Sword of Empire

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘Stand up, girl,’ she told Wu Li.

  Wu Li scrambled to her feet, still trembling.

  Laura looked her up and down. Although of very slight build, she was a decidedly attractive young woman.

  ‘Make my son happy,’ Laura told her, and left the room.

  *

  News from the front arrived on 23 July, in the form of a tavachi, or aide-de-camp of the Amir, who rode a failing horse into the city, and told in the market place of the terrible disaster which had overtaken the army.

  Apparently the Company troops had attacked, and swept all before them. The tavachi’s voice trembled as he spoke of the terrible bayonets, advancing in line and destroying every man that attempted to stand up to them.

  ‘Where is the Amir?’ he was asked.

  ‘Fled,’ he told them. ‘Dost Mohammed is a fugitive.’

  Laura and Nanja had joined the throng to listen, and Laura could hardly believe her ears. She managed to get close to the tavachi. ‘What news of Prince Batraj?’ she asked.

  ‘The Prince fell in battle, Highness.’

  Laura stared at him. ‘He is dead?’

  ‘I saw him fall from his horse, Highness. I believe he is dead, but I did not see him die.’

  ‘And my husband, Captain Vijay Dal?’ Nanja asked.

  ‘I do not know. He was with the Prince.’

  Laura hurried back to her house, Nanja at her heels.

  ‘Our husbands are either dead or prisoners. What will you do?’ asked the Indian woman, who was now her closest friend.

  Laura tried to think. Batraj is dead, she thought. Batraj is dead! My eleven years of imprisonment are finished. Batraj is dead.

  ‘Will you flee this place?’ Nanja asked.

  Flee? Into the mountains, to become again the plaything of a robber chieftain?

  ‘We shall wait here, for the British to come,’ Laura said.

  Nanja looked doubtful. ‘Will they not hang you?’

  ‘I do not believe so. My son is the rightful ruler of Sittapore, and I am the rightful Regent. I will swear that you and I were forced to become Thugs. It will be their duty to take Sivitraj and ourselves back to Sittapore, and install him as ruler.’

  Nanja continued to look doubtful, but she had nothing better to offer.

  *

  A fortnight after the defeat outside Ghazni the people of Kabul heard the screech of the fifes and the thunder of the drums, as the British came sweeping down from the mountains.

  It was some considerable time since Kabul had fallen to an invader, and no-one knew quite what to do. The garrison had originally been determined to defend the city, but the news that Dost Mohammed had himself fled into the mountains had had its effect, and the men had melted away. At the sound of the fifes and drums their officers followed them.

  August was normally a very busy month in the Bala Hissar, the great marketplace, but the traders too had taken their leave; they had no desire to be caught in the crossfire. Now Kabul was a city of old men, young boys and frightened women, waiting to feel how heavy might be the hand of the conqueror.

  Most windows were boarded up. Laura had seen to this immediately, while there had been some risk of resistance, but she and the children, Miljah, Wu Li and Nanja went up on to the flat roof to watch the British arrive.

  A regiment of horse came first, proud turbanned fellows with long lances, a glitter of blue and gold, led by British officers. They looked to left and right as they walked their horses through the empty streets, aware that they were being watched, ready to respond to the first shot.

  Behind them came a infantry British regiment, with red jackets and white trousers, knapsacks on their backs secured by white crossbelts; squares of white cloth hung down from their shakoes to protect their necks from the sun. They marched with muskets at the slope, their bayonets fixed, a glittering column of steel; these were the weapons which had driven the Afghans from the field in panic.

  Behind the first foot soldiers came a great number of generals and dignitaries. Some wore uniform, their breasts adorned with medals and stars; others were in civilian clothes but none the less arrogant for that; and quite a few were in Afghan dress. Among them rode Shah Shuja. It was now some thirty years since he had been expelled from Kabul, and Laura saw an old and stout gentleman, very richly dressed to be sure, but also obviously terrified. In that moment she realised the expedition was going to be a failure.

  But also in that moment she recognised one of the two Englishmen riding close behind the new Amir. It was Alexander Burnes.

