He had not only paid in Indian coin the equivalent of the thousand guineas promised by Roger to the men of the squadron, but doubled that sum. Each of the officers had received a small sack of gold, bales of silk and beautifully chased weapons. Philip Laker was better off by a year's pay, two splendid horses, a jewelled sword, and numerous rich garments. Roger had received special treatment. The cross-eyed Rajah had taken him to the treasury, spread out his hands, and said, 'All this I owe to you. Take of it what you will, my friend, and be welcome.'
Roger had politely demurred; but Rai-ul-daula had thrust upon him rings, strings of pearls and uncut stones that he knew must be worth several thousand pounds. He knew too, that, if Gunston's forces entered the city, the new Rajah "would feel obliged to make him and his officers considerable presents, and he saw no reason at all why they should share in these benefits.
As a result of Roger's talk with Rai-ul-daula, an order was given for the city's gates to be closed, and he went up to the roof of one of the towers that flanked the main gateway.
Gunston, accompanied by a small staff, was riding at the head of his force. When he had come to within fifty yards of the gate, he looked up. saw Roger, and shouted, with a frown:
'What's the meaning of this, Brook? Why are the gates closed against us?'
'Because your presence here is no longer necessary,' Roger shouted back.
'What the devil d'you mean?' cried Gunston, angrily. 'I'll give it you that capturing the place with only a squadron was a fine piece of work. But you can't hold a city this size permanently with two hundred men.'
'I'll not have to,' Roger told him. 'I had Jawahir-ul-daula hanged on Monday, and made my good friend, Rai-ul-daula, Rajah in his place.'
'So I heard. But though you think him your friend, you can't rely on these fellows.'
Roger leaned over the parapet and gave full vent to his bitter, feelings. 'I did better by relying on him than on yourself. Had I left matters to you, Clarissa would have been dead before I got here. You and your men played no part in taking Bahna, and shall derive no benefit from it. Did I let you in, I know well enough what would happen. Your sepoys would treat the place like a captured city. They'd start to loot it and rape the women. I couldn't stop them and you would not try. The new Rajah is my friend and I mean to protect his people. It is I who now command four thousand troops, and you eight hundred. Should you attempt to force this gate, I'll lead them out against you. Now get back to your camp at Bamanghati and skulk there in it as long as you like.'
Turning away, he left Gunston purple with rage and mortification, and with no alternative other than beating a shamefaced retreat. But this triumph over his old enemy gave him no pleasure. He would a thousand times rather that Gunston had placed him eternally in his debt by using as an excuse to ignore Sir John Shore's orders, the fact that an Englishwoman had been kidnapped; for Clarissa might have been rescued while still in full health had he marched his force on Bahna when first implored to do so.
As it was, her state continued to cause Roger such terrible anxiety that he hardly left the pavilion, from fear that at any moment one of her frightful paroxysms of coughing might end in a fatal convulsion. Being so constantly at her bedside enabled him to exchange a sentence or two with her at times when she became conscious; while, at others, he was perforce harrowed by her ravings during periods of delirium. It was largely from those ravings, confirmed by occasional sentences whispered when she was lucid, that he learned what had happened to her.
It was the news brought in by Jawahir-ul-daua's scouts on the previous Saturday, that Gunston's force was approaching through the mountains, that had evidently caused Malderini to act without waiting for any particular phase of the moon. That night he had had Clarissa and himself carried in a palanquin some two or three miles outside the city, and into a jungle where they had halted at a ruined temple.
Clarissa had only the vaguest impression of the place, as the starlight did not penetrate there and it was lit only by the flickering torches carried by some of Malderini's native servants. Moreover, Roger gathered, ever since the Venetian had kidnapped her he had kept her in a dreamlike state; so that although she was subconsciously unhappy, and occasionally feebly rebellious, she was neither fully aware of what had happened to her, nor of her surroundings. She knew only that the temple was small, partially ruined and overgrown with creepers; and that she had been taken down a broken flight of steps to its crypt.
