‘As you wish, sahib.’
‘Very well,’ Baird growled at the palace official. ‘Those are the final terms. Take ’em or leave ’em.’
‘We accept, sahib. I will tell my master.’
‘I want everyone in the palace brought out here,’ Baird ordered.‘They are to leave their weapons - all of them, mind you - stacked in the hall over there.’
‘Yes, sahib.’ The native bowed and trotted back towards the palace.
Baird turned to Arthur. ‘Bring your men in. They can guard the prisoners and take up position in and around the palace.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Shortly afterwards, as the redcoats stood waiting, the first of the enemy came out of the palace and cautiously made their way across the courtyard towards the men of the 33rd, to be herded together in one corner of the courtyard. A steady stream of warriors emerged, and then the Tipoo’s sons and scores of his wives. When the killadar appeared Arthur approached him to ask if any of his men had been taken prisoner during the night attack on the tope early on in the siege. The killadar had been held hostage by the company, in the days of Cornwallis, and spoke some broken English.
‘We show you,’ he replied nervously. ‘Prisoners? Please come.’
‘Show us?’ Arthur muttered. ‘Show us what?’
‘You must see. Come!’The killadar started towards the door to a smaller courtyard to one side of the palace. ‘This way!’
‘What’s over there, I wonder?’ Fitzroy asked suspiciously.
‘The dungeons,’ Baird replied quietly. ‘Where they held me for over three years.’
Baird summoned several men to accompany them. The party followed the killadar cautiously and once through the door they found that they were in what looked to be some kind of training ground. To one side a flight of steps descended to two rows of barred cells. At the far end was a pit. Fitzroy leaned closer to Arthur. ‘What do you think he means to show us?’
‘How should I know? Anyway, we’ll find out soon enough.’
The killadar led them across the courtyard and down the steps. As they made their way between the cells Arthur saw that the gates were open and the cells were empty. Except for the last one. As they approached four enormous figures emerged from it and bowed to the allied officers
‘Who the hell are they?’ Arthur said in a strained tone. The men were all superbly muscled and looked as if they could break a man’s neck with their bare hands.
‘Jettis,’ Baird explained quietly. ‘Strong men. They performed tricks and feats of strength for Tipoo and his father.’
‘What kind of tricks?’ Fitzroy asked with a trace of anxiety.
‘I’ve seen them twist a man’s head right round. And worse.’
The killadar was standing close to the edge of the pit and beckoned to them. As they drew closer Arthur caught a glimpse of an animal’s skin as it prowled round the far side of the pit: a tawny yellow with darker stripes.
‘Tigers! It’s a tiger pit.’
They approached the rim of the pit carefully. Three huge tigers were sitting chewing on what looked like the remains of a man. Arthur felt sick.Then the full scale of the horror hit him as he reached the edge of the pit and stared down. There were perhaps a dozen mauled bodies scattered across the floor. The tattered remains of their red uniform jackets was proof enough of who they were. The men who had accompanied the three English officers began to mutter angrily at the sight.
‘Prisoners,’ Arthur realised. ‘The men we lost in the tope.’
‘What have they done to them?’ Fitzroy asked quietly.
Arthur looked more closely and saw that most of the necks of the dead were twisted round at horrible angles. Some of them had what looked like huge nails sticking out of the top of their skulls. He stared at the bodies a moment, as nausea welled up in his stomach. Then he glanced at the jettis again. Surely not, he thought. God, please not that.
Baird had been watching his expression and read his thoughts precisely. ‘That’s right, Wellesley. These men did it. Beat the nails into the skulls of our men with their bare hands, while our men still lived. I know, I saw them do it when I was a prisoner here. Indeed, I lived with the thought that they would do that to me one day.’ Baird looked pale as he spoke.
‘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 c
ourt 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.
