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.
"Maybe they've run, " he said. The green and gold flag still hung over the gate-tower, but Wellesley could see no defenders there.
"If the fortress has fallen, sir, " Wallace pointed out, 'then why aren't they running out of this gate?"
"Because they know we're here, " Wellesley said, and took out his telescope. By mistake he had brought the new glass, the one he intended to give to Sharpe which had been engraved with the date of Assaye, and he put it to his eye and examined the southern wall. The embrasures were empty. The guns were still there, their blackened muzzles just showing, but no men.
"I think we shall advance, Wallace, " Wellesley said, snapping the glass shut.
"It could be a trap, sir."
"We shall advance, " Wellesley said firmly.
The 74th marched with colours flying, drummers beating and pipers playing. A battalion of sepoys followed, and the two regiments made a brave sight as they climbed the last stretch of the steep road, but still the great Southern Gate of Gawilghur was closed before them.
Wellesley spurred ahead, half expecting the defenders to spring a surprise and appear on the ramparts, but instead it was a redcoat who suddenly showed there and Wellesley's heart leaped with relief. He could sail home to England with another victory in his pocket.
The redcoat on the wall slashed at the flag's halyard and Wellesley watched as the green and gold banner fluttered down. Then the redcoat turned and shouted to someone inside the fortress.
Wellesley spurred his horse. Just as he and his aides came into the shadow of the gatehouse, the great gates began to open, hauled back by dirty-looking redcoats with stained faces and broad grins. An officer stood just beyond the arch and, as the General rode into sight, the officer brought his sword up in salute.
Wellesley returned the salute. The officer was drenched in blood, and the General hoped that was not a reflection of the army's casualties.
Then he recognized the man.
"Mister Sharpe?" He sounded puzzled.
"Welcome to Gawilghur, sir, " Sharpe said.
"I thought you'd been captured?"
"I escaped, sir. Managed to join the attack."
"So I see." Wellesley glanced ahead. The fort seethed with jubilant redcoats and he knew it would take till nightfall to restore order.
"You should see a surgeon, Mister Sharpe. I fear you're going to carry a scar on your face." He remembered the telescope, but decided he would give it to Sharpe later and so, with a curt nod, he rode on.
Sharpe stood and watched the 74th march in. They had not wanted him, because he was not a gentleman. But, by God, he was a soldier, and he had opened the fort for them. He caught Urquhart's eye, and Urquhart looked at the blood on Sharpe's face and at the crusting scabs on Sharpe's sword, then looked away.
"Good afternoon, Urquhart, " Sharpe said loudly.
Urquhart spurred his horse.
"Good afternoon, Sergeant Colquhoun, " Sharpe said.
Colquhoun marched doggedly on.
Sharpe smiled. He had proved whatever he had set out to prove, and what was that? That he was a soldier, but he had always known that. He was a soldier, and he would stay a soldier, and if that meant wearing a green jacket instead of a red, then so be it. But he was a soldier, and he had proved it in the heat and blood of Gawilghur. It was the fastness in the sky, the stronghold that could not fall, and now it was Sharpe's fortress.