At the far end of the crypt there sat, cross-legged, a hideous, many-limbed idol, that Roger guessed must have been one of the evil god Siva-the Destroyer and. below it, a long flat stone altar slab. Down there it was reeking with damp and hideously cold, but Malderini had ordered her to strip. Being completely dominated by his will, she had obeyed.
He had made her stretch herself out flat on her back on the stone, then proceeded with his evil rites, muttering incantations while anointing various parts of her body with an unguent that stank abominably. How long she had lain there naked, she had no idea; only a memory of her teeth chattering violently as the creeping cold paralysed her limbs.
She thought that, for a time, she had fallen into a coma, but had been roused from it by a faint wailing, and the feel of something warm upon her chest. Suddenly, it had penetrated her bemused mind that the thing Malderini had laid upon her was a very young baby. She had attempted to sit up, but his will held her down as firmly as if she had been bound by a dozen cords. He had held the infant's head between her breasts, then cut its throat. Streams of warm blood had run down to her armpits and across the lower part of her neck. Next moment she had felt Malderini's mouth against her flesh as he guzzled up the blood. Then she had fainted.
She remembered nothing more until she had come round still shivering, as she was being put to bed on her divan in the harem. Malderini had been standing over her, his terrible eyes lit with excited triumph; and he had said to her:
'I have no more use for you, and release you now for the little time you have to live. You have served my purpose. I am confident that the sacrifice was accepted and that I shall become Doge of Venice.'
Utterly exhausted, she had fallen asleep. On waking on the Sunday morning, her mind was clear and, for the first time, she was fully conscious of all that had happened to her since she had been abducted. But her chest pained her she had begun to cough and, by the afternoon, she was in a fever.
Roger alternately shuddered and cursed silently as he gradually built up this terrible picture. If he could have got at Malderini during those days and nights, he would have torn him limb from limb with his bare hands. Yet, above all, he was tortured by the thought that he might lose Clarissa, and even went to the length of making a vow that he would forgo his vengeance if only the God he had long neglected would permit her to recover.
Surgeon Pomfrett and the Begum did everything they could but, by Friday, fever and the awful racking cough had worn Clarissa to a shadow of her former self. Early on Saturday morning she seemed to rally a little, and began to talk with greater ease than she had at any time during her illness. Roger tried to stop her but, with a weak gesture, she waved his remonstrance aside, and said:
'I must now. darling. It's my last chance. I'm going to die."
'No no!' his was agonised. 'You're not. Another day or two and you'll be round the corner.'
She shook her head… I am and you must grieve for me.
Oh, Roger, I've been so fortunate.'
'Fortunate!' he moaned. 'How can you say…'
'I have,' her words came low, but clear. 'I've had a wonderful life. Most women have to marry someone they don't like either for position, or just to get a home. Only later if they're lucky do they meet a man they really love. I've never had to let myself be loved by anyone but you. From the time I could think of love, you were my heart's desire and-and you became mine.'
After a little pause she went on. 'No woman ever knew greater happiness. The Isle of Spices. It was p
aradise on earth. Then our long voyage to Calcutta… and there… the joy of living as your wife. Five… five months, darling. Five months of heaven.'
She closed her blue eyes and fell silent for several minutes. Then she spoke again. "But it couldn't have lasted. Such things never do. I always knew it couldn't. I made up my mind that… that sooner or later I'd have to… to lose you to some other woman.'
'No, no, Clarissa!' he protested, miserably. 'You're wrong in that. Since we set out from England, I've never given a thought to any woman but yourself.'
'I know,' she murmured. 'That's what's so lovely. You've been all mine. Now I'll never have to face the agony of watching you change. You were my paladin from the beginning. You are my paladin still. You faced death twice to come here for me. What other woman in the world has had her lover take a city for her with… with the aid of only a few score men?'
