Sword of Empire

by Christopher Nicole

  *

  Fortunately, Nanja was far too excited about the coming weddings to be suspicious about anything that might have happened in the market. The next week was a busy time, as saris were sewn and food was prepared. It was to be a double wedding, for the Rajah of Sittapore, as Batraj insisted upon calling Sivitraj, and the Princess Mary were to be married on the same day.

  Laura, having once embarked upon her plan to warn the Residency, abandoned all attempt to oppose the weddings, and played her part as enthusiastically as any of the women. But she had an uneasy feeling that Batraj was only waiting for Abbas Ali Khan to become his son-in-law before inciting the Baluchis to action; time was very short.

  She continued to be fortunate, however. The following week Nanja was too busy to go to the market, and Laura went with Mary, her heartbeat quickening as she saw the two women, who today had with them a man dressed in civilian clothes. He was obviously there for the purpose of speaking with her, from the way he looked at her expectantly as she came in sight.

  ‘Wait here,’ Laura told Mary. ‘I wish to speak with those people.’

  ‘English people?’ Mary said contemptuously.

  ‘I want news. It may be of use to your father,’ Laura said, and went over to them.

  ‘Are you really the Dowager Rani of Sittapore?’ the man asked.

  Laura could not take off her veil in public, but she pulled a strand of golden hair from beneath it for just a moment before tucking it out of sight again.

  ‘My God!’ the man commented.

  ‘I must speak with the resident,’ Laura said.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ the man asked.

  ‘I am here with Prince Batraj. We have come here from Kabul.’

  The man nodded, as if he had guessed that. ‘And now you seek to escape him? We wish no trouble with the Baluchis, Your Highness. Perhaps you are unaware that they about to sign a treaty of amity with the Company’s representatives.’

  ‘For Heaven’s sake, I am seeking to save your lives,’ Laura said, vehemently. ‘Why do you suppose Batraj is here? It is to make trouble between the Company and the Baluchis. Whatever treaty the amirs may sign with you will be meaningless.’

  The man frowned at her.

  ‘It is the truth,’ Laura said.

  ‘This so-called prince is your husband,’ the man pointed out.

  ‘Do you think I married him willingly? But yes, he is my husband. So I know what he is about. You must listen to me!’

  She was growing desperate, because passers-by were glancing at them and she could tell that Mary was becoming impatient.

  ‘I will certainly report what you have said to the Resident,’ the man said. ‘Have you details of what your husband proposes?’

  ‘No. But I will obtain them. I will give my information to the Resident personally.’ She could not take a chance on her warning being accepted and herself not; her very life was at stake now.

  ‘Hm. Well, I will see what can be done. Will you be here a week today?’

  Another week. These people seemed to have no sense of the urgency of the situation.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Listen to me. I will come to the residency next Monday night.’ It was the night of the wedding, but it would be her best chance of getting away.

  ‘The treaty will have been signed by then. The amirs are meeting with the Resident on Sunday the twelfth.’

  ‘And I have told you that whatever is agreed with the amirs will be meaningless. But nothing will happen until after Monday. Tell the Resident this, and that I will come to the Residency on Monday night. I do not know what time it will be. You must arrange for me to be admitted.’

  The man was frowning again. ‘How are we to know it is not some plot?’

  ‘What am I supposed to do?’ Laura asked, keeping her temper with great difficulty. ‘I am a woman alone. Oh, have your people search me, if you wish. But please allow me to speak with the Resident.’

  The man hesitated, but the younger of the two women now interfered. ‘I am sure Miss Dean can be trusted, Walter,’ she said. ‘You have read what Lady Sale wrote of her.’

  Florentia! ‘Is Lady Sale safe?’ Laura cried.

  ‘Oh, indeed.’ The woman touched Laura’s hand. ‘We will speak of it on Monday. It will be arranged, I promise you.’ Laura hurried away to rejoin Mary.

  ‘They had much to say to you,’ Mary commented.

  ‘They had news of Afghanistan. Lady Sale is safe. Isn’t that splendid?’

