Sharpe's Triumph (18 page)

“I offered safe conduct to Madame Joubert,” the Scotsman said stiffly.

“So that was Simone I saw riding past,” Pohlmann said.

"I did wonder.

And she'll be welcome, I dare say. We have enough of everything in this army; cannon,
muskets, horses, ammunition, men, but there can never really be enough women in any
army, can there?" He laughed, then summoned two of his purple-coated bodyguards to take
charge of the horses.

“You've ridden a long way, Colonel,” Pohlmann said to McCandless, 'so let me offer you
refreshment. You too, Sergeant," he included Sharpe in his invitation.

“You must be tired.”

“I'm sore after that ride, sir,” Sharpe said, dropping clumsily and gratefully from
the saddle.

“You're not used to horses, eh?” Pohlmann crossed to Sharpe and draped a genial arm about
his shoulders.

"You're an infantryman, which means you've got hard feet and a soft bum. Me, I never like
being on a horse. You know how I go to battle? On an elephant.

That's the way to do it, Sergeant. What's your name?"

“Sharpe, sir.”

“Then welcome to my headquarters, Sergeant Sharpe. You're just in time for supper.” He
steered Sharpe into the tent, then stopped to let his guests stare at the lavish interior
which was carpeted with soft rugs, hung with silk drapes, lit with ornate brass
chandeliers and furnished with intricately carved tables and couches. McCandless
scowled at such luxury, but Sharpe was impressed.

“Not bad, eh?” Pohlmann squeezed Sharpe's shoulders.

“For a former sergeant.”

“You, sir?” Sharpe asked, pretending not to know Pohlmann's history.

“I was a sergeant in the East India Company's Hanoverian Regiment,” Pohlmann boasted,
'quartered in a rat hole in Madras. Now I command a king's army and have all these powdered
fops to serve me." He gestured at his attendant officers who, accustomed to Pohlmann's
insults, smiled tolerantly.

“Need a piss, Sergeant?” Pohlmann asked, taking his arm from Sharpe's shoulders.

“A wash?”

“Wouldn't mind both, sir.”

“Out the back.” He pointed the way.

“Then come back and drink with me.”

McCandless had watched this bonhomie with suspicion. He had also smelt the reek of
strong liquor on Pohlmann's breath and suspected he was doomed to an evening of hard
drinking in which, even though

McCandless himself would refuse all alcohol, he would have to endure the drunken
badinage of others. It was a grim prospect, and one he did not intend to endure alone.

“Not you, Sharpe,” he hissed when Sharpe returned to the tent.

“Not me what, sir?”

“You're to stay sober, you hear me? I'm not mollycoddling your sore head all the way back
to the army.”

“Of course not, sir,” Sharpe said, and for a time he tried to obey McCandless, but
Pohlmann insisted Sharpe join him in a toast before supper.

“You're not an abstainer, are you?” Pohlmann demanded of Sharpe in feigned horror when
the Sergeant tried to refuse a beaker of brandy.

“You're not a Bible-reading abstainer, are you? Don't tell me the British army is
becoming moral!”

“No, sir, not me, sir.”

“Then drink with me to King George of Hanover and of England!”

Sharpe obediently drank to the health of their joint sovereign, then to Queen Charlotte,
and those twin courtesies emptied his beaker of brandy and a serving girl was summoned to
fill it so that he could toast His Royal Highness George, Prince of Wales.

“You like the girl?” Pohlmann asked, gesturing at the serving girl who swerved lithely
away from a French major who was trying to seize her said.

“She's pretty, sir,” Sharpe said.

“They're all pretty, Sergeant. I keep a dozen of them as wives, another dozen as
servants, and God knows how many others who merely aspire to those positions. You look
shocked, Colonel McCandless.”

“A man who dwells among the tents of the ungodly,” McCandless said, 'will soon pick up
ungodly ways."

“And thank God for it,” Pohlmann retorted, then clapped his hands to summon the supper
dishes.

A score of officers ate in the tent. Half a dozen were Mahrattas, the rest Europeans,
and just after the bowls and platters had been placed on the tables, Major Dodd arrived.
Night was falling and candles illuminated the tent's shadowed interior, but Sharpe
recognized Dodd's face instantly. The sight of the long jaw, sallow skin and bitter eyes
brought back sharp memories of Chasalgaon, of flies crawling on Sharpe's eyes and in his
gullet, and of the staccato bangs as men stepped over the dead to shoot the wounded. Dodd,
oblivious of Sharpe's glare, nodded to Pohlmann.