Again she paused then suddenly she half sat up and cried: 'I die happy! Oh, Roger, be happy for me, and happy too. Bless you… bless you for your love.'
She choked, fell back, twisted violently, then went still.
He bowed his head on her shoulder and wept.
Chapter 21
The Wrong Side of the Fence
Roger was twenty-eight. During the past thirteen years he had loved half-a-dozen women. Had their lovely faces been represented in an arch, Georgina’s would have formed its keystone. With her, he shared an affinity that went to the depths of both their beings; in her single person, she combined for him the roles of sister, mistress, mother and friend, filling each part according to his need, as he, in turn, played that of brother, lover, father and friend to her. It was she who had made a man of him while still a boy and he had no doubt that his last thought would be of her when his time came to die.
Then all through his later 'teens, he had suffered the agonies that only the young can feel when stricken with a hopeless passion; for it had never seemed remotely possible that Athenais de Rochambeau could be his. Yet, years later, after she had married, had children, and was in peril of the guillotine, they had, for a few brief months, known great happiness. To his wife, Natalia Andreovna, he had been attracted by a brief violent passion. She had made no secret of her habitual immorality, and had delighted to gratify her desires with all the abandon of her fierce Russian nature. But he had soon learnt that she was vicious, treacherous and incapable of any decent emotion. The cynical old Empress Catherine had forced him to marry her as the alternative to losing his life; and at her death he had felt only relief.
His affaire with the dark-browed Isabella d'Aranda had begun only as a flirtation and grown with propinquity, during their long journey together through France and Italy. Her education and intelligence had been much superior to those of most women, so added greatly to the attraction, of her typically Spanish beauty. But she was by nature a prude, and it was cumulative frustration, more than anything else, which had led to his becoming obsessed with desire for her. In the end, as in the case of Athenais, it was after she was married that she had given him, as a wife, what she had refused him as a maid.
For his second wife, Amanda, he had never been subject to any desperate craving. It had amused him to take her away from George Gunston and, after a while, he had become slightly bewitched by her delightful vagueness, happy, generous disposition and merry laughter. It was Georgina who had insisted that the time had come for him to settle down and that Amanda would make the perfect wife for him. He had allowed himself to be persuaded, and never regretted it. They had, at times, had tiffs, and one serious breach, but their marriage had been a much happier one than most. There had grown up between them that serene companionship, and very deep affection, which are the better parts of love, and it had taken him a long time to get over her loss.
But Clarissa had given him something that none of the others could. He had first met her at his marriage to Amanda. She had then been an awkward, gawky, schoolroom miss. He had watched her grow up into a slim-limbed young goddess; then, under the magic of his own caresses, she had flowered into a divinely beautiful woman. She had thought with love of no man before she met him; cared for no other, even for a brief period, of the many who had pursued her while he was still married to Amanda; faced the hardships of a stowaway in the hope of becoming his mistress, been undaunted by his refusals and even entered on a distasteful mockery of a marriage that she might bind him to his promise to become her lover afterwards. She had given her whole life to her love for him.
She had kept secret her forebodings that, in time, she was certain to lose him to another woman, and such a thought had never crossed his mind. On the contrary, it had been full of plans for their future. He had been waiting only for the Court case with Winters over the marriage settlement to be decided before taking her back to England. The money from that, with which she had insisted on dowering him, together with his own now comfortable fortune, would have made them richer than many people who had quite large estates. He had travelled enough to last him a lifetime, so had meant to settle down in earnest. Instead of appearing to little Susan as an occasional visitor, who always brought presents, he could have become a real father to her. And Clarissa had been determined to give him a son. He would have liked a son. A son of theirs could not have been other than strong-limbed, handsome, blue-eyed, gay and courageous. He had already begun to make half-formed mental pictures of the boy. But now, although barely twenty, the warm loveliness that was to have formed the beating heart round which this new life of contentment was to centre lay cold, rigid, dead.
