He offered his arm. ‘Let us retire before it becomes quite dark. As for your staying or going, I leave the issue to be settled by your father!’
General Wrangham arrived, escorted by Cornet Anstruther - ‘couldn’t let the old boy wander around on his own’ - and lodged in the house Amaury had prepared. Caroline clapped a bonnet on her head and started out to visit him. Civilly but firmly the guard commander stopped her: religious processions thronging the streets, he conveyed through the Portuguese maid, rendered walking inconvenient. Caroline retired seething, convinced that Amaury forestalled her with the general.
Her guess was right. Amaury sent Sir John his compliments and prayed his company at dinner. Deferring to his visitors’ conventions - Todd had long accustomed himself to eating native fashion - Amaury provided dining-table, cutlery, chairs and cloth. Ushered from citadel gate guard to the courtyard’s inner sentries, from doorkeeper to banian, Wrangham traversed passages and anterooms and halls, and noted without comment all the chambers’ tawdry splendours, the oriental shoddiness and dirt-encrusted glitter. His host’s appearance made the general start. Amaury, bare-headed, hair falling to his shoulders, beard fanning like a breastplate on his chest, wore a calf-length lilac coat, gold-buttoned to the throat, loose Musulman pantaloons and scarlet Turkish slippers.
The dinner followed European courses - food well cooked though warmly spiced, palatable wine - served by attendants unversed in European ways. Amaury kept the conversation on a lightly social level and pleasantly discouraged Anstruther’s curious questions. Wrangham, more sensitive, made no attempt to probe. When the cloth was drawn, the servants gone, and brandy, rum and port decanters sentinelled the table Amaury put his houcca coil down and beamed on his guests.
‘Your patience merits reward, sirs. If you will bear with me, I shall tell you how it happened.’
He described, omitting nothing, the exodus from Hurrondah, the treasury’s pillaging, Dharia’s rebuilding and the creation of a prosperous state from a ruined, impoverished jagir. He recounted the Pindaris’ destruction, the Jat brigade’s fortuitous arrival, Droog’s taking and his irruptions into Berar: aggressions which, he stated, the Bhonsla would try to avenge.
Faintly from the barracks drummers beat Retreat. Wrangham sipped from his glass and rolled the brandy on his tongue. ‘Some of this I already know. Rumours penetrated to Bahrampal - hence I had no trouble in tracing your direction. We were also told by traders that my daughter and this young scallywag’ - he jerked his cheroot at Todd - ‘were living in your capital. Before we go any further, is she safe and well?’
‘Both, sir.’
‘And disposed, I trust, to return?’
Amaury flicked a sideways glance at Todd. ‘That, Sir John, I cannot say.’
‘Hr’rm! She has plunged herself in a nasty scrape. I must extricate her speedily, and as quietly as may be, before the gossip salivates those viperish tongues in Madras.’ He swirled the liquid in his glass, and looked at Amaury under grizzled eyebrows. ‘I take it you have forsaken your career as a Company officer?’
‘For ever, sir.’
‘ ‘Tis a pity. Were you aware the Court of Directors countermanded your dismissal?’
‘No. It makes no difference.’
‘I feared not. Can’t say I blame you, considering all you have accomplished here in Dharia.’ The general tapped the ash from his cheroot. ‘On Caroline’s flight I wrote Madras to extend my furlough; Clive in his reply sent startling advices - part of which may alter your decisions. This is the fashion of it.’
Wrangham related a history of Maratha intrigue and treachery. Their titular head, the Peshwa, had been routed in battle by an alliance of other princes. The Peshwa fled and entreated English aid. In a treaty imposed by the Company he sacrificed independence in return for military help in regaining his throne.
‘All the Maratha princes condemn the treaty,’ Wrangham said, ‘and prepare for confrontation. And so does the Governor-General ; his brother Arthur Wellesley is mounting a campaign.’ ‘How,’ asked Amaury patiently, ‘does this, affect my fortunes? My little realm has never offended the Company - whom, in any event, I will never fight. They can have no grievance against me.’
‘None I can imagine,’ Wrangham grunted, ‘except your situation is confoundedly unorthodox. But here is the nub. English mercenary officers swarm in Maratha armies: Sangster, Bellasis, Gardner, Skinner, Thomas and many others. Mornington has announced the Company will pension generously any who quit their posts and report in English territory. A return to the fold, sir, and all is forgiven. Does it tempt you?’