  *

  Laura had no idea how she was going to get away on the night of the wedding, but it seemed her best chance: she knew that however orthodox Abbas Ali Khan was it was certainly Batraj’s intention to serve alcohol at his daughter’s wedding.

  More and more Baluchi tribesmen came to town, ostensibly to celebrate the wedding of their leader. Laura thought that the mere presence of so many men should alert the Resident, but there was no evidence of it, and on the Sunday the amirs duly attended the Residency and returned in great good humour having, they said, entirely satisfied the British requirements. Laura would have liked to ask them if the British had not inquired as to the presence of the wanted criminal Prince Batraj in their city, but she dared not.

  On the Monday, the guests were a mass of finery and jewels. Laura, with her emeralds, outshone them all.

  Batraj and Sivitraj both wore the uniforms of general officers in the Sittapore army. These had been freshly made for them by the seamstresses, and they both looked extremely handsome. Abbas Ali Khan wore a red kaftan decorated with green motifs, and kept darting glances at his prospective mother-in-law.

  Laura looked at the other guests, all Baluchi chieftains, and thought that if only the British had been prepared to listen to her from the beginning, the Resident might have been able to arrest all of these men at one swoop. But they had just signed that vital treaty of amity.

  The ceremonies were both Muslim and Hindu, and lasted for some time. Then there was a great feast, at which a good deal of alcohol was consumed. Laura pretended to drink with them, as most of the women were doing, while she watched her children with anxious eyes. But both Sivitraj and his sister were clearly enjoying themselves.

  She could promise them nothing but hardship now. Yet she knew it had to be done.

  After several hours she pretended to become visibly tired, yawned and even nodded off from time to time, to be shaken awake by Batraj.

  ‘How long does this go on?’ she asked.

  ‘Until dawn at least,’ he said.

  ‘I must lie down,’ she said. ‘Or I will faint.’

  He did not object and so, as unobtrusively as possible, she left the room and made her way along the corridors to the apartment she shared with Batraj. There she put on her veil, opened the door, and met Nanja.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Nanja inquired, her tone entirely lacking in respect. But then, Laura realised, we are now mothers-in-law.

  ‘I need some fresh air,’ she replied. ‘I will not be long.’

  ‘I will come with you,’ Nanja said.

  Laura hesitated, but to refuse her would be to arouse her suspicions even further. Moreover, she had told Batraj she was going to lie down.

  ‘Very well,’ she said.

  She realised that she was approaching perhaps the most important moment of her life. Always, before, however irrevocably she might appear to have acted, she had always left herself an escape route. Had her marriage with Sitraj proved unhappy, she could have fled back to Bombay and her own people. When Batraj had carried her off, no matter how often she had rebelled, she had always known that she had but to surrender to him to survive. Even now, she had imagined she would be able to warn the Resident, and return to play her role as Batraj’s wife.

  Now she had to accept that that was impossible. Either she must abandon any idea of going to the Residency tonight, knowing there might never be another opportunity, or she must somehow eliminate Nanja while she escaped. And once she did that, she could never
return.

  She felt her heartbeat, which had been very quick, begin to slow. The decision was taken.

  Nanja reappeared, also wrapped in a shawl. ‘Where do you wish to go?’

  ‘Somewhere quiet. I have a headache.’

  ‘It is a great occasion.’ Nanja walked beside her into the yard. ‘Are you not proud?’

  ‘What have I to be proud of?’ Laura asked.

  Nanja smiled. ‘I am proud.’

  ‘Well, you have every reason to be.’ There was no moon, but it was a clear night, and the yard was a mingle of brightness and dark. Laura remembered that one of the servants had been chopping wood earlier that day, and walked casually towards the pile of cut timber. She still had no clear idea of what she was going to do. She had never actually hit anyone in her life.

  ‘My daughter will make the Rajah a good wife,’ Nanja declared, walking beside her. ‘When he regains his throne, she will make an excellent Rani. She will give him many strong sons. You should be proud of that.’