  *

  Laura could not believe her good fortune. She wanted to rush out and call out to him, there and then. But commonsense told her to wait until the parade was over. He was her friend, and he had promised her his assistance; another hour or two would not hurt her.

  The rest of the army followed the dignitaries. Several regiments of Sepoys, with their British officers, then the artillery, then another regiment of lancers, and a horde of Afghan irregulars, the followers of Shah Shuja. Lastly came a huge wagon train which stretched out of sight, attended by a moving nation of men and women, goats and chickens, children and dogs. After the officers had passed by, Laura left the roof.

  She had to prepare herself.

  *

  Laura dressed with great care, in a white sari. She discarded her gold bangles, but wore her emerald necklace, as well as an emerald bracelet given her by Dost Mohammed.

  ‘Will the soldiers not rob you?’ Miljah inquired.

  ‘They will not dare,’ Laura said, as confidently as she could.

  The Bala Hissar, or market place, had become a vast military camp. Bugle calls punctuated the afternoon, orders were barked, horsemen galloped to and fro raising yet more dust.

  As it became apparent that the city was not to be given over to the sack, doors opened and people, especially children, ventured out on to the street to peer at the soldiers.

  Laura wrapped herself in a haik and wore a veil, so that only her eyes showed as she left her house accompanied by Nanja and Miljah, similarly attired. Thirteen-year-old Prince Sivitraj accompanied them, his finest clothing concealed beneath a rough robe.

  The generals and dignitaries had of course taken possession of the palace, and there were armed guards, English soldiers, on the gates. There was also a large crowd of petitioners, seeking an audience with the conquering general, mostly men of the merchant class, for all the Afghan nobility had fled with Dost Mohammed, fearing the vengeance of Shah Shuja. There was no order; people jostled and fought to speak with the Afghan dragoman who stood with the Captain of the guard. Most were told to stand back and wait until the general or the envoys or the new Amir had the time to see them.

  Laura pushed and shoved her way through the throng until she reached the front. The soldiers frowned as they realised that here was someone rather different from the rest.

  ‘I wish to speak with Mr Burnes,’ Laura said in English.

  Heads turned within the gates, and the Captain came closer.

  ‘Who are you?’ he demanded, also in English.

  ‘I am the Dowager Rani of Sittapore,’ Laura told him. ‘With me is my son, the Rajah of Sittapore.’

  The officer looked her up and down, and Laura took the veil from her head, just enough to reveal the golden hair beneath.

  ‘By God!’ the Englishman commented. ‘Miss Laura Dean!’

  ‘The Dowager Rani of Sittapore,’ Laura corrected him. ‘Open the gate and allow this woman to enter.’

  ‘And my people,’ Laura said.

  The captain hesitated, then nodded.

  The gate was opened just enough for Laura and Sivitraj to squeeze through, followed by Nanja and Miljah. The crowd set up a great babble and pressed forward, but the gates were forced shut again.

  ‘You’ll take command here, sergeant, until I return,’ the Captain said. ‘Allow no-one else in. Please come with me, Highness.’

  Laura followed him into the palace and up the wide front s
tairs.

  Several red-coated officers stopped to stare, but she ignored them as she was ushered into a great reception room filled with more officers, Afghan and British. She was led through double doors at the end into a smaller chamber, where desks had hastily been placed to accommodate the military secretaries. A short, red-faced man, whose scarlet tunic was a mass of gold braid and military orders, looked up angrily as they entered.

  ‘What’s this?’ he demanded. ‘I gave orders that no-one was to be admitted at this time.’

  ‘With respect, sir,’ the Captain said. ‘This is the Dowager Rani of Sittapore.’

  Laura took the veil entirely from her head, and looked the officer straight in the eye.

  The General’s reaction was the same as his subordinate’s. ‘Good God!’ he commented. ‘You, madam, have come to us?’

  ‘Are you in command here?’ Laura demanded, certain that she would only triumph by being as arrogant as he.

  ‘I am in military command. Sir John Keane, at your service. No, that is incorrect. I am not at your service, madam.’

