Jayanti salaamed. 'Thank you, captain. The insult of an enemy is a compliment indeed. If you give me your word of honour not to escape, I shall order guest apartments to be prepared for you, with all the comforts your heart and body could desire.'
'I will do no such thing, damn you,' Jack said.
'I rather thought you would say that.' Jayanti salaamed again. 'In that case, I am afraid we shall place you in the same rather more austere surroundings from which we fetched you.' She clapped her hands and spoke rapidly. Half a dozen of the female warriors filed in, grabbed hold of Jack and hustled him away. 'Until tomorrow, Captain Windrush,' Jayanti said. 'And let us hope your play is better, for the execution of a king or a major will be, shall we say, more colourful than that of a pawn?'
Back in his chains, Jack relived the executions in the courtyard, the sinister hiss of the sword, the clump of the head landing on stone slabs and the subdued gasp of the other prisoners. He wondered what horror Jayanti had in mind for Major Snodgrass. He remembered Jayanti's quiet, refined voice as she spoke to him and the click of ivory chess pieces on the board. He remembered the babble of voices and the chaos of colour in the bazaar. One image over-rode all others. He found himself reaching forward and mouthing “no” as he thought of the moment that hand snaked out and wrapped around Mary's mouth.
'Mary, where are you?' Jack rattled his chains in frustration. 'I wish to God that I could help you.'
He looked up as his cell door opened and two of the warrior-women entered. As one held up a torch, the other tossed a heavy bag toward him. The door closed with a bang.
'Is that my lunch?' Jack shouted. Only echoes replied.
As his eyes became accustomed to the dark, Jack realised that there was a tiny window, no larger than his hand, high up in the wall. The thin beam of light that entered showed nothing cheerful, only grim granite and rusty chains. Jack stretched forward, lifted the bag that his guards had left, opened the mouth and peered inside. The face of the fair-haired executed man stared at him; blue eyes open and tongue slightly protruding.
'Oh, dear God!' Jack pushed the bag away, and more heads rolled out, some to face the far wall and others to stare at him, as if accusing him of the sin of being a weak chess player.
Jack could not think of a worse time in his life. He had lost Mary. He had allowed the enemy to chain him inside a dungeon. He had watched helplessly as Jayanti's executioner murdered men of the 113th. Jack closed his eyes. I'm a failure as an officer, and I have failed Mary, leading her into this terrible place.
The scratching started again, and something ran over his legs. 'Get away!' He kicked out violently, hearing the chains rattle. For a moment he wondered who had been here before, wearing these rusted chains, and what had happened to them. He felt weary; he needed to sleep and closed his eyes. The scratching intensified and something bit at his leg.
'Get away!' He kicked out again. 'What foul things have these rats been feeding on? They're not going to eat me next.' At the same time, Jack knew that if he did not sleep, he would be stupid with weariness the following day and unable to concentrate on the chess game. He would be responsible for the death of more men. He closed his eyes, started as something with sharp claws crawled over his legs and swore softly.
Damn it all; I'm not thinking straight. I am Captain Jack Baird Windrush of the 113th Foot, I hold the Queen's Commission, and I am not going to die in some damned Indian dungeon. I'm going to get out of here, find Mary, get back to my men and raze this bloody fort to the ground.
Forcing himself upright, Jack inspected his chains. Although the metal was rusty, the links were still too strong to break, and the lock that held them required a key. He traced the chains back to the staple in the wall. Whoever had anchored it knew his business; it didn't budge when he yanked at it. He wouldn't give up though and began to shove the staple this way and that, trying to loosen it from the surrounding stone.
'Captain Windrush!'
The word echoed through his dungeon. Jack jerked his head from side to side. What new torment is this? 'Who's there?'
'Captain Windrush! Look up!'
Jack looked up. The sun had sunk so there was no light from the small window. 'Who's that?'
'Look up!'
Jack was wrong. There was a minuscule light flickering at the window. It hovered for a second and then slowly descended, swinging slowly back and forth. Jack watched and reached out when it came close. It was a small lantern on the end of a long rope.
'Got it?' The voice echoed in the granite chamber.
'I have it, thank you.' The echo distorted the sound. 'Who is that?'
'It's Batoor, Captain Windrush.'