“I apologize, Colonel Pohlmann, for being late,” he announced with stiff formality.

“I expected Captain Joubert to be late,” Pohlmann said, 'for a man newly reunited
with his wife has better things to do than hurry to his supper, if indeed he takes his
supper at all. Were you also welcoming Simone, Major?"

“I was not, sir. I was attending to the picquets.”

“Major Dodd's attention to his duty puts us all to shame,” Pohlmann said.

“Do you have the pleasure of knowing Major Dodd, Colonel?” he asked McCandless.

“I know the Company will pay five hundred guineas for Lieutenant Dodd's capture,”
McCandless growled, 'and more now, I dare say, after his bestiality at Chasalgaon."

Dodd showed no reaction to the Colonel's hostility, but Pohlmann smiled.

“You've come for the reward money, Colonel, is that it?”

“I wouldn't touch the money,” McCandless said, 'for it's tainted by association.
Tainted by murder, Colonel, and by disloyalty and dishonour."

The words were spoken to Pohlmann, but addressed to Dodd whose face seemed to tighten as
he listened. He had taken a place at the end of the table and was helping himself to the
food. The other guests were silent, intrigued by the tension between McCandless and
Dodd.

Pohlmann was enjoying the confrontation.

“You say Major Dodd is a murderer, Colonel?”

“A murderer and a traitor.”

Pohlmann looked down the table.

“Major Dodd? You have nothing to say?”

Dodd reached for a loaf of flat bread that he tore in half.

“When I had the misfortune to serve in the Company, Colonel,” he said to Pohlmann,
“Colonel McCandless was well known as the head of intelligence. He did the dishonourable
job of spying on the Company's enemies, and I've no doubt that is his purpose here. He can
spit all he likes, but he's here to spy, Colonel.”

Pohlmann smiled.

“Is that true, McCandless?”

“I returned Madame Joubert to her husband, Pohlmann, nothing more,” McCandless
insisted.

“Of course it's more,” Pohlmann said.

“Major Dodd is right! You're head of the Company's intelligence service, are you not?
Which means that you saw in dear Simone's predicament a chance to 'nspect our army.”

“You infer too much,” McCandless said.

“Nonsense, Colonel. Do try the lamb. It's seethed in milk curds. So what do you wish to
see?”

“My bed,” McCandless said curtly, waving away the lamb dish. He never touched meat.

“Just my bed,” he added.

“And see it you shall,” Pohlmann said genially. The Hanoverian paused, wondering
whether to re-ignite the hostility between McCandless and Dodd, but he must have
decided that each had insulted the other sufficiently.

“But tomorrow, Colonel, I will provide a tour of inspection for you. You may see
whatever you like, McCandless. You can watch our gunners at work, you may inspect our
infantry, you may go wherever you wish and talk to whoever you desire. We have nothing
to hide.” He smiled at the astonished McCandless.

“You are my guest, Colonel, so I must show you a proper hospitality.”

He was as good as his word, and next morning McCandless was invited to inspect all of
Pohlmann's compoo.

“I wish there were more troops here,” Pohlmann said, 'but Scindia is a few miles northwards
with Saleur's and Dupont's compoos. I like to think they're not as able as mine, but in truth
they're both very good units. Both have European officers, of course, and both are
properly trained. I can't say as much for the Rajah of Berar's infantry, but his gunners
are the equal of ours."

McCandless said very little all morning, and Sharpe, who had learned to read the
Scotsman's moods, saw that he was severely discomfited. And no wonder, for Pohlmann's
troops looked as fine as any in the Company's service. The Hanoverian commanded six and
half thousand infantry, five hundred cavalry and as many pioneers who served as
engineers, and possessed thirty-eight guns. This compoo alone outnumbered the infantry
of Wellesley's army, and was much stronger in guns, and there were two similar compoos in
Scindia's service let alone his horde of cavalry. It was no surprise, Sharpe thought, that
McCandless's spirits were falling, and they fell even further when Pohlmann arranged for a
demonstration of his artillery and the Scotsman, feigning gratitude to his host, was
forced to watch as teams of gunners served a battery of big eighteen-pounder guns with all
the alacrity and efficiency of the British army.

“Well-made pieces, too,” Pohlmann boasted, leading McCandless up to the hot guns that
stood behind the swathes of burnt grass caused by their muzzle fire.

