sprawled across the terreplein and the mouth of the passage that ran through the gate was piled high with dead and wounded, some still struggling weakly as they moaned. A lieutenant was leading the company and he saluted as Arthur stopped in front of the gate and surveyed the scene.
‘Looks like a hard fight, Lieutenant.’
‘Aye, that it was, sir. They made a final stand in the passage there, and fought to the last. Brave lads they were.’
Arthur turned to the
‘Yes,
‘Very well.’ Arthur nodded and turned to the lieutenant. ‘I want the native bodies taken out of there and placed in a line by the wall.’
As the sun dipped towards the horizon and cast deep shadows behind the wall the redcoats reluctantly went about the distasteful task. The bodies, limp and slippery with blood, urine and ordure, were pulled out of the tangle of limbs and carried to one side. The
The
‘Put him down,’ Arthur ordered, and the two soldiers gently lowered the body to the ground. Arthur leaned closer and saw that apart from a few scratches and smears of blood, and a bullet wound to the shoulder, Tipoo seemed to have no lethal wound. Arthur undid some buttons on the jacket and tore open the silk shirt to reveal the dark smooth skin of the chest. He leaned his ear against it and listened for a moment, but there was no hearbeat.
‘He’s dead.’
The lieutenant came over. ‘Is that him, sir? Tipoo?’
Arthur nodded.
‘I remember this one. I saw him up there on the bastion, taking shots at us while his servants loaded his guns. He killed Lieutenant Lalor, shot him through the head. A fine shot at that range. That was before they went down to the passage to make their last stand. He was fighting it out with a sword when I saw him fall. How did he die?’
Arthur glanced over the body. ‘It’s hard to know for certain. Perhaps he fell and was knocked senseless. He was found near the bottom of the pile. It’s likely that he suffocated.’
‘Jesus . . .’The lieutenant shook his head.‘That’s no way to die.’
Fitzroy muttered, ‘There are worse ways, believe me.’
‘Take the body to the palace,’ Arthur ordered. ‘His sons can confirm the identity. Once his men know that he’s dead, there will be no reason to continue the fight.’
They returned to the palace, the body of the Tipoo being carried by a small detail of the men from the water gate. Tipoo’s sons, his wives and the surviving courtiers gathered round the body and began to grieve, their anguished cries echoing back off the walls of his audience chamber. Baird came, in response to the news, and stood to one side looking over the scene.There was no pity in his eyes, just a cold look of satisfaction.
‘I’ll shed no tears for that brute,’ he muttered to Arthur. ‘Nor his family, nor the people of this wretched city.’
‘What are your orders, sir?’
‘Orders?’ Baird frowned for a moment, and Arthur realised that the Scot was as exhausted as himself, and tiredness was dulling their minds. ‘Your men are to guard the palace. Take Tipoo’s sons back to General Harris, then return to the reserve column.’
‘Yes, sir. What about the city?’
‘What about it?’
‘Should we not take steps to establish order here, sir? In case our men get out of control.’
‘No. The men have earned their prize. The city is theirs.’
‘Sir . . .’ Arthur paused a moment. He could imagine the horrors that awaited the people of Seringapatam once the British soldiers, drunk on victory and arrack, began to vent their rage and lust on the inhabitants. ‘Sir, it would be an unconscionable wrong to let our men sack the city.’
Baird shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Rules of war, Wellesley. Nothing I can do about it. Nothing I will do about it. Not after the way I was treated by these bastards. Now, if you please, you have your orders.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Arthur saluted and turned away.
He left the city with a company of his men to escort Tipoo’s sons to the headquarters of General Harris. Already the sacking of Seringapatam had begun. Occasional gunshots echoed across the city, together with the drunken shouts and singing of the soldiers, and screams and pleas for mercy from its people. A fire flared up in one quarter, casting an orange loom over a corner of the city, and Arthur regarded the scene with disgust and a leaden sense of despair in his heart. Then he turned away and followed his men down through the breach and across the dark waters of the south Cauvery. If there really were crocodiles in the river, they would be feasting on the dead who had been killed while trying to flee from the island.
General Harris received Tipoo’s sons graciously and promised that they would be well treated the moment they had given their paroles. As they were led away Harris joined Arthur as he stood gazing through the tent flaps towards Seringapatam. Listening to the distant pop of gunfire and faint shouts and screams both men were well aware of the horrors unfolding in the city.
‘Baird’s not holding his men back, then?’
‘No, sir.’
‘A pity.This is going to make the job that much more difficult for the man who is to take charge of the city. There will plenty of work to be done winning the natives over to our side. It will require a man with uncommon powers of persuasion and organisation. Major General Baird is not that man,’ Harris concluded sadly, before he turned to Arthur. ‘That is why it must be you, Colonel Wellesley.’
‘Sir?’
‘I’ve made my decision. I want you to be the first Governor of Mysore.’
‘Me, sir?’ Arthur was too tired to hide his shock and surprise.
‘You. Now get back to your tent and get some sleep.You take charge of the city first thing in the morning.’
Chapter 50
Josephine entered the house as quietly as she could and closed the servants’ door behind her. Even though it was early in the evening the house was silent. She knew that Napoleon had already arrived.The coach he had travelled in from Marseilles was in the yard beside the stable at the back of the house, and the horses were quietly munching on their feed. She had instructed the driver of the carriage she had borrowed from Barras to drop her at the end of the street. As soon as word reached Paris that Napoleon had returned from Egypt, Josephine had been thrown into a panic. Enough people in the city already knew of her unfaithfulness for word to have come to the ears of her husband’s family, and it was certain that he would discover the truth soon enough, if he had not already. So Josephine had gone to her old friend Paul Barras and begged him to lend her his best carriage and horses so that she might meet Napoleon on the road to Paris and tell him the truth, before the rest of his family could fill his head with their version of events. She had resolved to find him, seek his forgiveness, promise to be faithful for ever more, and get him into bed. A night of passion would win him over so completely that no amount of sordid scandalmongering from his family would tear him from her. Unfortunately, the damned driver had lost his way on the road from Paris and after two days of confusion Josephine had ordered him to return to the capital.
