Two days after the first snowfall Wu Li was definitely ill, and Laura insisted that she be allowed to ride. Batraj grumbled. ‘We have no room for weaklings,’ he said.
Laura ignored him, sure of Sivitraj’s support in this instance. Indeed the Rajah led Wu Li’s horse himself, and spoke to her constantly, begging her to believe that they were only a day or two away from warmth and safety. Thus encouraged, Wu Li clenched her tiny mouth and fought on.
In fact Sivitraj was proved right; within the week they began to descend to Spin Buldak. This was even more dangerous than climbing up, for the mountain trails were slippery, and as they came down through the clouds the snow turned to rain.
However, they made it to the valley of the Dori without loss, and that night found refuge in a small caravanserai outside the town.
Here there was soon a roaring fire, and Batraj managed to purchase a young goat, which was roasted to provide the most satisfying meal Laura could ever remember, while the villagers and their children gathered in the entrance to gaze at these strange beings who had appeared from the mountains, and most of all at the golden-haired woman.
‘It is not far to the pass now,’ Batraj assured them. ‘But we will rest here for the next two days.’
This sounded heavenly, but next morning it was clear that Wu Li was dying. She had summoned all her strength to make the descent into safety; now she had none left.
Sivitraj was deeply upset, and sat beside the bed of straw on which the girl lay, holding her hand and gazing at her with sombre eyes. Batraj spent most of the day with the village elders, who were anxious to have news of what was happening in the rest of the country, and clearly did not much like what he had to tell them.
During the night Wu Li died.
*
There were no facilities in the village for cremation, so Wu Li was buried outside the caravanserai wall. Laura doubted that any of the party save herself, Sivitraj and Mary truly mourned the unhappy Chinese woman; to Batraj she had been just another appendage.
‘Actually, it is best she is gone,’ Batraj confided to Laura that evening. ‘Now we can bring Sivitraj and Sharita together.’
*
At the end of their three-day rest, feeling much refreshed and with their stores replenished, they set out again, following now the valley of the Dori for the Khojak Pass.
It was like leaving a secure port to put to sea in a storm, for the rain continued to teem down, the river was swollen and boisterous, and the pass itself nothing more than a cleft in the mountain wall which led them to more mountains. Now the rain changed again to snow, and it was obvious that Batraj’s prediction that they would leave the mountains behind before the onset of winter had been unduly optimistic.
With increasing difficulty they struggled onwards. It was only sixty-odd miles from the pass to the village of Quetta, but it took them more than a week, and when they again reached safety, in the midst of a blinding snowstorm, Laura begged Batraj to allow them to spend the winter in shelter. But he refused, and two days later they were again on their way, for the Bolan Pass into Sind.
This took several more days of hard slogging, but once through this last gateway they were descending into the Valley of the Indus. They reached the lower ground at the beginning of December, to enjoy the unfamiliar warm air, the subtropical vegetation, and to look back at the huge mountains, almost lost behind the great black clouds, through which they had come.
‘It is all easy now,’ Batraj assured them.
*
They were now in the land of the Baluchis, fierce desert warriors who rode to battle in vast brigades of cavalry, wielding sword and spear. Batraj told Laura how Sind had once been part of the empire of Seleucus, one of Alexander’s generals, but how before that it had been, according to legend, the seat of one of the earliest civilisations.
Laura found this hard to credit as she gazed at the miles of sandy desert across which they were making their way. But for all its aridity, Sind was watered by the mighty Indus. The river irrigated the land for some distance to either side, and enabled the Baluchis to prosper.
Now they had to worry about the British.
Sind was officially outside Company control, being broken up into several independent amirates, but as it bordered Company territory to the east it had long been ‘invaded’ by Company Residents seeking favourable treaties. The uneasy relations between the Baluchis and the British had come to a head three years before, when the Company had been forced to march through Sind to gain Afghanistan. Naturally they had resolved to use the river as much as possible, but when the Baluchis disputed this, their fort at Kurrachee had been bombarded and captured, and their capital of Hyderabad, some thirty miles up-river, had also been taken. The amirs had been forced to sign treaties of peace and co-operation with the Company, a Residency had been established in Hyderabad, and a fortress with a strong garrison at Sukkur, a further hundred and fifty miles to the north.
Laura now began to understand Batraj’s purpose. It was evident that the Baluchis deeply resented their enforced friendship with the Company, and Batraj might well hope to find friends and even allies amongst them.
But first it was necessary to reach the river, and this they did before Christmas. Here they were able to find places on a caravan of boats proceeding downstream. They sold their remaining horses and heaved their belongings on board. It was such a relief to be able to sit down and watch the banks drifting by, rather than having to force oneself to place one foot in front of the other, time and time and time again.
‘Where are we going?’ Laura asked lazily.
‘Hyderabad.’
‘Hyderabad?’ she cried.
He grinned. ‘This is not the Hyderabad in the Deccan. This is the Hyderabad at the mouth of the Indus. I have friends in this Hyderabad.’
*
Batraj was, apparently, well known all along the river, and at every stopping place went ashore to talk with the local head man. Sometimes these grim characters came back to the boat with him, to send shivers up and down Laura’s spine as they gazed at her or, even worse, at Mary.