“A little gaudy, perhaps, for European tastes, but none the worse for that.” The guns
were all painted in bright colours and some had names written in a curly script on their
breeches.

“Mega-wati,” Pohlmann read aloud, 'the goddess of clouds. Inspect them, Colonel!

They're well made. Our axletrees don't break, I can assure you."

Pohlmann was willing to show McCandless even more, but after dinner the Scotsman
elected to spend the afternoon in his borrowed tent.

He claimed he wished to rest, but Sharpe suspected the Scotsman had endured enough
humiliation and wanted some quiet in which to make notes on all he had seen.

“We'll leave tonight, Sharpe,” the Colonel said.

“You can occupy yourself till then?”

“Colonel Pohlmann wants me to ride with him on his elephant, sir.” The Colonel scowled.

“He likes to show off.” For a moment he seemed about to order Sharpe to refuse the
invitation, then he shrugged.

“Don't get seasick.”

The motion of the elephant's howdah was indeed something like a ship, for it swayed
from side to side as the beast plodded northwards and at first Sharpe had to grip onto the
edge of the basket, but once he had accustomed himself to the motion he relaxed and
leaned back on the cushioned seat. The howdah had two seats, one in front of the other, and
Sharpe had the rearmost, but after a while Pohlmann twisted in his seat and showed how he
could raise his own backrest and lay it flat so that the whole howdah became one cushioned
bed that could be concealed by the curtains that hung from the wicker-framed canopy.

“It's a fine place to bring a woman, Sergeant,” Pohlmann said as he restored the backrest
to its upright position, 'but the girth straps broke once and the whole thing fell off! It
fell slowly, luckily, and I still had my breeches on so not too much dignity was
lost."

“You don't look like a man who worries much about dignity, sir.”

"I worry about reputation,“ Pohlmann said, 'which isn't the same thing. I keep my
reputation by winning victories and giving away gold. Those men' he gestured at his
purple-coated bodyguards who marched on either flank of the elephant 'are each paid as
much as a lieutenant in British service. And as for my European officers!” He
laughed.

“They're all making more money than they dreamed possible. Look at 'em!” He jerked his
head at the score of European officers who followed the elephant. Dodd was among them,
but riding apart from the others and with a morose expression on his long face as though
he resented having to pay court to his commanding officer. His horse was a sway-backed,
hard-mouthed mare, a poor beast as ungainly and sullen as her master.

“Greed, Sharpe, greed, that's the best motive for a soldier,” Pohlmann said.

“Greed will make them fight like demons, if our lord and master ever allows us to
fight.”

“You think he won't, sir?”

Pohlmann grinned.

“Scindia listens to his astrologers rather more than he listens to his Europeans, but
I'll slip the bastards some gold when the time comes, and they'll tell him the stars are
propitious and he'll give me the whole army and let me loose.”

“How big is the whole army, sir?”

Pohlmann smiled, recognizing that Sharpe was asking questions on behalf of Colonel
McCandless.

“By the time you face us, Sergeant, we should have over a hundred thousand men. And of
those? Fifteen thousand infantry are first class, thirty thousand infantry are
reliable, and the rest are horsemen who are only good for plundering the wounded. We'll
also have a hundred guns, all of them as good as any in Europe. And how big will your army
be?”

“Don't know, sir,” Sharpe said woodenly.

Pohlmann smiled.

“Wellesley has, maybe, seven and a half thousand men, infantry and cavalry, while
Colonel Stevenson has perhaps another seven thousand so together you'll number, what?
Fourteen and a half thousand? With forty guns? You think fourteen thousand men can beat a
hundred thousand? And what happens, Sergeant Sharpe, if I manage to catch one of your
little armies before the other can support it?” Sharpe said nothing, and Pohlmann
smiled.

“You should think about selling me your skills, Sharpe.”

“Me, sir?” Sharpe answered lightly.

“You, Sergeant Sharpe,” Pohlmann said forcibly, and the Hanoverian twisted in his seat to
stare at Sharpe.

“That's why I invited you this afternoon. I need European officers, Sharpe, and any
man as young as you who becomes a sergeant must have a rare ability. I am offering you rank
and riches, Sharpe. Look at me! Ten years ago I was a sergeant like you, now I ride to war on
an elephant, need two more to carry my gold and have three dozen women competing to
sharpen my sword. Have you ever heard of George Thomas?”