'She can't, Sharpe said curtly. 'Tell him, Mary.

Mary ran to catch up. Tm not safe while Hakeswill's alive, she told Lawford.

'You could have been looked after, Lawford suggested vaguely.

'Who by? Mary asked. 'A man looks after a woman in the army and he wants his price. You know that, sir.

'Call him Bill! Sharpe snarled. 'Our lives might depend on it! If one of us calls him «sir» then they'll feed us to their bloody tigers.

'And it isn't just Hakeswill, Mary went on. 'Sergeant Green wants to marry me now, which is at least more than Hakeswill does, but I don't want either. I just want to be left in peace with Richard.

'God knows, Lawford said bitterly, 'but you've probably jumped out of the frying pan into the fire.

Til take my chances, Mary said obstinately, though she had taken what care she could to reduce her chances of being raped. She had dressed herself in a torn dark frock and a filthy apron, both garments as drab and greasy as she could find. She had smeared ashes and dirt into her hair, but she had done nothing to disguise the lively beauty in her face. 'Besides, she said to Lawford, 'neither you nor Richard speak any of the languages. You need me. And I brought some more food. She hoisted the cloth bundle.

Lawford grunted. Behind them the horizon was now marked with a pale glow that silhouetted trees and bushes. He guessed they had travelled about a dozen miles and, as the pale glow turned brighter and the dawn's light seeped across the landscape, he suggested they stop and rest. Mary's bundle held a half-dozen loaves of flat unleavened bread and had two canteens of water which they shared as their breakfast. After he had eaten, Lawford went into the bushes for privacy and, as he came back, he saw Sharpe hit Mary hard in the face. 'For God's sake, man, Lawford shouted, 'what are you doing?

'Blacking my eye, Mary answered. 'I asked him to.

'Dear God! Lawford said. Mary's left eye was already swelling, and tears were running down her cheeks. 'Whatever for?

'Keep the buggers off her, of course, Sharpe said. 'Are you all right, love?

'I'll live, Mary said. 'You hit hard, Richard.

'No point in hitting softly. Didn't mean to hurt you, though.

Mary splashed water on her eye, then they all started walking again. They were now in an open stretch of country that was dotted with groves of bright-blossomed trees. There were no villages in sight, though they did come to an aqueduct an hour after dawn and wasted another hour trying to find a way across before simply plunging into the weed-filled water and wading through. Seringapatam lay well below the horizon, but Lawford knew the city was almost due west and he planned to angle southwards until he reached the Cauvery and then follow that river to the city.

The Lieutenant's spirits were low. He had volunteered for this mission readily enough, but in the night it had begun to dawn on him just how risky the errand was. He felt lonely too. He was only two years older than Sharpe and he envied Sharpe Mary's companionship, and he still resented the Private's lack of deference. He did not dare express that resentment, for he knew it would be scorned, but nor did he really wish to express it, for he had discovered that he wanted Sharpe's admiration rather than his deference. Lawford wanted to prove that he was as tough as the Private, and that desire kept him stoically walking on towards the horrid unknown.

Sharpe was equally worried. He liked Lawford, but suspected he would have to work hard to keep the Lieutenant out of trouble. He was a quick study, the Lieutenant, but so ignorant of the world's ways that he could easily betray the fact that he was no common soldier. As for the Tippoo, he was an unknown danger, but Sharpe was canny enough to know that he would have to do whatever the Tippoo's men wanted. He worried about Mary too. He had persuaded her to come on this fool's errand, and she had not taken much persuading, but now she was here Sharpe was concerned that he could not protect both her and Lawford. But despite his worries he still felt free. He was, after all, off the army's leash and he reckoned he could survive so long as Lawford made no mistake, and if Sharpe survived he knew how to prosper. The rules were simple: trust no one, be ever watchful and if trouble came hit first and hit hard. It had worked for him so far.

Mary too had doubts. She had persuaded herself she was in love with Sharpe, but she sensed a restlesness in him that made her think he might not always be in love with her. Still, she was happier here than back with the army, and that was not just because of Sergeant Hakeswill's threat but because, although the army was the only life Mary had ever known, she sensed the world could offer her more. She had grown up in Calcutta and, though her mother had been Indian, Mary had never felt at home in either the army or in India. She was neither one thing nor the other. To the army she was a bibbi, while to the Indians she was outside their castes, and she was acceptable to neither. She was a half-breed, suspended in a purgatory of distrust, with only her looks to help her survive, and though the army was the place that provided the friendliest company, it hardly offered a secure future. Ahead of her stretched a succession of husbands, each one succeeding as the previous one was killed in battle or else died of a fever, and when she was too old to attract another man she would be left with her children to fend as best she could. Mary, just like Sharpe, wanted to find some way up and out of that fate, but how she was to do it she did not know, though this expedition at least gave her a chance to break temporarily out of the trap.

Lawford led them to a slight hill from where, screened by flowering bushes, he scanned the country ahead. He thought he could see a gleam of water to the south and the small glimpse was sufficient to persuade him that it must be the River Cauvery. 'That way, he said, 'but we'll have to avoid the villages. There were two in sight, both barring the direct path to the river.

'The villagers will see us anyway, Mary said. 'They don't miss much.

'We're not here to trouble them, Lawford said, 'so perhaps they'll leave us alone?

'Turn our coats, Bill, Sharpe suggested.

'Turn our coats?

'We're running, aren't we? So put your coat on back to front as a sign that you're on the run.

'The villagers will hardly realize the significance of that, Lawford observed tartly.

'Bugger the villagers, Sharpe said. 'It's the Tippoo's bloody men I'm worried about. If those bastards see red coats, they'll shoot before they ask questions. Sharpe had already undone his crossbelts and was shrugging off the wool coat, grunting with the pain that the exertion gave to his back. Lawford, watching, saw that blood had seeped through the thick bandages to stain the dirty shirt.

Lawford was reluctant to turn his coat. A turned coat was a sign of disgrace. Battalions that had let the army down in battle were sometimes forced to turn their coats as a badge of shame, but once again the Lieutenant saw the wisdom of Sharpe's argument and so he stripped and turned his coat so that its grey lining was outermost. 'Maybe we shouldn't carry the muskets?" he suggested.

'No deserter would throw away his gun, Sharpe answered. He buckled his belt over the turned coat and picked up his gun and pack. He had carried the pack in his hand all night rather than have its weight press on his wounds. 'Are you ready?

'In a moment, Lawford said, then, to Sharpe's surprise, the Lieutenant went on one knee and said a silent prayer. 'I don't pray often, Lawford admitted as he stood, 'but maybe some help from on high would be providential today. For today, Lawford guessed, would be the day they would meet die Tippoo's patrols.

They walked south towards the gleam of water. All three were tired, and Sharpe was plainly weakened by the loss of blood, but anticipation gave them all a nervous energy. They skirted the nearest village, watched by cows with pendulous folds of skin hanging beneath their necks, then they walked through groves of cocoa trees as the sun climbed. They saw no one. A deer skittered away from their path in the late morning and an hour later an excited troupe of small monkeys scampered beside diem. At midday they rested in the small shade offered by a grove of bamboos, then pressed on again beneath the baking sun. By early afternoon the river was in sight and Lawford suggested they should rest on its bank. Mary's eye had swollen and blackened, giving her the grotesque look she believed would protect her.