The Bombay Marines

by Porter Hill

  Horne stepped forward. ‘I warn you, Giltspur. Don’t say one word about Isabel.’

  Giltspur smirked, holding Horne’s glare. ‘I remember why I never liked you, Horne. You were always too sure of yourself. Always so pleased with yourself and … Miss Springer!’

  ‘Keep your mouth shut, Giltspur!’

  Giltspur’s laugh echoed in the bare room. ‘Horne, you are capital! Capital indeed! Here you are. Apprehended in a room occupied until recently by a valuable prisoner. And what do you do? You start giving me orders? What a rare fellow you are, Horne.’

  Horne appraised Giltspur and his companion, gauging how well both men were armed, how strongly they could block the door. He remembered there was no window behind him for escape.

  Giltspur stepped farther into the room, one hand gripping the pistol. ‘What a capital position I’m in, Horne. Consider how many men would pay to change places with me at this moment. You do know, Horne, that men from the old days in London thought you were a sober, boring old stick. Who cared if you always won in those yard games? The model young gentleman who had so much to look forward to! Such a brilliant future! Do you know how many of the Mayfair set still despise you, Horne?’

  ‘You are obviously one of them, Giltspur.’ Horne noticed that Giltspur’s other hand rested on the hilt of his sabre.

  ‘Tell me this, Horne. How exactly did your cherished Isabel get killed? I heard a story that Starington took her to Greeley’s. Wasn’t Greeley’s the name of that stew in Bow Street which was the rage back in those days?’

  ‘I warn you, Giltspur. Don’t you say a word against Isabel –’

  Giltspur laughed at Horne and went on. ‘The version I heard was that Starington told Isabel Greeley’s was a private music club! He enticed her there by saying they would hear some new Purcell played by a quartet! Gad!’ Throwing back his head, he laughed, ‘The only quartet at Greeley’s would be four poxy wenches from Dublin!’

  The Lieutenant joined in Giltspur’s mirth, while Horne was rapidly forgetting about his duty.

  ‘Of course, a fine young lady would not have heard about any place so vile as Greeley’s,’ Giltspur continued. ‘But once inside she understood its purpose. As soon as they were ensconced in the front parlour, Starington tried to force himself on the delicious Isabel. He had drunk too much, and when your divine Isabel resisted his charms, he struck her a few times too many. You arrived when Starington produced that pistol and fired. You bludgeoned him with a rather heavy object. A bit too heavy I’m told. The police came in a trice and old Ma Greeley hurriedly hid Starington’s corpse. But there was nothing anybody could do with poor Isabel. She lay bleeding to death. Rather than allow her name be stained with scandal, you swore to the police that she and you had been set upon by toughs in the street and had taken refuge at Greeley’s. Ma Greeley welcomed your gallant lie. Who wants the police shutting down a veritable gold mine?’

  Horne was surprised that Giltspur had so much accurate information. He obviously thrived on the story.

  Like men of his fast London set, Giltspur also enjoyed a good barb, and his voice thickened as he teased, ‘Come on, Horne. You were young and honourable back in those days and didn’t talk much. But you’re amongst gentlemen now. Officers of the King’s Regiment. So share a story or two about how a tasty doxy like Isabel Springer felt when you got her alone, how easily she gave you her –’

  Horne lunged for Giltspur.

  As tall as Adam Horne, Captain Oliver Giltspur was also as solidly built. But Horne’s attack surprised him, and he tumbled backwards onto the floor, the pistol clattering from his hand, the sabre tangling in his legs.

  The other officer fell onto Horne’s back, jerking to pull him from Giltspur. But Horne held on tightly, choking Giltspur’s throat with one hand, pummelling his face with his fist.

  Oblivious of Giltspur’s blows, ignoring the Lieutenant’s tugs on his back, his efforts to pull him away, Horne fought against reason, not even noticing that another man had entered the room.

  A voice shouted, ‘Don’t go crazy, man! Don’t go to pieces! Not here! Not now!’

  Horne turned, gasping for breath, seeing Babcock standing beside him, a bloody knife in one hand.

