THE GENERALS

by Simon Scarrow

  The civility of the sudden request caught the Nizam off guard and he nodded and indicated that they should sit with a graceful sweep of his hand. Then, gathering up his robe, he sat on his couch and poised himself for a private audience with the two Englishmen. The chamberlain remained where he lay, crouched and quite still, trying his hardest to be forgotten. Arthur took a deep breath and began.

  ‘I have heard that the Nizam is considering going back on his agreement. Regardless of all previous treaties he may have made with representatives of the Company and England, he should be aware that the new Governor General is a man of his word. Which means he will do his utmost to guarantee the safety of the Nizam, whatever the cost to England in men, money or prestige. In return, the Governor General expects the Nizam to honour his side of the treaty with equal diligence.’ Arthur waited for this to be translated and fully digested before he continued. ‘Therefore, the Nizam will understand my frustration, as representative of the Governor General, when I learned that he had decided not to disarm the French battalions by the time specified in the treaty.’

  The Nizam burst into a torrent of explanation which Kirkpatrick struggled to keep up with.

  ‘Sir, the gist of it is that we do not understand how delicate the situation has become in Hyderabad. He requests that we give him ten days to negotiate a peaceful disbanding of the battalions, and that your column remain encamped outside the city until then. He gives his word that he remains a loyal ally of England and that his soldiers still hold him in sufficient regard and affection to bend to his will. He also says that the concessions he made in the treaty were far greater than those demanded by French representatives who seek an alliance with Hyderabad.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Arthur steeled his expression. ‘Then tell him that if I even remotely suspect him of trying to cut a deal with the French, the treaty is forfeit and the four Company battalions camped outside Hyderabad, together with the two garrisoned within the city, will quit his kingdom and march back to Madras at first light tomorrow. And then he will have to deal with his French-officered battalions by himself. I know that those soldiers are verging on mutiny over the prospect of being disbanded. I imagine that without the Company battalions to protect him the Nizam’s reign might be ended within a matter of days, at the very most.’

  The Nizam heard the translation with growing agitation, but before he could respond Arthur held up a hand. ‘If the Nizam is not willing to give the order for the disbanding of the French battalions, then it is my duty to handle the matter myself. If the Nizam attempts to interefere with this process in any way, then once I have finished dismantling the French battalions I will start to dismantle his kingdom.’

  Kirkpatrick drew in a sharp breath and looked at his superior with a warning expression. But Arthur was adamant. This was a test of nerves. The Nizam’s had clearly failed him and now, for the first time, all the gambling instincts that Arthur had once possessed at Dublin Castle served him well. He knew that the stakes were high and had already calculated the risk of the plan he had formed in his mind. He had called the Nizam’s bluff. Of course, all that stood between Arthur and winning the round was several thousand soldiers under the command of men from a nation that had sworn to destroy England and all she stood for.

  ‘We’re leaving now. Just let the Nizam know that by this time tomorrow his difficulties will all be over.’

  The Nizam muttered a reply as they rose to their feet, and Arthur turned to his subordinate for a translation.

  ‘And if they are not?’

  Arthur smiled. ‘Then, more than likely, all three of us will be dead.’

  Chapter 35

  The streets were bathed in the fitful light of the moon as scattered shreds of cloud passed slowly across the night sky. Dark figures padded down the streets winding through the outskirts of Hyderabad. They moved quietly, having abandoned their boots a short distance from the city. They carried the minimum of equipment and the only sounds above the soft slap of their feet were the occasional whispered orders, passed from man to man.Arthur was leading the sepoy companies in person, since he could not trust any other officer with the task at hand. Kirkpatrick, who knew the route through the city well enough, even under the cloak of darkness, jogged along with the advance guard, a short distance ahead of Arthur. Both men had exchanged their military boots for soft-skinned shoes and were bareheaded, carrying only a brace of pistols and their swords. For Arthur’s plan to stand any chance of succeeding it was vital that the small column remained undetected until it reached its goal. The rest of the men from the Company battalions were out of sight just outside the city, waiting until the hour before dawn to enter Hyderabad.

  The men of the advance guard stopped and knelt down. Arthur raised his hand to halt the rest of the column and went forward to squat beside Kirkpatrick.

  ‘Why have we stopped?’

  ‘We’re there, sir.’ Kirkpatrick pointed down the street ahead of them. A short distance away the street gave on to a large open space. Arthur realised this must be the vast parade ground that Kirkpatrick had described to him earlier. On the far side Arthur could see the low ramparts of the Nizam’s army camp.

  ‘Where’s the arsenal?’

  ‘You can’t see it from here, sir. It’s in a fortified bastion on the far corner of the camp, away from the city.’

  ‘And the water gate?’

  ‘At the end of a side street, not far from the square. We turn off here and join the street close to the parade ground.’

  ‘All right then, lead on.’