  ‘My son and I have been held prisoner in Kabul for eleven years, sir,’ Laura told him. ‘Now I seek a restoration of Prince Sivitraj’s rights, and mine.’ Sivitraj had moved forward, urged by Miljah, to stand beside his mother, and he also took off his cloak to reveal himself to the General.

  ‘Rights,’ Keane muttered, looking from one to the other. ‘This is a civil matter,’ he decided with some relief. ‘You had best see Sir William. See to it, Carpenter.’

  ‘Yes, sir. If you’ll come this way, madam...’ Captain Carpenter ushered Laura and Sivitraj to the door, followed as always by Miljah and Nanja. Laura realised that she was being passed on like an unclaimed parcel, but she could do nothing about it. Maybe it truly was a civil matter.

  She was shown into another reception room, where there were more desks and secretaries, and more streams of orders being dictated. But these men were all civilians. Dominating them was an Englishman, standing in the centre of the room, who glared at the intruders even more formidably than Keane had done.

  ‘My apologies for this interruption, Sir William,’ Carpenter said. ‘But General Keane is of the opinion that you would wish to interview this lady.’

  The man had ridden behind Shah Shuja on his entry into the city Laura remembered. He was tall and clean-shaven, but with an unutterably supercilious expression on his face. ‘You must be Laura Dean,’ he remarked.

  ‘I am the Dowager Rani of Sittapore,’ Laura told him. ‘And this is my son, the Rajah of Sittapore.’

  The room fell silent as men raised their heads to look at her.

  Sir William gave a slight bow. ‘Sir William McNaghton, Her Majesty’s Commissioner for Afghanistan,’ he said. ‘What is it you wish of me, madam?’

  ‘Why, sir, as I have just been released from eleven years’ captivity, I now seek to be returned to Sittapore with my son, that he may take his rightful place upon his throne. The gentleman with whom I wish to speak is Mr Burnes.’

  McNaghton stared at her for some seconds. Then he said, ‘I think you must mean Sir Alexander Burnes. You had best come in here, madam.’ He nodded, and a secretary opened an inner door.

  Laura stepped through. Sivitraj made to follow her, but was checked by McNaghton.

  ‘We wish to speak with your mother alone, Sir,’ he said, and followed Laura into the inner room, closing the door behind him.

  Laura opened her mouth to protest, and then thought better of it. She was prepared to use every weapon at her disposal to gain her end, and it was probably better that Sivitraj not he present. At another makeshift desk, covered in papers, Alexander Burnes sat. Laura was intensely relieved to observe that he seemed to have changed not a whit in the seven years since they had last met, being as stout as she remembered, and possessed of a face which was clearly still used to smiling. There was no-one else present.

  ‘You will never credit whom we have here, Burnes,’ McNaghton said.

  Burnes stood up. ‘The Dowager Rani!’

  ‘The very same. Demanding restitution to her jaghir, for herself and her son, no less.’

  There was only one chair in the room. Burnes brought this round in front of his desk, then held Laura’s hands and kissed them. ‘Do be seated, Your Highness.’

  ‘You seem surprised to see me, sir,’ she remarked as she sat down.

  ‘We expected that you would have fled Kabul,’ Burnes said. ‘With your...ah...husband.’

  ‘My husband, Prince Batraj, was killed in the battle outside Ghazni,’ Laura told them. ‘As for fleeing with him, I have been his prisoner ever since he abducted me from Sittapore in January 1828, as I once explained to you.’

  ‘You mean you were his accomplice in crime,’ McNaghton corrected.

  ‘I was abducted, sir, together with my son.’

  ‘Do you deny being a devotee of the Goddess Kali?’

  ‘I was forced to it, sir.’

  ‘As no doubt you were forced to commit murder at Slopan.’

  ‘I did not commit murder at Slopan, sir.’ Laura spoke quietly, determined to lose neither her composure nor her temper. ‘I was forced to witness what happened there, and afterwards my ring was left to establish my presence. This was part of my husband’s plan to bind me to him.’

  ‘And you have remained bound ever since,’ McNaghton said contemptuously.

  ‘That is correct,’ Laura said.

  ‘Do you really expect us to believe that?’

