It is assumed that eighty Bombay rifles will be more than a match for a hundred Thugs, and I personally have no doubt of it.
However, our Colonel, devious fellow, is also laying a trap, which is known only to the officers of the regiment. As I leave with my men, the Colonel will leave with the remainder of our force, ostensibly to return to Bombay. Thus Sittapore will be left defended only by its own army, a totally ineffectual body of some seven hundred men.
The Colonel entirely agrees with Bilkis that it is Batraj’s intention to return at the earliest possible moment and attempt to usurp the throne. Colonel Partridge reckons that the rascal will evade a battle with my column, for no sensible Hindu would wish to fight disciplined troops led by white officers. Having been informed that the rest of our people have left Sittapore and that it is therefore at his mercy, Batraj will undoubtedly make straight for the city. But the regiment will, in fact, be only two marches away, in a secluded valley known to the Colonel from a previous campaign. He will have scouts out, and the moment Batraj has placed himself in a vulnerable position he will be attacked and destroyed.
I hope that the Colonel is wrong, and that the Thug will attempt to do battle with my troops.
So I am off to my first campaign, as commander-in-chief, no less!
And I shall rescue the fair Laura, like the very best of knights errant!
Then I shall marry her, no matter what her fate meanwhile —on this I am utterly determined — and we shall live happily ever!
5 The Thug
Laura rolled away from Batraj as violently as she could, and rose to her knees against the far wall of the hut.
Batraj smiled at her. ‘A man should have no secrets from his wife.’
‘You? You killed my uncle?’
‘With my own hands.’
She gasped, unable to believe her ears. And she had just submitted to him, been satisfied by him...desperately she fought to keep her emotions under control. ‘But why?’ She managed to speak normally. ‘Why did you have to kill an innocent old man? And all his people? To sacrifice to your filthy black goddess?’
Batraj’s eyes narrowed. ‘You will speak of the great Kali with respect,’ he said. ‘Or I will thrash you to within an inch of your life. Yes, I offered him and his people as a sacrifice. But there was more to it than that. Sooner or later the Company will have to take action against my Thugs. They will send a punitive column to seek us out. To find me they will have to enter territory which is not their own. If, by the time they act, I am Regent of Sittapore, they will have to mount an invasion. My relatives and neighbours will hardly he able to allow that to happen. That will cause war, and war is what I seek.’
Laura was shaking her head in disbelief. ‘War? You wish to go to war with the Company?’
‘How else can they be driven from India? Our people are weak. Once we Marathas were great warriors. We were feared the length and breadth of the land. Now, because the Company managed to defeat us a generation ago, people like Sitraj and his father wish to live in peace with them. That was not the behaviour of our ancestors, of the great Sivaji. He fought until he died. My father was determined to fight like Sivaji, but Rajah Sivitraj the First would have none of it. So my father poisoned him. He had planned to take power, but his own sister turned against him. Bilkis led the people in demanding vengeance for their dead rajah, and my father was forced to flee. I was but a boy then, but I fled with him, and shared his exile. Thus I worshipped at the shrine of Kali, and was inducted into the ranks of her followers, and I took the sacred oath.’ His eyes gleamed, the veins stood out on his forehead, and his voice was strident. Then it quietened. Now I am a man, I must redeem that oath. I must take up the fight. I must force my people to war, as I must make the Rajputs join with us, to drive the British into the sea where they belong. This will happen.’
‘If you fight the British, they will kill you and all your people,’ Laura said, as reasonably as she could. She sensed that inside this unusual man there were two personalities fighting for control. One was undoubtedly that of the Thug, fired with a desire to avenge his father and carry on his father’s work, but the other was a sensitive man with a sense of honour.
Batraj grinned. ‘We are many. They are few. Even with their so-called sepoy soldiers they are few. They cannot kill us all. But we can kill them. Now come back to me. I am ready for you again.’
