bcornwell.sharpstiger-第18部分

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e　size　of　a　pineapple；　cast　from　solid　gold　and　studded　with　rubies；　emeralds　and　diamonds。　The　central　tiger；　whose　long　lean　body　supported　the　middle　of　the　throne；　was　made　of　wood　covered　with　gold；　while　its　head　was　entirely　of　gold。　The　tiger's　mouth　was　open；　revealing　teeth　cut　from　rock　crystal　between　which　a　gold　tongue　was　hinged　so　that　it　could　be　moved　up　and　down。　The　canopy　above　the　golden　platform　was　supported　by　a　curved　pole　which；　like　the　canopy　itself；　had　been　covered　with　sheet　gold。　The　fringes　of　the　canopy　were　made　of　strung　pearls；　and　at　its　topmost　point　was　a　golden　model　of　the　fabulous　hummah；　the　royal　bird　that　rose　from　fire。　The　hummah；　like　the　tiger　finials；　was　studded　with　jewels；　its　back　was　one　solid　glorious　emerald　and　its　peacock…like　tail　a　dazzle　of　precious　stones　arrayed　so　thickly　that　the　underlying　gold　was　scarcely　visible。
　The　Tippoo　did　not　spare　the　gorgeous　throne　a　glance。　He　had　ordered　the　throne　made；　but　had　then　sworn　an　oath　that　he　would　never　climb　its　silver　steps　nor　sit　on　the　cushions　of　its　golden　platform　until　he　had　at　last　driven　the　British　from　southern　India。　Only　then　would　he　take　his　royal　place　beneath　the　pearl…strung　canopy　and　until　thatbright　day　the　tiger　throne　would　stay　empty。　The　Tippoo　had　made　his　oath；　and　the　oath　meant　that　he　would　either　sit　on　the　tiger　throne　or　else　he　would　die；　and　the　Tippoo's　dreams　had　given　him　no　presentiment　of　death。　Instead　he　expected　to　expand　Mysore's　frontiers　and　to　drive　the　infidel　British　into　the　sea　where　they　belonged；　for　they　had　no　business　here。　They　had　their　own　land；　and　if　that　far　country　was　not　good　enough　for　them；　then　let　them　all　drown。
　So　the　British　must　go；　and　if　their　destruction　meant　an　alliance　with　the　French；　then　that　was　a　small　price　to　pay　for　the　Tippoo's　ambitions。　He　envisaged　his　empire　spreading　throughout　southern　India；　then　northwards　into　the　Mah…ratta　territories　which　were　all　ruled　by　weak　kings　or　child　kings　or　by　tired　kings　and　in　their　place　the　Tippoo　would　offer　what　his　dynasty　had　already　given　to　Mysore：　a　firm　and　tolerant　government。　The　Tippoo　was　a　Muslim；　and　a　devout　one；　but　he　knew　the　surest　way　to　lose　his　throne　was　to　upset　his　Hindu　subjects　and　so　he　took　good　care　to　show　their　temples　reverence。　He　did　not　entirely　trust　the　Hindu　aristocracy；　and　he　had　done　what　he　could　to　weaken　that　elite　over　the　years；　but　he　wished　only　prosperity　on　his　other　Hindu　subjects　for　if　they　were　prosperous　then　they　would　not　care　what　god　was　worshipped　in　the　new　mosque　that　the　Tippoo　had　built　in　the　city。　In　time；　he　prayed；　every　person　in　Mysore　would　kneel　to　Allah；　but　until　that　happy　day　he　would　take　care　not　to　stir　the　Hindus　into　rebellion。　He　needed　them。　He　needed　them　to　fight　for　him　against　the　infidel　British。　He　needed　them　to　cut　down　the　red…coated　enemy　before　the　walls　of　Seringapatam。
　For　it　was　here；　on　his　island　capital；　that　the　Tippoo　expected　to　defeat　the　British　and　their　allies　from　Hyderabad。　Here；　in　front　of　his　tiger…muzzled　guns；　the　redcoats　would　be　beaten　down　like　rice　under　a　flail。　He　hoped　they　could　be　lured　into　the　slaughteryard　he　was　preparing　on　the　western　bastions；　but　even　if　they　did　not　take　the　bait　andcame　at　the　southern　or　eastern　walls；　he　was　still　ready　for　them。　He　had　thousands　of　cannon　and　thousands　of　rockets　and　thousands　of　men　ready　to　fight。　He　would　turn　their　infidel　army　into　blood　and　he　would　destroy　the　army　of　Hyderabad　and　then　he　would　hunt　down　the　Nizam　of　Hyderabad；　a　fellow　Muslim；　and　torture　him　to　a　slow　and　deserved　death　which　the　Tippoo　would　watch　from　his　canopied　golden　throne。
