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looting. Another thirty have been flogged. But they were only the ones who had the misfortune to be caught, the others have escaped scot free with their loot.
Tippoo Sultan’s treasures have vanished into the pockets of our army. His gold, his diamonds, all are gone. So is the necklace said to be made from pearls the size of hens’ eggs. And so too are the tigers which stood on his throne, each of them speckled with rubies and emeralds. Wellesley has issued an order: he wishes Tippoo’s own treasures for England and King George. Whoever has them will be keeping them well hidden.
With all adoration,
And in haste,
Your beloved husband,
Horatio

7
    I liked the sound of the gold. And the necklace of pearls as big as eggs. Was this why Marko was so desperate to get his hands on these “historical documents”? Had Horatio stolen some of these treasures himself? Or given a clue to where they could be found? Or was Marko really just interested in these letters as historical artifacts? There were only a few sheets of paper left in the box. I must be close to the heart of the mystery. I pulled out the next letter.
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13 or 14 May 1799, I am not sure of the precise day, Seringapatam.
My darling wife,
I am abed. Forgive my weak hand, I have little strength. My limbs are drained of blood. My head is full of noises. The wound has worsened. I have an infection. That is what the doctor tells me. He could devote only a few moments to my cause. He has a hundred patients to see this morning, a hundred more in the afternoon, and there will be five hundred more still requiring his attention, their strength fading while they wait.
My dearest Susanna, my beloved wife, I would give anything to be beside you now, away from this forsaken place.
The flies are buzzing around me. A vulture circles overhead. Sergeant Fordham took a shot at him just now, but the round came straight back down to earth. Even if he had hit the vulture, its place would have been taken at once by another. They are everywhere hereabouts.
I am rambling. I must be to the point. I have not the time to waste.
My beloved wife, I must tell you one thing of great importance.
I was planning to keep it entirely to myself. But I may not be here for much longer. Better that you should know than the secret joins me in my grave.
Do you remember I wrote to you before about Tippoo’s throne? I believe I said the eight tigers vanished and no one knows where.
My dearest wife, I lied. I know the whereabouts of those eight tigers. Seven of them have been taken by friends and comrades. I shall not transcribe their names here in case this letter falls into the wrong hands. I should not wish to incriminate them. I hope their fate will be happier than mine.
The eighth is mine. I do not have it on my person. I have hidden it in a safe place. I had been hoping to bring it home and sell it. With the proceeds, my sweet wife, we could have lived happily on a farm of our choosing. But I shall not see Cornwall again, nor Southampton, nor England, nor even tomorrow.
Two days after the battle was done, word came around that Wellesley would be searching the men’s baggage for loot. Gold and silver, spoons and vases, all would be ignored, but awful punishments would befall anyone who was found to have secreted Tippoo’s own treasures.
The next morning, I borrowed a fine horse from Hobson and left the camp at dawn.
I rode to the north. The roads were poor. I passed several small groups of men who gazed on me without fear or respect. Had I been afoot rather than riding a fine mare, they would surely have murdered me.
I had no notion of where I was headed, but I stayed on the same path, heading northwards all the time.
When the sun was directly overhead, I knew I must turn back soon, if I was to make the camp by nightfall.
I might have ridden twenty, or I might have ridden thirty miles, it was not easy to know. The landscape was so hilly and the roads so rough that any accurate