  ‘It is the truth.’

  ‘The truth can only be decided by a court of law, madam.’

  ‘I am the Dowager Rani of Sittapore,’ Laura declared. ‘I am not subject to Company law or English law.’

  ‘You think so, madam? Well, let me tell you...’

  Burnes, who had been listening in silence, cleared his throat, and McNaghton glared at him.

  ‘I think it would be best to keep our tempers,’ Burnes said quietly. He addressed Laura. ‘The situation is a difficult one for us all, Highness. Let me put it to you very plainly. You were, as you say, Dowager Rani of Sittapore. But you forfeited that status by your marriage to Prince Batra...’ he held up his hand as Laura would have spoken, ‘...even though you were forced into that alliance. As for your not being subject to Company or English law, you happen at this moment to be in Afghanistan, and Afghanistan is now under British military rule.’

  Laura gazed at him in consternation, feeling a slow tightening of her stomach muscles.

  ‘Additionally, your husband is a proscribed robber and murderer, both in Sittapore and in all territories governed by the Company, and you are regarded as his accomplice. Now, it may well be that you are telling the absolute truth, and that you were forced to participate in everything of which you are accused. These are matters, as my colleague has said, which can only be finally resolved by a court of law. But you should consider that, lacking any witnesses in your favour, you may find the verdict of the court against you.’

  Laura sat very straight. ‘Am I under arrest? You once promised me your assistance, Sir Alexander.’

  Burnes glanced at McNaghton, and then looked at her again. ‘I am endeavouring to fulfil that promise, Highness. To arrest, and then try, an Englishwoman on a charge of Thuggee would be very distasteful, and would do little credit to our affairs here in India. Especially if things went badly for you. I am sure you will understand that.’

  ‘What are you trying to tell me?’ Laura demanded.

  ‘That it will be in your best interests simply to continue to play the role which fate has given you, and in which...’ he allowed his gaze to wander up and down her sari, noting the richness of the material, her jewellery and her obvious health, ‘...you would appear to have prospered. As your present husband is dead, I would recommend that you return to your house, and live there as a Hindu widow should, attending to your personal matters and your children. For our part, Sir William and I will forget that this interview ever took place.’
r />   Laura stared at him, unable to believe her ears. ‘You are condemning me to spend the rest of my life in Kabul?’

  ‘It is your home, is it not?’ McNaghton asked.

  ‘But what of my son? He is Rajah of Sittapore!’

  ‘Sittapore already has a rajah, Highness,’ Burnes said. ‘Rajah Partaj has now been on the throne for eleven years, and is accepted by his people and by the Company as the rightful ruler. The return of your son would only lead to discord and perhaps civil war, especially were he to be accompanied by yourself. In that case, the Company would have to take steps to correct the situation. I would therefore most strongly advise you to make no attempt to regain your son’s inheritance.’

  Laura stood up. ‘I had never thought to hear such words spoken to me by my own countrymen.’

  ‘You have just claimed no longer to be English,’ McNaghton reminded her. ‘So we are hardly to be considered your countrymen.’

  Laura glared at him, then marched to the door and opened it. She seized her son’s hand, and led him to the outer room, where Miljah and Nanja were still waiting.

  ‘We shall go home,’ she told them, and went towards the outer porch and the stairs.

  At the top, she saw an officer coming up: Guy Bartlett.

  *

  They stared at each other, and Laura realised that in her angry haste to be away from the British envoys she had forgotten to replace her veil.

  Guy was equally taken aback, but before he could say anything she had swept past him and down the stairs, pulling her veil over her head.

  She almost ran home, dismissed her servants and her son, retired to her bedchamber, and threw herself on the divan to burst into tears. That she might be so utterly rejected — and by Burnes of all people — had simply not occurred to her. She was innocent of anything more than a desire to preserve her son, but she was condemned to a life of...she had no idea, sat up and looked around her in the wildest dismay.

  Was this house, then, to be her prison? Batraj had left her a considerable amount of money, and she had her jewels. Presumably she could live here, if she practised a careful economy until Sivitraj was grown up and able to support her.