'Right.' Jack thought quickly. 'Where did you see him last?'
'Over there, sir, past that grove of babul trees. He was walking slowly and ducked into cover, sir.' Whitelam gestured to a small group of acacia trees a few hundred yards to the south.
'Has he moved since?' Jack asked.
'Not that I've seen, sir, and I've been watching for him.'
If Whitelam hadn't seen him – or her – move, then he was still there.
'Sergeant O'Neill,' Jack said. 'I don't want this man or woman alarmed. It might be Jayanti or one of her women. Take a picket out and see if you can round him up. Be careful, if it's Jayanti she is very dangerous.'
'Aye, sir.' O'Neill screwed up his eyes as he peered through the glare of the sun. 'It might be best if I flushed him, sir, drove him towards the camp.'
'Good man, O'Neill. I'll wait for him. I'll give you ten minutes and then form a cordon with a dozen men. We'll catch him, or her, in a net.'
'I'll leave Greaves in charge of the Pathan, sir,' O'Neill said.
'Wilden!' Jack motioned to the ensign. 'You're with me.'
'Where are we going, sir?' Wilden couldn't disguise his smile.
'We're going to catch a mutineer. Do as you're told and don't ask fool questions. Whitelam, take a position a hundred yards out and to the right. Hutton, do the same on the left. Find dead ground and don't be seen.'
Both men were veterans and needed no further orders.
Jack watched as O'Neill led a dozen men well to the right of the babul trees, and then ordered them into an extended line five yards apart. The sergeant headed left for a hundred yards, turned and walked back. At his crisp order, each man fitted and lowered his bayonet, moving behind the viciously pointed blades.
'That should chase him out,' Jack said. His picket waited at the fringe of the camp, with Coleman and Thorpe watching, stony-faced.
'Do you want us to kill him, sir?' Thorpe asked.
'I want to see who he is,' Jack said, 'and why he's following us.' He might be scouting for a larger body or merely a curious bystander.
'That means we take him alive, Thorpey,' Coleman explained. 'Dead men can't talk.'
Thorpe nodded. 'Yes, Coley. I won't kill him, sir, unless Captain Windrush wants me to.' He stamped his feet. 'You could have let me go in, sir. I would have set fire to the trees and got him that way.'
'Thank you, Thorpe,' Jack said. 'Maybe next time.'
O'Neill's men were at the fringes of the tope now, advancing cautiously in case of an ambush. O'Neill gave a sharp order, and four men remained outside, watching while the others entered.
'Here he comes, flushed like a partridge.' Thorpe raised his rifle.
The lone man emerged at a run, holding a hood over his head as he scurried free of the trees.
No black turban. It's not Jayanti or one of her women.
'With me, lads, and be careful.' Drawing his sword, Jack strode forward, knowing his men would follow.
The fugitive saw the soldiers ahead, turned, saw O'Neill's men behind and stopped.
'He's surrendering, sir,' Coleman said. 'Either that or he's up to something. You've got to watch these pandies, sir. They're tricky devils. Best let me and Thorpey get him.'
Ignoring the advice, Jack broke into a run. 'Drop your weapon and get your hands in the air, you blackguard!' Although the man wouldn't understand the words, the tone and menace would be evident.
The fugitive raised his hands and stood still as the British net closed. He was small and slight, dressed in a hooded cape that extended from his head to the ground.
'Right, you.' Jack sheathed his sword. 'Who the devil are you, and why are you following us?' Grabbing the man's hood, he hauled it off the fugitive's face.
'Why, Jack, don't you recognise me?' Mary smiled at him. 'And do you need all these men to capture a single woman?'
'What?' Jack stared at her. 'What are you doing here?' He signalled with his hand, and the circle of soldiers lowered their bayonets. Some were openly grinning.
'I told you that you needed a translator.' Mary sounded as calm as if she was sitting sewing in the British cantonment.
'I ordered you to stay behind!' Jack felt his temper rising.
'I know you did, Jack, but I'm not one of your soldiers.' Mary smiled serenely. 'You have no power to order me around.'
Jack realised that he had an interested circle of listeners, most of whom were now nudging each other, highly amused at their officer's discomfiture. 'O'Neill, get these men back to camp.'
'Yes, sir! You heard the order, lads!'
