‘Bastards . . .’ one of the soldiers growled as he stared on the bodies of his comrades. Suddenly he swung round, lowered his bayonet and drove it into the stomach of one of the jettis. The man doubled over with a deep explosive groan under the impact.

While the officers watched, too shocked to react, the soldier withdrew the weapon, reversed it and swung the butt against the jetti’s head, then kicked the man over the edge of the pit. He landed with a thud and a crack as his arm broke under the weight of his muscled body. At his cry one of the tigers roused itself and padded cautiously towards him, and despite the pain from his wounds the man screamed in terror.

The soldier turned to his comrades. ‘Finish them all, lads! Kill these bloody butchers. All of them.’ He turned and pointed at the killadar.

‘No!’ Arthur bellowed and drew his sword, hurriedly stepping between his men and the killadar. ‘Stand still, damn you! Stand still, I said.’

For a moment there was a tense confrontation and then the soldier lowered his musket and grounded it.The others followed his lead and stood waiting for orders.There was a piercing shriek of pain from the pit, and then some more, and growls, before the man was silenced with a powerful snap of a tiger’s jaws. One of the surviving jettis dropped to his knees and began to beg, huge glistening tears pricking out of his eyes as he wailed for mercy.

‘You’d better go and find Tipoo’s body.’ Baird spoke calmly. ‘That oily-looking bastard of a bureaucrat can identify him. I’ll take care of the situation here.’

Arthur looked at him suspiciously.‘What are you going to do, sir?’

‘The jettis will be executed. We’ll have to shoot the tigers to get at the remains of our men for burial. I’ll attend to it.You go and find Tipoo.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Arthur gestured to the entrance to the courtyard and told the killadar to lead him to the last place Tipoo had been seen. As they left the courtyard Arthur looked back once. Baird stood off to one side, simply watching, as the men dragged the first of the jettis over to the edge of the pit and thrust him over the edge.

‘You saw what they did to our men,’ Fitzroy said through clenched teeth. ‘They deserve what’s coming to them.’

‘No man deserves that,’Arthur said firmly, and gently eased his friend out of the courtyard. They followed the killadar along a wide thoroughfare that led to the water gate. A company of the 73rd Foot had been left to hold the position and they roused themselves as the officers and the native approached. It was clear that some of the fiercest fighting of the day had taken place here. Bodies of English and native warriors were sprawled across the terreplein and the mouth of the passage that ran through the gate was piled high with dead and wounded, some still struggling weakly as they moaned. A lieutenant was leading the company and he saluted as Arthur stopped in front of the gate and surveyed the scene.

‘Looks like a hard fight, Lieutenant.’

‘Aye, that it was, sir. They made a final stand in the passage there, and fought to the last. Brave lads they were.’

Arthur turned to the killadar. ‘Was this the place?’

‘Yes, sahib.This was where I last saw Sultan Tipoo. He sent me back to the palace to protect his wives while he defended the gate.’

‘Very well.’ Arthur nodded and turned to the lieutenant. ‘I want the native bodies taken out of there and placed in a line by the wall.’

As the sun dipped towards the horizon and cast deep shadows behind the wall the redcoats reluctantly went about the distasteful task. The bodies, limp and slippery with blood, urine and ordure, were pulled out of the tangle of limbs and carried to one side. The killadar’s expression filled with grief as he recognised companions and friends from Tipoo’s court who had fought and died alongside their ruler. As the light faded, Arthur ordered a torch to be lit so that the killadar could examine the bodies in its wavering glare. At last, two men emerged from the passage carrying a small portly man in a richly embroidered silk jacket. He was darker skinned than the others and had fine small hands.

The killadar swallowed and nodded. ‘That is Sultan Tipoo.’

‘Put him down,’ Arthur ordered, and the two soldiers gently lowered the body to the ground. Arthur leaned closer and saw that apart from a few scratches and smears of blood, and a bullet wound to the shoulder, Tipoo seemed to have no lethal wound. Arthur undid some buttons on the jacket and tore open the silk shirt to reveal the dark smooth skin of the chest. He leaned his ear against it and listened for a moment, but there was no hearbeat.

‘He’s dead.’

The lieutenant came over. ‘Is that him, sir? Tipoo?’

Arthur nodded.

‘I remember this one. I saw him up there on the bastion, taking shots at us while his servants loaded his guns. He killed Lieutenant Lalor, shot him through the head. A fine shot at that range. That was before they went down to the passage to make their last stand. He was fighting it out with a sword when I saw him fall. How did he die?’

Arthur glanced over the body. ‘It’s hard to know for certain. Perhaps he fell and was knocked senseless. He was found near the bottom of the pile. It’s likely that he suffocated.’

‘Jesus . . .’The lieutenant shook his head.‘That’s no way to die.’

Fitzroy muttered, ‘There are worse ways, believe me.’

‘Take the body to the palace,’ Arthur ordered. ‘His sons can confirm the identity. Once his men know that he’s dead, there will be no reason to continue the fight.’

They returned to the palace, the body of the Tipoo being carried by a small detail of the men from the water gate. Tipoo’s sons, his wives and the surviving courtiers gathered round the body and began to grieve, their anguished cries echoing back off the walls of his audience chamber. Baird came, in response to the news, and stood to one side looking over the scene.There was no pity in his eyes, just a cold look of satisfaction.

‘I’ll shed no tears for that brute,’ he muttered to Arthur. ‘Nor his family, nor the people of this wretched city.’

‘What are your orders, sir?’

‘Orders?’ Baird frowned for a moment, and Arthur realised that the Scot was as exhausted as himself, and tiredness was dulling their minds. ‘Your men are to guard the palace. Take Tipoo’s sons back to General Harris, then return to the reserve column.’

‘Yes, sir. What about the city?’

‘What about it?’

‘Should we not take steps to establish order here, sir? In case our men get out of control.’

‘No. The men have earned their prize. The city is theirs.’

‘Sir . . .’ Arthur paused a moment. He could imagine the horrors that awaited the people of Seringapatam once the British soldiers, drunk on victory and arrack, began to vent their rage and lust on the inhabitants. ‘Sir, it would be an unconscionable wrong to let our men sack the city.’

Baird shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Rules of war, Wellesley. Nothing I can do about it. Nothing I will do about it. Not after the way I was treated by these bastards. Now, if you please, you have your orders.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Arthur saluted and turned away.

He left the city with a company of his men to escort Tipoo’s sons to the headquarters of General Harris. Already the sacking of Seringapatam had begun. Occasional gunshots echoed across the city, together with the drunken shouts and singing of the soldiers, and screams and pleas for mercy from its people. A fire flared up in one quarter, casting an orange loom over a corner of the city, and Arthur regarded the scene with disgust and a leaden sense of despair in his heart. Then he turned away and followed his men down through the breach and across the dark waters of the south Cauvery. If there really were crocodiles in the river, they would be feasting on the dead who had been killed while trying to flee from the island.