perhaps thirty yards across, and on a dais on the far side Baird and his officers were sitting at a table. Several of the palace servants were serving them freshly prepared mangoes, oranges and other small fruits. As Arthur and Fitzroy crossed the hall Baird and his