  ‘Do you really suppose Sivitraj will ever regain his throne?’ Laura asked, stooping to select an appropriate length of wood, and discovering that the axe had been left with the pile.

  ‘Of course. Our master has said so,’ Nanja pointed out. ‘What are you doing, Highness?’

  Laura drew a long breath, and stood up, a length of wood held in both hands, turning and swinging as she did so. But in that moment Nanja had understood her danger and leapt away from her. The Indian woman tripped over her sari and fell to the ground, and Laura lunged after her.

  ‘Help!’ Nanja bawled, and rolled against the pile of wood.

  Laura hesitated, but no-one had heard the shout. She moved forward again, and Nanja saw the axe. She closed both hands on the haft and swung it, parallel with the ground.

  It was Laura’s turn to leap backwards to avoid losing a leg, and equally her turn to trip over her sari and sit down so heavily that she lost her breath and the length of wood.

  Nanja gave a cry of triumph and reached her feet, still holding the axe, which she now swung with all her strength. Desperately Laura rolled to one side, and the axe blade smashed into the earth. Nanja grunted and attempted to pull it free, but before she could do so Laura was on her knees. She threw both arms round Nanja’s waist, heaving with all the force she could manage.

  Nanja fell over, but retained her grip on the axe which came out of the ground. Now she tried to hit Laura again, but Laura had kept her grip on Nanja’s thighs, and rolled again. Although they were much the same height, Laura was the stronger woman, and Nanja thudded into the wood pile, at last releasing the axe.

  Now she struck with her nails at Laura’s face. Laura gasped in pain, released her grip, and rose to her knees, seizing the nearest piece of wood and hitting out with it. Nanja grunted and Laura struck her again and again, her blows loaded with all the anger she had felt against this woman for so long. Nanja’s arms still flailed, reaching for her, and Laura struck her a fourth time. Nanja sighed, and lay still.

  For several seconds Laura remained kneeling above her, panting, her breath coming in huge gasps. She could feel blood trickling down her cheek from where Nanja had scratched her, and she ached from a variety of other blows and bruises which she had not even noticed. She still held the wood, ready to hit again if Nanja moved. But Nanja did not move.

  Once again Laura’s heartbeat slowed. She grabbed at the Indian woman’s wrist. There was no pulse there. She lowered her head to peer at Nanja’s head, saw nothing but a mask of blood and distorted features.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ she whispered, and rose to her feet. She looked left and right, but the yard remained empty. No-one had heard the fight. She had indeed burned her bridges beyond repair.

  Laura wrapped her torn shawl about herself, and hurried into the darkness.

  Nowshera, 6 February 1843

  Laura has been found, in the most amazing circumstances! And we are once more going to war!

  The entire sub-continent is seething, following our Afghanistan adventure, and there is much work to be done.

  After Batraj fled west from Kabul, taking Laura and her children with him, everyone assumed that he was abandoning India forever. Not a bit of it! The rascal has now turned up in Sind, of all places, with the intention of stirring up the Baluchis.

  And I am here to meet him!

  On my return from Afghanistan, I found myself seconded to the staff of General Sir Charles Napier, who had just been given command in Sind. I was happy to accept this posting, firstly because of the promise of action, and secondly because of the character of the man under whom I was going to serve, especially when I discovered that he had actually asked for me, as I had marched across this desolate country before and may therefore be presumed to know it.

  Napier’s is a glorious name. With his two brothers he served in the Peninsular war. During the gallant fight for Corunna, which cost Sir John Moore his life, Sir Charles, then a subaltern, was shot through the face and taken prisoner. As far as the British were concerned he was killed, and his Will was actually probated, before he returned from the dead. Since then his reputation for courage and eccentricity, has only grown. He was Governor of the Ionian Islands for a while, just when the Greek War of Independence was breaking out, and it was there that he met Lord Byron, of whom he is ever happy to speak. Byron actually suggested to him that he abandon the British Army and take command of the Greek forces. Perhaps fortunately for us all, Sir Charles refused this dangerous honour, otherwise he might have died, like the poet, of a fever.

