bcornwell.sharpstiger-第10部分

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an！'　Morris　slapped　at　a　moth　that　had　managed　to　slip　through　the　screen。　'What　do　we　do？'　he　asked　again。
　Hakeswill　sat　on　a　stool　opposite　the　camp　table。　He　scratched　his　head；　glanced　into　the　night；　then　looked　back　to　Morris。　'He's　a　sharp　one；　Sharpie；　he　is。　Slippery。　But　I'll　do　him。'　He　paused。　'Of　course；　sir；　if　you　helped；　it'd　be　quicker。　Much　quicker。'
　Morris　looked　dubious。　'The　girl　will　only　find　herself　another　protector；'　he　said。　'I　think　you're　wasting　my　time；　Sergeant。'
　'What　me；　sir？　No；　sir。　Not　at　all；　sir。　I'll　have　the　girl；　sir；　just　you　watch；　and　Nasty　Naig　says　you　can　have　all　you　want　of　her。　Free　and　gratis；　sir；　like　you　ought　to。'
　Morris　stood；　pulled　on　his　jacket　and　picked　up　his　hat　and　sword。　'You　think　I'd　share　your　woman；　Hakeswill？'　The　Captain　shuddered。　'And　get　your　pox？'
　'Pox；　sir？　Me；　sir？'　Hakeswill　stood。　'Not　me；　sir。　Clean　asa　whistle；　I　am；　sir。　Cured；　sir。　Mercury。'　His　face　twitched。　'Ask　the　surgeon；　sir；　he'll　tell　you。'
　Morris　hesitated；　thinking　of　Mary　Bickerstaff。　He　thought　a　great　deal　about　Mary　Bickerstaff。　Her　beauty　ensured　that；　and　men　on　campaign　were　deprived　of　beauty　and　so　Mary's　allure　only　increased　with　every　mile　the　army　marched　westwards。　Morris　was　not　alone。　On　the　night　when　Mary's　husband　had　died；　the　33rd's　officers；　at　least　those　who　had　a　mind　for　such　games；　had　wagered　which　of　them　would　first　take　the　widow　to　their　bed　and　so　far　none　of　them　had　succeeded。　Morris　wanted　to　win；　not　only　for　the　fourteen　guineas　that　would　accrue　to　the　successful　seducer；　but　because　he　had　bee　besotted　by　the　woman。　Soon　after　she　had　bee　a　widow　he　had　asked　Mary　to　do　his　laundry；　thinking　that　thereby　he　could　begin　the　intimacy　he　craved；　but　she　had　refused　him　with　a　lacerating　scorn。　Morris　wanted　to　punish　her　for　that　scorn；　and　Hakeswill；　with　his　intuition　for　other　men's　weaknesses；　had　sensed　what　Morris　wanted　and　promised　he　would　arrange　everything。　Naig；　Hakeswill　assured　his　bitter　officer；　had　a　way　of　breaking　reluctant　girls。　'There　ain't　a　bibbi　born　that　Nasty　can't　break；　sir；'　Hakeswill　had　promised　Morris；　'and　he'd　give　a　small　fortune　for　a　proper　white　one。　Not　that　Mrs　Bickerstaff's　proper　white；　sir；　not　like　a　Christian；　but　in　the　dark　she'd　pass　well　enough。'　The　Sergeant　needed　Morris's　help　in　ridding　Mrs　Bickerstaff　of　Richard　Sharpe　and　as　an　inducement　he　had　offered　Morris　the　free　run　of　Naig's　tent。　In　return；　Morris　knew；　Hakeswill　would　expect　a　lifetime's　patronage。　As　Morris　climbed　the　army's　ranks；　so　Hakeswill　would　be　drawn　ineluctably　after　him　and　with　each　step　the　Sergeant　would　garner　more　power　and　influence。
　'So　when　will　you　free　Mrs　Bickerstaff　of　Sharpe？'　Morris　asked；　buckling　his　sword　belt。
　'Tonight；　sir。　With　your　help。　You'll　be　back　here　by　midnight；　I　dare　say？''I　might。'
　'If　you　are；　sir；　we'll　do　him。　Tonight；　sir。'
　Morris　clapped　the　cocked　hat　on　his　head；　made　sure　his　purse　was　in　his　coat…tail　pocket　and　ducked　under　the　muslin。　'Carry　on；　Sergeant；'　he　called　back。
　'Sir！'　Hakeswill　stood　to　attention　for　a　full　ten　seconds　after　the　Captain　was　gone；　and　then；　with　a　sly　grin　twitching　on　his　lumpy　face；　followed　Morris　into　the　night。