'I thought you had deserted!' Jack felt a lift of pleasure. 'What are you doing here?'
'I'm trying to get you out of the dungeon,' Batoor said.
'I'm chained to the wall,' Jack said.
'Take the light and send back the rope.'
When Jack untied the lantern and put it on the ground, Batoor flicked the rope away. The lantern-light reflected on a dozen eyes as the rats withdrew. One gnawed on a soldier's head until Jack rattled the chains and frightened it away.
The rope returned a few moments later, with the end tied around a long knife. Jack held it gratefully. 'Thank you!' he said. There was no reply. 'Batoor? Batoor, have you seen anything of Mary?'
Only silence replied. Jack wished he'd asked about Mary first.
Perhaps Batoor considered his duty done by delivering the knife. Jack felt more like a soldier with a weapon in his hand. He tried the blade in the manacle lock, hoping it had a simple catch that the knife could spring. After a few minutes, he gave up in disgust. The blade was too broad to enter the keyhole. Instead, Jack returned to the staple in the wall. He scraped at the granite, pulling and twisting the iron until his hands were bleeding raw. With no method of judging the passing of time, except by glancing at the stars in the tiny square of sky through the window, Jack worked on, dislodging minuscule flakes of stone without making any headway.
He heard the rasp of the key in the door, pulled desperately at the staple and found it as secure as ever. Swearing silently, he snuffed the lantern, hid it in a corner and backed to the wall, trying to conceal his knife. When the door opened, three warrior women stepped in. Without a word, one drew her tulwar and held it to Jack's throat while the others released the chains and pushed him to the door. Jack slid the knife up his sleeve, wondering if he could fight all three at once.
No. That would be a quick and pointless suicide. Better to attack Jayanti instead. Jayanti was more valuable to the mutineers than he was to the British. Holding the blade of the knife in his folded fingers, Jack allowed the warriors to push him out of the dungeon and into the darkness.
Chapter Thirteen
'Get down, Captain Windrush!' The voice came from nowhere as Batoor erupted from the shadows. Jack barely heard the hiss of his tulwar, and the first of his guards crumpled, her throat slashed wide open. The second woman turned, and Batoor thrust his blade into her breast and twisted it. Her scream echoed as the third woman swung at Batoor with her sword.
Jack threw himself forward, knocking the woman sideways, so her blade missed Batoor by a handspan. Dropping the knife into his hand, Jack reversed it and stabbed, catching her at the side of the throat. Warm blood spurted as he ripped the blade sideways, ignoring the woman's gurgling screams.
'Glad to see you, Batoor,' he said as the Pathan wiped his blade clean on the clothes of his first victim.
'You were not hard to find,' Batoor said. 'The first person I asked knew all about the Windrush sahib prisoner.'
Jack thought it best not to ask about Batoor's methods of asking questions.
'Batoor,' Jack asked the question that had been uppermost in his mind for many hours. 'Do you know what happened to Mary?'
Batoor's smile was as broad as ever. 'Yes, I know, Captain Windrush.'
'Is she alive? Is she a prisoner in this fort?'
'Yes, she
is alive, and no, she is not a prisoner in this fort.' Batoor's answers only created more questions. 'We'll have to get away now, Captain Windrush. The Jayanti woman will soon miss her soldiers, and then they'll search for you.'
'How will we get out?'
'We walk out the front door,' Batoor said. Bending down, he tested each of the female warrior's tulwars and handed one to Jack. 'Strap that around your waist, Windrush, and swagger like a warrior.' He shoved a dozen betel nuts into Jack's hand. 'Chew these and say nothing.' He stepped back. 'You don't look much like a sahib.'
For the first time, Jack blessed his part-Indian heritage. 'Thank you.' He knew Batoor intended his words as a compliment.
'Follow me.' Batoor strode through the gloomy dungeons as though he owned the place. He kicked open a door, snarled to a man who tried to stop him and mounted a steep flight of steps two at a time.
'You were never an English public-school man, were you?' Jack asked.
'What is that?' Batoor asked.
'You have the same arrogance in your manner,' Jack said. 'As if the whole world belongs to you and damn anybody who tries to deny it.'
'I am an English sahib then.' Batoor increased his swagger.
Jack gripped the hilt of his tulwar as they passed the sentries at one of the minor gates and took a deep breath as they stepped outside. Freedom smelled good. 'Mary?'
