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ather tubes to the fierce Indian sun。 The first； the King's Colour； was a British flag on which the regiment's battle honours were embroidered； while the second was the Regimental Colour and had the 33rd's badge displayed on a scarlet field； the same scarlet as the men's jacket facings。 The tasselled silk banners blazed； and the sight of them prompted a sudden cannonade from the ridge。 Till now there had only been the one heavy gun firing； but abruptly six other cannon joined the fight。 The new guns were smaller and their round shot fell well short of the seven battalions。Major Shee； the Irishman who manded the 33rd while its Colonel； Arthur Wellesley； had control of the whole brigade； cantered his horse back； spoke briefly to Morris； then wheeled away towards the head of the column。 'We're going to push the bastards off the ridge！' Morris shouted at the Light pany； then bent his head to light a cigar with a tinderbox。 'Any bastard that turns tail； Sergeant； ' Morris went on when his cigar was properly alight； 'will be shot。 You hear me？'
'Loud and clear； sir！' Hakeswill shouted。 'Shot； sir！ Shot like the coward he is。 ' He turned and scowled at the two half…panies。 'Shot！ And your names posted in your church porch at home as the cowards you are。 So fight like Englishmen！'
'Scotsmen； ' a voice growled behind Sharpe； but too softly for Hakeswill to hear。
'Irish； ' another man said。
'We ain't none of us cowards； ' Garrard said more loudly。
Sergeant Green； a decent man； hushed him。 'Quiet； lads。 I know you'll do your duty。 '
The front of the column was marching now； but the rearmost panies were kept waiting so that the battalion could advance with wide intervals between its twenty half…panies。 Sharpe guessed that the scattered formation was intended to reduce any casualties caused by the enemy's bombardment which； because it was still being fired at extreme range； was doing no damage。 Behind him； a long way behind； the rest of the allied armies were waiting for the ridge to be cleared。 That mass looked like a formidable horde； but Sharpe knew that most of what he saw was the two armies' civilian tail： the chaos of merchants； wives； sutlers and herdsmen who kept the fighting soldiers alive and whose supplies would make the siege of the enemy's capital possible。 It needed more than six thousand oxen just to carry the cannonballs for the big siege guns； and all those oxen had to be herded and fed and the herdsmen all travelled with their families who； in turn；needed more oxen to carry their own supplies。 Lieutenant Lawford had once remarked that the expedition did not look like an army on the march； but like a great migrating tribe。 The vast horde of civilians and animals was encircled by a thin crust of red…coated infantry； most of them Indian sepoys； whose job was to protect the merchants； ammunition and draught animals from the quick…riding； hard…hitting light cavalry of the Tippoo Sultan。
The Tippoo Sultan。 The enemy。 The tyrant of Mysore and the man who was presumably directing the gunfire on the ridge。 The Tippoo ruled Mysore and he was the enemy； but what he was； or why he was an enemy； or whether he was a tyrant； beast or demigod； Sharpe had no idea。 Sharpe was here because he was a soldier and it was sufficient that he had been told that the Tippoo Sultan was his enemy and so he waited patiently under the Indian sun that was soaking his lean tall body in sweat。
Captain Morris leaned on his saddle's pommel。 He took off his cocked hat and wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief that had been soaked in cologne water。 He had been drunk the previous night and his stomach was still churning with pain and wind。 If the battalion had not been going into battle he would have galloped away； found a private spot and voided his bowels； but he could hardly do that now in case his men thought it a sign of weakness and so he raised his canteen instead and swallowed' some arrack in the hope that the harsh spirit would calm the turmoil in his belly。 'Now； Sergeant！' he called when the pany in front had moved sufficiently far ahead。
'Forward half…pany！' Hakeswill shouted。 'Forward march！ Smartly now！'
Lieutenant Lawford； given supervision of the last half…pany of the battalion； waited until Hakeswill's men had marched twenty paces； then nodded at Sergeant Green。 'Forward； Sergeant。'
The redcoats inarched with unloaded muskets for the enemy was still a long way off and there was no sign of the Tippoo Sultan's infantry； nor of his feared cavalry。 There were only the enemy's guns and； high in the fierce sky； the circling vultures。 Sharpe was in the leading rank of the final half…pany and Lieutenant Lawford； glancing at him； thought once again what a fine…looking man Sharpe was。 There was a confidence in Sharpe's thin； sun…darkened face and hard blue eyes that spoke of an easy petence； and that appearance was a fort to a young nervous lieutenant advancing towards his first battle。 With men like Sharpe； Lawford thought； how could they lose？
Sharpe was ignorant of the Lieutenant's glance and would have laughed had he been told that his very appearance inspired confidence。 Sharpe had no conception of how he looked； for he rarely saw a mirror and when he did the reflected image meant nothing； though he did know that the ladies liked him and that he liked them。 He knew； too； that he was the tallest man in the Light pany； so tall； indeed； that he should have been in the Grenadier pany that led the battalion's advance； but when he had first joined the regiment； six years before； the manding officer of the Light pany had insisted on having Sharpe in his ranks。 Captain Hughes was dead now； killed by a bowel…loosening flux in Calcutta； but in his time Hughes had prided himself on having the quickest； smartest men in his pany； men he could trust to fight alone in the skirmish line； and it had been Hughes's tragedy that he had only ever seen his picked men face an enemy once； and that once had been the misbegotten； fever…ridden expedition to the foggy island off the coast of Flanders where no amount of quick…wittedness by the men could salvage success from the manding general's stupidity。 Now； five years later； on an Indian field； the 33rd again marched towards an enemy； though instead of the enthusiastic and generous Captain Hughes； the Light pany was now manded by Captain Morris who did not care how clever or quick his men were； only that they gave him no trouble。 Which was why he had brought Sergeant Hakeswill into the pany。 And that was why the tall； good…looking； hard…eyed private called Richard Sharpe was thinking of running。