Was O'Neill's use of “order” a deliberate echo of Mary's words? Jack glowered at the sergeant until he doubled away with his men.
Mary raised her eyebrows. 'Well, Captain Jack, or should that be Captain Windrush? Now you have me, what are you going to do with me?'
Jack took a deep breath as a sequence of images flashed through his mind. 'I know what I would like to do with you,' he began and shook his head as Mary raised her eyebrows in mocking interest. 'I should send you back to Lucknow under an escort.'
'But then who would translate for you?' Mary asked sweetly. 'And wouldn't you look a bit silly? And you would be depleting your force, just for one weak woman.'
'You're about as weak as Genghis Khan.' Jack's anger was reducing as Mary smiled at him. 'This will be a dangerous mission, you know.'
'I know,' Mary said.
'I don't like to put you in danger.'
'I know that, too,' Mary said. 'You're not putting me in danger. I'm putting myself in danger, and I'm probably safer with you and your badmashes than anywhere else in India.' Her smile broadened. 'Come on now, Jack, we both know that you and your men will look after me.'
'You're an irritating woman, Mary,' Jack said.
'So your mother used to say.' Mary deliberately reminded Jack of their family connection.
'You'd best stay with us,' Jack said, grudgingly. 'You might be useful. If any of my men bother you—'
'Your men have never bothered me,' Mary said quickly.
Jack thought of Armstrong and some of the handful of replacements he had brought with him. 'I'll find you a tent and post a sentry at the flap.' I'll also warn O'Neill and Greaves to keep an extra eye on you, as if they didn't have enough to do.
'If you think it best.' Mary agreed without a protest.
'All right, Mary, if you're sure, then welcome aboard.' Jack considered for a minute. 'In fact, you can start now.'
'I knew you needed me.' Mary didn't disguise her smug smile.
Batoor was sitting with his back to a tree when they approached.
'Stand up!' Jack ordered, adding jildi to prove to Mary that he had mastered at least one word of the native languages.
Logan helped by yanking Batoor to his feet. 'Up you get, you, when the officer tells you.'
'Where are you taking us, Batoor?' Jack asked, with Mary putting his words into Pushtu.
'Northward, Captain Windrush.' Batoor rattled his chains. 'And then westward.'
'How far to the north?'
'If I told you, Captain Windrush, you would not need me, and you may kill me.' Batoor smiled. 'I'm not yet ready to be a martyr. I have things to do.'
'You mean you have throats to cut in the Khyber country,' Jack said.
'A woman betrayed me to the British.' Batoor rattled his chains again. 'Else I would not be wearing these.'
'You gave me your word,' Jack said, 'and I gave you mine so we should trust each other.' He tapped the chains. 'It appears that neither of us trusts the other.'
Batoor smiled and said nothing.
'Well then,' Jack unlocked Batoor's chains and threw them into the darkness. They clattered against something hard. 'There is a sign of my trust.' He was aware of Mary watching him, her eyes quizzical while Logan lifted his bayonet, ready to thrust it into Batoor's belly.
Batoor rubbed the raw marks the manacles had left on his wrists. 'You are a strange man, Captain Windrush.'
'
I'm taking a chance on you,' Jack said.
Batoor looked at Logan before he replied. 'I'd like a weapon before this man tries to kill me.'
'He'll only kill you if you try to escape, or attack one of us.'
Batoor spread his arms. 'I've eaten your salt.'
'Where are you taking us?' Jack asked again.
'Gondabad,' Batoor said. Even Jack understood that name without Mary having to translate. Jack took a deep breath. That was where he'd been born and where the Mutiny had started for him.
'I know the way.'
Batoor nodded as Mary translated.
'Are you sure that Jayanti is there?' Jack asked.
'I am not sure she is there. I think she may be there.' Batoor answered before Mary translated. 'Yes, Captain Windrush, I speak English.'
'Well, that is truthful for a Pathan,' Jack said. 'My men will still watch you.'
'I believe you.' Batoor eyed Logan, who ran a calloused thumb up the length of his bayonet.
* * *
Jack heard the gunfire from deep in his sleep. Rolling on his side, he grabbed his revolver and sword and was outside his tent before the echoes of the second shot died away. The third came an instant later, followed by an irregular fusillade.