General Harris received Tipoo’s sons graciously and promised that they would be well treated the moment they had given their paroles. As they were led away Harris joined Arthur as he stood gazing through the tent flaps towards Seringapatam. Listening to the distant pop of gunfire and faint shouts and screams both men were well aware of the horrors unfolding in the city.
‘Baird’s not holding his men back, then?’
‘No, sir.’
‘A pity.This is going to make the job that much more difficult for the man who is to take charge of the city. There will plenty of work to be done winning the natives over to our side. It will require a man with uncommon powers of persuasion and organisation. Major General Baird is not that man,’ Harris concluded sadly, before he turned to Arthur. ‘That is why it must be you, Colonel Wellesley.’
‘Sir?’
‘I’ve made my decision. I want you to be the first Governor of Mysore.’
‘Me, sir?’ Arthur was too tired to hide his shock and surprise.
‘You. Now get back to your tent and get some sleep.You take charge of the city first thing in the morning.’
Chapter 50
Napoleon
Paris, October 1799
Josephine entered the house as quietly as she could and closed the servants’ door behind her. Even though it was early in the evening the house was silent. She knew that Napoleon had already arrived.The coach he had travelled in from Marseilles was in the yard beside the stable at the back of the house, and the horses were quietly munching on their feed. She had instructed the driver of the carriage she had borrowed from Barras to drop her at the end of the street. As soon as word reached Paris that Napoleon had returned from Egypt, Josephine had been thrown into a panic. Enough people in the city already knew of her unfaithfulness for word to have come to the ears of her husband’s family, and it was certain that he would discover the truth soon enough, if he had not already. So Josephine had gone to her old friend Paul Barras and begged him to lend her his best carriage and horses so that she might meet Napoleon on the road to Paris and tell him the truth, before the rest of his family could fill his head with their version of events. She had resolved to find him, seek his forgiveness, promise to be faithful for ever more, and get him into bed. A night of passion would win him over so completely that no amount of sordid scandalmongering from his family would tear him from her. Unfortunately, the damned driver had lost his way on the road from Paris and after two days of confusion Josephine had ordered him to return to the capital.
She stood a moment on the threshold of the hall and listened. The only sound she could hear above the muffled noises from the street was the ticking of a clock. Swallowing nervously, she made her way along the hall, wincing as a floorboard creaked beneath her. A lamp burned above the front door and the warm glow of a fire in the hearth of the sitting room cast its orange hue in a slant across the hall. By the feeble light she noticed a large mass crowding the corner by the door. As she approached, the shape resolved itself into a pile of chests, hatboxes and bags, neatly stacked. With a stab of anxiety Josephine realised that these were her belongings, all of them, packed and ready to go.
‘Oh, no . . .’ she moaned. Then, steeling herself, she glanced into the sitting room. But it was empty, even though the fire had only recently been built up and the wood crackled and hissed as it burned.
‘Mother?’ The voice came from directly behind her and Josephine’s heart leaped as she spun round. Hortense stood at the entrance to the kitchen. In the glow of the lamp Josephine could see that she had been crying.
‘My God, he hasn’t hurt you, has he?’
Hortense shook her head.
‘Where is he?’
‘Upstairs, in your bedroom.’ Hortense swallowed nervously. ‘He was in a wild rage when he arrived. Shouting and calling you all sorts of names when he discovered you weren’t here. He called you a . . . a whore, and smashed all t
he mirrors in your dressing room. Then he told his servant to pack all your belongings. He says he wants you out of his house for ever.’
‘Only when I’m good and ready,’ Josephine muttered and turned to the stairs, hurriedly climbing to the first floor where the main bedroom was at the rear of the house. Skirts rustling over the floorboards she strode to the door and turned the handle. The door did not yield and she realised that Napoleon had locked her out.
‘Napoleon. Open the door.’
‘Go away!’
She smiled.At least he had spared her the pretence of ignoring her.‘Go away? From my house, and from the side of my husband? Why would I want to do that?’
THE GENERALS Page 47