‘No,’ Laura said. ‘Never. I could not. You are a murderer, a betrayer of your people.’
‘Do not anger me, Laura. My anger is a terrible thing.’
‘If you attempt to touch me I will fight you.’
He grinned. ‘You, fight me?’ He reached for her. She struck at him, but he was closer than she had thought, and her swinging hand with curved nails slashed into his cheek and sent him reeling backwards, blood pouring down his face.
His eyes narrowed. She knew that she had just committed suicide, or worse.
It was worse.
He pulled on his breeches and went outside. She heard him calling his men, and braced herself for the coming ordeal.
She looked to see if there might be some way out of the back of the hut, but there was none. The opening darkened as two men entered, grinning at her. She remembered Sivitraj. She was still helpless. There was nothing she could do, save submit.
The men pulled her outside. The sun immediately scorched her naked body. She was dragged through the village, surrounded by people who stared at her, to where Batraj was waiting by the stream. She could not believe he would so expose her, but he too was smiling as he continued to wipe the blood trickling down his face.
‘It is good that my men should look upon you,’ he said, ‘and see how beautiful you are. And also that they know you are my slave. Even the beautiful Englishwoman, the beautiful Rani, is the slave of Batraj. It is good for them to know this.’
Laura felt as if her entire body was a blush of shame as the men looked at her, appraising her, grinning and chattering amongst themselves. The men kept jerking on her arms, so that her body jerked as well; her gold bangles jangled against each other, and her emerald necklace swayed from breast to breast. To her horror the woman holding Sivitraj held the baby boy up to see his mother, but Sivitraj did not understand, and merely laughed.
Batraj stood beside her, and spoke to his men. While he did so, he fondled her breasts, drove his fingers into her hair and pulled her head backwards so that her mouth opened and she gasped with pain.
‘I am telling my people that when we have driven the British out of Bombay we shall have all of their women, and that there are many like you in Bombay.’
‘There are none like me in Bombay,’ she spat at him, still refusing to give in now she saw that Sivitraj was not apparently in any immediate danger.
‘We shall see.’ He touched the scratch on his cheek. ‘Now you must be punished. My people must see you punished.’
He took the necklace from round her neck, but did not touch her ring. He gave more orders, and the two men holding her arms forced her to her knees. Other men came to seize her legs and drag them away from her backwards, so that she found herself lying on the hot ground, on her stomach, trying desperately to keep her face from the earth, while her hair clouded around her, the men pressing on her wrists and ankles to keep her still.
Batraj stood above her. ‘You will receive twelve strokes of the cane,’ he told her.
Her head jerked. ‘No!’ she shouted. ‘You cannot.’
No Indian would dare whip a white woman. And as for whipping a rani...
‘Twelve strokes,’ he said.
‘You...’ the pain was like a knife across her buttocks, and her words became a scream.
Before she could draw her breath the cane slashed into her again, and again. She found it impossible to breathe properly; her face was ground into the dirt, and the pain was paralysing. The ground beneath her was wet with sweat and blood, and as blow after blow thudded into her, she collapsed.
When the flogging ceased, s
he did not realise it for several seconds. Her entire body was a mass of agony, and she only slowly understood that the men holding her wrists and ankles had released her. But she did not wish to move. To move would bring a renewal of the pain.
Then she heard Sivitraj wailing, and her head rose instinctively.
‘You have caused His Highness to cry,’ Batraj said severely. ‘Get up and comfort him.’
Laura couldn’t move.
‘Get up,’ Batraj said, ‘or would you like to be caned some more?’
Laura slowly pushed herself to her knees. Tears were streaming down her face, and her body was coated with dust. She found she was shaking so that she could hardly stand. The pain was severe, but it was the pain in her mind which was the harder to bear.
She did not look at the men and women standing silently about her as she went towards the baby boy.
‘It’s all right, my darling,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘Mama and Uncle Batraj were just playing a game.’