　He　walked　past　the　throne　to　stare　at　his　favourite　tiger。　This　one　was　a　lifesize　model；　made　by　a　French　craftsman；　that　showed　a　full…grown　beast　crouching　above　the　carved　figure　of　a　British　redcoat。　There　was　a　handle　in　the　tiger's　flank　and　when　it　was　turned　the　tiger's　paw　mauled　at　the　redcoat's　face　and　reeds　hidden　within　the　tiger's　body　made　a　growling　sound　and　a　pathetic　noise　that　imitated　the　cries　of　a　man　dying。　A　flap　opened　in　the　tiger's　flank　to　reveal　a　keyboard　on　which　an　organ；　concealed　in　the　tiger's　belly；　could　be　played；　but　the　Tippoo　rarely　bothered　with　the　instrument；　preferring　to　operate　the　separate　bellows　that　made　the　tiger　growl　and　the　victim　cry　out。　He　turned　the　handle　now；　delighting　in　the　thin；　reedy　sound　of　the　dying　man。　In　a　few　days'　time；　he　thought；　he　would　stun　the　very　heavens　with　the　genuine　cries　of　dying　redcoats。
　The　Tippoo　finally　let　the　tiger　organ　fall　silent。　'I　suspect　the　man　is　a　spy；'　he　said　suddenly。
　'Then　kill　him；'　Appah　Rao　said。
　'A　failed　spy；'　the　Tippoo　said。　'You　say　he　is　a　Scot？'　he　asked　Gudin。
　'Indeed；　Your　Majesty。'
　'Not　English；　then？'
　'No；　sire。'
　The　Tippoo　shrugged　at　the　distinction。　'Whatever　his　tribe；　he　is　an　old　man；　but　is　that　reason　to　show　him　mercy？'
　The　question　was　directed　at　Colonel　Gudin　who；　once　it　was　translated；　stiffened。　'He　was　captured　in　uniform；　YourMajesty；　so　he　does　not　deserve　death。'　Gudin　would　have　liked　to　add　that　it　would　be　uncivilized　even　to　contemplate　killing　such　a　prisoner；　but　he　knew　the　Tippoo　hated　being　patronized　and　so　he　kept　silent。
　'He　is　here；　is　he　not？'　the　Tippoo　demanded。　'Does　that　not　deserve　death？　This　is　not　his　land；　these　are　not　his　people；　and　the　bread　and　water　he　consumes　are　not　his。'
　'Kill　him；　Your　Majesty；'　Gudin　warned；　'and　the　British　will　show　no　mercy　on　any　prisoners　they　take。'
　'I　am　full　of　mercy；'　the　Tippoo　said；　and　mostly　that　was　true。　There　was　a　time　for　being　ruthless　and　a　time　for　showing　mercy；　and　maybe　this　Scotsman　would　be　a　useful　pawn　if　there　was　a　need　to　hold　a　hostage。　Besides；　the　Tippoo's　dream　the　night　before　had　promised　well；　and　this　morning's　auguries　had　been　similarly　hopeful；　so　today　he　could　afford　to　show　mercy。　'Put　him　in　the　cells　for　now；'　the　Tippoo　said。　Somewhere　in　the　palace　a　French…made　clock　chimed　the　hour；　reminding　the　Tippoo　that　it　was　time　for　his　prayers。　He　dismissed　his　entourage；　then　went　to　the　simple　chamber　where；　facing　west　towards　Mecca；　he　made　his　daily　obeisances。
　Outside；　cheated　of　their　prey；　the　tigers　slunk　back　to　the　courtyard's　shadows。　One　beast　yawned；　another　slept。　There　would　be　other　days　and　other　men　to　eat。　That　was　what　the　six　tigers　lived　for；　the　days　when　their　master　was　not　merciful。
　While　up　in　the　Inner　Palace；　with　his　back　to　the　canopied　throne　of　gold；　Colonel　Jean　Gudin　turned　the　tiger's　handle。　The　tiger　growled；　the　claws　raked　back　and　forth　across　the　wooden；　blood…painted　flesh；　and　the　redcoat　cried　aloud。
　
