There was no response. Whether Bootil had drowned or been seized by a crocodile, he had quite disappeared.
He made his way back to where Barbara sat in a little clearing, a few yards from the bank. She had stripped naked, and looked like a rather gorgeous mermaid, her hair still wet and plastered to her back. She had spread her clothes around her to dry.
‘He’s drowned,’ he told her. ‘Trying to save your life.’
‘Oh, Richard! I am so terribly sorry.’
She rose to her knees; he had never seen such an appealing picture.
But he was not in the mood for appealing pictures. He walked away from her.
‘Where are you going?’ she shouted.
‘To fetch the horses.’
By the time he had rounded them all up and led them back, Barbara had resumed her shift, and was regarding her torn habit with distaste. Her hat had been washed away in the river.
‘I feel almost clean at last,’ she said. ‘But to put this filthy rag on again...’
‘Then leave it off.’
She made a moue, but decided to take his advice, stuffed the habit into her saddlebag, and waited for him to give her a leg up.
When he did so she caught his face and kissed his mouth.
‘It’s just you and me now, Richard,’ she said.
*
The next morning they ate the last of the food left by Bootil. ‘We’ll have to try the next village,’ Richard decided, but it was late afternoon before they came upon one, and by then they were very hungry.
Barbara as usual resumed her cloak and put up her hood, and remained mounted while Richard got down and spoke with the headman.
‘Food. We have food,’ the Indian said, his eyes sliding over the three horses and the woman.
Richard reminded himself that north of the river the power of the Company was less respected. They were in Scindhia now.
And they no longer had Bootil.
They sat with the villagers to eat. Naturally Barbara had to throw the cowl back from her head, and the Indians found her as interesting as the horses.
‘You will spend the night,’ the headman declared. ‘It is nearly dark.’
‘We will ride on,’ Richard said.
The headman looked as if he would have wished to argue, but then changed his mind.
‘I would be grateful, if you would sell us some more food, however,’ Richard told him.
‘Of course, sahib.’
The fragrant meat was ladled into a small pot, and Richard handed over the appropriate amount of rupees, trying to prevent the headman seeing that there were a great many coins left in the bag.
‘It is going to be dark in a little while,’ Barbara pointed out. ‘Wouldn’t it have been better to accept the man’s offer?’
‘So that you could be raped, and both our throats cut?’
‘I don’t believe they would do that. They seemed so friendly.’
‘We won’t take a chance on it, if you don’t mind.’
He made them continue until it was quite dark. He was tempted to keep on during the night, but he could not make the horses go at more than a walk on the jungle trail, and the Indians, if they were following, would be able to run faster than that.
He stopped at the first small clearing, and carefully lit a fire.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘spread your cloak on the ground, over your saddlebag.’
He did the same, on the other side of the fire.
‘Have you ever used a musket?’ he asked her.
‘Good heavens, no.’
‘Well, have you ever climbed a tree?’
‘Not since I was a little girl. And then I got thrashed for it.’
‘Well, this time it may save you from a thrashing, at the very least.’ He had already located a suitable tree, a mango, massive-trunked and thick with foliage and fruit. ‘We’ll go up there.’
She was appalled. ‘How?’
The lowest branch was some six feet from the ground.
‘You stand on my shoulders,’ he told her.
She hesitated, then shrugged. ‘It will be a new experience at the least.’
She hung her reticule round her neck, climbed up his back and on to his shoulders, bracing herself on his upstretched arms. From there she managed to catch hold of the lowest branch and pull herself up, kicking him in the face as she did so.
‘How far up?’ she asked.
‘As high as you can,’ he said, watching her boots and white legs disappearing into the gloom.
When she was well clear, he caught the branch himself and swung himself up. He was laden not only with his sword and pistols, but also with the slung musket, the haversack of powder and shot, and his bag of rupees, and found the going extremely hard. But he hauled himself up, and then climbed two branches higher.
Barbara was immediately above him.
‘How long must we stay here?’ she panted.
‘All night, if we have to.’
He could do nothing about the horses, which he had hobbled to allow them to graze a few feet away from the fire. They were, in fact, their best hope of survival. To the Indians, while killing a man for his money and seizing his woman for rape and slavery might be appealing, the horses represented real wealth.
An hour passed, and Barbara began to yawn.
‘I am most extremely uncomfortable,’ she complained.
‘You’ll just have to grin and bear it,’ he told her.
Another half hour passed, then Richard tapped the underside of her branch to alert her.
Dark figures were emerging from the trees, creeping towards the two apparently sleeping people. The moon had risen; its beams were seeping through the branches, glinting on the drawn knives of the marauders.
‘Oh, Lord,’ Barbara whispered.
‘Quiet! No matter what happens, do not make a sound.’
He counted nine men beneath him. Now the first were at the fire. Their knives flashed, again and again. Each ‘body’ must have received several stab wounds before it was realised that they were not, after all, bodies.
Barbara gulped in horror at the thought that one of those bundles being cut to ribbons might have been her.
The Indians huddled, chattering in low voices, arguing about what to do next, looking fearfully into the darkness.
As Richard had hoped, however, the majority were in favour of just making off with the horses and whatever else they could find.