The Begum, Angus McCloud, Rai-ul-daula, Philip Laker and his officers, all did their utmost to comfort him. But after a few hours he asked them to spare him further marks of their sympathy, and it became clear that his mind was set on one thought to pursue and be revenged upon Malderini.
As a first move, late that afternoon, he discussed the matter with Rai-ul-daula and Philip Laker. The former told him that the Venetian had already extracted his wife's inheritance from Jawahir-ul-daula, so his purpose in coming to India had been fulfilled. Therefore, as he had disclosed to Clarissa his ambition to become Doge of Venice, it was a hundred to one that he was on his way back there.
He would certainly not have gone down to Calcutta, as the risk of being caught and brought to book there, before he could get a ship, would have been far too great. Besides, as Rai-ul-daula pointed out, it was only the people who lived on the borders of the great ocean English, Portuguese, Dutch and French who habitually used the long sea route to India. Arab, Greek, Levantine, Venetian and Genoese merchants had for centuries accomplished a great part of the journey overland, always entering India by her western ports, or by way of Persia. In some parts, such travellers had to risk attack by brigands; but, in the main, they could count on the protection of the native Princes, and were welcomed at their courts. It was known that Malderini had arrived at Bahna from the interior, and there could be little doubt that he was now on his way back through it.
Roger felt that there should be no great difficulty in tracing the Venetian and that, though he had a week's start, by hard there would be a good chance of catching him up about a fortnight hence Laker promptly offered a troop of his hussars participate in this man-hunt; but the cross-eyed Rajah shook his head.
He said to rely solely on horses at all would be a great mistake, as the stages between towns with good inns were often more than one day's journey, and to be benighted on horseback meant having nowhere to sleep; whereas a palanquin served also as a bedroom. Moreover, in many places it was impossible to get remounts, but relays of ryots could be hired at every village to carry palanquins at a trot to the next; so, if one was prepared to put up with the jolting by night as well as by day, one could cover great distances each twenty-four hours. He added that, to make the most of his start and get well clear of the British, Malderini would probably have travelled at top speed like that for the first few days; so that even on horseback, without rem
ounts, it would now prove impossible to catch up with him.
Much disappointed, Roger had to resign himself to the thought of a long chase across India and perhaps right back to Europe; so he refused Laker's offer of a troop, but gladly accepted Rai-ul daula's offer to take Mahmud Ali as his guide. There remained only the question of money for the journey, and Roger asked the Rajah if he would change some of his bills on London for gold. The last thing he had meant to do was to invite a further gift, but Rai-ul-daula said at once that he should have all the gold he needed, and that, if he was so lacking in delicacy as to produce paper in payment, it should be burnt before his eyes.
That Saturday night he wrote a long letter to Hickey, telling him of all that had happened and stating that he did not intend to return to Calcutta. He had always been averse to trading on Clarissa's marriage to extract money from Winters but, as that unpleasant young man had accused Clarissa and himself of being a pair of incestuous crooks, he felt that, having come into a fortune, Winters should at least be made to disgorge a moderate sum, somewhat larger than the contemplated costs of the case. Accordingly he made over his rights to Hickey, suggesting that he should settle the matter out of court while Winters was still unaware that neither Clarissa nor himself would now appear at the hearing. Winters, he felt sure, would jump at the chance of settling for a few thousand pounds, a portion of which could be used to pay off the servants and other liabilities of the Brook household, while the greater part would both cover legal expenses and provide a handsome acknowledgement to Hickey of his many friendly services.
This missive Roger sent off by fast messenger the following day. Another, his report to Sir John Shore he held over to be taken by the officer whose troop was to escort the belated payment of the twelve lakhs of rupees down to Calcutta. In it he informed the Governor that urgent personal affairs necessitated his return to Europe; so he was handing over his responsibilities as the Company's agent to Captain Philip Laker.
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