"It will all belong to my brother, " he said softly, 'but it will begin here. At Gawilghur."

And here, Dodd suddenly thought, it would end for Bappoo. No man who was willing to endure a feeble wretch like Beny Singh, or protect a cowardly libertine like the Rajah, deserved to be a warlord of all India.

No, Dodd thought, he would win his own victory here, and then he would strike against Bappoo and against Beny Singh, and he would raise his own army and use it to strike terror into the rich southern kingdoms. Other Europeans had done it. Benoit de Boigne had made himself richer than the kings of all Christendom, while George Thomas, an illiterate Irish sailor, had risen to rule a princedom for his widowed mistress. Dodd saw himself as a new Presterjohn. He would make a kingdom from the rotting scraps of India, and he would rule from a new palace in Gawilghur that would be like no other in the world. He would have roofs of gold, walls of white marble and garden paths made from pearls, and men from all India would come to pay him homage. He would be Lord of Gawilghur, Dodd thought, and smiled. Not bad for a miller's son from Suffolk, but Gawilghur was a place to stir dreams for it lifted men's thoughts into the heavens, and Dodd knew that India, above all the lands on God's earth, was a place where dreams could come true.

Here a man was either made rich beyond all desire, or else became nothing.

And Dodd would not be nothing. He would be Lord of Gawilghur and the terror of India.

Once the redcoats were defeated.

"Is this the best you could manage, Sharpe?" Torrance enquired, looking about the main room of the commandeered house.

"No, sir, " Sharpe said.

"There was a lovely house just up the road. Big shady courtyard, couple of pools, a fountain and a gaggle of dancing girls, but I thought you might prefer the view from these windows."

"Sarcasm ill becomes an ensign, " Torrance said, dropping his saddlebags on the earthen floor.

"Indeed, very little becomes ensigns, Sharpe, except a humble devotion to serving their betters. I suppose the house will have to suffice. Who is that?" He shuddered as he stared at the woman whose house he was occupying.

"She lives here, sir."

"Not now, she doesn't. Get rid of the black bitch, and her foul children. Brick!»

Clare Wall came in from the sunlight, carrying a sack.

"Sir?"

"I'm hungry, Brick. Find the kitchen. We made a late start, Sharpe, " Torrance explained, 'and missed dinner."

"I imagine that's why the General wants to see you, sir, " Sharpe said.

"Not because you missed dinner, but because the supplies weren't here on time."

Torrance stared at Sharpe in horror.

"Wellesley wants to see me?"

"Six o'clock, sir, at his tent."

"Oh, Christ! " Torrance threw his cocked hat across the room. Just because the supplies were a little late?"

"Twelve hours late, sir."

Torrance glared at Sharpe, then fished a watch from his fob.

"It's half past five already! God help us! Can't you brush that coat, Sharpe?"

"He don't want to see me, sir. Just you."

"Well, he's bloody well going to see both of us. Clean uniform, Sharpe, hair brushed, paws washed, face scrubbed, Sunday best."

Torrance frowned suddenly.

"Why didn't you tell me you saved Wellesley's life?"

"Is that what I did, sir?"

"I mean, good God, man, he must be grateful to you?" Torrance asked. Sharpe just shrugged.

"You saved his life, " Torrance insisted, 'and that means he's in your debt, and you must use the advantage. Tell him we don't have enough men to run the supply train properly. Put in a good word for me, Sharpe, and I'll repay the favour. Brick! Forget the food! I need a clean stock, boots polished, hat brushed. And give my dress coat a pressing!»

Sergeant Hakeswill edged through the door.

"Your am mock sir, " he said to Torrance, then saw Sharpe and a slow grin spread across his face.

"Look who it isn't. Sharpie!»

Torrance wheeled on the Sergeant.

"Mister Sharpe is an officer, Hakeswill! In this unit we do observe the proprieties!»

"Quite forgot myself, sir, " Hakeswill said, his face twitching, 'on account of being reunited with an old comrade. Mister Sharpe, ever so pleased to see you, sir."

"Lying bastard, " Sharpe said.

"Ain't officers supposed to observe the properties, sir?" Hakeswill demanded of Torrance, but the Captain had gone in search of his native servant who had charge of the luggage. Hakeswill looked back to Sharpe.

"Fated to be with you, Sharpie."

"9

"You stay out of my light, Obadiah, " Sharpe said, 'or I'll slit your throat."

"I can't be killed, Sharpie, can't be killed! " Hakeswill's face wrenched itself in a series of twitches.

"It says so in the scriptures." He looked Sharpe up and down, then shook his head ruefully.

"I've seen better things dangling off the tails of sheep, I have. You ain't an officer, Sharpie, you're a bleeding disgrace."

Torrance backed into the house, shouting at his servant to drape the windows with muslin, then turned and hurried to the kitchen to harry Clare. He tripped over Sharpe's pack and swore.

"Whose is this?"

«Mine,» Sharpe said.

"You're not thinking of billeting yourself here, are you, Sharpe?"

"Good as anywhere, sir."

"I like my privacy, Sharpe. Find somewhere else." Torrance suddenly remembered he was speaking to a man who might have influence with Wellesley.

"If you'd be so kind, Sharpe. I just can't abide being crowded.

An affliction, I know, but there it is. I need solitude, it's my nature.

Brick! Did I tell you to brush my hat? And the plume needs a combing."

Sharpe picked up his pack and walked out to the small garden where Ahmed was sharpening his new tulwar. Clare Wall followed him into the sunlight, muttered something under her breath, then sat and started to polish one of Torrance's boots.

"Why the hell do you stay with him?"

Sharpe asked.

She paused to look at Sharpe. She had oddly hooded eyes that gave her face an air of delicate mystery.

"What choice do I have?" she asked, resuming her polishing.

Sharpe sat beside her, picked up the other boot and rubbed it with blackball.

"So what's he going to do if you bugger off?"

She shrugged.

"I owe him money."

"Like hell. How can you owe him money?"

"He brought my husband and me here, " she said, 'paid our passage from England. We agreed to stay three years. Then Charlie died." She paused again, her eyes suddenly gleaming, then sniffed and began to polish the boot obsessively.

Sharpe looked at her. She had dark eyes, curling black hair and a long upper lip. If she was not so tired and miserable, he thought, she would be a very pretty woman.

"How old are you, love?"

She gave him a sceptical glance.

"Who's your woman in Seringapatam, then?"

"She's a Frenchie, " Sharpe said.

"A widow, like you."

"Officer's widow?" Clare asked. Sharpe nodded.

"And you're to marry her?" Clare asked.

"Nothing like that, " Sharpe said.

"Like what, then?" she asked.

"I don't know, really." Sharpe said. He spat on the boot's flank and rubbed the spittle into the bootblack.

"But you like her?" Clare asked, picking the dirt from the boot's spur. She seemed embarrassed to have posed the question, for she hurried on.

"I'm nineteen, " she said, 'but nearly twenty."

"Then you're old enough to see a lawyer, " Sharpe said.

"You ain't indentured to the Captain. You have to sign papers, don't you? Or make your mark on a paper. That's how it was done in the foundling home where they dumped me. Wanted to make me into a chimney sweep, they did! Bloody hell! But if you didn't sign indenture papers, you should talk to a lawyer."