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'I ain't losing nothing； sir；' Hakeswill answered equably。 'If the rat don't die first shake； sir； then you puts the dog in again。 That's how it's done； sir。 Says so in the scriptures。 Sick report； sir。 Nothing new； except that Sears has the fever； so he won't be with us long； but he won't be no loss； sir。 No good to man or beast； Private Sears。 Better off dead； he is。'
'Are we done？' Morris asked when he had signed the sick report； but then a tactful cough sounded at the tent's opening and Lieutenant Lawford ducked under the flap and pushed through the muslin screen。
'Busy； Charles？' Lawford asked Morris。
'Always pleased to see you； William；' Morris said sarcastically； 'but I was about to go for a stroll。'
'There's a soldier to see you；' Lawford explained。 'Man's got a request； sir。'
Morris sighed as though he was too busy to be bothered with such trifles； but then he shrugged and waved a hand as if to suggest he was making a great and generous gesture by giving the man a moment of his precious time。 'Who？' he asked。
'Private Sharpe； sir。'
'Troublemaker； sir；' Hakeswill put in。
'He's a good man；' Lawford insisted hotly； but then decided his small experience of the army hardly qualified him to make such judgements and so； diffidendy； he added that it was only his opinion。 'But he seems like a good man； sir；' he finished。
'Let him in；' Morris said。 He sipped from a tin mug of arrack while Sharpe negotiated the muslin screen and thenstood to attention beneath the ridge pole。 'Hat off； boy！' Hakeswill snapped。 'Don't you know to take your hat off in the presence of an officer？'
Sharpe snatched off his shako。
'Well？' Morris asked。
For a second it seemed that Sharpe did not know what to say； but then he cleared his diroat and； staring at the tent wall a few inches above Captain Morris's head； he at last found his voice。 'Permission to marry； sir。'
Morris grinned。 'Marry！ Found yourself a bibbi； have you？' He sipped more arrack； then looked at Hakeswill。 'How many wives are on the pany strengdi now； Sergeant？'
'Full plement； sir！ No room for more； sir！ Full up； sir。 Not a vacancy to be had。 Shall I dismiss Private Sharpe； sir？'
'This girl's on the plement；' Lieutenant Lawford intervened。 'She's Sergeant Bickerstaff's widow。'
Morris stared up at Sharpe。 'Bickerstaff；' he said vaguely as though the name was strange to him。 'Bickerstaff。 Fellow who died of a fever on the march； is that right？'
'Yes； sir；' Hakeswill answered。
'Didn't know the man was even married；' Morris said。 'Official wife； was she？'
'Very official； sir；' Hakeswill answered。 'On the pany strength； sir。 Colonel's signature on the certificate； sir。 Proper married before God and the army； sir。'
Morris sniffed and looked up at Sharpe again。 'Why on earth do you want to marry； Sharpe？'
Sharpe looked embarrassed。 'Just do； sir；' he said lamely。
'Can't say I disapprove of marriage；' Morris said。 'Steadies a man does marriage； but a fellow like you； Sharpe； can do better than a soldier's widow； can't you？ Dreadful creatures； soldiers' widows！ Used goods； Private。 Fat and greasy； like lumps of lard wrapped up in linen。 Get yourself a sweet litde bibbi； man； something that ain't yet run to seed。〃'Very good advice； sir；' Hakeswill said； his face twitching。 'Words of wisdom； sir。 Shall I dismiss him； sir？'
'Mary Bickerstaff is a good woman； sir；' Lieutenant Lawford said。 The Lieutenant； whom Sharpe had first approached with his request； was eager to do his best。 'Sharpe could do a lot worse than marry Mary Bickerstaff； sir。'
Morris cut a cigar and lit it from the guttering candle that burned on his camp table。 'White； is she？' he asked negligently。
'Half bibbi and half Christian； sir；' Hakeswill said； 'but she had a good man for her husband。' He sniffed； pretending that he was suddenly overe with emotion。 'And Jem Bickerstaff ain't this month in his grave； sir。 Too soon for the trollop to marry again。 It ain't right； sir。 Says so in the scriptures。'
Morris offered Hakeswill a cynical glance。 'Don't be absurd； Sergeant。 Most army widows marry the next day！ The ranks are hardly high society； you know。'
'But Jem Bickerstaff was a friend of mine； sir；' Hakeswill said； sniffing again and even cuffing at an invisible tear。 'Friend of mine； sir；' he repeated more hoarsely； 'and on his dying bed； sir； he begged me to look after his little wife； sir。 I know she ain't through and through white； he told me； but she deserves to be looked after。 His very dying words； sir。'
'He bloody hated you！' Sharpe could not resist the words。
'Quiet in front of an officer！' Hakeswill shouted。 'Speak when you're spoken to； boy； and otherwise keep your filthy mouth buttoned like God wanted it。'
Morris frowned as though Hakeswill's loud voice was giving him a headache。 Then he looked up at Sharpe。 'I'll talk to Major Shee about it； Sharpe。 If the woman is on the strength and wants to marry you； then I don't suppose we can stop her。 I'll talk to the Major。 You're dismissed。'
Sharpe hesitated； wondering whether he should thank the Captain for the laconic words； but before he could say any…thing； Hakeswill was bawling in his ear。 'About turn！ Smartly now！ Hat on！ Quick march！ One two one two； smartly now。 Mind the bleeding curtain； boy！ This ain't a pig sty like what you grew up in； but an officer's quarters！'
Morris waited till Sharpe was gone； then looked up at Lawford。 'Nothing more； Lieutenant？'
Lawford guessed that he too was dismissed。 'You will talk to Major Shee； Charles？' he pressed Morris。
'I just said so； didn't I？' Morris glared up at the Lieutenant。
Lawford hesitated； then nodded。 'Good night； sir；' he said and ducked under the muslin screen。
Morris waited until he was certain that both men were out of earshot。 'Now what do we do？' he asked Hakeswill。
'Tell the silly bugger that Major Shee refused permission； sir。'
'And Willie Lawford will talk to the Major and find that he didn't。 Or else he'll go straight to Wellesley。 Lawford's uncle is on the staff； or had you forgotten that？ Use your wits； man！' 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