  Looking from Babcock to the Lieutenant now lying in a pool of blood, Horne snatched the knife from Babcock and, with one deft slice, broke his rule about not taking human lives.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  THE TOWN MAJOR

  The Governor’s House

  Horne and Babcock emerged from the gate fronting the Guardhouse as a cockerel’s crow carried into the fortress from the Black Town. They each grabbed a bale of straw from the line in front of the building and, hoisting the bales to their shoulders, made their way diagonally across the Parade towards the bastion on the southwest corner of the stone wall surrounding the Governor’s House.

  As they passed along the south side of the wall, Kiro emerged from the shadows of the six white columns of the English Church and fell into step beside them.

  Walking three abreast, the men turned left at the southeast corner of the Governor’s House and walked north along St Thomas Street, passing the locked entrance to the Governor’s House on their left, the stately procession of stone columns stretching down towards the Sea Gate to their right.

  Groot appeared from the shadows at the northeast corner of the thick wall which formed the inner fortress.

  Horne stopped. He shifted the straw bale from one shoulder to the other and glanced back down St Thomas Street. St Thomas Gate was still closed. Were Jingee and Jud nearby? The six o’clock bells would start ringing soon.

  Babcock, Kiro, and Groot stood facing Horne. Groot noticed the bruises on Horne’s face but did not ask ques tions. Standing with his back to Portuguese Square, he reported, They’ve taken General Lally to the Portuguese Church, schupper.’

  ‘How heavy’s the guard?’ Horne looked beyond Groot’s shoulder at the spire of the small church.

  ‘Two guards in front. Four behind. You can’t see the front guards, schupper, because they’re standing by the doors.’

  ‘What about inside the church?’

  ‘I counted six men go in, schupper, and four come out.’

  Horne remembered the details about the Portuguese Church. ‘Were you able to see if they’re still working on the church?’

  ‘I looked through a side window. I saw boards piled on the floor. Stones and mortar all around in heaps.’

  Stepping closer to Horne, Groot added in a lower voice, ‘I was also able to listen, schupper. I heard a Lieutenant say he must report to the Town Major. It’s the same Lieutenant whom Babcock and I saw at the Barracks. His name’s Mason, He’s gone down there now –’ Groot nodded behind Horne, ‘– to the Town Hall. You just missed running into him.’

  Horne glanced back down the street. The Town Major’s office was in the Town Hall, halfway down St Thomas Street, situated between the spot where they were standing and St Thomas Gate. Were the Town Major and the Lieutenant in there now making changes? Planning to move Lally a second time? Why? What was happening? Did someone suspect a plot?

  Horne thought of the original plan he had made with his seven men. ‘Jud and Jingee should be at St Thomas Gate by now. Bapu and Mustafa, in the Stables. We’re already running short of time so we can’t make too many changes.’

  He looked at Kiro. ‘You and I will go to the Portuguese Church.’

  Kiro nodded.

  To Babcock, he said, ‘Give Kiro your bale.’

  Babcock hoisted the straw onto Kiro’s back.

  Horne looked at Groot. ‘You keep to the same plan. Go to the Stables. But instead of getting two extra horses, bring a third one. For Kiro. Bring the horses to the gate in front of the Portuguese Church. Across the square from the Magazine. Leave the Stables when the bells start ringing at six o’clock. Understand?’

  ‘Aye, aye, schupper.’

  Horne looked back at Babcock. ‘You keep to the same plan too, Babcock.�
�

  Babcock patted the leather pouch hanging from his belt.

  Horne stood facing the small half-circle of men. ‘When we come out of the church, we ride down this side of the Governor’s House. Turn here. Head down St Thomas Street. If we see that Jud and Jingee haven’t got the gates open, we chance leaving through the Sea Gate.’

  Resettling the bale on his shoulder, he said, ‘Kiro, I’ll explain our plan of action on the way to the church.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Horne looked from Kiro to Groot to Babcock. ‘This is it.’

