voice was becoming hoarse.
'Stop! a voice shouted.
'Two hundred and two.
'Stop! the voice shouted again, and this time it was as if the whole battalion had been suddenly woken from a sleep. The drummer boy gave a last hesitant tap, then let his hands fall to his sides as Sergeant Major Bywaters held up his hand to stop the next stroke which was already faltering. Sharpe lifted up his head and opened his eyes, but saw nothing but a blur. The pain surged through him, he whimpered, then dropped his face again and a string of spittle fell slowly from his mouth.
Colonel Arthur Wellesley had ridden up to the tripod. For a moment Shee and his aides looked at their Colonel almost guiltily, as though they had been caught in some illicit pastime. No one spoke as the Colonel edged his horse closer to the prisoner. Wellesley looked down sourly, then put his riding crop under Sharpe's chin to lift up his head. The Colonel almost recoiled from the look of hatred he saw in the victim's eyes. He pulled the crop away, then wiped its tip on his saddle cloth to remove the spittle. 'The prisoner is to be cut down, Major Shee, the Colonel said icily.
'Yes, sir. Shee was nervous, wondering if he had made some terrible mistake. 'At once, sir, he added, though he gave no orders.
'I dislike stopping a well-deserved punishment, Wellesley said loudly enough for all the nearby officers to hear, 'but Private Sharpe is to be taken to General Harris's tent as soon as he's recovered.
'General Harris, sir? Major Shee asked in astonishment. General Harris was the commander of this expedition against the Tippoo, and what possible business could the commanding General have with a half-flogged private? 'Yes, sir, of course, sir, Shee added quickly when he saw that his query had annoyed Wellesley. 'At once, sir.
'Then do it! Wellesley snapped. The Colonel was a thin young man with a narrow face, hard eyes and a prominently beaked nose. Many older men resented that the twenty-nine-year-old Wellesley was already a full colonel, but he came from a wealthy and tided family and his elder brother, the Earl of Mornington, was Governor-General of the East India Company's British possessions in India, so it was hardly surprising that the young Arthur Wellesley had risen so high so fast. Any officer given the money to buy promotion and lucky enough to possess relations who could put him in the way of advancement was bound to rise, but even the less fortunate men who resented Wellesley's privileges were forced to admit that the young Colonel had a natural and chilling authority, and maybe, some thought, even a talent for soldiering. He was certainly dedicated enough to his chosen trade if that was any sign of talent.
Wellesley nudged his horse forward and stared down as the prisoner's bonds were cut loose. 'Private Sharpe? He spoke with utter disdain, as though he dirtied himself by even addressing Sharpe.
Sharpe looked up, blinked, then made a guttural noise. Bywaters ran forward and worked the gag out of Sharpe's mouth. Freeing the pad took some manipulation, for Sharpe had sunk his teeth deep into the folded leather. 'Good lad now, Bywaters said softly, 'good lad. Didn't cry, did you? Proud of you, lad. The Sergeant Major at last managed to work the gag free and Sharpe tried to spit.
'Private Sharpe? Wellesley's disdainful voice repeated.
Sharpe forced his head up. 'Sir? The word came out as a croak. 'Sir, he tried again and this time it sounded like a moan.
Wellesley's face twitched with distaste for what he was doing. 'You're to be fetched to General Harris's tent. Do you understand me, Sharpe?
Sharpe blinked up at Wellesley. His head was spinning and the pain in his body was vying with disbelief at what he heard and with rage against the army.
'You heard the Colonel, boy, Bywaters prompted Sharpe.
'Yes, sir, Sharpe managed to answer Wellesley.
Wellesley turned to Micklewhite. 'Bandage him, Mister Micklewhite. Put a salve on his back, whatever you think best. I want him compos mentis within the hour. You understand me?
'Within an hour! the surgeon said in disbelief, then saw the anger on his young Colonel's face. 'Yes, sir, he said swiftly, 'within an hour, sir.
'And give him clean clothes, Wellesley ordered the Sergeant Major before giving Sharpe one last withering look and spurring his horse away.
The last of the ropes holding Sharpe to the tripod were cut away. Shee and the officers watched, all of them wondering just what extraordinary business had caused a summons to General Harris's tent. No one spoke as the Sergeant Major plucked away the last strands of rope from Sharpe's right wrist, then offered his own hand. 'Here, lad. Hold onto me. Gendy now.
Sharpe shook his head. 'I'm all right, Sergeant Major, he said. He was not, but he would be damned before he showed weakness in front of his comrades, and double damned before he showed it in front of Sergeant Hakeswill who had watched aghast as his victim was cut down from the triangle. 'I'm all right, Sharpe insisted and he slowly pushed himself away from the tripod, then, tottering slighdy, turned and took three steps.
A cheer sounded in the Light Company.
'Quiet! Captain Morris snapped. 'Take names, Sergeant Hakeswill!
'Take names, sir! Yes, sir!
Sharpe staggered twice and almost fell, but he forced himself to stand upright and then to take some steady steps towards the surgeon. 'Reporting for bandaging, sir, he croaked. Blood had soaked his trousers, his back was carnage, but he had recovered most of his wits and the look he gave the surgeon almost made Micklewhite flinch because of its savagery.
'Come with me, Private, Micklewhite said.
'Help him! Help him! Bywaters snapped at the drummer boys and the two sweating lads dropped their whips and hurried to support Sharpe's elbows. He had managed to remain upright, but Bywaters had seen him swaying and feared he was about to collapse.
Sharpe half walked and was half carried away. Major Shee took off his hat, scratched his greying hair, and then, unsure what he should do, looked down at Bywaters. 'It seems we have no more business today, Sergeant Major.
'No, sir.
Shee paused. It was all so irregular.
'Dismiss the battalion, sir? Bywaters suggested.
Shee nodded, glad to have been given some guidance. 'Dismiss them, Sergeant Major.
'Yes, sir.
Sharpe had survived.
CHAPTER 4
It seemed airless inside General Harris's tent. It was a large tent, as big as a parish marquee, and though both its wide entrances had been brailed back there was no wind to stir the damp air trapped under the high ridge. The light inside the big tent was yellowed by the canvas to the colour of urine and gave the grass underfoot a dank unhealthy look.
Four men waited inside the tent. The youngest and most nervous was William Lawford who, because he was a mere lieutenant and by far the most junior officer present, was sitting far off to one side on a gilt chair of such spindly and fragile construction it seemed a miracle that it had survived its transport on the army's wagons. Lawford scarcely dared move lest he draw attention to himself, and so he sat awkward and uncomfortable as the sweat trickled down his face and dripped onto the crown of his cocked hat which rested on his thighs.
Opposite Lawford, and utterly ignoring the younger man, sat his Colonel, Arthur Wellesley. The Colonel made small talk, but gruffly, as though he resented being forced to wait. Once or twice he pulled a watch from his fob pocket, snapped open the lid, glared at the revealed face, then restored the watch to his pocket without making a comment.
General Harris, the army's commander, sat behind a long table that was spread with maps. The commander
