Sharpe's Triumph Read Online Free PDF Page B

snapped his fingers for a servant, then smiled at Major Dodd.
    “Simone is married to Captain Joubert, and that is Captain Joubert.” He pointed into

    the sunlight where a short captain stood to attention in front of the paraded battalion

    that stood so stiff and still in the biting sun.
    Joubert commands the battalion, sir?" Dodd asked.
    “No one commands the battalion,” Pohlmann answered.
    “But until three weeks ago it was led by Colonel Mathers. Back then it had five European

    officers; now it has Captain Joubert and Lieutenant Silliere.”
    He pointed to a second European, a tall thin young man, and Dodd, who was observant,

    saw Simone Joubert blush at the mention of Silliere's name. Dodd was amused. Joubert

    looked at least twenty years older than his wife, while Silliere was only a year or two her

    senior.
    “And we must have Europeans,” Pohlmann went on, stretching back on the divan that

    creaked under his weight.
    “The Indians are fine soldiers, but we need Europeans who understand European

    tactics.”
    “How many European officers have you lost, sir?” Dodd asked.
    “From this compoo? Eighteen,” Pohlmann said.
    “Too many.” The men who had gone were the British officers, and all had possessed

    contracts with Scindia that excused them from fighting against their own countrymen, and

    to make matters worse the East India Company had offered a bribe to any British officer

    who deserted the Mahrattas and, as a result, some of Pohlmann's best men were gone. It was

    true that he still had some good officers left, most of them French, with a handful of

    Dutchmen, Swiss and Germans, but Pohlmann knew he could ill afford the loss of eighteen

    European officers. At least none of his artillerymen had deserted and Pohlmann put

    great faith in the battle-winning capacity of his guns. Those cannon were served by

    Portuguese, or by half-breed Indians from the Portuguese colonies in India, and those

    professionals had stayed loyal and were awesomely proficient.
    Pohlmann drained a glass of rum and poured himself another. He had an extraordinary

    capacity for alcohol, a capacity Dodd did not share, and the Englishman, knowing his

    propensity for getting drunk, restrained himself to sips of watered wine.
    “I promised you a reward, Major, if you succeeded in rescuing the cartridges,”

    Pohlmann said genially.
    “Knowing I've done my duty is reward enough,” Dodd said. He felt shabby and

    ill-uniformed among Pohlmann's gaudy aides and had decided that it was best to play the

    bluff soldier, a role he thought would appeal to a former sergeant. It was said that

    Pohlmann kept his old East India Company uniform as a reminder of just how far he had

    risen.
    “Men do not join Scindia's army merely for the pleasures of doing their duty,” Pohlmann

    said, 'but for the rewards such service offers. We are here to become rich, are we not?" He

    unhooked the elephant-hilted sword from his belt. The scabbard was made of soft red

    leather and was studded with small emeralds.
    “Here.” Pohlmann offered the sword to Dodd.
    “I can't take your sword!” Dodd protested.
    “I have many, Major, and many finer. I insist.”
    Dodd took the sword. He drew the blade from the scabbard and saw that it was finely made,

    much better than the drab sword he had worn as a lieutenant these last twenty years. Many

    Indian swords were made of soft steel and broke easily in combat, but Dodd guessed this

    blade had been forged in France or Britain, then given its beautiful elephant hilt in

    India. That hilt was of gold, the elephant's head made the pommel, while the handguard was

    the beast's curved trunk. The grip was of black leather bound with gold wire.
    “Thank you, sir,” he said feelingly.
    “It is the first of many rewards,” Pohlmann said airily, 'and those rewards will shower

    on us when we beat the British. Which we shall, though not here." He paused to drink rum.
    “The British will attack