  With his disjointed jaw, and various other ailments, he is a most odd figure of a man. He is also quite old, past sixty. Elphinstone, while younger than this, yet proved too old for his job. Napier is of different metal. I have related how, on our march north, we observed that the Baluchis were a sullen and mutinous lot, and it was to deal with this situation that Napier was given his command.

  The Baluchis are two distinct peoples. The Upper Baluchis, under their head amir Rustum, appear to be loyal to the Company. The Lower, who follow the flags of men like Sher Mohammed, the Lion of Meerpure, and Abbas Ali Khan, are the troublemakers.

  There were of course plenty of people, political officers in the main, who expressed the view that the Baluchis needed only firm but fair treatment to become loyal subjects. Our General holds a different view, and has no doubt at all that the amirs are bent on mischief. His intention therefore was to strike a decisive blow before the Baluchis could co-ordinate their resistance and so, with a small picked force, of which I had the honour to be a member, we crossed the Indus early last December and marched through the desert for the fortress of Emaum Ghur, the Baluchis’ principal store of powder and shot. They were so surprised we captured the place without the loss of a man, where upon we blew it up with the most magnificent bang. That put the would-be rebels in a different frame of mind, and Sir Charles felt that now was the time to hold out the olive branch of peace. In his course he was encouraged by Major Outram, an experienced man in these parts, who had recently been appointed Resident in Hyderabad; he has a high opinion of the Baluchis, and a low opinion of the Company’s ‘aggression’, as he terms it. Outram apparently had no doubt that he could persuade the recalcitrants to sit down and sign a lasting treaty of peace and friendship.

  Then, unexpectedly, we received a message from Outram that Batraj was in the city.

  Outram, of course, has never met Batraj, and he is of the opinion that the Thug’s presence will make no difference to the acceptance of the proposed treaty by the amirs. He merely wished to ascertain whether or not the criminal should be placed under arrest. He wishes to postpone this step until after the treaty is signed, which is to take place next Sunday. He is, of course, fearful of arousing the Baluchis, to several of whose amirs Batraj is apparently known.

  Most importantly, Outram says that he has been approached, indirectly, by a woman calling herself Laura Dean, Dowager Rani of Sittapore, who claims she has information of a vital
character to impart to him. He tells us that he has not yet had a meeting with the lady, but that an appointment has been arranged for next Monday night. Most fortunately, he was acquainted with Laura in Bombay, and has always been one of those who believes she was hard done by. Thus he apparently intends to assist her, if she wishes it, to escape her husband and return to Bombay.

  I was amongst the first to hear this news, for Sir Charles sent for me as soon as the despatch was received, to ask me what I made of it. I was forced to put forward the view that wherever Batraj appears there is likely to be trouble, that I felt Outram was somewhat sanguine in believing the Baluchis would proceed with the treaty, and that it was very likely we were within a few days of an uprising. This was an opinion Sir Charles was pleased to hear, as it coincided with his own, and thus he immediately determined to march with every available man on Hyderabad, to overawe the Baluchis, ensure the safety of the Residency, and arrest Batraj, and thus save Laura. Needless to say I shall accompany this force, and thus at last achieve my greatest ambition.

  After eighteen years.

  13 The Siege

  Laura reached the river bank without mishap; it seemed all of Hyderabad was celebrating the Khan’s wedding. Once there, having got her nerves back under control, she considered the situation. There were people on the bridge, but she could not tell in the darkness whether they were from the Residency or the City. There were lights glowing in the Residency, certainly, and beneath the wall there were also lights showing from the steamers that lay alongside the Residency dock a little downriver. She wondered if she could reach the steamers before being swept under the bridge.

  However, it seemed obvious that the only safe way across was to swim. She took off her sari, wrapped it round her waist and between her legs and fastened it into a makeshift dhoti. Her jewellery would have to take its chances. Then she slid down the bank and entered the water, which was remarkably cool.

  She did not hesitate, but struck out from the bank in a steady breaststroke, only her head showing. No-one on the bridge seemed to notice her, as she made almost no noise.