'Come with me, Captain Windrush.' Batoor led Jack into the crowded, narrow streets until Jack found himself in a maze of small, flat-topped houses. 'In here.' He pushed open a surprisingly elaborate door.
The interior was much as Jack had expected, a bare, hot room with a minimum of furniture and an Indian woman sitting on a low stool, her head shrouded and her sari covering her from shoulder to ankles. The flame of a single diya lantern provided all the light there was.
'Good evening, Ma'am,' Jack said. 'Ram ram.'
'Good evening, Captain Jack.' Mary threw back her head covering. 'I'm glad my teachings were effective, and you've finally learned a word of the language.'
Chapter Fourteen
'Dear God in heaven.' Jack stared at Mary for a long time, shaking his head. He was aware of Batoor in the room, or he would have folded her in his arms. 'You're safe,' he said.
'So are you.' Mary's eyes were huge.
'I'm glad.' Jack didn't know what to say.
'So am I.'
'I saw you grabbed,' Jack said. 'I saw somebody pull you into a building.'
'That was Batoor.' Mary looked at the Pathan. 'He saved me, and we have been trying to find you ever since.'
'There are other British prisoners.' Jack didn't know how to thank her, or Batoor. More used to the abrupt manners of soldiers and the code of gentlemen, he was unsure how to act with a woman such as Mary. He frowned as he realised what he was thinking. A woman such as Mary? What do I mean by that? Is Mary different from any other woman he had known? Is she different from Myat, or Helen or that young barmaid back in Hereford? Yes, yes, she is.
Why? Was it because she was Eurasian?
No.
Jack breathed out in relief. He didn't think differently about Mary because she was half-Indian. There is quite another reason.
'We know about the British prisoners.' Mary had been watching him, waiting until his mind had cleared. 'They are chained in a dungeon and guarded by Jayanti's warriors.'
'Can we get them out?'
Batoor and Mary exchanged glances. 'Batoor thinks not,' Mary said. 'They are too well guarded.'
'I'll come back with the 113th.' Jack didn't mention the chess game and the executions. He could feel Mary's eyes on him. 'I'll tear this place apart to rescue these men.'
'There may be another way,' Mary said. 'We could try to get the Rajah to help.'
'I don't understand.' Jack fought his tiredness. He had no idea what time, or even what day it was.
'The commander of the Rajah's army is British,' Mary said. 'If we approach him, he may help us.'
In this time of confusion and divided loyalties, Jack wasn't surprised to hear the nationality of the Rajah's commander. 'It was the Rajah who handed me to Nana Sahib,' he said. 'He's thrown in his lot with the rebels.'
'I'm not sure that he has,' Mary said. 'Nana Sahib and Jayanti are at one end of the fort, and the Rajah is at the other.' She sighed. 'Are you game to try him?'
Jack considered. His first inclination had been to return with his 113th, storm the fort and free the prisoners. On reflection, he knew that his handful of infantry, without artillery or cavalry, could never reduce the fort. His second thought was to take Riley, the cracksman, find the prisoners and release them, but Batoor had said that Jayanti's warriors guarded them too well, and he respected the Pathan's judgement.
'I'll have a look at this commander fellow first,' Jack said. 'And then I'll decide.'
'He drills his troops every day,' Batoor said. 'Left, right, left, right, attention, stand at ease.' He laughed. 'It provides the people with endless amusement.'
'Where does he drill them?' Jack had a sudden dread of returning to the fort.
'On the maidan, the parade ground, under the walls to the north of the fort, with trees all around for shade.' Mary explained. 'When I was young, we watched the army training.'
'What's this man's name?' Jack asked. 'I mean, who is he?'
'Commander-sahib,' Mary said. 'That's what everybody calls him.' She smiled. 'He's no youngster, Jack.'
'Show me,' Jack demanded.
If Mary had not told Jack that the Commander-sahib was British, Jack would never have known. He stood in front of his men dressed in the full uniform of a commander of native infantry, with a steel breastplate and a spiked helmet as he gave orders in fluent Hindi, while a dozen shrill-voiced rissaldars – officers – ensured their men obeyed.
