Free Sharpe's Fortress by Bernard Cornwell Page B

gun,” Wallace said. Ahmed was grinning broadly.
    “Did you know Mackay?” Wallace asked Sharpe.
    “No, sir.”
    "Captain Mackay. Hugh Mackay. East India Company officer. Fourth Native Cavalry.

    Very good fellow indeed, Sharpe. I knew his father well.
    Point is, though, that young Hugh was put in charge of the bullock train before Assaye.

    And he did a very good job! Very good. But he insisted on joining his troopers in the

    battle. Disobeyed orders, d'you see?
    Wellesley was adamant that Mackay must stay with his bullocks, but young Hugh wanted to

    be on the dance floor, and quite right too, except that the poor devil was killed. Cut in

    half by a cannonball!" Wallace sounded shocked, as though such a thing was an outrage.
    “It's left the bullock train without a guiding hand, Sharpe.”
    Christ, Sharpe thought, but he was to be made bullock master!
    “Not fair to say they don't have a guiding hand,” Wallace continued, 'because they do,

    but the new fellow don't have any experience with bullocks. Torrance, he's called, and

    I'm sure he's a good fellow, but things are likely to get a bit more sprightly from now on.

    Going deeper into enemy territory, see? And there are still lots of their damned

    horsemen at large, and Torrance says he needs a deputy officer. Someone to help him.

    Thought you might be just the fellow for the job, Sharpe."
    Wallace smiled as though he was granting Sharpe a huge favour.
    “Don't know anything about bullocks, sir,” Sharpe said doggedly.
    “I'm sure you don't! Who does? And there are dromedaries, and elephants. A regular

    menagerie, eh? But the experience, Sharpe, will do you good. Think of it as another string

    to your bow.”
    Sharpe knew a further protest would do no good, so he nodded.
    “Yes, sir,” he said.
    “Good! Good! Splendid.” Wallace could not hide his relief.
    “It won't be for long, Sharpe. Scindia's already suing for peace, and the Rajah of

    Berar's bound to follow. We may not even have to fight at Gawilghur, if that's where the

    rogues do take refuge. So go and help Torrance, then you can set a course for England, eh?

    Become a Greenjacket!”
    So Ensign Sharpe had failed. Failed utterly. He had been an officer for two months and

    now he was being booted out of a regiment. Sent to the bullocks and the dromedaries,

    whatever the hell they were, and after that to the green-coated dregs of the army. Bloody

    hell fire, he thought, bloody hell fire.
    The British and their allied cavalry rode all night, and in the dawn they briefly

    rested, watered their horses, then hauled themselves into their saddles and rode again.

    They rode till their horses were reeling with tiredness and white with sweat, and only then

    did they give up the savage pursuit of the Mahratta fugitives. Their sabre arms were weary,

    their blades blunted and their appetites slaked. The night had been a wild hunt of victory,

    a slaughter under the moon that had left the plain reeking with blood, and the sun brought

    more killing and wide-winged vultures that flapped down to the feast.
    The pursuit ended close to a sudden range of hills that marked the northern limit of

    the Deccan Plain. The hills were steep and thickly wooded, no place for cavalry, and above

    the hills reared great cliffs, dizzyingly high cliffs that stretched from the eastern to the

    western horizon like the nightmare ramparts of a tribe of giants. In places there were

    deep re-entrants cut into the great cliff and some of the British pursuers, gaping at the

    vast wall of rock that barred their path, supposed that the wooded clefts would provide a

    path up to the cliff's summit, though none could see how anyone could reach the highland if

    an enemy chose to defend it.
    Between two of the deep re-entrants a great promontory of rock jutted from the cliff

    face like the prow of a monstrous stone ship. The summit of the jutting rock was two

    thousand feet above the horsemen on the plain, and one of them,