The Lion's Den

by Philip McCutchan

  Ogilvie jumped to his feet, his fists clenched. ‘Andrew, you will withdraw that, and at once, d’you hear?’ He stood over the adjutant, his face working.

  Black said, ‘I’ll withdraw nothing. Sit down, Captain Ogilvie. Sit down! That is an order.’

  ‘And I’m disobeying it. Withdraw what you said, and apologize.’

  ‘I’ll do no such —’

  ‘Listen, Andrew.’ Ogilvie’s face was set like a rock, hard and determined. Over the years, that face had grown to resemble his father’s; and Sir Iain Ogilvie was every inch the General Officer Commanding. There was something in the face now that scared Black, some inner force that overrode a basically weaker man. Ogilvie himself was not aware of this, but he saw that he was causing the adjutant to have second thoughts. ‘We’re alone in this office,’ he said. ‘If you don’t withdraw, I intend to strike you. A military offence — oh, yes, I know that, Andrew! But I know something else as well, and it’s this: the adjutant who gives a brother officer a personal insult to the point of being struck, does not commend himself to his seniors — and has a black mark against him when his name comes up for promotion. To be struck, Andrew, is to be hurt twice, for by God I’ll hit you hard in your face and you won’t be a pretty sight...and it’s going to be said in higher circles that you failed in the first duty of an adjutant, which is to exercise a tactful discipline, and not to offer unwarrantable insults! Well, Andrew?’

  Black licked at his lips and stared at Ogilvie. For almost a minute they held each other’s gaze, and then Black looked away, the first to weaken. Ogilvie felt a tremendous relief; already he had regretted, at least to some extent, his impetuosity. To strike the adjutant would, of course, be the end of his career, whatever the provocation, but evidently he had succeeded in making Black believe he would take even this risk — and, if Black had not capitulated, honour would have demanded that indeed he did take it. But Black said, in a hoarse and strange-sounding voice, ‘Very well. I withdraw.’

  ‘And apologize?’

  ‘And apologize.’

  Ogilvie relaxed, and found himself shaking all over, a shake he did his best to hide. He said, ‘Thank you, Andrew.’

  ‘Now get out, you — you —’ Words failed Black. Ogilvie obeyed the order. He went along to B Company’s office, where Rob MacKinlay was battling with what seemed to be a vast amount of paperwork. He looked up when Ogilvie entered, and appeared glad of an excuse to sit back for a while. ‘You have an air of strain, James,’ he said, lifting an eyebrow. ‘Rumour has it you’ve been with the adj. Has that caused the strain — or was it last night?’

  ‘If you mean,’ James Ogilvie said carefully, ‘have I a hangover, the answer’s yes, a bloody awful one. Anything else?’

  ‘Hold on to your shirt, old man. I’m not prying.’

  ‘So it has spread. Well, Black did hint that you can’t keep things secret in Peshawar.’

  ‘Or anywhere else in British India, James my boy!’ MacKinlay looked at him hard. ‘Has Andrew been on that tack, then?’

  Ogilvie nodded and slid onto an upright battalion chair. ‘He wanted to know where I’d been — oh, not unnaturally, I agree! I didn’t tell him — but he made guesses.’

  ‘I see. And insinuations, I don’t doubt. I hope you kept your temper, James.’

  ‘I didn’t.’ Ogilvie told MacKinlay what had happened, and MacKinlay pursed his lips.

  ‘Couldn’t get off to a worse start as a company commander if you’d tried deliberately, James. My word! You threaten Black — and you win! He’s not going to forgive you for that, you know!’

  ‘He’s never forgiven me for anything since the day I joined the regiment, Rob, you know that. He said he’s helped me — but honestly, he never has. Except perhaps by opening my eyes to a few things, a few facts of British Indian life. Regimental life, that is.’

  MacKinlay warned, ‘Don’t go sour because of a bad adjutant. I’ve told you that before, but from now on it’s going to be even more important. When I go off to the Staff College, James, I don’t want to feel the company’s suffering.’

  ‘I won’t let that happen, Rob.’