‘Incitement to desert? No! The offer has no bearing on my case. Unlike the others I am masterless, in nobody’s employ.’
‘True. The only independent free lance in all India - although I doubt the Company appreciates the difference!’ Wrangham finished his brandy. ‘Now, by your leave, I will interview Caroline. The hussy, I regret, is beyond the age for a whipping!’
‘Henry will conduct you. I advise, Sir John,’ Amaury added seriously, ‘you moderate your censure. A rating will but strengthen her resolve!’
What Wrangham said to his daughter nobody ever discovered. He came out red-faced, chewing his lip, returned to his house and punished the brandy. Amaury made no inquiries; he decided the affair was no concern of his, but had to be sorted out between the girl, her father and Todd. He was heavily involved in warlike preparations, for whispers travelled from Nagpur that the Bhonsla despatched mandates to his chieftains for a muster.
Vedvyas, under Amaury’s direction, commandeered bullocks and camels, bought flour, rice and goats, enlisted drovers, coolies, water carriers - all the paraphernalia for an army on campaign. The mirasdar, long since, had become vizier in civil affairs, treasurer in fiscal, and quartermaster in war. He approved Amaury’s raids, rubbing his hands delightedly when he saw the spoils unloaded. ‘We have recovered our capital outlay, sahib, and now enjoy the interest!’ The imminent threat from Berar worried him not at all: opposed or allied to Amaury in various close encounters he had acquired a confident faith in his master’s military skill.
Amaury, in return, had learned to trust him wholly - an accolade he denied to any other native.
Royds’ behaviour prickled his misgivings. Although the man performed his duties with his usual hard efficiency he was sullen and unsociable and avoided, if he could, meeting other Europeans. After parades, so Todd reported, he summoned to his quarters the senior native officers and held long confabulations: a development which was foreign to his habits, since he seldom, when off-duty, associated with his men. Todd’s discreet inquiries elicited nothing from the officers, but he sensed from their grave expressions something serious was afoot.
‘The fellow preaches sedition,’ Amaury averred. ‘I have a mind to court martial him, but ’tis difficult, lacking proof. I cannot be certain how much hold he has upon the men; arresting him directly might inflame them.’
The quandary was solved by the officers themselves. A deputation attended Amaury’s daily audience and begged a private interview. He led the subhadars to his rooms, sat them down on cushions, distributed sweetmeats and asked how he could serve them. The spokesman hesitated, tugged a long moustache, and tripped on his opening words - then it came out in a rush.
Royds had tried to convince them that Amaury, half insane, drunk with power and self-conceit, was arrogantly determined on leading the Jats to destruction. He had painted horrific pictures of Berar’s invincible might; and urged a night rebellion, seizure of the magazine and gun park, Amaury’s execution and mastery of Dharia. Then, he said, they could treat with the Bhonsla, pay the tribute he demanded and afterwards live in peace. Otherwise, Royds insisted, only death awaited them beneath Maratha swords.
‘You are our father and our mother, Umree Sahib,’ the subhadar said woefully. ‘To Royds Sahib also we owe loyalty - but I think he deceives us. You have nourished us and made us peerless soldiers, and given us a pride in arms we never ha
d before. Surely you would not wantonly destroy the weapon you have forged? To you we turn, in doubt and desperation, seeking reassurance that Royds Sahib tell us lies.’
‘Lies indeed.’ Amaury pondered awhile, and arrived at a decision that assailed his secretive instincts: he never revealed a battle plan till the latest possible moment. He described the ground he had chosen - without specifying the place - cleared a space on the floor and, using platters, jars and cushions, defined the salient features. He made a terse appreciation of the enemy’s probable manoeuvres, sketched the tactics he intended and finished by smashing a bowl representing Raghujee’s main battle.
‘Thus will it end, brothers - and we pillage the enemy’s camp. Do not deceive yourselves: the fighting will be hard and we will suffer casualties, many dead and wounded. Has a victory ever been won without the victors losing men?’
The officers wagged satisfied heads - the battle looked so easy on a carpet - and touched in turn his sword hilt as they went. A subhadar said, ‘How shall we treat Royds Sahib?’
‘He will be leaving us,’ Amaury answered curtly.
