Sharpe's Fortress Part 70

"I didn't think we were making an escalade tomorrow?"

"We're not," Stokes said, 'but you never know what obstacles have to be overcome inside a fortress. Sensible to carry ladders." He peered at Ahmed who was now dressed in one of the sepoy's coats that had been given to Syud Sevajee. The boy wore the red jacket proudly, even though it was a poor, threadbare and bloodstained thing.

"I say," Stokes admired the boy, 'but you do look like a proper soldier. Don't he just?"

Ahmed stood to attention, shouldered his musket and made a smart about-turn. Major Stokes applauded.

"Well done, lad. I'm afraid you've missed all the excitement, Sharpe."

"Excitement?"

"Your Captain Torrance died. Shot himself, by the look of things.

Terrible way to go. I feel sorry for his father. He's a cleric, did you know? Poor man, poor man. Would you like some tea, Sharpe? Or do you need to sleep?"

"I'd like some tea, sir."

"We'll go to my tent," Stokes said, leading the way.

"I've still got your pack, by the way. You can take it with you."

"I'd rather you kept it another day," Sharpe said, "I'll be busy tomorrow."

"Busy?" Stokes asked.

"I'm going in with Kenny's troops, sir."

"Dear G.o.d," Stokes said. He stopped and frowned. "I've no doubt we'll get through the breaches, Richard, for they're good breaches. A bit steep, perhaps, but we should get through, but G.o.d only knows what waits beyond. And I fear that the Inner Fort may be a much bigger obstacle than any of us have antic.i.p.ated." He shook his head.

"I ain't sanguine, Sharpe, I truly ain't."

Sharpe had no idea what sanguine meant, though he did not doubt that Stokes's lack of it did not augur well for the attack.

"I have to go into the fort, sir. I have to. But I wondered if you'd keep an eye on

Ahmed here." He took hold of the boy's shoulder and pulled him forward.

"The little b.u.g.g.e.r will insist on coming with me," Sharpe said, 'but if you keep him out of trouble then he might survive another day."

"He can be my a.s.sistant," Stokes said happily.

"But, Richard, can't I persuade you to the same employment? Are you ordered to accompany Kenny?"

"I'm not ordered, sir, but I have to go. It's personal business."

"It will be b.l.o.o.d.y in there," Stokes warned. He walked on to his tent and shouted for his servant.

Sharpe pushed Ahmed towards Stokes's tent.

"You stay here, Ahmed, you hear me? You stay here!"

"I come with you," Ahmed insisted.

"You b.l.o.o.d.y well stay," Sharpe said. He twitched Ahmed's red coat.

"You're a soldier now. That means you take orders, understand? You obey. And I'm ordering you to stay here."

The boy scowled, but he seemed to accept the orders, and Stokes showed him a place where he could sleep. Afterwards the two men talked, or rather Sharpe listened as Stokes enthused about some fine quartz he had discovered in rocks broken open by the enemy's counter battery fire. Eventually the Major began yawning. Sharpe finished his tea, said his good night and then, making certain that Ahmed did not see him go, he slipped away into the dark.

He still could not sleep. He wished Clare had not gone to Eli Lockhart, although he was glad for the cavalryman that she had, but her absence made Sharpe feel lonely. He walked to the cliff's edge and he stood staring across the great gulf towards the fortress. A few lights showed in Gawilghur, and every twenty minutes or so the rocky isthmus would be lit by the monstrous flame of the eighteen-pounder gun. The b.a.l.l.s would rattle against stone, then there would be silence except for the distant sound of singing, the crackle of insects and the soft sigh of the wind against the cliffs. Once, when the great gun fired, Sharpe distinctly saw the three ragged holes in the two walls. And why, he wondered, was he so intent on going into those deathtraps? Was it revenge? Just to find Hakeswill and Dodd? He could wait for the attackers to do their work, then stroll into the fort unopposed, but he knew he would not choose that easy path. He would go with Kenny's men and he would fight his way into Gawilghur for no other reason than pride. He was failing as an officer. The 74th had rejected him, the Rifles did not yet know him, so Sharpe must take a reputation back to England if he was to stand any chance of success.

So tomorrow he must fight. Or else he must sell his commission and leave the army. He had thought about that, but he wanted to stay in uniform. He enjoyed the army, he even suspected he was good at the army's business of fighting the King's enemies. So tomorrow he would do it again, and thus demonstrate that he deserved the red sash and the sword.

So in the morning, when the drums beat and the enemy guns beat even harder, Sharpe would go into Gawilghur.

CHAPTER 9.

At dawn there was a mist in Deogaum, a mist that sifted through the rain trees and pooled in the valleys and beaded on the tents.

"A touch of winter, don't you think?" Sir Arthur Wellesley commented to his aide, Campbell.

"The thermometer's showing seventy-eight degrees, sir," the young Scotsman answered drily.

"Only a touch of winter, Campbell, only a touch," the General said.

He was standing outside his tent, a cup and saucer in one hand, staring up through the wisps of mist to where the rising sun threw a brilliant light on Gawilghur's soaring cliffs. A servant stood behind with Wellesley's coat, hat and sword, a second servant held his horse, while a third waited to take the cup and saucer.

"How's Harness?" the General asked Campbell.

"I believe he now sleeps most of the time, sir," Campbell replied.

Colonel Harness had been relieved of the command of his brigade.

He had been found ranting in the camp, demanding that his Highlanders form fours and follow him southwards to fight against dragons, papists and Whigs.

"Sleeps?" the General asked.

"What are the doctors doing? Pouring rum down his gullet?"

"I believe it is tincture of opium, sir, but most likely flavoured with rum."

"Poor Harness," Wellesley grunted, then sipped his tea. From high above him there came the sound of a pair of twelve-pounder guns that had been hauled to the summit of the conical hill that reared just south of the fortress. Wellesley knew those guns were doing no good, but he had stubbornly insisted that they fire at the fortress gate that looked out across the vast plain. The gunners had warned the General that the weapons would be ineffective, that they would be firing too far and too high above them, but Wellesley had wanted the fortress to know that an a.s.sault might come from the south as well as across the rocky isthmus to the north, and so he had ordered the sappers to drag the two weapons up through the entangling jungle and to make a battery on the hill top. The guns, firing at their maximum elevation, were just able to throw their missiles to Gawilghur's southern entrance, but by the time the round shot reached the gate it was spent of all force and simply bounced back down the steep slope. But that was not the point. The point was to keep some of the garrison looking southwards, so that not every man could be thrown against the a.s.sault on the breaches.

That a.s.sault would not start for five hours yet, for before Lieutenant Colonel Kenny led his men against the breaches, Wellesley wanted his other attackers to be in place. Those were two columns of redcoats that were even now climbing the two steep roads that twisted up the great cliffs. Colonel Wallace, with his own 74th and a battalion of sepoys, would approach the Southern Gate, while the 78th and another native battalion would climb the road which led to the ravine between the forts. Both columns could expect to come under heavy artillery fire, and neither could hope to break into the fortress, but their job was only to distract the defenders while Kenny's men made for the breaches.

Wellesley drained the tea, made a wry face at its bitter taste and held out the cup and saucer for the servant.

"Time to go, Campbell."