She could not take him because she was so dirty, so she stretched out a hand and stroked his head. He stopped crying.
‘The mother’s touch,’ Batraj commented. Now wash yourself clean. There is the water.’
Laura hesitated. She wanted to defy him, but she was too exhausted, and in too much pain, to offer the least resistance.
She slid down the bank into the stream and her bottom touched the earth. She gave a little whimper of pain and threw herself forward into the water. It was surprisingly cool, and relieved her tortured flesh. She did duck her head, to rinse her hair again and again. The water also was deeper than she had imagined, and she had a tremendous urge to stay beneath the surface and take great breaths, and drown.
But she could not, because of Sivitraj.
She washed the dust from beneath her bangles, and from under the emerald on her finger. She was the wealthiest woman she had ever known, and she was a slave.
‘That is enough.’ Batraj called from the bank. ‘You are clean. Come out now.’
Laura climbed up the bank.
‘Go into the house,’ he commanded.
It was as much as she could do to walk back through the village in the hot sun, her wet hair plastered to her neck and shoulders, and hold her head high. She came at last to the cool darkness and the blessed privacy. But immediately the doorway was darkened. He was following her.
‘Now come to me,’ he said.
She turned. ‘I am in pain.’
‘That will be interesting, will it not?’
One day, she thought, when Sivitraj is safe, I will drive a dagger into your heart.
*
Scouts sent out by Batraj brought news that there was no sign of any pursuit.
Batraj grinned. ‘They are a spineless people, as is your Lieutenant Bartlett. But it is too soon to return. I must let my agents work on the minds of those who would oppose me. Yet I must occupy my men, or they will wish to share you, my sweetest Laura. There is an English mission at Slopan. We will pay it a visit.’
‘No,’ she begged. ‘For God’s sake, are you not satisfied?’
‘Kali is never satisfied,’ he told her, and made her come to him.
This was the most terrifying part of her ordeal. She hated him and everything about him. She could never forget her humiliation before his men, or the pain he had caused her. Yet he could arouse her, and leave her gasping in loathsome ecstasy.
But to be forced to take part in one of their terrible raids, with murder at the end of it, was more dreadful still.
‘Batraj,’ she said. ‘No more raids, I beg of you. Please, spare the mission, and...’ she drew a long breath. ‘I will never oppose you again.’
He grinned. ‘But you will never oppose me again anyway, Laura. I must occupy my men, and offer a sacrifice to Kali, that she may bless our return to Sittapore with success. And you will come with us.’
She was forced to leave Sivitraj in the care of the Thugs’ women and ride with her husband to Slopan.
*
Slopan was situated some hundred miles south of Sittapore, and was just within Company territory. The Thugs approached it from the north, after a surprisingly rapid march of three days, and made camp in the hills above the village.
‘We will attack at dawn,’ Batraj said. ‘And wipe it from the face of the earth. You will wait until our victory is complete, then you will come to me, there.’
‘Me? For God’s sake, Batraj...’ she protested.
‘Some people will get away. ‘That is inevitable. They will flee to the nearest Company station and report what has happened. They will also report that riding with the Thugs was the white Dowager-Rani of Sittapore. Oh, this will distract the Company.’ He grinned at her. ‘Do not forget your son waits for us in our village.’
*
Laura felt almost physically sick. She had not slept, had even toyed with the idea of attempting to sneak away during the night and warn the village of the catastrophe which was hanging over it. But, as always, she was prevented by the impossibility of abandoning Sivitraj.
Now her reins were attached to those of her guard, a large man named Bedi, to prevent her from even considering escape. They rode at the rear of the company.
In the darkness of the pre-dawn they filed their way down the hillside. Batraj had reconnoitred the area thoroughly, and knew the way. When they were within half a mile of the village, he divided his force, and fifty men rode off to the south-west.
A dog barked, and was silent. Nearer at hand, some goats bleated. The animals could tell there was danger, but the humans slept soundly, secure in the protection of the Company.