　Nineteen　miles　to　the　south　lay　a　temple。　It　was　an　ancient　place；　deep　in　the　country；　one　of　the　many　Hindu　shrines　where　the　country　folk　came　on　high　days　and　holidays　to　do　honour　to　their　gods　and　to　pray　for　a　timely　monsoon；　for　good　crops　and　for　the　absence　of　warlords。　For　the　rest　of　the　year　the　temple　lay　abandoned；　its　gods　and　altars　and　richly　carved　spires　home　to　scorpions；　snakes　and　monkeys。
　The　temple　was　surrounded　by　a　wall　through　which　one　gate　led；　though　the　wall　was　not　high　and　the　gate　was　never　shut。　Villagers　left　small　offerings　of　leaves；　flowers　and　food　in　niches　of　the　gateposts；　and　sometimes　they　would　go　into　the　temple　itself；　cross　the　courtyard　and　climb　to　the　inner　shrine　where　they　would　place　their　small　gifts　beneath　the　image　of　a　god；　but　at　night；　when　the　Indian　sky　lay　black　over　a　heat…exhausted　land；　no　one　would　ever　dream　of　disturbing　the　gods。
　But　this　night；　the　night　after　battle；　a　man　entered　the　temple。　He　was　tall　and　thin；　with　white　hair　and　a　harsh；　suntanned　face。　He　was　over　sixty　years　old；　but　his　back　was　still　straight　and　he　moved　with　the　ease　of　a　much　younger　man。　Like　many　Europeans　who　had　lived　a　long　time　in　India　he　was　prone　to　bouts　of　debilitating　fever；　but　otherwise　he　was　in　sterling　health；　and　Colonel　Hector　McCandless　ascribed　that　good　health　to　his　religion　and　to　a　regimen　that　abjured　alcohol；　tobacco　and　meat。　His　religion　was　Calvinism　for　Hector　McCandless　had　grown　up　in　Scotlandand　the　godly　lessons　that　had　been　whipped　into　his　young；　earnest　soul　had　never　been　forgotten。　He　was　an　honest　man；　a　tough　man；　and　a　wise　one。
　His　soul　was　old　in　experience；　but　even　so　it　was　offended　by　the　idols　that　reflected　the　small　light　of　the　lantern　he　had　lit　once　he　was　through　the　temple's　ever　open　gate。　He　had　lived　in　India　for　over　sixteen　years　now　and　he　was　more　accustomed　to　these　heathen　shrines　than　to　the　kirks　of　his　childhood；　but　still；　whenever　he　saw　these　strange　gods　with　their　multiplicity　of　arms；　their　elephant　heads；　their　grotesquely　coloured　faces　and　their　cobra…hooded　masks；　he　felt　a　stab　of　disapproval。　He　never　let　that　disapproval　show；　for　that　would　have　imperilled　his　duty；　and　McCandless　was　a　man　who　believed　that　duty　was　a　master　second　only　to　God。
　He　wore　the　red　coat　and　the　tartan　kilt　of　the　King's　Scotch　Brigade；　a　Highland　regiment　that　had　not　seen　McCandless's　stern　features　for　sixteen　years。　He　had　served　with　the　brigade　for　over　thirty　years；　but　lack　of　funds　had　obstructed　his　promotion　and　so；　with　his　Colonel's　blessing；　he　had　accepted　a　job　with　the　army　of　the　East　India　pany　which　governed　those　parts　of　India　that　were　under　British　rule。　In　his　time　he　had　manded　battalions　of　sepoys；　but　McCandless's　first　love　was　surveying。　He　had　mapped　the　Carnatic　coast；　he　had　charted　the　Sundarbans　of　the　Hoogli；　and　he　had　once　ridden　the　length　and　breadth　of　Mysore；　and　while　he　had　been　so　engaged　he　had　learned　a　half…dozen　Indian　languages　and　met　a　score　of　princes；　rajahs　and　nawabs。　Few　men　understood　India　as　McCandless　did；　which　was　why　the　pany　had　promoted　him　to　Colonel　and　attached　him　to　the　British　army　as　its　chief　of　intelligence。　It　was　McCandless's　task　to　advise　General　Harris　of　the　enemy's　strength　and　dispositions；　and；　in　particular；　to　discover　just　what　defences　waited　for　the　allied　armies　when　they　reached　Seringapatam。It　was　his　search　for　that　particular　answer　that　had　brought　Colonel　McCandless　to　this　ancient　temple。　