'What's happening? Jack buckled his sword belt around his naked waist. 'Elliot! Bryce!'
'Somebody fired into the camp, sir!' Bryce was fully dressed and had his revolver in his right hand. 'I had the sentries fire back.'
'Cease fire!' Jack ordered. There was a single shot and then the eerie silence of the night, broken only by the buzz of insects and the chirping of frogs. 'Did anybody see anything?'
'I did, sir.' Parker said. 'I saw a muzzle flash over to the left.'
'Is anybody hit?'
'No, sir,' O'Neill said.
'Elliot, take Sergeant Greaves, Parker and ten men, search in the area from where the shot came.'
'Sir.' Elliot detailed nine veterans and a replacement named Mahoney. He vanished into the night.
'Who was it, sir?' Ensign Peake asked.
'We don't know, Peake,' Jack said. 'We won't know until Lieutenant Elliot returns, and we might not know even then.'
'Shall I go and look, sir?'
'No! Go and attend to your men.' Jack glowered at Peake until he disappeared.
'You were a little harsh on that boy,' Mary said.
'He has to learn his duty,' Jack said. 'If he went out there,' he nodded into the night, 'the pandies would cut him to pieces.'
'I see.'
'And God only knows what they'd do to you. Get back inside the camp, get into your tent and keep your head down.'
Mary opened her mouth to protest, saw the determination in Jack's face and nodded. 'Yes, sir.' She took three steps and turned around. 'You know, it might be better if you put some clothes on next time you gave me an order. It would be more dignified for both of us.'
'What?' Jack realised that he was wearing nothing except his sword belt. 'I was in bed,' he said. 'A real lady would not comment on such things.' His retaliation was too late for Mary was ten paces away, striding for her tent. Blasted woman. Only Mary can drive me to such irritation.
'Nothing, sir,' Elliot reported when he returned. 'We found nothing at all, not a sign of anybody.'
'All right, I didn't think you would. It might have been a stray mutineer trying his luck, or just a passing badmash causing trouble. Double the sentries.'
'Yes, sir.' Elliot lowered his voice. 'Is Mary all right, Jack? And the Pathan?'
'Mary's in her tent,' Jack said. 'I've posted a sentry, and I want him relieved every two hours.'
'Yes, sir,' Elliot said.
'The Pathan is still here,' Batoor's deep voice sounded. 'He did not take advantage of your confusion to escape.'
Jack gave a small smile. 'I didn't think he would.'
Jack didn't try to sleep again that night. Dressing quickly, he spent the hours until midnight patrolling the camp perimeter, quietly talking to the pickets and peering into the dark. He roused the camp three hours before dawn, supervised breakfast, loaded the camels and had everybody on the march within the hour.
The men stumbled through the dark, swearing quietly, alert for any ambush, holding loaded rifles and wondering if they should have thrown back the shilling they'd accepted from a smooth-tongued recruiting sergeant.
'Sir,' Sergeant Greaves saluted Jack. 'One of my men reports we're being watched.'
'I'm sure most of the men think that, Greaves.'
'Yes, sir. This time it's a bit different,' Greaves said. 'This man is certain, sir.'
Jack sighed. 'Bring him up, sergeant.'
The private gave a hurried salute. 'I know you,' Jack said. 'You were the lad MacKinnon, for whom Sergeant Greaves bought beer.'
'Yes, sir,' Mackinnon said.
'What do you have to say then, MacKinnon?'
'There's somebody out there in the dark, sir.'
'What have you seen?'
'Nothing, sir.' MacKinnon hesitated. 'I can feel them, sir, out there.'
'Do you know where, MacKinnon?'
'No, sir. I do know though, sir.' It was evident that the man couldn't explain further.
'Thank you, MacKinnon.' Jack frowned. 'Where are you from?'
'Skye, sir. It's an island in the Hebrides, off Scotland.'
'I see.' Jack wondered if he had just experienced an example of Hebridean second sight. 'Keep me posted, will you?'
'Yes, sir.' MacKinnon seemed relieved to escape.
'Greaves, send out strong pickets on either flank and double the rear guard, at least until day-break.' Jack saw Wilden watching nervously and called him over.
'Wilden,' Jack spoke quietly. 'How long have you held a commission in the army?'
'Nearly nine months, sir,' Wilden said proudly.