When they had gone he thought long and hard. Royds’ crime was unforgivable by any nation’s laws; the punishment was death. But a public execution - a white man killed by Whites - was certainly impolitic in Dharia, a native state an English sultan ruled. Dangerous for a European to be openly humiliated: the idol’s feet must never be proved as clay.
The American’s disposal had to be quick and quiet.
Amaury sent for his pistols, primed and loaded carefully, stuck them in his sash. Ascertaining from a servant that Royds was in his house, he went out alone. Royds sat at a table in shirtsleeves and cotton trousers, scribbling a letter, and frowned at Amaury’s entrance.
‘You call unannounced,’ he said unpleasantly, ‘and find me over-occupied for entertainment.’
Amaury found a chair and sat, a negligent hand on a pistol butt. ‘This is not a social visit, Major Royds. Pray attend closely to what I have to say.’
He related baldly the native officers’ charges. Royds’ face darkened, the flinty eyes were slits, his mouth a thin grey line. He looked quickly at a pistol case on a chest, a sword dangling from a hook. Amaury drew a pistol and held it in his lap.
‘You are proved guilty of incitement to mutiny,’ he said, ‘and the penalty is death.’
Royds’ hands gripped the table, a worm of spittle streaked his chin. ‘I deny it! Do you take a Moor’s word against mine?’
‘Most certainly. There will be no argument. You are judged and sentenced.’
The pistol barrel levelled. Royds’ chair legs scraped the floor. ‘God’s death, you can’t shoot me down defenceless!’
‘I can, sir, but I won’t - provided you obey me. On your feet, Royds! Walk in front and do exactly as I say - else I’ll kill you like a dog!’
They left the house in file and walked the streets, Amaury, pistols sashed, commanding the direction. They attracted no attention: the Lord Sahib and his brigadier braving the noonday sun to go about their business. Royds trudged sullenly ahead, turning left or right as Amaury ordered. They crossed the waste ground where the gunpowder factory stood, and came to a sallyport’s postern in the western wall. Royds stopped, confounded. ‘Where the devil--’
Amaury tossed him a key. ‘Open it.’
The gate was long disused, the heavy lock was stiff, bars rusted in their sockets. Royds, panting, struggled with the fastenings. The gate swung open, squealing on its hinges.
Amaury drew his pistol. ‘On your way, sir.’
Royds scanned the rocky slope that slanted from the walls, turned and stared at Amaury incredulously. ‘You are letting me go?’
‘You are not without your merits, Major Royds; therefore I am giving you a chance. Tread warily, sir.’
He slammed the postern, turned the key, mounted to the ramparts. Royds stood outside the gate, obviously suspicious, mistrustful of his luck. He lifted his head, saw Amaury on the battlements twenty feet above, and glared defiantly. Amaury lifted the pistol, pointed to the plain. Royds spat, crossed the ditch and began to descend the hill, skirting boulders and bushes.
He stumbled and jumped sideways, grabbed a rock and hurled it at the ground, stood for a moment staring, wiping palms on thighs. Stepping cautiously and slowly, he started down. After a dozen paces he stopped, backed away, shouted and leaped in the air, twisting as he jumped. He landed awkwardly and sprawled, seized stones and pounded something underneath a bush. Then he stood, looked huntedly around, and ran.
Halfway down the slope he tried to swerve and fell, beating with his hands, rose and staggered, dropped on hands and knees. He collapsed on his face, rolled over, clutched his throat. His arms reached skywards, fingers clawed, dropped sideways like a crucifix. The body threshed, arched twice from head to heels, shuddered and was still.
Amaury left the ramparts, and met Todd returning from barracks. ‘Royds,’ he sighed, ‘has been for a walk on the hill. Terribly unfortunate! Nobody, it seems, had warned him about the snakes.’
A messenger on a lathered horse reported the Bhonsla’s levies gathering round Nagpur. Amaury completed his arrangements, meticulous on every detail - ‘no confounded hurry; that mob can’t move for a fortnight’ - and appointed a day for departure. The disposal of his guests remained a niggling irritation; brusquely he told Wrangham he must return to Bahrampal and take his daughter with him. The general sadly shook his head.
‘The jade positively refuses. Can I march her off at pistol point?’ Amaury stamped angrily to Caroline’s house. The argument was stormy, and he lost his temper. ‘You cannot possibly stay in Dharia! Suppose we lose - which God forbid! - the town is open to the Bhonsla’s army. Are you willing to be ravished by barbarous Marathas?’