Only two of them held out for seeking the sahib and his woman. Clearly they realised that their quarry must have taken to the trees.
The mango was fairly obvious. Two men came to stand under it and peer up into the branches, pointing upwards.
‘Richard...’ Barbara’s whisper quavered.
‘Hush,’ he said, unslinging the musket.
One man jumped up to catch the lowest branch and swing himself up. Panting, his knife thrust into his dhoti, the Indian got on to the branch and steadied himself, looking up...
Richard squeezed the trigger, and the would-be assassin fell backwards without a sound; the ball, fired at point-blank range, had struck him in the face.
He hit the ground with a thud, knocking over one of his companions.
The others scattered to the edge of the clearing, where they kept up a loud debate.
Swiftly Richard re-loaded.
‘Oh, Richard!’ Barbara said, close to tears. It was the first time she had ever seen a man killed.
The dacoits were still debating. If they were to stay there, sending one of their number back for additional help, Richard and Barbara’s situation would become desperate. There was no time to lose.
He took careful aim, and fired. The ball struck home; there was a cry of pain, and a great deal more agitation. While they shouted at each other, Richard fired both his pistols into their midst, and brought down another man, reloading as quickly as he could.
But the bullets had done the trick. The Indians ran desperately across the clearing and unhobbled the horses. The two woun
ded men were thrown across them, and they made off into the trees.
One of them snatched Barbara’s satchel and cloak as he went.
Richard let them get out of sight, then said, ‘Quickly. We must make a run for it.’
He slid down the tree, held up his arms for her, and a moment later she joined him on the ground, inadvertently stepping on the dead man.
‘Ugh!’
‘Come on.’
‘My clothes!’
‘They took them. Come on!’
The Indians had, in their haste, left the cooking pot, and this he gathered as he urged Barbara into the trees. They abandoned the trail for the jungle itself. No doubt their track would be easy enough to follow in daylight, but by then he hoped to be far away. He used the knowledge of the stars taught him by Thomas to keep them heading north.
Barbara panted and moaned as branches and thorns jagged at her flesh. Again and again she begged to be allowed to rest, but he would not permit it. Eventually she just collapsed, and he had to carry her until, just before dawn, they came to a small stream. This he forded, Barbara in his arms, and only then decided to call a halt.
He drank, laying on his stomach to scoop the water into his mouth, and found her beside him.
‘What are we going to do?’ she asked.
‘Eat,’ he recommended tersely.
They ate what food they had left. By now it was quite light, and he could see that she, like himself, was a mass of cuts and scratches. They took off their clothes—she was down to her shift and he to his breeches in any event—and bathed. The water stung, but it washed most of the blood away.
‘I am so tired,’ she said.
He knew they had to sleep, and let her get on with it, while he watched the jungle. But the Indians must have decided he was not worth pursuing.
When she awoke he slept himself for several hours. They had had no proper rest since the death of Bootil.
He opened his eyes to find her kneeling, naked, beside him.
‘We’re going to die, Richard? Aren’t we? Won’t you love me one last time before we die?’
Oddly, he felt like it. The excitement of the previous night, and then the rest, and now the lazy heat of the afternoon sun, combined with the woman’s nakedness, made him want her more than ever before.
He lay on his back and made her mount him, as she had done on the beach.
‘Oh, Richard!’ she moaned as she shuddered into orgasm.
‘Are we going to die?’ she asked, as she lay on the ground, nestled in his arms.
‘No,’ he told her. ‘We’re going to live.’
*
He shot and killed a monkey that evening, and this time Barbara was hungry enough to eat anything. They spent the next twenty-four hours on the banks of the stream, bathing, drinking, resting.
Then they went north again. On foot it was a much slower and more difficult business; had Barbara not been wearing riding boots he would have had to carry her the whole way. But they made steady progress, climbing now as they entered the hill country. That night they stopped on an exposed hillside, with hardly a tree and no game in sight.
‘Oh, Richard, I am so hungry,’ she moaned as they huddled against each other for warmth.
Perhaps they were going to die, he thought. The odds were that the inhabitants of any village they approached would seek to rob and murder them. And up here there was no forest to hide them.
He had never despaired before, not even in his prison cell. He felt a jab of irritation, almost of hatred, of the woman. Had she not come with them, Bootil would not have drowned, and they would not have had to approach any of the Scindhian villages for food.
It was as if she had been sent especially by Providence to destroy him. At last he slept.
He awoke with a start, to a jingling of harnesses. He sat up, reaching for his pistols. Barbara stifled a scream and huddled what remained of her shift around herself. They found themselves in the pale light of dawn, gazing into a dozen musket barrels.
Behind the dismounted cavalry there were a great many more, still on their horses.
Richard stood up, put the pistol back in his belt, grinned at the commanding officer.
‘I don’t suppose I’m very easy to recognise, General Sutherland,’ he remarked.
Sutherland, who had been initially more interested in the voluptuousness being revealed by Barbara’s torn shift, stared at him, and then grinned in turn.
‘Richard Bryant,’ he said. ‘By all that’s holy.’