Except he would not run today。 Today there would be a fight and Sharpe was happy at that prospect。 A fight meant plunder； what the Indian soldiers called loot； and any man who was thinking of running and striking up life on his own could do with a bit of loot to prime the pump。
The seven battalions marched towards the ridge。 They were all in columns of half…panies so that； from a vulture's view； they would have appeared as one hundred and forty small scarlet rectangles spread across a square mile of green country as they advanced steadily towards the waiting line of guns on the enemy…held ridge。 The sergeants paced beside the half…panies while the officers either rode or walked ahead。 From a distance the red squares looked smart； for the men's red coats were bright scarlet and slashed with white crossbelts； but in truth the troops were filthy and sweating。 Their coats were wool； designed for battlefields in Flanders； not India； and the scarlet dye had run in the heavy rains so that the coats were now a pale pink or a dull purple； and all were stained white with dried sweat。 Every man in the 33rd wore a leather stock； a cruel high collar that dug into the flesh of his neck； and each man's long hair had been pulled harshly back； greased with candle wax； then twisted about a small sand…filled leather bag that was secured with a strip of black leather so that the hair hung like a club at the nape of the neck。 The hair was then powdered white with flour； and though the clubbed and whitened hair looked smart and neat； it was a haven for lice and fleas。 The native sepoys of the East India pany were luckier。 They did not cake their hair with powder； nor did they wear the heavy trousers ofthe British troops but instead marched bare…legged。 They did not wear the leather stocks either and； even more amazing； there was no flogging in the Indian battalions。
An enemy cannonball at last found a target and Sharpe saw a half…pany of the 33rd broken apart as the round shot whipped through the ranks。 He thought he glimpsed an instant red mist appear in the air above the formation as the ball slashed through； but maybe that was an illusion。 Two men stayed on the ground as a sergeant closed the ranks up。 Two more men were limping and one of them staggered； reeled and finally collapsed。 The drummer boys； advancing just behind the unfurled colours； marked the rhythm of the march with steady beats interspersed with quicker flourishes； but when the boys marched past the twin heaps of offal that had been soldiers of the Grenadier pany a few seconds before they began to hurry their sticks and thus quickened the regiment's pace until Major Shee turned in his saddle and damned their eagerness。
'When are we going to load？' Private Mallinson asked Sergeant Green。
'When you're told to； lad； when you're told to。 Not before。 Oh； sweet Jesus！' This last imprecation from Sergeant Green had been caused by a deafening ripple of gunfire from the ridge。 A dozen more of the Tippoo's smaller guns had opened fire and the crest of the ridge was now fogged by a grey…white cloud of smoke。 The two British galloper guns off to the right had unlimbered and started to return the fire； but the enemy cannon were hidden by their own smoke and that thick screen obscured any damage the small galloper guns might be inflicting。 More cavalry trotted forward to the 33rd's right。 These newers were Indian troops dressed in scarlet turbans and holding long； wicked…pointed lances。
'So what are we bleeding supposed to do？' Mallinson plained。 'Just march straight up the bloody ridge with empty muskets？''If you're told to；' Sergeant Green said； 'that's what you'll do。 Now hold your bloody tongue。'
'Quiet back there！' Hakeswill called from the half…pany in front。 'This ain't a bleeding parish outing！ This is a fight； you bastards！'
Sharpe wanted to be ready and so he untied the rag from his musket's lock and stuffed it into the pocket where he kept the ring Mary had given him。 The ring； a plain band of worn silver； had belonged to Sergeant Bickerstaff； Mary's husband； but the Sergeant was dead now and Green had taken Bickerstaff's sergeant's stripes and Sharpe his bed。 Mary came from Calcutta。 That was no place to run； Sharpe thought。 Place was full of redcoats。
Then he forgot any prospect of deserting； for suddenly the landscape ahead was filling with enemy soldiers。 A mass of infantry was crossing the northern end of the low ridge and marching down onto the plain。 Their uniforms were pale purple； they had wide red hats and； like the British Indian troops； were bare…legged。 The flags above the marching men were red and yellow； but the wind was so feeble that the flags hung straight down to obscure whatever device they might have shown。 More and more men appeared until Sharpe could not even begin to estimate their numbers。
'Thirty…third！' a voice shouted from somewhere ahead。 'Line to the left！'
'Line to the left！' Captain Morris echoed the shout。
'You heard the officer！' Sergeant Hakeswill bawled。 'Line to the left！ Smartly now！'
'On the double！' Sergeant Green called。
The leading half…pany of the 33rd had halted and every other half…pany angled to their left and sped their pace； with the final half…pany； in which Sharpe marched； having the farthest and fastest to go。 The men began to jog； their packs and pouches and bayonet scabbards bumping up and down as they stumbled over the small fields of crops。 Like aswinging door； the column； that had been marching directly towards the ridge； was now turning itself into a line that would lie parallel to the ridge and so bar the advance of the enemy infantry。
'Two files！' a voice shouted。