‘I think not. ’Twould be uncommonly fatiguing!’
‘Immodesty does not become you, Miss Wrangham! Why are you so devilish vexatious? You refuse returning to Bahrampal, yet you cannot remain in Dharia. For God’s sake, girl, what are you going to do?’
‘The alternative is obvious,’ Caroline said sweetly. ‘I must come with you.’
Amaury gazed at her speechlessly.
‘Why so dumbfounded, sir? Women frequently accompany the armies on campaign. Why, ’tis said that Captain Norris’s wife--’
‘Bore a child in Tippoo’s kitchens!’ Amaury blared. ‘A notorious story - and quite beside the point! She was a soldier’s wife, not a flighty, gadding daughter who--’
‘She must have been somebody’s daughter! No, Captain Amaury - my mind is perfectly decided, and I have made all preparations.’
‘Very well,’ said Amaury grimly. ‘Short of shackling you to a bedpost I can’t prevent it. Preparations! You pack, I apprehend, a wagon-load of baggage. Save your labour, Caroline! The army travels light: a saddle roll and knapsack, men and officers alike - and damned pig-headed girls!’
He flung from the room. Caroline smiled contentedly. Amaury, at last, had used her Christian name.
The general, unsurprised, opined the hussy had determined on campaigning from the start. Therefore he must escort her, and travel to Berar - ‘solely as a spectator, sir’ - and was patently elated at the prospect. Anstruther, dejectedly sorting his saddle roll’s meagre contents, declared the whole affair too dangerous by half; and wallowed in despair when Amaury tersely appointed him Caroline’s permanent guardian - ‘how the devil does one sentry a will-o’-the-wisp?’
Two days later Dharia’s army marched.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When drums flammed General Beat and roused the fourth night’s camp Amaury announced that he and a small detachment would diverge from the line of march and rejoin the column next day. He answered Todd’s inquiries breezily and evasively, told him to follow a route prescribed and halt for the night after twenty miles. ‘Unless, Sir John,’ he asked politely, ‘as senior officer you would prefer command?’ The general shuddered. ‘Take active part in irregular operations? Damme, sir,
I’d be put on a charge, and lose my epualettes!’
Amaury took a cavalry troop, two light companies and both three-pounders - all obviously warned and ready. ‘Hugo is close as an oyster,’ Todd complained, watching the contingent disappear in the morning mist. ‘He makes his plans, prepares his troops - and tells nobody a whisper!’ He mounted his horse and signalled; the drums beat Forward March.
They traversed the rolling plains of central Berar, an arid, featureless grassland sprouting occasional trees which, congregating on the horizon, resembled a distant forest constantly receding. Covered by hircarrahs, a roving screen four miles ahead, Todd led with the Rahtor cavalry, followed by two companies - the pickets of the day. The Jat brigade came next, battalions abreast in open column; then Welladvice and his guns in parallel divisions, ammunition tumbrils rumbling behind. The pickets of the previous day marched behind the baggage; the najib battalion rearguard closed the tail. The army moved on a quarter-mile front and was nearly a mile in depth.
Vedvyas directed the baggage train: laden bullocks, screech-axled carts, camels with heavy yakdans, and, followers on foot trudging in scattered groups. Protracted operations dictated a lengthy train despite Amaury’s insistence on paring to the bone. He restricted the officers to a servant apiece - ‘a monstrous imposition!’ Anstruther wailed - forbade washermen and barbers, eliminated sutlers. There was no reducing grass-cutters and sices - one each for every horse - water carriers, sweepers, bullock drivers, camel-men and cooks. Followers numbered only slightly more than the soldiers: a notable improvement on native and Company armies, whose followers invariably trebled the fighting men.
Wrangham divided his time between riding in the van and visiting Caroline, whom Amaury had relegated sternly to the train. He allowed her space in a grain cart for her bedding, portmanteau, and a tiny tent - the sole example in the army - and a personal attendant: a venerable Musulman appointed from his household. The Portuguese maid had refused to come, nor, had she been willing, would Amaury have approved. Caroline, dressed again in jacket, boots and breeches, chafed at her confinement to the transport where she swallowed dust from the troops ahead, was buffeted by bullocks and deafened by the cart wheels.
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