The Rape of Venice

by Dennis Wheatley

  Damaji was still with them. The Begum turned and spoke to him. He salaamed then, pointing to the divan, looked at Roger. After only a moment’s hesitation, Roger called in his men and told them to pick it up. Following the mute, they carried it down the corridor, through a hall and out into a smaller garden that Roger had not yet seen. On the far side of it there stood an ornate pavilion. On entering it, Roger guessed that it was here that the Rajah had slept, sending when he wished for whichever of his houris he favoured at the moment to be brought to him, for its central room contained a big elaborately carved bed, and there were other rooms off it for guards and servitors.

  The Begum rejoined them, now accompanied by several other women who had come out of their hiding places on her calling aloud that they had nothing to fear. She sent Roger and his men outside, and for three-quarters of an hour he paced the small garden, a prey to agonising suspense; then she came out to the porch of the pavilion and beckoned him inside.

  Clarissa had been transferred to the big bed. Her long hair had been done up in plaits round her head and, although she was in a coma, her expression was much more relaxed. The Begum said to him: ‘Poor child, she is ill; very ill. But I will remain to do all I can for her. There is an entrance behind this place by which you can come to it without passing through the harem. Damaji will show it to you. I have had the divan on which she was carried here placed in the next room. I know you will wish to be with her. You can sleep there if you wish.’

  As Roger was thanking her, he heard McCloud calling him; so he went outside. Mahmud Ali was there. He had come with a message from his master that the diwan had assembled and awaited Roger’s pleasure. No more could be done for Clarissa for the present, so he accompanied the Afghan through the rambling buildings of the palace to the spacious throne room.

  In it were now assembled some hundred people. The throne was empty, but ranged round it stood Rai-ul-daula and his friends. Behind them were several eunuchs, fan bearers and a number of the Rajah’s guards. To the right stood Laker, most of his officers and a troop of his hussars; to the left a group of a dozen nobles with their arms bound behind them and, two paces in front of the group, young Jawahir-ul-daula, also bound.

  As Roger entered, Rai-ul-daula and his companions salaamed; Laker gave an order, the British drew their sabres and presented arms. Drawing himself erect, Roger walked with a firm tread towards the throne, but did not mount it. On the first step he halted, turned and, taking Sir John Shore’s Commission from his pocket, read it in a loud voice in English; then he handed it to Rai-ul-daula and said in Persian:

  ‘Be pleased to have a translation of this document read out.’

  A eunuch was called forward and, in a piping falsetto, gave a rendering of the Commission in the dialect of Bahna.

  When it was done, Roger turned to Philip Laker. ‘Captain, I desire an escort for His Highness the Rajah. A Lieutenant and six of your men. The two leading files will take him by the arms and bring him before me.’

  Laker gave the order. Jawahir-ul-daula’s sensual mouth was loose and trembling; his eyes flickered wildly, and his face had a faintly bluish tinge under its bronze. When he had been thrust forward by the two leading troops, Roger said to them:

  ‘Throw him on his knees.’

  They did as they were bid, and with such a force that the aigrette in his turban touched the ground. Instead of striving to rise, he grovelled there, whining for mercy. Ignoring his pleas, Roger addressed him loudly in Persian.

  ‘Jawahir-ul-daula. You have broken a solemn treaty made between your country and the Honourable the East India Company. You have repudiated a just debt owing to the Company and mustered your army with intent to wage war against the Company’s forces. You have abetted the abduction of a subject of His Majesty King George III and held her prisoner here. In these things you have followed the advice of evil counsellors, and so shown yourself unfitted to rule. By the powers vested in me, I hereby depose you.’

  After a moment’s impressive pause, he went on, ‘That is not all. On my first journey here you had me ambushed and captured. Two of my escort were killed during the fighting; the third surrendered and your men cut his throat in cold blood. A few hours later, you told me here in this chamber that your men had acted on your orders; so that no word of my capture should get back to Calcutta, and it would be believed that myself and my escort had fallen victims to a band of robbers. For that triple murder I mean justice to be done.’ He paused again, then said in English to the Lieutenant:

  ‘Take this man outside and hang him.’