‘Richard,’ Barbara whispered, clutching his arm. ‘Are these men going to kill us?’
‘No,’ Richard said. ‘These men are going to save our lives.’
*
Sutherland and his brigade, still engaged in stamping out the embers of Appa Khunde Rao’s rebellion, fed and clothed the fugitives. Scindhia was, for the moment at least, allied with the Company and at peace with Hariana. Besides, Sutherland retained a good deal of admiration and respect for Richard after the storming of Sohawalgahr. The Frenchmen looked hungrily at Barbara, but understood she was General Bryant’s woman, and General Bryant, however desperate his situation, still carried those famous pistols.
‘What news?’ Richard asked the English general.
But Sutherland could only tell him that the borders were at peace, and that as far as he knew Hariana was thriving as ever.
‘Have we really finished with danger?’ Barbara asked, as they lay in their tent that night.
‘Oh, aye, sweetheart. We’re all but home now.’
She nestled against him. ‘That is the first time you have ever called me sweetheart.’
He held her tightly. He could not be sure that her troubles were over.
*
Sutherland was happy to escort Richard and Barbara to the Hariana border. Once there Richard called for an escort of his own border guards, and a few days later they arrived in Hansi.
By now Barbara had become used to the odd assortment of masculine clothes she had been given to wear, but as there were no side-saddles available she had to ride astride, which necessarily exposed her legs, to the great interest of the populace. Richard had sent a galloper ahead to inform Ship Sahib that he was on his way, and the people had turned out in force to cheer him.
Thomas himself was on the steps of the palace to greet them. Even he looked askance at Barbara, as Richard lifted her from the saddle.
‘Ye’ve had a successful war,’ he commented.
‘You’ll have heard of Mrs Lamont,’ Richard said. ‘She’s come to join us.’
Thomas looked Barbara up and down. ‘Dick, me boy,’ he observed. ‘Yer weakness for women is goin’ to be the death of ye.
‘And what do you suppose will be the death of you, George?’
Thomas gave a shout of laughter. ‘Well, let’s to it. Musn’t keep death waiting.’
‘I don’t think he likes me,’ Barbara whispered.
‘He’s not a ladies’ man. But you’re welcome here, believe me.’
She felt better after a glass of Thomas’s rum, which made her head spin. Richard then took her to his house, and introduced her to Tanna, Lucy and Margaret.
‘Oh, Richard Sahib, how good it is to have you back,’ Tanna said. She was twenty-two now, not very tall, but still as slender and attractive as when he had first taken her to his bed, while the two little girls were charmers; Lucy was four and Margaret three—Lucy even had blue eyes.
Richard embraced his senior wife, for that was what she was, and then beckoned Barbara forward. He could tell she was very nervous.
‘Tanna, this is my new wife, Barbara.’
‘Bar-bara,’ Tanna said haltingly; the name did not come easily to her.
‘Am I supposed to curtsey?’ Barbara asked harshly, in English. There were pink spots in her cheeks, and he realised her nervousness was compounded by embarrassment and resentment.
‘Tanna takes precedence over you, of course,’ Richard explained. ‘But as long as that is recognised,
all should be well between you.’
‘You are deliberately trying to humiliate me,’ she said.
‘If you suppose that, you are a fool.’
‘I had supposed, in the forest, that you were coming to love me.’
‘I’m not in the mood to love anyone right now, my dear. I doubt I ever shall be again. You wished to leave Bombay and elope with me. Now we are in my home. I made it clear that I already had a wife and family here. I’m afraid you will have to accept the rules of this society, and forget those of Bombay. There are no pretty gestures here, no flirtations. When a man wishes a woman, if she is free, he offers an appropriate price, and she becomes his. Once she is his, she is totally subservient to him in every way.’
‘You did not buy me.’
‘True. Therefore you are free to go. I am sure you will very soon discover someone here in Hansi who is prepared to buy you.’
Barbara stared at him for several seconds, then burst into tears.
Tanna had been looking from face to face during the altercation. She might not be able to speak English, but she could understand expressions, and recognise the misery of tears.
‘Your new woman is unhappy,’ she said. ‘You must be gentle with her, Richard Sahib.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘You must be gentle with her, Tanna. Show her what needs to be done.’
He left the house for the palace. He knew he was being a brute, but returning to Tanna, knowing her utter loyalty, had made him as bitter as the day he had ridden out of Agra for the last time. Tanna was his wife, his truly faithful wife, he thought bitterly, remembering Caty’s perfidy. Nor was Barbara likely to show any great display of fidelity. He was not such a fool as to suppose that she would cease her endless ‘flirtations’, or worse, once she had settled in.
He wondered if she had any idea of the danger of such behaviour. By law she was his, to do with as he wished. By custom, an Indian woman caught in adultery had her nose cut off by her husband. No doubt Tanna would warn her.
*
‘What possessed ye to do it?’ Thomas asked, as they sat together over a jug of rum.
Richard told him the whole story.
‘I still think ye should have left her behind. She’ll not be happy here. Aye, she’s a fine lusty lass. Ye’ve thighs there a man could dream about…but ye’ve cut yerself adrift from Bombay now, forever.’
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