  Kirkpatrick nodded, then turned to his men and whispered the order to move.They rose up like ghosts and advanced a little further down the street before turning into a narrow alley. Arthur marked the spot carefully and then went back to the rest of the men and waved them on. The alley wound down a small slope and the hot night air became even more humid as the rank smell of dung fires and sewage filled Arthur’s nostrils. They had nearly reached the small crossroads at the bottom of the slope when a door opened just ahead of Arthur and a man stepped into the street, shouting angrily as he spied the men moving through the shadows towards him. At that moment the moon cleared a thicker cloud and the alley was bathed in moonlight, revealing not only the number of men moving down the alley, but also their uniforms, and Arthur’s white skin.The man’s tirade was cut off abruptly, then he muttered some curse and dived back through the doorway.

  ‘Damn!’ Arthur growled and jumped after him, thrusting his weight against the door closing in his face. The door crashed inwards and he heard a grunt as the man inside fell back against the wall. Arthur drew out one of his pistols, holding it tightly by the muzzle. The man stumbled out from behind the door, clutching his hand to his nose, and Arthur swung the butt of his pistol down hard on his head. It connected with a soft thud and the man grunted with pain and then collapsed, out cold. There was a shrill call of panic from further within the house and Arthur glanced up and saw the dim shape of a woman watching him from an interior doorway. A child was clutching her leg.

  ‘Shhhh!’ Arthur raised the pistol and reversed the grip so the barrel was now pointed at the ceiling. He whispered to them in Hindoostani. ‘Not a word, or I’ll shoot. Understand?’

  The woman nodded vigorously and backed away into the darkness, drawing her child after her. Arthur looked down for a moment at the man he had felled, then leaned over and shifted him into a more comfortable position on the floor. He closed the door as he stepped back into the alley. His heart was beating fast, the pounding in his ears making it hard to listen to the streets around him. There was no sound of any disturbance, no cry of alarm or challenge from the direction of the camp.

  ‘Christ, that was close,’ he muttered, wiping the perspiration from his brow. He eased the pistol back into his belt and waved his men forward again. Kirkpatrick had left a man at the junction to indicate the route to those who followed and Arthur and his column turned towards the camp. One of the advance guard whistled softly and the c
olumn halted at once, the men freezing as they hugged the shaded side of the alley.A short way off Arthur could see the ramparts looming above the crazy angles of the rooflines each side of the alley. The faint outline of a sentry crossed Arthur’s field of vision and he let out a sigh of relief as the man passed from sight.

  The column eased forward again. Just ahead the alley widened out to accommodate a long trench, that had been covered over with slabs of stone where it passed under the alley which led up to a small, grated arch at the foot of the wall. A foul stench filled the air and Arthur wrinkled his nose as he glanced down at the stinking trickle of filth that ran along the bottom of the trench: the outflow from the main latrine block of the camp. Kirkpatrick and his men stole forward on either side of the trench until they reached the wall, and then carefully clambered down into the channel. A moment later the soft sounds of gentle scraping carried back up the alley.

  Arthur and the sepoys remained silent and motionless as Kirkpatrick’s men worked away at the bars of the grille, loosening one after the other and placing them carefully at the base of the rampart. Work had to stop each time the sentry returned to this stretch of the wall. He crossed above the sewage outflow with a maddening measured tread, and as soon as the sounds of his boots faded away the work began again. It took far longer than Arthur had anticipated and he found himself glancing repeatedly at the skyline above the roofs of the city for the first sign of the coming dawn.

  Eventually a dim shape climbed up over the side of the trench and trotted back towards Arthur.

  ‘Colonel sahib?’

  ‘Here,’ Arthur responded softly. ‘Keep your voice down.’

  ‘A thousand pardons. Kirkpatrick sahib says the grate is cleared. He’s sending a small party of men to deal with the sentry.’

  ‘Very good. Tell him to let me know the instant the way is open.’

  The sepoy nodded and hurried back towards the rampart. A short while later Kirkpatrick’s voice called out, as loudly as he dared, ‘All clear, sir.’

  Arthur emerged from the shadows into the middle of the alley where his men could see him clearly. He raised his arm and then swept it down in the direction of the ramparts. The men hurried forward, down into the stinking trench, and doubled over as they splashed beneath the wall of the camp and emerged on the far side, spreading out to either side of the latrine drain. Arthur was one of the first men through, and made his way over to Kirkpatrick. Behind him the sepoys filed under the wall and spread out in the shadows beneath the ramparts.

  Arthur glanced towards the eastern horizon. ‘We have to move fast. It’ll be light soon.You know what you have to do. Any last questions?’

  ‘None, sir.’

  ‘Good. Then you’d better go. Remember, there’s to be no killing, if you can avoid it. There’s to be no blood on British hands.’

  Kirkpatrick nodded solemnly. ‘I understand, sir.’

  ‘Then I’ll see you afterwards.’

  ‘In this life or the next, eh, sir?’ Kirkpatrick grinned nervously.

  ‘If it comes to that. Now go.’

  Kirkpatrick saluted and turned to trot away to the two companies under his command. He gestured to them to follow him and led the way along the foot of the wall towards the arsenal. Arthur waited a moment, listening for any indication that the alarm had been raised. But the camp was silent and Arthur whispered the order for his men to advance in the opposite direction. They passed several huge barrack blocks that stretched into the heart of the Nizam’s camp before they reached the stabling for the officers’ horses that Kirkpatrick had told him of. On the other side of a generous riding ring was the fine two-storey officers’ mess and sleeping quarters. A large lantern cast a pool of light over the entrance, either side of which a guard sat on a bench, musket in hand.Again Arthur glanced to the east, and this time there was an unmistakable smear of light along the horizon.There was no time left to attempt an indirect approach. Already, the first men would be stirring.