  When the ex-Rajah had been dragged away, Roger turned to Rai-ul-daula and asked, ‘Are you willing to pay out of the Bahna treasury the twelve lakhs of rupees owing to the Company, and a sum sufficient to reimburse the Company for having had to send an expedition to Bahna?’

  The reply was a clear affirmative, accompanied by a low bow.

  ‘Are you willing to enter into a new treaty with the Company, the provisions of which shall be similar to those in the treaty between it and the Rajah, your late brother, to reinstate the Company’s officials for the administration of the finances of the state, and to rule with firmness, justice and mercy?’

  Again, Rai-ul-daula pledged his word and made a solemn bow.

  Roger waved a hand towards the row of a dozen captive courtiers and said, ‘I leave it to Your Highness to dispense justice to these people.’ Then he took his cross-eyed friend by the hand, led him up to the throne of elephant tusks, seated him upon it, and cried:

  ‘Let the fate of Jawahir-ul-daula be a warning to you all. I give you a new and wiser ruler, Rai-ul-daula. Long may he reign!’

  Even those who could not understand Persian could see what was happening from the ex-Wazier’s having seated himself on the throne. The natives all paid homage by prostrating themselves, while Laker again ordered his officers and men to present arms and give three cheers.

  Thankful to have got through the ceremony, Roger had a brief talk with Laker, then hurried back to Clarissa. McCloud and his squad were still on guard outside the pavilion. Having told the men that he would see to it that they were specially rewarded for their yeoman services, he thanked them and told them to rejoin their troops; then he said to the Cornet:

  ‘For the part you played I’ll see to it that you are promoted to Lieutenant, even if I have to buy the rank for you. But first, there is one other important service you can render me. I must secure a British doctor for Mrs. Brook, with a minimum of delay. A number of our men have wounds, too, so would fare better in the hands of a qualified man than those of the squadron’s barber. There must be a surgeon with Colonel Gunston’s force, and it can as yet be only one night’s march through the mountains. I wish you to snatch a few hours’ sleep, then set out after them and bring their surgeon back here with you.’

  The stalwart young man shrugged. ‘I slept all through yesterday afternoon, Sir, and had three hours last night; so I need no sleep as yet. I’ll take two good men and set off at once.’

  Roger did not seek to deter him, but twenty minutes later saw him, well mounted and provisioned, set off on his mission. After that he could only hang about the pavilion in miserable suspense.

  It was not until late that night that Clarissa had a short interval of consciousness. At first, she believed the sight of Roger, seated beside her, to be a dream; but, once she was persuaded that it really was him, her joy was unbounded. Yet, as soon as she began to talk, she was seized with such a terrible paroxysm of coughing that he feared she would have a fit. The Begum hurried in, upbraided him and made her swallow some more of the potent black drug, which sent her off again into a coma.

  Next morning, she had another period of lucidity, but Roger feared to question her in case by talking she brought on herself another attack; so, after they had exchanged whispered endearments, he kept her quiet by telling her about his two attempts to rescue her.

  Late that afternoon, reeling in his saddle from weariness, Angus McCloud retu
rned with Surgeon Pomfrett. After making a thorough examination of Clarissa the Doctor pronounced her chances far from good. He declared that she was suffering from congestion of the lungs and, producing leeches from a bottle, set the horrid creatures on her back. The treatment appeared to ease her for a time, but the following morning she was weaker.

  It was on that day, the Thursday, that Roger was informed that Gunston’s force was approaching the city. At the time Clarissa was sleeping; so Roger left her and held a short conference with the new Rajah.

  During the past half-century, there had been numerous instances of revolutions in the native states, in which the Company had played a part in deposing an ill-disposed Prince and substituting one whom they hoped would prove more cooperative. In every case, following Eastern custom, the new occupant of the throne had showered gifts upon all those who had helped to set him on it, and British officers and agents had come in for a handsome share in these gratuities. Rai-ul-daula had needed no prompting to follow the practice.

  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-daula’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 talk now, darling. It’s my last chance. I’m going to die.’

  ‘No, no!’ his cry 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 not 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 paradise 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?’