  ‘No, I know you won’t, not deliberately. But you’ll find that a company commander can be got at through his men, James. Black’s not above mucking up a company’s spirit so he can report adversely on its officers. It’s been done before and it’ll be done again, and Black’s not the only one in the army to use dirty weapons, you know.’

  Ogilvie sighed, listening to the drill sounds coming through from the parade, the tramp of heavy boots, the shouts of the N.C.O.s and then the sharp rattle of hooves as Captain Black rode past the window. He asked, ‘Rob, what’s up with Andrew Black? Why’s he gone so sour?’

  MacKinlay laughed. ‘Sheer, vindictive jealousy, James. After all, he’s not one of us and he knows it. Oh, he’s a wealthy enough man, but it’s all come from trade. You know that.’

  ‘Yes, but is that enough to make him what he is?’

  ‘I think so. I’ve told you before, James. He started off by feeling inferior, right from the day he joined us. Damn it all, we’re a pretty blue-blooded lot in The Queen’s Own Royal Strathspeys, you know!’ He laughed, with a touch of self-deprecation for what he had said. ‘It doesn’t make us better soldiers, but there it is, it’s a fact. Trade and landed gentry just don’t mix, not even now. It started to work on Andrew’s mind and the rest followed as the night the day — Andrew being the kind of man he is. He’s been hitting back in his own way ever since.’ MacKinlay pushed at a pile of papers. ‘Well, I’ll have to get on with this lot, James, or I’ll never hand over. I don’t want to leave you with a legacy of loose ends.’ He paused, frowning. ‘You’ve pulled something of a boner. That has to be admitted. But don’t spend too much time worrying about Black. That way, he’ll get you rattled. Just keep your eyes open, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m more worried about the Colonel than Black just at the moment, really.’

  ‘Because you were absent last night?’ MacKinlay ran a hand across his chin. ‘Well, he’s not going to like it, but you weren’t required for duty. Dornoch’s human enough. You’ll have to watch it in future, though.’ Then he added, ‘Look, James. Are you sure you’re not being just a little unwise? I think you know what I mean.’

  ‘If I am,’ Ogilvie answered briefly, ‘it’s my own funeral.’

  ‘Oh, quite. But if I were you, old son, I just wouldn’t let it get as far as a funeral. And now I’ve got work to do. Going to sit down and lend a hand, all in your own interest?’

  Ogilvie shook his head. ‘Can’t, Rob. I have to watch Colour-Sar’nt Bruce put a squad of replacements through their paces.’

  ‘Oh, all right. So long, James.’

  Ogilvie left the company office and walked out onto the parade, settling his Wolseley helmet on his head as he came into the open. With his kilt swinging the tartan of the Royal Strathspey around his sunburned knees he marched across the wide space, returning salutes as groups of men were brought to attention on his approach, heading for a corner around the angle of the sergeants’ mess where the casualty replacements, fresh from home, were being bawled at by Colour-Sergeant Bruce, a raw-boned Highland Scot from the Monadhliath Mountains. As he went he found his thoughts going back to Mary Archdale, and from her to Andrew Black. In any regiment, the adjutant was always a man of influence and power beyond his actual rank. In the case of Black, this was perhaps more so than would normally be the fact. That bitter, satanic man seemed even to have some curious ability to make the Colonel see things his way. Of course, he was efficient, and tireless in the performance of his duties; even after a night’s heavy whisky drinking — a weakness of Black’s — he was as smart, as punctilious, on parade as might be any soldiering Plymouth Brother or Strict Baptist, with nothing except his bloodshot eyes and a pallor beneath the tan of his face to give away the previous night’s excesses. Had he not been efficient, he would not have remained so long as adjutant of the 114th, for he was
known as a bully and a man prone to give vent to an evil temper. From a consideration of Captain Andrew Black, Ogilvie’s thoughts went by natural process to the conversation Mary had overheard the night before between Black and Lieutenant-General Fettleworth; and he wondered what the Divisional Commander could possibly have in his mind as regards a newly-appointed Captain of infantry.

  That was something he would have to wait upon; and in the meantime he would need to face his Colonel.

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