He was a white man, and wore a pair of dirty trousers and a ragged shirt, while a white coat and a black sash were bundled under one arm. His hair was lank, his skin filthy, and his face twitched as he shuffled along the path. No one took any notice of him, for he looked like any other redcoat who had found his small scrap of loot, and so Obadiah Hakeswill slunk northwards with a fortune in jewels concealed in his shabby clothes.
He reckoned he had only to get through the gate, and across the Outer Fort, and then he would run. Where? He did not know. Just run. He was rich now, but he would still need to steal a horse. There would be plenty of officers' horses in the camp, and maybe he would be lucky and find a dead man's horse so that the loss would not be noticed for days. Then he would ride southwards. South to Madras, and in Madras he could sell the jewels, buy proper clothes and become a gentleman. Obadiah Hakeswill, Gent. Then he would go home. Home to England. Be a rich gentleman there.
He ignored the redcoats. The buggers had won, and it was not fair.
He could have been a rajah, but at least he was as rich as any rajah, and so he sidled down the dusty path and the gatehouse was not very far away now. An officer was ahead, standing with a drawn claymore beside the snake pit and staring down into its horror, and then he turned and walked towards Hakeswill. The officer was hatless, bloody-faced, and Obadiah limped off the track, praying that he would not be noticed. The officer went safely past and Hakeswill breathed a silent prayer of thanks and swerved back to the track. Only a trickle of men came through the gate now, and most of them were too intent on joining the plundering to care about a single man limping the other way. Hakeswill grinned, knowing he would get away. He would be a gentleman.
Then a sword point pricked his spine and Hakeswill froze.
'I've been looking for you for days, Obadiah, ' a hated voice said, and Hakeswill turned to look up into Sharpe's face, but the face was half hidden by blood, which was why he had not recognized the officer standing beside the snake pit.
'I was a prisoner, ' Hakeswill whined, 'a prisoner.'
'You're a bloody liar.'
'For the love of God, help me.' Obadiah pretended not to recognize Sharpe, pretended to be mad. He twitched and moaned, let spittle dribble from his mouth and twisted his hands in submission.
'Locked me up, ' he said, 'the heathen bastards locked me up. Ain't seen daylight in days.'
Sharpe leaned forward and snatched the coat that was bundled under Hakeswill's arm. Hakeswill stiffened, and Sharpe smiled as he saw the flash of anger in the Sergeant's eyes.
'Want the coat back, Obadiah? So fight me for it.'
'I was a prisoner, ' Hakeswill insisted, no longer moaning like a mad thing.
Sharpe shook the coat open.
'So why's the jacket white, Obadiah?
You're a bleeding liar.' He felt the coat's pockets, felt the hard lumps and knew his jewels were safe again. Hakeswill's eyes glinted with a terrible and frustrated rage.
'Go on, Obadiah, ' Sharpe said, 'fight me.'
'I was a prisoner, ' Hakeswill said, and he glanced to his right, hoping he could make a run for it, for though he might have lost the jewels in the coat, he had others in his trousers. And Sharpe, he now saw,
had a wound in the hip. Perhaps Sharpe could not run. So run now, he told himself, and then the flat of the claymore's blade struck him hard across the scalp. He yelped, then went still as the sword point pricked at his throat.
'You sold me to Jama, didn't you?' Sharpe said.
'But that was a mistake, Obadiah, because I beat his jet tis into pulp. I'll do that to you now. But take your clothes off first.'
'You can't do this to me! ' Hakeswill shouted, hoping to attract attention. His face twitched.
'You can't do this!
'Gainst regulations, it is!»
'Strip, Obadiah, ' Sharpe said.
'There are rules! Regulations! Says so in the scriptures!»
The claymore's point jabbed at Hakes wilTs throat, drawing blood from the scar that had been left when they had tried to hang the young Obadiah. The pain quietened the Sergeant, and Sharpe smiled.
'I half beat Captain Morris to death, Sergeant, so do you think it worries me that there are rules which say I mustn't touch you? Now you've got a choice. You can strip naked, or you can let me strip your corpse naked. I don't care which it is. I don't care if they bloody hang me for your murder. It'd be worth it. So shut the hell up, and get your bloody clothes off.'
Hakeswill looked for help, but there was none in sight, and the sword point twisted in his broken skin and he gabbled that he was undressing himself, and he scrabbled at the rope belt on his trousers, and tore the buttons out of his shirt.
'Don't kill me! ' he shouted.
'I can't be killed! I can't die! ' He pulled off the shirt, tugged off his boots and pulled down his trousers.
'Now the foot cloths, ' Sharpe said.
Hakeswill sat and unwrapped the filthy strips and so was left white and naked under the terrible sun. Sharpe used the sword's tip to pull the clothes into a pile. He would search them, extract the gems, then leave them.
'On your feet now, Obadiah, ' he said, encouraging the naked man with the sword's reddened tip.
'I can't die, Sharpie! ' Hakeswill pleaded, his face racked by twitches.
'I
can't! You tried! The tigers wouldn't eat me and the elephant wouldn't kill me. You know why? Because I can't die! I've got an angel, I do, my own soul's angel and she looks after me.' He shouted the words, and all the while he was being pressed backwards by the sword tip, and he danced on the rocks because they were so hot and his feet were bare.
'You can't kill me. The angel looks after me. It's Mother, Sharpie, that's who the angel is, it's Mother all white and shiny. No, Sharpie, no! I can't die! ' And the sword stabbed at his belly and Hakeswill jumped back, and jumped back again when the tip slashed at his scrawny ribs.
'They tried to hang me but they couldn't! ' he declared.
'I dangled and I danced, and the rope wouldn't kill me, and here I am! I cannot die! ' And then he screamed, because the sword had stabbed one last time and Hakeswill had stepped back to avoid the lunge, only this time there was no rock behind him, only a void, and he screamed as he fell into the shadows of the snake pit.
He screamed again as he hit the stone floor with a thump.
'I can't die!»
he shouted triumphantly, and stared up at the black shape of his enemy.
'I can't die! ' Hakeswill called again, then something sinuous and shadowy flickered to his left and he had no time to worry about Sharpe.
He screamed, because the snakes were staring at him with hard flat eyes.
«Sharpie!» he shouted.
'Sharpie!»
But Sharpe had gone to collect the pile of rags.
And Hakeswill was alone with the serpents.
Wellesley heard the distant cheers, but could not tell whether it was his own men who celebrated or the enemy who was making the noise. The smoke cloud that had hung so thick and constant beyond the fortress faded.
He waited.
The defenders on the south wall still fought. They fired their cannon at the 74th's skirmish line which, because it was well spread out and sheltered by the rocks on the steep hillside, survived the sporadic cannonade. The smoke of the guns hung by the walls. Wellesley looked at his watch. Four o'clock. If the fort had not fallen, then it would soon be too late. Night would come and he would have to retreat ignominiously to the plain below. The intermittent crackle of muskets from the north told him that something was still happening, but whether it was men looting, or the sound of the defenders firing at defeated attackers, he could not tell.
Then the guns on the south wall fell silent. Their smoke lingered, then drifted away in the hot wind. Wellesley waited, expecting the cannon to fire again, but they remained quiet.
