Neither Manu Bappoo nor the British could ever cross the ravine, not if Dodd opposed them.
The Inner Fort was quite separate from the Outer. No wall joined them, only a track that dropped steeply to the bed of the ravine and then climbed, even more steeply, to the intricate gateway of the Inner Fort. Dodd used that track each day, and he tried to imagine himself as an attacker. Twenty more guns faced him from the Inner Fort's single wall as he descended the ravine, and none of those guns would have been dismounted by cannon fire. Muskets would be pouring their shot down into the rocky ravine and rockets would be slashing bloodily through the British ranks. The redcoats would die here like rats being pounded in a bucket, and even if some did survive to climb the track towards the gate, they would only reach Gawilghur's last horror.
That horror was the entrance, where four vast gates barred the Inner Fort, four gates set one after another in a steep passage that was flanked by towering walls. There was no other way in. Even if the British breached the Inner Fort's wall it would not help, for the wall was built on top of the precipice which formed the southern side of the ravine, and no man could climb that slope and hope to survive.
The only way in was through the gate, and Wellesley, Dodd had learned, did not like lengthy sieges. He had escaladed Ahmednuggur, surprising its defenders by sending men with ladders against the unbreached walls, and Dodd was certain that Wellesley would similarly try to rush the Inner Fort. He could not approach the wall, perched on its cliff, so he would be forced to send his men into the ghastly entrance that twisted as it climbed, and for every steep step of the way, between each of the four great gates, they would be pounded by muskets, crushed by stones, blasted by cannon and savaged by rockets dropped from the parapets. It could not be done. Dodd's Cobras would be on the fire steps and the redcoats would be beneath them, and the redcoats would die like cat de
Dodd had no great opinion of Indian rockets, but he had stockpiled more than a thousand above the Inner Fort's murderous entrance, for within the close confines of the walled road the weapons would prove lethal. The rockets were made of hammered tin, each one about sixteen inches long and four or five inches in diameter, with a bamboo stick the height of a man attached to each tin cylinder that was crammed with powder. Dodd had experimented with the weapon and found that a lit rocket tossed down into the gate passage would sear and bounce from wall to wall, and even when it finally stopped careering madly about the roadway, it went on belching out a torch of flame that would scorch trapped men terribly. A dozen rockets dropped between two of the gates might kill a score of men and burn another score half to death. Just let them come, Dodd prayed as he climbed each morning towards the Inner Fort. Let them come! Let them come and let them take the Outer Fort, for then Manu Bappoo must die and the British would then come to Dodd and die like the Prince.
And afterwards the fugitives of their beaten army would be pursued south across the Deccan Plain. Their bodies would rot in the heat and their bones whiten in the sun, and the British power in India would be broken and Dodd would be Lord of Gawilghur.
Just let the bastards come.
That evening Sergeant Hakeswill pushed aside the folds of muslin to enter Captain Torrance's quarters. The Captain was lying naked in his hammock where he was being fanned by a bamboo punk ah that had been rigged to a ceiling beam. His native servant kept the punk ah moving by tugging on a string, while Clare Wall trimmed the Captain's fingernails.
"Not too close, Brick, " Torrance said.
"Leave me enough to scratch with, there's a good girl." He raised his eyes to Hakeswill.
"Did you knock, Sergeant?"
"Twice, sir, " Hakeswill lied, 'loud and clear, sir."
"Brick will have to ream out my ears. Say good evening to the Sergeant, Brick. Where are our manners tonight?"
Clare lifted her eyes briefly to acknowledge Hakeswill's presence and mumbled something barely audible. Hakeswill snatched off his hat.
"Pleasure to see you, Mrs. Wall, " he said eagerly, 'a proper pleasure, my jewel." He bobbed his head to her and winked at Torrance, who flinched.
«Brick,» Torrance said, 'the Sergeant and I have military matters to discuss. So take yourself to the garden." He patted her hand and watched her leave.
"And no listening at the window! " he added archly.
He waited until Clare had sidled past the muslin that hung over the kitchen entrance, then leaned precariously from the hammock to pick up a green silk robe that he draped over his crotch.
"I would hate to shock you, Sergeant."
"Beyond shock, sir, me, sir. Ain't nothing living I ain't seen naked, sir, all of 'em naked as needles, and never once was I shocked, sir.
Ever since they strung me up by the neck I've been beyond shock, sir."
And beyond sense, too, Torrance thought, but he suppressed the comment.
"Has Brick left the kitchen?"
Hakeswill peered past the muslin.
"She's gone, sir."
"She's not at the window?"
Hakeswill checked the window.
"On the far side of the yard, sir, like a good girl."
"I trust you've brought me news?"
"Better than news, sir, better than news." The Sergeant crossed to the table and emptied his pocket.
"Your notes to Jama, sir, all of them.
Ten thousand rupees, and all paid off. You're out of debt, sir, out of debt."
Relief seared through Torrance. Debt was a terrible thing, a dreadful thing, yet seemingly inescapable if a man was to live to the full. Twelve hundred guineas! How could he ever have gambled that much away? It had been madness! Yet now it was paid, and paid in full.
"Burn the notes, " he ordered Hakeswill.
Hakeswill held the notes into a candle flame one by one, then let them shrivel and burn on the table. The draught from the punk ah disturbed the smoke and scattered the little scraps of black ash that rose from the small fires.
"And Jama, sir, being a gentleman, despite being an heathen bastard blackamoor, added a thankee, " Hakeswill said, putting some gold coins on the table.
"How much?"
"Seven hundred rupees there, sir."
"He gave us more, I know that. You're cheating me, Sergeant."
«Sir!» Hakeswill straightened indignantly.
"On my life, sir, and I speak as a Christian, I ain't ever cheated a soul in my life, sir, not unless they deserved it, in which case they gets it right and proper, sir, like it says in the scriptures."
Torrance stared at Hakeswill.
"Jama will be back in the camp in a day or two. I can ask him."
"And you will find, sir, that I have treated you foursquare and straight, sir, on the nail, sir, on the drumhead, as one soldier to another."
Hakeswill sniffed.
"I'm hurt, sir."
Torrance yawned.
"You have my sincerest, deepest and most fervent apologies, Sergeant. So tell me about Sharpe."
Hakeswill glanced at the punk ah boy.
"Does that heathen speak English, sir?"
"Of course not."
"Sharpie's no more, sir." Hakeswill's face twitched as he remembered the pleasure of kicking his enemy.
"Stripped the bastard naked, sir, gave him a headache he won't ever forget, not that he's got long to remember anything now on account of him being on his way to meet his executioner, and I kept him trussed up till Jama's men came to fetch him. Which they did, sir, so now he's gone, sir. Gone for bleeding ever, just as he deserves."
"You stripped him?" Torrance asked, puzzled.
"Didn't want the bastards dropping off a body all dressed up in an officer's coat, sir, even though the little bleeder should never have worn one, him being nothing more than a jumped-up dribble of dried toad spittle sir. So we stripped him and burned the uniform, sir."