'They're smart,' Jack approved, as the Gondabad Army marched and countermarched to the word of command. 'They could match up to any regular British line regiment for drill. It is as well that their weapons are outdated.'
The infantry carried the old Brown Bess India pattern musket, an excellent weapon in its day but outclassed by the British Army's modern Enfields.
'There must be three thousand men on parade,' Jack said. 'The Commander-sahib has drilled them well. Does he have any cavalry?'
'Over there.' Batoor pointed with his chin.
As the infantry marched into the fort in columns of four, ten squadrons of cavalry took their place on the maidan, each man dressed in a splendid blue and silver uniform and carrying a curved sabre.
'They look as impressive as the infantry.' Jack wondered if they had the discipline to advance into Russian guns, like the Light Brigade at Balaklava only four years previously. 'How good are they in battle?'
'The Rajah of Gondabad does not like battles,' Batoor said with a sneer. 'He keeps his army intact by ignoring everything that happens. His soldiers are children's toys, pretty to look at and nothing else. They would run at the sight of blood.'
Standing under the shade of the trees with a scattering of local men and women, Jack watched the Commander-sahib. He was undoubtedly elderly, with a neat white beard and grizzled face, yet he stood erect, and his commands dominated the parade ground. 'Yes, Mary. I will speak to that man.'
'He has the ear of the Rajah,' Mary agreed.
Batoor spat betel juice onto the ground. 'It will do no good, Captain Windrush. The Rajah will whine to the rebels, and they will ignore him. He is a man with no teeth and no courage.'
'Perhaps you are correct,' Jack said. 'I'll try anyway. Where can I find the Commander-sahib?'
'Over there.' Mary nodded to a walled enclosure beside the parade ground. 'He lives and works in the same building.'
'When he goes in, I shall follow him,' Jack said.
'I'll come as well,' Mary said at once.
'I want you to stay with Batoor,' Jack said. 'It might be dangerous.'
'Oh, Jack, will you stop singing that same old song?'
Sometimes even the bravest sold
ier has to admit defeat. 'If there's any trouble, Mary, turn and run. You can merge into the city far more easily than I can.'
'I know that, Jack.' Mary spoke as patiently as she would to a child.
'I will come too, Windrush,' Batoor said. 'In case the enemy chooses to fight.'
'You and Private Logan would get on well together,' Jack said sourly. 'He's also a bloodthirsty rascal.'
Two acres of gardens surrounded the Commander-sahib's house, created in a mixture of British and Indian styles, with flowerbeds wilting under the sun, small groves of trees and the ubiquitous fountains. The two sentries at the door looked efficient and bored.
'I'll talk,' Batoor said. 'I'll tell them we want an audience with the Commander-sahib.' He walked up to the sentries, speaking rapidly. They reacted at once, crossing their muskets in front of him to bar any entrance.
'I'll try,' Mary said and smiled as she addressed the sentries. One man laughed, and the other eyed Batoor with dislike before they stepped aside. 'I told them that I had two recruits for the Commander-sahib,' Mary explained.
One sentry shouted something over his shoulder, and a rissaldar appeared.
'He's demanding to know who we are.' Mary translated the officer's words.
'Use the same story,' Jack was aware of Batoor resting a hand on the hilt of his tulwar. Can we fight our way clear of here?
The rissaldar glared at Mary, evidently wondering why two stalwart men should have a woman with them. He jerked his head inside the building and shook a finger at Mary. They spoke for a while, and he grimaced and allowed her to enter.
'I told them you are dumb, Jack, and need somebody to speak for you.'
The interior of the house boasted a mixture of British and Indian styles, with beautiful carpets on the ground, and pointed and arched doorways. Hunting prints hung incongruously on the wall, together with a black and white etching of Robert Burns the poet, and a statue of Skanda, the Hindu god of war.
'The Commander-sahib is undoubtedly confused about his nationality,' Jack murmured.
The rissaldar brought them up a flight of stairs to a large room that overlooked the garden at the front. Nodding to the single sentry, he tapped on the door and thrust it open, closing it before Jack, and the others could follow. The sentry stood immobile, both hands on his musket. His eyes swivelled over them, disregarded Jack, lingered on Mary's breasts for a few seconds and settled on Batoor. His hands tightened on his musket, and Jack guessed he had no love for Pathans.
Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns Page 18