　Sharpe　had　not　meant　to　cry　out。　Before　the　punishment　had　begun　he　had　been　determined　to　show　no　weakness　and　he　had　even　been　angry　with　himself　that　he　had　flinched　as　the　first　blow　fell；　but　that　sudden　pain　had　been　so　acute　thathe　had　involuntarily　shuddered。　Since　then　he　had　closed　his　eyes　and　bitten　down　on　the　leather；　but　in　his　head　a　silent　scream　shrilled　as　the　lashes　landed　one　after　the　other。
　'One　hundred　and　twenty…three！'　Bywaters　shouted　hoarsely。
　The　drummer　boys'　arms　were　tiring；　but　they　still　knew　better　than　to　slacken　their　efforts　for　Sergeant　Hakeswill　was　watching　and　savouring　every　blow。
　'One　hundred　and　twenty…four；'　Bywaters　called；　and　it　was　then；　through　the　silent　scream　that　was　filling　his　head；　Sharpe　heard　a　whimper。　Then　he　heard　another；　and　realized　that　it　was　he　who　was　making　the　noise　and　so　he　snarled　instead；　opened　his　eyes　and　stared　his　loathing　at　the　bastard　officers　sitting　on　their　horses　a　few　paces　away。　He　stared　at　them　fixedly　as　if　he　could　transfer　the　ghastly　pain　from　his　back　onto　their　faces；　but　not　one　of　them　looked　at　him。　They　stared　at　the　sky；　they　gazed　at　the　ground；　they　all　tried　to　ignore　the　sight　of　a　man　being　beaten　to　death　in　front　of　their　eyes。
　'One　hundred　and　thirty…six；'　Bywaters　shouted　and　the　drummer　boy　beat　his　instrument　again。
　Blood　had　run　down　Sharpe's　back　and　stained　the　weave　of　his　white　trousers　past　his　knees。　More　blood　had　spattered　onto　his　greased　and　powdered　hair；　and　still　the　lashes　whistled　down　and　each　blow　of　the　leather　thongs　splashed　into　the　mess　of　broken　flesh　and　ribboned　skin；　and　more　gleaming　blood　spurted　away。
　'One　hundred　and　forty。　Keep　it　high；　boy；　keep　it　high！　Not　on　the　kidneys；'　Bywaters　snapped；　and　the　Sergeant　Major　looked　across　at　the　surgeon　and　saw　that　Micklewhite　was　staring　vaguely　up　over　the　tripod's　peak；　his　jowly　face　looking　as　calm　as　though　he　was　merely　idling　away　a　summer's　day。　'Want　to　look　at　him；　Mister　Micklewhite；　sir？'　the　Sergeant　Major　suggested；　but　Micklewhite　just　shook　his　head。　'Keep　going；　lads；'　the　Sergeant　Major　told　thedrummer　boys；　not　bothering　to　keep　the　disapproval　from　his　voice。
　The　flogging　went　on。　Hakeswill　watched　it　with　delight；　but　most　of　the　men　stared　into　the　sky　and　prayed　that　Sharpe　would　not　cry　aloud。　That　would　be　his　victory；　even　if　he　died　in　achieving　it。　Some　Indian　troops　had　gathered　around　the　hollow　square　to　watch　the　flogging。　Such　punishments　were　not　permitted　in　the　East　India　pany　and　most　of　the　sepoys　found　it　inexplicable　that　the　British　inflicted　it　upon　themselves。
　'One　hundred　and　sixty…nine！'　Bywaters　shouted；　then　saw　a　gleam　of　white　under　a　lash。　The　gleam　was　instantly　obscured　by　a　trickle　of　blood。　'Can　see　a　rib；　sir！'　the　Sergeant　Major　called　to　the　surgeon。
　Micklewhite　waved　a　fly　away　from　his　face　and　stared　up　at　a　small　cloud　that　was　drifting　northwards。　Must　be　some　wind　up　there；　he　thought；　and　it　was　a　pity　that　there　was　none　down　here　to　alleviate　the　heat。　A　tiny　droplet　of　blood　splashed　onto　his　blue　coat　and　he　fastidiously　backed　farther　away。
　'One　hundred　and　seventy…four；'　Bywaters　shouted；　trying　to　imbue　the　bare　numbers　with　a　tone　of　disapproval。
　Sharpe　was　scarcely　conscious　now。　The　pain　was　beyond　bearing。　It　was　as　if　he　was　being　burned　alive　and　being　stabbed　at　the　same　time。　He　was　whimpering　with　each　blow；　but　the　sound　was　tiny；　scarce　loud　en