'And how much of that time have you been with the men?'
'One month, sir. The rest of the time I was travelling from England.'
'Well ensign, here is some free advice. These men come from bad backgrounds. Many are orphans, or their parents were drunkards, jailbirds or walked away and left them. Some are petty criminals; others are not so petty. As you see, they are a mixture of old soldiers and young lads very much like you, except without your education.'
'Yes, sir.' Wilden was sensible enough to realise that Jack was speaking from his own experience.
'If you treat the men decently, listen to their problems and help them, they will follow you to the gates of Hell and beyond. All they want is somewhere to belong. The regiment is their family. We, the officers, are surrogate parents. Do your duty, help them to do theirs, guide them and watch over them.'
'Yes, sir,' Wilden nodded eagerly. 'Like us, sir, they joined for queen and country.'
Jack grunted. 'Patriotism is said to be the last refuge of the scoundrel, ensign. For most men, this regiment is the last refuge of the desperate.' He passed over a cheroot, as if to a friend. 'Belonging to the regiment is vital. Officers can transfer or buy their way into other regiments; the men cannot. The 113th is their home. The more pride they have in the regiment, the better their morale and the better they will fight.'
'Yes, sir.'
Jack nodded. 'When it comes to action, lead from the front. It's the only place for a British officer.'
'Of course, sir!' Wilden said.
Jack smiled. 'In plain speaking, Wilden, just do your duty, and you'll be fine.' He patted the boy's shoulder. 'Now off you go and look after your section. Make sure their water bottles are full of water and not gin, make sure their rifles are not rusty, make sure their bayonets slide free from the scabbard and they have ammunition in their pouches and not loot or whisky.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Drink is the sin of the soldier, Wilden. Drink and women. I'm sure you have experience with the latter; your duty is to ensure the men don't cause themselves disease.' Jack winked and walked away, lighting a cheroot. The column trudged on, rifles slung, boots kicking up dust.
'T
hat was kindly,' Mary said.
'I feel like a grandfather,' Jack said.
'How old are you, Jack?' Mary asked.
'Twenty-five,' Jack said. 'I feel about fifty-five.'
Mary smiled. 'How long have you been a soldier?'
'Since 1851 – coming up for seven years.' Jack looked back on himself. 'I was like Wilden then, young, keen and stupid.'
'How many battles have you been in?' Mary walked at Jack's side, matching him stride for stride.
Jack thought of Rangoon and Pegu, Inkerman and the Redan and the battles for Cawnpore and Lucknow. 'I don't know,' he said. 'Too many, Mary, too many.'
'Once this campaign is over the army may give you a rest.'
'Maybe they will,' Jack said. That won't happen. The army will use the 113th for the dirty jobs, the unpleasant tasks without glamour or glory. My future is one of constant fighting until the grave, a soldier's life and a soldier's death. He realised that Mary was looking at him with her head slightly to one side and her eyes thoughtful.
'You don't believe that, do you?' Mary asked.
'No.' Jack looked up as a flock of birds exploded from a tamarind tree. 'Wilden, take your men and see what disturbed these birds.'
Mary withdrew. 'I'll leave you to your duty.'
They marched on, more wary, with men gripping their rifles and peering into the fading grey of the early morning. India could be indescribably beautiful, tragically poor or insufferably hot. There was a combination of colour and dust, obscene cruelty and nonstop kindness, loyalty beyond reason and always variety. Jack pulled aside as the men slogged past.
'Did you find anything Wilden?'
'No, sir.'
'Carry on. How about you, Sergeant Greaves?'
'All well, sir. All present.'
The first shot came just as dawn silvered the sky, followed by a screaming charge on the 113th's left flank. One minute the column was marching solidly through a seemingly empty countryside, the next they were under attack by an unknown number of men. Jack had a nightmare vision of glaring eyes and gaping mouths, gleaming blades and flowing robes as the enemy rushed in. The flanking picket took the first shock and withdrew, firing and cursing, as Jack shouted for the central column to form a square around the transport camels.
'Hold your fire until ordered!' Jack glanced at his men, trying to ensure they were all in the square. 'Fire!' White and acrid, powder smoke drifted across the perimeter as the yelling subsided. Men peered into the half-light, sweaty hands slippery on the stocks of their rifles.
Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns Page 11