  Arthur realised at once that he had only one chance. He turned to the subadar at the head of the two companies stretched out behind him. ‘I need a good man to help me. Quickly.’

  The subadar called along the line and a moment later a burly man with a square-cut beard emerged from the darkness and stood to attention before Arthur.

  ‘Come with me,’ Arthur ordered in Hindoostani. ‘When we reach the entrance to that building we must silence the sentries. When I give the order and not before.’

  ‘Yes, sahib.’

  ‘All right, then . . .Subadar, when you see me wave, bring the sepoys over on the double.’ He turned back to the thickset man. ‘Come with me.’

  Arthur took a deep breath and set off across the riding ring, striding boldly towards the entrance to the headquarters building. His heart was beating fast and his mind raced, and he was aware of every detail around him, every sound and smell, as his senses acquired an extraordinary acuity that he had experienced only a handful of times before in his life. As they neared the sentries, the two men finally caught sight of them and stood up, grasping their muskets in both hands and making ready to challenge the two figures striding towards them. Then, as Arthur had hoped, they noticed his pale skin and officer’s shell jacket, and quickly stood to attention, grounding their muskets. He maintained his pace as he approached the entrance, as if he was just returning from some duty in the camp. As they passed between the sentries Arthur whipped out his pistol and called out, ‘Now!’

  The sepoy suddenly lurched to the side, ramming the butt of his weapon into the side of the sentry’s head and felling him with an explosive grunt. Arthur swung his pistol at the other man’s head, but at the last moment the sentry detected the coming blow and scrambled back so that it brushed past his head harmlessly. Arthur was momentarily caught off balance and the sentry instinctively swung his musket butt towards him. Arthur felt a blow to his chest as the enemy musket caught him in the ribs, winding him.Then, before the shortage of air crippled him, he dropped his pistol and balled his right hand into a fist and punched it into the man’s face, driving his head back against the headquarters wall.

  Arthur helped the sepoy to drag the sentries to some nearby shrubs and roll the unconscious men into the undergrowth, out of sight. Then he returned to the wavering glow beneath the lantern, drew his sword and beckoned to the men on the far side of the riding ring. A moment later the darkness was filled with swarming shadows as the sepoys swept forward.

  Arthur strode inside the building, into the grand entrance hall lined with a dark wood wainscot above which hung various hunting trophies: the skins of tigers and the stuffed heads of boar and deer. A double doorway to the right opened on to a huge banqueting hall and to the left another opened on to an equally large space filled with tables and chairs with a bar at the far end. An officer sat in a chair sound asleep, head slumped back as he snored gutturally. Footsteps pounded across the wooden floorboards of the hall as the sepoys joined their commander. Arthur called the subadars of the companies to him and issued their orders.

  ‘Upstairs.Take every officer that you can find and bring them all down here. I want French officers taken to the banqueting hall.The rest go into the mess lounge. Remember, no harm is to be done.You understand?’

  ‘Acha, sahib!’ They saluted, and then called their men after them as they pounded up the staircase at the end of the hall and entered the first floor sleeping quarters of the Nizam’s officers.At once there was the crashing of doors being flung open and the first of the sleepy shouts of anger and outrage. A small door opened at the end of the hall and a stout, bleary-eyed man in a silk dressing gown fastened with a wide leather belt stumbled into the hall.

  ‘What the bloody hell is the meaning of this?’ he bellowed at Arthur, then blinked. ‘Who the hell are you, sir?’

  ‘Colonel Arthur Wellesley, of His Majesty’s 33rd Foot,’ Arthur said formally. ‘And you, sir?’

  ‘Major MacDonald, quartermaster to the Nizam and president of the officers’
mess. Now then, what’s going on here?’ He glanced up the stairs as the thud of footsteps and shouting reverberated down the length of the hall. ‘Sounds like we’re being invaded.’

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ Arthur replied. ‘I’m here on the orders of the Nizam. He requires the temporary detention of all the officers of his battalions garrisoned in Hyderabad city. That includes you, so if you wouldn’t mind?’ Arthur gestured to the mess lounge.

  MacDonald folded his arms and puffed out his chest. ‘I think not, sir. How do I know you are speaking the truth?’

  Arthur drew his sword. ‘That’s how. Now move.’

  MacDonald stumbled back a pace then edged towards the lounge door and hurried across to one of the cane chairs and slumped down. With a loud chorus of shouts the first of the officers taken from their rooms were escorted downstairs and separated into the two large rooms overlooking the riding ring. The officers continued to shout their angry protests at their treatment as the grinning sepoys thrust them into chairs and kept them covered with their bayonets. When the last of them had been brought downstairs Arthur pulled a chair into the hall and climbed on to it so that he could be seen by all in both rooms, and raised his hands to quiet them.