  * * *

  The Town Hall

  The Town Major had seen them. Alexander Shipton, Town Major, Chief Deputy to Governor Pigot, and Company Officer-in-Command during Pigot’s absence, had watched two men with bales on their shoulders walk down the south wall of the Governor’s House. A third man joined them from the English Church as they continued down to St Thomas Street. Where were workmen going so early in the morning? Why had a man come out of the English Church? Wasn’t it locked? Or was reconstruction work being done there – as inside the Portuguese Church – that he didn’t know about?

  Shipton had been unable to sleep this morning. He had been troubled by all the problems which had risen in Pigot’s absence. Having come early to work in his office, his presence in the Town Hall had proved to be well-timed – Lieu tenant Mason had come here reporting that General Lally was being moved to a new prison.

  Waiting for Mason to report back on Lally’s whereabouts, Shipton had stood at the window, reading the letter which had created all the problems.

  I have the pleasure to acquaint you that the Garrison of Pondicherry surrendered themselves on Discretion on the 16th instant. In the morning of the same day we took possession of the Veillenour Gate and in the evening of the Citadel. I beg leave to congratulate you of this happy event. Eyre Coote. 19th January. 1761.

  A knock sounded on the door as Shipton stood at the window, holding the letter and looking down at the two workmen turning the corner of St Thomas Street with the bales of straw on their shoulders. Shipton moved towards his desk, calling for the early morning visitor to enter.

  Lieutenant Mason stepped into Shipton’s office, his craggy cheeks flushed with excitement. Approaching the desk, he saluted, reporting, ‘Sir, General Lally’s been moved to the Portuguese Church.’

  ‘The Portuguese Church?’ Shipton sank back into his chair. ‘Why there of all places?’

  ‘Lally’s Roman Catholic, sir. His confessor, Father Lavour, used to say Mass at the Portuguese Church and he feels safe there.’

  Shipton frowned. ‘How large is the guard?’

  ‘Eight, sir.’

  ‘Double – no, treble it. Immediately.’

  ‘There’s also another matter to report, sir. Two men have been found dead in the Guardhouse. Killed in the room where General Lally had been imprisoned.’

  ‘Killed?’ Shipton stared disbelievingly at Mason.

  ‘Yes, sir. Captain Oliver Giltspur and Lieutenant Abel Edwards. Both of the 64th, sir.’

  ‘For any apparent reason, Lieutenant?’

  ‘No, sir. There was no one else on that floor. No sign of entry. It obviously happened only shortly after General Lally had been moved.’

  Shipton took a deep breath, looking at Eyre Coote’s letter about Pondicherry’s surrender lying on his desk. ‘Perhaps Lally wasn’t talking nonsense about assassins.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think the same, sir.’

  Shipton raised his eyes. ‘Mason, I’m taking personal command of this situation. I’ll return with you to the Portuguese Church.’

  * * *

  St Thomas Gate

  Two hundred and fifty yards south of the Town Hall, Jingee moved from the shadows of the narrow alleyway leading from St Thomas Bastion to St Thomas Gate. Carrying two steaming tin mugs and a covered tray, he sat cross-legged on the cobblestones in front of the empty guard kiosk. A few minutes passed before two uniformed guards for the morning’s first sentry duty came down the alley way. They slowed when they saw Jingee waiting for them, expressions of curiosity on their faces, smiles of pleasure cracking when they spied the two steaming mugs and covered breakfast tray. Jud stepped behind the guards in the alley, crooking his strong black arm around one man’s neck. Jingee pulled a cudgel from the tray and attacked the second guard.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THE ENGLISH BELLS

  The Portuguese Church

  The Portuguese Church was little larger than a chapel. Built in the sixteenth century by Portuguese traders from Lisbon, the ornate red brick and white stucco church was anachronistic in company with the later, simpler stone structures erected by the East India Company.

  Adam Horne and Kiro, bent under the weight of the straw bales on their backs, passed through the wrought iron gates fronting the flag walk. They moved down a short avenue of palm trees towards two guards standing by the carved cedar doors opening into the vestibule.

  Keeping his head low as he approached the left guard, Horne used the officer’s name Groot had told him. ‘Lieutenant Mason wants these.’

  The guard looked quizzical. ‘Straw? What does he want straw for?’

  ‘For … this!’