Laura shivered. It was in fact quite chilly, but it was the thought of what was going to happen which made her cold.
Bedi smiled at her. ‘You will soon be warm, Highness. Very warm. His Highness will burn the houses when we have finished with the people.’
Laura shuddered.
Batraj had a European watch, a present from his cousin. This he consulted from time to time as he waited for his men to get into position.
In the village a cock crowed, and the dog barked again.
Batraj put away his watch and drew his tulwar. With an immense rasp of steel his men did likewise. The darkness was beginning to turn to grey.
Batraj raised his sword and pointed it, and the Thugs galloped forward. Batraj shouted, ‘Kali!’ and his men responded.
The village came to life. People ran out of their houses, saw the horsemen thundering down upon them, and ran away.
But from the far side of the village came another roar, and the second wave charged.
Bedi kept a tight hold on Laura’s rein, as both horses became restless.
They waited for half an hour, while the screams and yells and shrieks of the villagers rose into the steadily lightening sky. But eventually the noise began to die down; even the dogs ceased to bark.
‘It is time,’ Bedi said, and led Laura down the slope.
A family lay in a cluster outside the first house they came to, father, mother, two sons and a daughter, all cut down by the Thugs. Men were still looting the house, laughing as they rifled the family’s pathetic belongings.
Every few yards, Laura saw another family, ruthlessly slaughtered. Everywhere the Thugs were looting and shouting at each other in triumphant glee.
In the centre of the village there was a cleared space, with a church, and the missionary’s house beside it. This was of course the prize, and the hubbub from within was tremendous. Gathered in the square were some twenty captives, and these, Laura saw with a lurching heart, included several white people. As she drew closer, her horror grew: she had met some of them in Bombay several years before, when they had first arrived from England, full of enthusiasm for their self-appointed duty of converting the Hindus. Now they were being forced to kneel in the dirt in their nightclothes.
And they, as they raised their heads, knew her too.
‘It has been a triumph,’ Batraj shou
ted. ‘A triumph!’ He took Laura’s rein from Bedi, and himself guided her to the huddled group. ‘You know them?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Please...’
‘They will please Kali. There is but one thing wrong. Our attack was so successful that no-one has escaped. We must leave evidence that you have been here.’
‘Yes,’ she gasped. ‘Yes. Let the white people go. They have seen me.’
Batraj grinned. ‘Oh no, they will die. But we shall leave evidence that they have seen you. Make them pray to Kali,’ he told his men. ‘Not the little boy. Keep him for Kali herself.’
Laura turned her face away and wept, as one by one the prisoners were garrotted with the dreadful knotted silk. Only those captured women who were attractive were spared, for the pleasures of the camp. The factor and his wife and daughter were kept until last.
The little boy watched in bewilderment; he was too young to understand what was happening.
‘Can you permit this, Your Highness?’ the husband shouted to Laura. ‘For God’ sake, madam...’
The silk was placed round his throat.
His daughter was killed next, her childish wailing cut to a sinister silence.
His wife seemed to be in a trance, overwhelmed by the catastrophe which had suddenly overtaken her. Perhaps she did not even know she was dying, Laura thought, as the woman was strangled.
‘Give me your emerald,’ Batraj said.
She closed her hand around it. Apart from Sivitraj, it was the only tangible reminder she had of her happiness with Sitraj.
He pointed to the ring. ‘The emerald,’ he said again.
He reached up, forced her hand open, and took the ring from her finger. ‘You have worn this in Bombay,’ he said. ‘Everyone will remember the Rani of Sittapore’s emerald.’ He stooped, opened the dead woman’s hand, and placed the stone in it, then closed the hand around it. Then he grinned. ‘They will think you strangled her with your own hand, while she fought you.’
‘Are you human?’ Laura spat at him.
‘It is the will of Kali,’ he told her.
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