They were tall, gaunt men, with straggling beards and moustaches, who wore long kaftans and turbans, and carried fearsome curved swords and daggers. They made Dost Mohammed seem like an English country gentleman.
‘Are they a united people?’ she asked Batraj.
‘They should be. And they will be,’ he replied. ‘All they need is leadership.’
‘Which you hope to provide.’
He grinned. ‘Am I not a born leader of men?’
*
Their way downriver naturally took them past the fortress of Sukkur. They concealed themselves in the boats as best they could, while Laura gazed longingly at the red-coated Sepoys patrolling the battlements above the river. But she no longer had any great faith in the power of the British to control native affairs, however triumphantly they might have returned to Kabul.
What awaited her in Hyderabad, she had no idea.
*
Hyderabad turned out to be a town of considerable size, situated mainly on the left or eastern bank of the river. Laura observed with a leap of the heart that immediately north of the city was a large compound surrounded by a white paling fence, from the main building of which there flew a Union Jack. Batraj had not told her there were Englishmen here.
Like Afghanistan, Sind was mainly a Muslim community and, Laura gathered from the numbers of mosques and veiled women, a much more orthodox one than Kabul.
‘They take their religion very seriously here,’ Batraj said. ‘You will all wear the veil.’
So once again the women concealed themselves, and remained on the boat after it had been tied up alongside the wooden dock, while Batraj and Sivitraj went ashore to seek Batraj’s friends.
Nanja sat beside Laura. ‘His Highness has spoken with me about the matter of the Rajah’s marriage,’ she confided.
Laura continued gazing at the shore, and the people moving to and fro
with their flocks of sheep, their chickens, their agricultural products, making for the marketplace.
‘Your daughter is very young,’ she remarked.
‘Not so,’ Nanja argued. ‘Twelve is the right age for a wife to go to her husband. Sharita passes blood as a grown woman.’
‘We will have to consider the matter,’ Laura said.
*
They were escorted ashore to the home of one of the Baluchi chieftains. It was a spacious if somewhat ramshackle building on the right bank of the river. Here they were greeted by Abbas Ali Khan who, Batraj informed them, was a very powerful sheikh.
‘He is my friend,’ he told Laura. ‘And I would make him more of one.’
‘You did not tell me there were Company officials here,’ she said.
‘There are Company officials everywhere,’ Batraj growled. ‘but here, my dear Laura, they have even established what they call a Residency, which is a constant affront to my friends. Truly the arrogance of your people would be unimaginable, were it not real.’
‘The people do not appear very resentful of the situation,’ she remarked.
‘They do not understand the perfidy of the Company,’ he explained. ‘For the moment, they believe their business is simply to trade. They do not realise that the Company intends to annexe their lands.’
‘You cannot know that either,’ Laura said.
‘Have I not the evidence of my own eyes? The Resident has, as if he were some monarch, summoned all the amirs in southern Sind to come to Hyderabad at the beginning of next month in order to affirm their loyalty to the Company, and sign a proper treaty. My friends do not appreciate that at the very least the Company is seeking to establish what they call a protectorate, so that they can tell these people what they can and cannot do.’
‘And you conceive it your duty to enlighten them on these matters?’
Batraj grinned. ‘Why else would I be here? But first I have more important duties to perform. I must secure Abbas Ali Khan’s support.’ He gave her a sideways glance. ‘One of his wives has recently died in childbirth. The poor fellow was quite upset. But his period of mourning is just ended. Is this not convenient?’
For a few moments what he had just said did not penetrate Laura’s brain. She sat up very straight. ‘No!’
‘My dear Laura, Mary must be married. As she is my daughter, she must be married as advantageously as possible.’
‘You would marry a twelve-year-old girl to that...that...’
‘Abbas Ali Khan is a great chieftain, a wealthy man, and he is in the prime of life,’ Batraj pointed out. ‘Our daughter could hardly make a more advantageous match, from every point of view. As for her age, she is certainly nubile. I am in fact about to marry Sivitraj to Nanja’s daughter.’
‘How can you marry a rajah to the daughter of a common woman?’
‘Now, you know very well Nanja is by no means a common woman. Her father was a wealthy man. That she chose to follow her husband is to her credit. I am not suggesting that Sharita will be Sivitraj’s only wife, or indeed his principal one, should things go well for us, but he needs a wife.’
‘A creature of yours to bind him the more closely to you,’ Laura said bitterly.
‘A wife who will respect and honour him,’ Batraj corrected.
*
As usual, Laura realised, she was utterly helpless.
Her only hope seemed to lie in her children themselves, and thus she had a talk with Mary.
‘Has you father spoken with you, about marriage?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes, Mama. Isn’t it exciting?’
‘Exciting?’ Laura cried. ‘How can it be exciting to marry a man four times your age?’
‘Papa says it is right for a husband to be much older than a wife,’ Mary said.
‘He does, does he? Do you realise that you will have to become a Muslim?’
‘I think that is a good religion, Mama.’
Laura sighed. ‘I had so hoped you would marry an Englishman.’
‘Why?’ Mary asked with devastating simplicity.