  Horne charged forward with the bale, pushing the man back into the vestibule; Kiro moved at the same time, butting the second guard towards the marble floor.

  Slamming shut the doors, Horne pulled the iron bar. He spun around, bringing down his boot on the first guard’s musket barrel as he chopped him behind the neck, kneeing him on the chin.

  Kiro attacked the second guard, sending his musket to the floor and, facing him with both hands raised, palms open, he levelled his left hand in a sharp Karate strike and followed with a hit from the other hand.

  Horne and Kiro stripped off the guards’ jackets, gagged them, bound their hands and feet, and tied them back-to-back on the vestibule floor. Hurriedly dressing in the jackets, they moved into the nave. Groot’s information had been correct; the church had been stripped to bare brick, and piles of lumber and stone were heaped across the flagging.

  Horne knocked on the door at the rear of the nave. ‘Mason here.’

  A bolt shot back on the far side of the door.

  Pushing open the door, Horne jabbed his knife at the man unlocking it, a squat Sergeant with a bushy red moustache.

  Kiro slipped past the Sergeant into the sacristy, grabbing the barrel of the other guard’s musket. Swinging the butt at his face, he knocked him to the floor.

  Horne held his knife to the Sergeant’s throat. ‘Where’s Lally?’

  The Sergeant’s small green eyes darted to a door decorated with a cross. Looking back to Horne and Kiro, he tried to compose himself but his voice still wavered as he said, ‘I don’t know who you are … But there’s men outside … You better not kill us because …’

  Horne pulled back his left hand, sending the Sergeant to the floor with a Pankration chop. Kiro used a Karate blow on the other guard.

  After binding and gagging both men, Horne moved to the left of the door marked with the cross. He knocked twice and paused before knocking a third time.

  A voice immediately answered. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘General Lally?’

  ‘Who is it?’ repeated the voice.

  Horne knocked again and, keeping his voice low, asked, ‘Do you know Father Lavour? Père Lavour?’

  The door flew open. A white-haired man stood facing Horne.

  Jabbing the knife towards Lally’s throat, Horne ordered, ‘Open your mouth, General, and you’ll be buried in this church.’

  Lally’s blue eyes were bloodshot with fatigue. He stared at Horne’s bruised face, at the Regimental jacket he was wearing, then at the two bound guards on the floor.

  Looking from Horne to Kiro, he asked, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Your escorts, sir.’ Horne motioned him out of the room with the knife.

  Lally showed none of the guards’ fears. ‘Where are you takin
g me? What’s the reason for this?’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ Horne pulled a kerchief from his breeches.

  Lally demanded, ‘Did the French send you, damn it? D’Ache? Rambeau? What’s the reason for –’

  The kerchief muffled the rest of Lally’s words. Horne bound his hands in front of him with leather thongs as Kiro primed the guards’ brace of flintlocks.

  Cautiously but firmly, Horne pushed Lally from the sacristy, moving him across the nave. Kiro followed, keeping his back to them, holding both pistols trained on the rear door.

  They reached the vestibule as the six o’clock bells began ringing across the fortress from the English Church.

  * * *

  The Stables

  At the sound of the six o’clock bells, Bapu stepped from the Stables. Still dressed in a turban and dhoti, he looked across the Parade towards the top of Portuguese Square. All was clear.

  Beckoning towards the darkness of the Stables, Bapu stepped back against the door as Groot and Babcock clattered forward on their mounts.

  Groot, leading three horses behind him, moved across the Parade at a neat trot as Babcock followed more slowly on his roan.

  Watching the two men turn from the Parade into Portuguese Square, Bapu disappeared back into the Stables. He emerged a few seconds later riding a chestnut mare and gripping the reins of a black stallion and a sturdy grey mare. Mustafa rode alongside him on a dappled mare as they cantered along the south side of the Governor’s House, down towards St Thomas Street, passing the English Church where the bells still rang noisily in the new day.

  * * *

  The Magazine

  Babcock reached the opposite side of the Governor’s House from Bapu and Mustafa and reined his roan by the Magazine built into the sloping northwest corner of the thick yellow stone wall.