Sharpe was cursing. He had so nearly got clean away! If Hakeswill had not attacked him he might have run another fifty yards through the trees, discarded the tiger-striped tunic and discovered some of his old friends. Instead he had become a hero to Gudin who believed that Sharpe had lured all the grenadiers into the clearing where the twelve who had survived the enthusiastic attack were now prisoners along with the twitching and cursing Hakeswill.

'You took a terrible risk, Corporal!' Gudin said, coming back to Sharpe and sheathing his sword. 'You could have been shot by your old friends. But it worked, eh? And now you are a corporal!'

'Aye, sir. It worked,' Sharpe said, though he took no pleasure in it. It had all gone so disastrously wrong, indeed the whole night had gone disastrously wrong for the British. The Tippoo's men were now clearing the tope yard by yard, and chasing British survivors back across the aqueduct. They pursued the beaten fugitives with jeers, volleys of musket fire and salvoes of rockets. Thirteen prisoners had been taken, all by Sharpe and Gudin, and those unfortunate men were herded back towards the city while the redcoat dead were looted for weapons and valuables.

'I'll make sure the Tippoo hears of your bravery, Sharpe,' Gudin said as he retrieved his horse. 'He's a brave man himself and he admires it in others. I don't doubt he'll want to reward you!'

'Thank you, sir,' Sharpe said, though without enthusiasm.

'You're not wounded, are you?' Gudin asked anxiously, struck by the forlorn tone of Sharpe's voice.

'Burned my hand, sir,' Sharpe said. He had not realized it when he snatched up the rocket tube to fend off Hakeswill, but the metal cylinder had scorched his hand, though not badly. 'Nothing much,' he added. 'I'll live.'

'Of course you'll live,' Gudin said, then laughed delightedly. 'Gave them a beating, didn't we?'

'Trounced 'em proper, sir.'

'And we'll trounce them again, Sharpe, when they attack the city. They don't know what's waiting for them!'

'What is waiting for them, sir?' Sharpe asked.

'You'll see. You'll see,' Gudin said, then hauled himself up into his saddle. Sergeant Rothiere wanted to stay in the tope to retrieve British muskets, so the Colonel insisted that Sharpe ride the second horse back to the city with the disconsolate prisoners who were under the guard of a gleeful company of the Tippoo's troops.

Hakeswill looked up at Sharpe and spat. 'Bloody traitor!'

'Ignore him,' Gudin said.

'Snake!' Hakeswill hissed. 'Piece of no-good shit, that's what you are, Sharpie. Jesus Christ!' This last imprecation was because one of the escorting soldiers had hit the back of Hakeswill's head with a musket barrel. 'Black bastard,' Hakeswill muttered.

'I'd like to kick his bloody teeth in, sir,' Sharpe said to Gudin. 'In fact, if you've no objection, sir, I'll take the bastard into the dark and finish him off.'

Gudin sighed. 'I do object,' the Colonel said mildly, 'because it's rather important we treat prisoners well, Sharpe. I sometimes fear the Tippoo doesn't understand the courtesies of war, but so far I've managed to persuade him that if we treat our prisoners properly then our enemies will treat theirs properly in return.'

'I'd still like to kick the bastard's teeth in, sir.'

'I assure you the Tippoo might do that without any help from you,' Gudin said grimly.

Sharpe and the Colonel spurred ahead of the prisoners to cross the bridge back to the city where they dismounted at the Mysore Gate. Sharpe handed the mare's reins to Gudin who thanked him yet again and tossed him a whole golden haideri as a reward. 'Go and get drunk, Sharpe,' the Colonel said, 'you deserve it.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'And believe me, I'll tell the Tippoo. He admires bravery!'

Lieutenant Lawford was among the curious crowd who waited just inside the gate. 'What happened?' he asked Sharpe.

'I buggered up,' Sharpe said bitterly. 'I bloody well buggered it up. Come on, let's spend some money. Get drunk.'

'No, wait.' Lawford had seen the redcoats coming through the flame light of the gate torches and he pulled away from Sharpe to watch as the thirteen prisoners were pushed at bayonet point into the city. The crowd began jeering.

'Come away!' Sharpe insisted and he tugged at Lawford's elbow.

Lawford shook off the tug and stared at the prisoners, unable to hide his chagrin at the sight of British soldiers being herded into captivity. Then he recognized Hakeswill who, at the same instant, stared into the Lieutenant's face, and Sharpe saw Hakeswill's look of utter astonishment. For a second the world seemed to pause in its turning. Lawford appeared unable to move, while Hakeswill was gaping with disbelief and seemed about to shout his recognition. Sharpe was reaching to snatch a musket from one of the Tippoo's infantrymen, but then Hakeswill turned deliberately away and composed his features as though sending a silent message that he would not remark on Lawford's presence. The twelve grenadier prisoners were still a few yards behind and Lawford, suddenly realizing that yet more men of his battalion might recognize him, at last turned away. He pulled Sharpe with him. Sharpe protested. 'I want to kill Hakeswill!'

'Come on!' Lawford hurried down an alley. The Lieutenant had gone pale. He stopped beside the arched doorway of a small temple that was surmounted by a carving of a cow resting beneath a parasol. Little flames sputtered inside the sanctuary. 'Will he say anything?' Lawford asked.

'That bastard?' Sharpe said. 'Anything's possible.'

'Surely not. He wouldn't betray us,' Lawford said, then shuddered. 'What happened, for God's sake?'

Sharpe told him of the night's events and how close he had come to making a clean break back to the British lines. 'It were bloody Hakeswill that stopped me,' he complained.

'He could have misunderstood you,' Lawford said.

'Not him.'

'But what happens if he does betray us?' Lawford asked.

'Then we join your uncle in the bloody cells,' Sharpe said gloomily. 'You should have let me shoot the bastard back at the gate.'

'Don't be a fool!' Lawford snapped. 'You're still in the army, Sharpe. So am I.' He suddenly shook his head. 'God Almighty!' he swore. 'We need to find Ravi Shekhar.'

'Why?'

'Because if we can't get the news out, then maybe he can!' Lawford said angrily. His anger was at himself. He had been so beguiled by exploring the existence of a common soldier that he had forgotten his duty, and that dereliction now filled him with guilt. 'We have to find him, Sharpe!'

'How? We can't ask in the streets for him!'

'Then find Mrs. Bickerstaff,' Lawford said urgently. 'Find her, Sharpe!' He lowered his voice. 'And that's an order.'

'I outrank you,' Sharpe said.

Lawford turned on him furiously. 'What did you say?'

'I'm a corporal now, Private.' Sharpe grinned.

'This is not a joke, Sharpe!' Lawford snapped. There was a sudden authority in his voice. 'We're not here to enjoy ourselves. We're here to do a job.'

'We've done it bloody well so far,' Sharpe said defensively.

'No, we haven't,' Lawford said firmly. 'Because we haven't got the news out, have we? And until we do that, Sharpe, we've achieved nothing. Absolutely nothing. So talk to your woman and tell her what we know and get her to find Shekhar. That's an order, Private Sharpe. So do it!' Lawford abruptly turned and stalked away.

Sharpe felt the comforting weight of the haideri in his tunic pocket. He thought about following Lawford, then decided to hell with it. Tonight he could afford the best and life was too short to pass up that sort of chance. He decided he would go back to the brothel. He had liked the place, a house filled with curtains, rugs and shaded oil lamps where two giggling girls had given Lawford and Sharpe baths before letting them go up the stairs to the bedrooms. A haideri would buy a whole night in one of those rooms, perhaps with Lali, the tall girl who had left Lieutenant Lawford exhausted and guilt-ridden.