Prithviraj did not understand a word, but he knew Sharpe was dangerous and he was trying to work out how best to kill him. He glanced at the spear, wishing he had that weapon instead of the tulwar, but Sharpe knew the point should always beat the edge, which was why he had kept the spear.
'You want it quick or slow, Sevajee?' Sharpe called.
'Whichever you prefer, Ensign, ' Sevajee said, smiling.
'It is not for the audience to tell the actors how the play should go.'
'Then I'll make it quick, ' Sharpe said, and he pointed at Prithviraj with his free hand and motioned that thejetti could kneel down.
'Just kneel, ' he said, 'and I'll spare you. Tell him that, Sevajee!»
Sevajee called out in an Indian language and Prithviraj must have decided the offer was an insult, for he suddenly ran forward, tulwar swinging, and Sharpe had to step quickly aside and parry one of the cuts with the spear's staff. The blade cut a sliver of wood from the shaft, but went nowhere near Sharpe.
'No good doing that, ' Sharpe said.
'You're not making hay, you great pudding, you're trying to stay alive.'
Prithviraj attacked again, but all he could think to do was make great swings with the blade, any one of which might have slit Sharpe into two, but the attacks were clumsy and Sharpe backed away, always circling around to the middle of the courtyard so that he was not trapped against its edges. The crowd, sensing that Prithviraj might win, began to urge him on, but some noticed that the Englishman was not even trying to fight yet. He was taunting thejetti, he was evading him and he was keeping his spear low.
'I thought you said it would be quick, ' Sevajee said.
'You want it over?' Sharpe asked. He crouched, raising the spear blade, and the motion checked Prithviraj who stared at him warily.
'What I'm going to do, ' Sharpe said, 'is cut your belly open, then slit your throat. Are you ready?' He went forward, jabbing the spear, still low, and Prithviraj backed away, trying to parry the small lunges, but Sharpe dragged the spear back each time before the parry could connect, and Prithviraj frowned. He seemed hypnotized by the shining blade that flickered like a snake's tongue, and behind it Sharpe was grinning at him and taunting him, and Prithviraj tried to counter-attack once, but the spear slashed up to within an inch of his face and he went on stepping backwards. Then he backed into the blinded jettt who still crouched on the flagstones and Prithviraj staggered as he lost his balance.
Sharpe came up from the crouch, the spear lancing forward and the wild parry came far too late and suddenly the blade was punching and tearing through the skin and muscle of the jettfs stomach. Sharpe twisted the 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 cold bugger would probably blame Sharpe for getting into trouble.
Stokes, maybe? Or the cavalry? Sergeant Lockhart would doubtless welcome him, but then he had a better idea.
'Take me to wherever you're camped, ' he told Sevajee.
'And in the morning?'
'You've got a new recruit, ' Sharpe said.
'I'm one of your men for now.'
Sevajee looked amused.
'Why?'
'Why do you think? I want to hide.'
'But why?'
Sharpe sighed.
'D'you think Wellesley will believe me? If I go to Wellesley he'll think I've got sunstroke, or he'll reckon I'm drunk. And Torrance will stand there with a plum in his bloody mouth and deny everything, or else he'll blame