He　had　surveyed　the　temple　seven　years　before；　when　Lord　Cornwallis's　army　had　marched　against　Mysore；　and　back　then　McCandless　had　admired　the　extraordinary　carvings　that　covered　every　inch　of　the　temple's　walls。　The　Scotsman's　religion　had　been　offended　by　so　much　decoration；　but　he　was　too　honest　a　man　to　deny　that　the　old　stoneworkers　had　been　marvellous　craftsmen；　for　the　sculpture　here　was　as　fine；　if　not　finer；　than　anything　produced　in　medieval　Europe。　The　wan　yellow　light　of　his　lantern　washed　across　caparisoned　elephants；　fierce　gods　and　marching　armies；　all　made　of　stone。
　He　climbed　the　steps　to　the　central　shrine；　passed　between　its　vast；　squat　pillars　and　so　went　into　the　sanctuary。　The　roof　here；　beneath　the　temple's　high　carved　tower；　was　fashioned　into　lotus　blossoms。　The　idols　stared　blankly　from　their　niches　with　flowers　and　leaves　drying　at　their　feet。　The　Colonel　placed　the　lantern　on　the　flagstone　floor；　then　sat　cross…legged　and　waited。　He　closed　his　eyes；　letting　his　ears　identify　the　noises　of　the　night　beyond　the　temple's　walls。　McCandless　had　e　to　this　remote　temple　with　an　escort　of　six　Indian　lancers；　but　he　had　left　that　escort　two　miles　away　in　case　their　presence　should　have　inhibited　the　man　he　was　hoping　to　meet。　So　now　he　just　waited　with　eyes　closed　and　arms　folded；　and　after　a　while　he　heard　the　thump　of　a　hoof　on　dry　earth；　the　chink　of　a　snaffle　chain；　and　then；　once　again；　silence。　And　still　he　waited　with　eyes　closed。
　'If　you　were　not　in　that　uniform；'　a　voice　said　a　few　moments　later；　'I　would　think　you　were　at　your　prayers。'
　'The　uniform　does　not　disqualify　me　from　prayer；　any　more　than　does　your　uniform；'　the　Colonel　answered；　opening　his　eyes。　He　stood。　'Wele；　General。'
　The　man　who　faced　McCandless　was　younger　than　the　Scot；　but　every　inch　as　tall　and　lean。　Appah　Rao　was　now　a　general　in　the　forces　of　the　Tippoo　Sultan；　but　once；　manyyears　before；　he　had　been　an　officer　in　one　of　McCandless's　sepoy　battalions　and　it　was　that　old　acquaintanceship；　which　had　verged　upon　friendship；　that　had　persuaded　McCandless　it　was　worth　risking　his　own　life　to　talk　to　Appah　Rao。　Appah　Rao　had　served　under　McCandless's　orders　until　his　father　had　died；　and　then；　trained　as　a　soldier；　he　had　returned　to　his　native　Mysore。　Today　he　had　watched　from　the　ridge　as　the　Tippoo's　infantry　had　been　massacred　by　a　single　British　volley。　The　experience　had　made　him　sour；　but　he　forced　a　grudging　courtesy　into　his　voice。　'So　you're　still　alive；　Major？'　Appah　Rao　spoke　in　Kanarese；　the　language　of　the　native　Mysoreans。
　'Still　alive；　and　a　full　colonel　now；'　McCandless　answered　in　the　same　tongue。　'Shall　we　sit？'
　Appah　Rao　grunted；　then　sat　opposite　McCandless。　Behind　him；　beyond　the　sunken　courtyard　where　they　were　framed　by　the　temple's　gateway；　were　two　soldiers。　They　were　Appah　Rao's　escort　and　McCandless　knew　they　must　be　trusted　men；　for　if　the　Tippoo　Sultan　were　ever　to　discover　that　this　meeting　had　taken　place　then　Appah　Rao　and　all　his　family　would　be　killed。　Unless；　of　course；　the　Tippoo　already　knew　and　was　using　Appah　Rao　to　make　some　mischief　of　his　own。
　The　Tippoo's　General　was　dressed　in　his　master's　tiger…striped　tunic；　but　over　it　he　wore　a　sash　of　the　finest　silk　and　slung　across　his　shoulder　was　a　second　silk　sash　from　which　hung　a　gold…hiked　sword。　His　boots　were　red　leather　and　his　hat　a　coil　of　watered　red　silk　on　which　a　milky…blue　jewel　gleamed　soft　in　the