'All of them, Your Majesty?' the aide asked.

'Not the Sergeant,' the Tippoo said. 'Not the one who twitches. The others. Tell the jettis to bring them here.' For his victory needed one last sacrifice of blood before the Cauvery was made dark with it.

Chapter 10

Appah Rao was an able man, otherwise he would not have been promoted to the command of one of the Tippoo's brigades, but he was also a discreet man. Discretion had kept Rao alive and discretion had enabled him to preserve his loyalty to the unthroned Rajah of the house of Wodeyar while still serving the Tippoo.

Now, ordered to take his men to the walls of Seringapatam and there fight to preserve the Muslim dynasty of the Tippoo, Appah Rao at last questioned his discretion. He obeyed the Tippoo, of course, and his cushoons filed dutifully enough onto the city ramparts, but Appah Rao, standing beneath one of the sun banners above the Mysore Gate, asked himself what he wanted of this world. He possessed family, high rank, wealth and ability, yet he still bowed his head to a foreign monarch and some of the flags above his men's heads were inscribed in Arabic to celebrate a god who was no god of Appah Rao's. His own monarch lived in poverty, ever under the threat of execution, and it was possible, more than possible, Rao allowed, that victory this day would raise the Tippoo so high that he would no longer need the small advantage of the Rajah's existence. The Rajah was paraded like a doll on Hindu holy days to placate the Tippoo's Hindu subjects, but if Mysore had no enemies in southern India, why should the Hindus of Mysore need to be placated? The Rajah and all his family would be secretly strangled and their corpses, like the bodies of the twelve murdered British prisoners, would be wrapped in reed mats and buried in an unmarked grave.

But if the Tippoo lost then the British would rule in Mysore. True, if they kept their word, the Rajah would be restored to his palace and to his ancient throne, but the power of the palace would still rest with the British advisers, and the Rajah's treasury would be required to pay for the upkeep of British troops. But if the Tippoo won, Appah Rao thought, then the French would come and what evidence was there that the French were any better than the British?

He stood above the southern gate, waiting for an unseen enemy to erupt from their trenches and assault the city, and he felt like a man buffeted between two implacable forces. If he had been less discreet he might have considered rebelling openly against the Tippoo and ordering his troops to help the invading British, but such a risk was too great for a cautious man. Yet if the Tippoo lost this day's battle, and if Appah Rao was perceived to be loyal to the defeated man, then what future did he have? Whichever side won, Appah Rao thought, he lost, but there was one small act that might yet snatch survival from defeat. He walked out to the end of a jutting cavalier, waved the gunners posted there away from their cannon, and beckoned Kunwar Singh to his side. 'Where are your men?' he asked Singh.

'At the house, Lord.' Kunwar Singh was a soldier, but not in any of the Tippoo's cushoons. His loyalty was to his kinsman, Appah Rao, and his duty was to protect Appah Rao and his family.

'Take six men,' the General said, 'and make sure they are not dressed in my livery. Then go to the dungeons, find Colonel McCandless, and take him back to my house. He speaks our tongue, so gain his trust by reminding him that you came with me to the temple at Somanathapura, and tell him that I am trusting him to keep my family alive.' The General had been staring southwards as he spoke, but he now turned to look into Kunwar Singh's eyes. 'If the British do get into the city then McCandless will protect our women.' Appah Rao added this last assurance as though to justify the order he was giving, but Kunwar Singh still hesitated. Singh was a loyal man, but that loyalty was being dangerously stretched for he was being asked to rebel against the Tippoo. He might need to kill the Tippoo's men to free this enemy soldier, and Appah Rao understood his hesitation. 'Do this for me, Kunwar Singh,' the General promised, 'and I shall restore your family's land.'

'Lord,' Kunwar Singh said, then stepped back, turned and was gone. Appah Rao watched him go, then stared past the city's south-western corner to where he could see a portion of the enemy trenches. It was past noon and there were still no signs of life from the British lines except for a desultory gunshot once in a while. If the Tippoo won this day, Appah Rao thought, then his anger at McCandless's disappearance would be terrible. In which case, Appah Rao decided, McCandless must die before he could ever be discovered and have the truth beaten out of him. But if the Tippoo lost, then McCandless was Appah Rao's best guarantor of survival. And a Hindu living in a Muslim state was an expert at survival. Appah Rao, despite the risk he was running, knew he had acted for the best. He drew his sword, kissed its blade for luck, then waited for the assault.

It took only a minute for Kunwar Singh to reach the General's house. He ordered six of his best men to discard their tunics which bore Appah Rao's badge and to put on tiger-striped tunics instead. He changed his own coat, then borrowed a gold chain with a jewelled pendant from the General's treasure chest. Such a jewel was a sign of authority in the city and Kunwar Singh reckoned he might need it. He armed himself with a pistol and a sword, then waited for his picked squad.

Mary came to the courtyard and demanded to know what was happening. There was a strange stillness in the city, and the tempo of the British guns, which had been firing so hard and fast for days, was now muted and the ominous silence had made Mary nervous.

'We think the British are coming,' Kunwar Singh told her, then blurted out that she would be safe for he had been ordered to free the British Colonel from the dungeons and bring him to the house where McCandless's presence would protect the women. 'If the British even get through the wall,' he added dubiously.

'What about my brother?' Mary asked.

Kunwar Singh shrugged. 'I have no orders for him.'

'Then I shall come with you,' Mary declared.

'You can't!' Kunwar Singh insisted. He was often shocked by Mary's defiance, though he also found it appealing.

'You can stop me,' she said, 'by shooting me. Or you can let me come. Make up your mind.' She did not wait to hear his answer, but hurried to her quarters where she snatched up the pistol that Appah Rao had given her. Kunwar Singh made no further protest. He was confused by what was happening, and, though he sensed that his master's loyalties were wavering, he still did not know which way they would ultimately fall.

'I can't let your brother come back here,' he warned Mary when she came back to the courtyard.

'We can free him,' Mary insisted, 'and after that he can look after himself. He's good at that.'

The streets of the city were oddly deserted. Most of the Tippoo's soldiers were on the ramparts, and anyone who had no business in the coming battle had taken care to lock their doors and stay hidden. A few men still trundled handcarts of ammunition and rockets towards the walls, but there were no bullock carts and no open shops. A few sacred cows wandered the city with sublime unconcern, but otherwise it was like a place of ghosts and it only took Kunwar Singh's small party five minutes to reach the complex of small courtyards that lay to the north of the Inner Palace. No one questioned Kunwar Singh's right to be in the palace precincts, for he wore the Tippoo's uniform and the jewels hanging about his neck were glittering proof of his authority.