‘Well, because they are the best people in the world.’
‘How can you say that, Mama? Papa says they are rude and arrogant, and aggressive and warlike. He says they seek to conquer the whole of India. He says they are only succeeding because of their superior weapons, and because the Indians will not unite against them. He says that when the Indians unite against them, they will be helpless, as we saw in Afghanistan.’
Laura was left speechless in the face of such a damning and accurate indictment.
‘Besides,’ Mary finished even more devastatingly. ‘You did not marry an Englishman.’
Laura bit her lip, and tried her last resort. ‘Have you any idea what marriage will entail?’
Mary smiled. ‘Oh, yes, Mama. Sharita and I have often talked about it, and Aunt Nanja has told us about it too. She has even shown us what men do. I think it will be most enjoyable.’
*
Laura was utterly scandalised at the thought of Nanja showing her daughter what a man would do to her, but she knew it would be a waste of time complaining to Batraj. She sought out Sivitraj instead.
‘Do you know what your stepfather is up to?’ she demanded.
‘My stepfather deals in many things,’ Sivitraj said cautiously.
‘Well, firstly, he means to stir up trouble against the British here in Hyderabad.’
‘It is the only way we will ever drive them from India.’
‘And you think that is desirable?’
‘Should I not? I am a descendent of the Great Sivaji.’
Laura realised she must abandon that line immediately.
‘Do you also know that he means to marry your sister off to Abbas Ali Khan?’
Sivitraj nodded. ‘She is a fortunate girl. The Khan is a great man.’
Laura raised her eyes to heaven. ‘He is old enough to be her grandfather. And how do you know he is a great man?’
‘Well...’ Sivitraj hesitated.
‘Because Batraj has told you.’
‘He has the aura of greatness,’ Sivitraj said stubbornly. ‘Many men call him Khan, a whole army of them. And he will help us in our designs. He will be our ally.’
Laura sighed. ‘Prince Batraj also seeks to marry you to Sharita.’
Sivitraj’s eyes gleamed. ‘She is a pretty girl.’
‘And will she also be your ally?’
‘She will be my wife, Mother.’
*
Batraj was spending much of his time arranging for the two ceremonies, and conferring with Abbas Ali Khan and various other chieftains; once the news that Abbas was preparing to marry again got out, the Baluchi leaders had every reason to come to the town. The amirs were coming anyway, for the meeting with the Resident, which was set for 12 February. That Batraj was hatching some kind of a plot was obvious, however, and that the plot would involve an assault upon the British Residency seemed more obvious yet.
Left a good deal to herself, Laura took to walking out, duly wrapped up in a shawl and veil, and seeing what she could learn about the situation. She was now determined to oppose Batraj in every possible way, and to bring him down if it cost her her own life. She knew this would entail breaking her solemn promise to him, but that promise had been extracted under duress, because of her fears for Sivitraj, as in later years she had been constrained by her fears for Mary. But both Mary and Sivitraj now seemed irrevocably lost to her. She did not suppose that whatever she did would lead Batraj to harm them, however, he needed them both too much.
Besides, she had broken her promise before. Their relationship, such as it was, lay in ruins. Only vengeance was left to her.
She took to studying the Residency. It was certainly a large and imposing edifice, gleaming white in the sun, with a flat and castellated roof, above which the Union Jack flew proudly in the breeze. It was surrounded by a considerable number of outbuildings, and by the fence; but that could hardly be considered a defence. The
fourth side faced the river, and consisted mainly of a dock, alongside which were two small paddlesteamers.
After careful observation, she concluded that the garrison consisted of about one hundred men, and that there were also a considerable number of officials and their wives and children. Her heart sank; was this going to be a repetition of the tragedy of Kabul?
The question was how to warn them of the danger hanging over their heads?
*
Her first opportunity came a week after their arrival, when she was in the marketplace. Nanja and Mary and Sharita were with her, all heavily cloaked and veiled like the native women around them. But there were also two white women, in hooped skirts and poke bonnets, their faces exposed to the sun, examining the fruit before buying it.
Laura knew she had to grasp this chance, so she lingered behind Nanja, also appearing to examine the melons. Finally, she found herself standing beside the Englishwomen.
‘It is very important that I speak with you,’ she said in a low voice, in English, not looking at them.
Their heads jerked. One of them was quite young, in her mid-thirties, with a pretty freckled face and auburn curls peeping out from beneath her bonnet. The other was much older, and had a somewhat severe face.
‘Please do not show surprise,’ Laura said. ‘I have news of great importance for the Resident.’
The Englishwomen looked at each other. But they were both sensible, and reacted well. They picked up some more fruit, apparently not noticing the woman beside them. ‘Who are you?’ asked the younger woman.
Laura took a deep breath. ‘My name was once Laura Dean.’ There was a muffled exclamation from beside her, and she hurried on. ‘Do you come to the market regularly?’
‘Every week,’ said the other woman.
‘Arrange a meeting for me with the Resident,’ Laura said. ‘I shall be here a week today for your answer.’
She could do nothing more; Nanja was looking over her shoulder, wondering where she had got to. Laura hurried off to join her.
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