They smelled the village an hour before dawn and came to it within fifteen minutes. The first body sprawled on the road, a woman lying on her back, legs and arms splayed out.
'Somebody's outraged that woman,' Riley said, as Logan used a more obscene expression and added what he would do to the men responsible.
The second body was a plump matron who must have been in her forties. She lay under a tree, naked and mutilated.
'Bastards,' Thorpe said. 'What had that woman ever done to hurt anybody? She's probably somebody's ma.'
'Maybe hers.' Coleman pointed to the body of a small child, who lay huddled beside a burned out hut.
'What're they killing babies for?' Thorpe asked. 'What harm can a little baby do to anybody? These rebels aren't human!'
'Sergeant,' MacKinnon said. 'Somebody's watching us.'
'Don't look in his direction, MacKinnon,' O'Neill said. 'Where is he?'
'I don't know,' MacKinnon said. 'I can feel it.'
'All right, son, keep moving and tell me as much as you can.' O'Neill slipped his finger onto the trigger of his rifle. He raised his voice slightly. 'Keep alert men; we're not alone here.'
'Probably another bloody dog,' Logan said.
'Probably another bloody dog,' Thorpe repeated. 'One with scabies.'
'Rabies,' Coleman corrected.
'Same thing,' Thorpe said. 'Except scabies is worse than rabies.'
They walked on, eyes mobile and the rear guard walking backwards, watching every ruined house in the village, checking every crumpled body to ensure it was dead and not waiting to pounce on them.
'Sergeant!' MacKinnon hissed. 'Something's wrong.'
'I can see that, MacKinnon. All the people are dead.'
'It's coming! Something's coming!' MacKinnon lifted his rifle.
'Halt!' Jack gave the order out of instinct a second before the house exploded. Flames and smoke rose ten yards in front of them, with pieces of blazing thatch and fragments of wood rising high, to fall on them in a burning shower. The patrol scattered, with some diving to the ground and others running for shelter. Batoor pulled the camel away from the danger.
'It's an ambush!' Jack said as a rush of people came from the abandoned houses. Deafened by the sound, Jack could hear nothing as a mob attacked them. Perhaps thirty men with swords, spears, sticks and unwieldy agricultural implements charged from all around, mouths open in yells that Jack couldn't hear. Drawing his revolver, he fired into the mass, shouting orders as his veterans met the attackers with bullet, bayonet and rifle butt.
Although the British were outnumbered, they were veterans of battle and brawls, trained soldiers, while the attackers were not. After just a few moments, it was evident that the fight was one-sided. The 113th hacked down all who opposed them and stood, panting, as the remainder of the enemy turned and fled, dropping their weapons in panic.
'What was that all about?' Logan cleaned his bayonet on the loincloth of a man he had killed. 'They lads were not even soldiers.'
'No, 'Jack agreed. 'They were villagers. They must have thought we were the men who killed their women and children.'
'Maybe so, sir,' O'Neill said. 'Either that, or they don't like the British. Anyway, they got that gunpowder from somewhere. Ordinary villagers don't have explosions. This country is a mess.'
They moved on, leaving the village behind them. 'That noise will have woken up half the countryside,' Jack said. 'We'll find a safe spot to hide up for a few hours and move through the night.'
'Is anywhere safe in this cursed country?' O'Neill asked.
'Some of the natives must think that we are the curse,' Jack said softly. That thought remained with him for the remainder of their journey. Perhaps if the British left India, peace would return.
Chapter Seventeen
The River Goomtee flowed turgid and brown between parched banks, with many of the surrounding buildings still in ruins from the previous year's siege. Women washed clothes and gossiped while children laughed and played in the water.
Jack shivered, remembering the terrible days of Havelock's relief and the evacuation. Not far from here, he had acknowledged his mother, and over there – he altered his angle of vision – she had died at the hands of a Pathan. He glanced at Batoor and wondered anew at his loyalty. He had so many memories of Lucknow, good and bad, for Mary was also here, in his mind.
'Are you all right, sir?' O'Neill asked.
'Yes, sergeant.' Jack concentrated on the task at hand. 'Well, Riley, this is where you lead the pack. You know where this treasure wagon is hidden.'
Riley glanced at Logan. 'I know where somebody hid a wagon last year, sir,' he said slowly. 'They may have returned for it since then.'
'Let's hope not,' Jack said and hummed the first few bars of Chopin's Funeral March.
'We'll look for it, sir,' Riley said.
'I'm sure you'll remember where to find it.' Jack glanced along the riverbank. 'Perhaps a good place to start would be where you chose to go swimming a few weeks ago.'
'Yes, sir.' Riley sounded frustrated. 'That might be a good place to start.'
'Sergeant O'Neill will make sure you don't get lost,' Jack said. 'And in case you're worried about Charlotte, she is very well.'
'Thank you, sir.' Riley saluted.
Jack posted four sentries along the banks of the river and sent all the others into the river with Riley.
'I believe that the wagon was submerged around here.' Riley looked around, searching for any familiar landmarks. 'It was a bit hectic at the time, what with the pandies attacking and General Campbell trying to get everybody out safely.'
'I remember,' Jack said.
'Over here.' Logan pointed to a tree that overhung the riverbank. 'I remember that crooked tree. Somebody had hanged a pandy from it, and he was swinging back and forward.'
'We'll work at night,' Jack decided. 'If we search through the day, we'll attract too much attention.' He was breaking every rule in the book. By rights, I should contact my superior officer, Colonel Hook, wherever he may be, or Sir Colin Campbell. By making this decision to search for and hand over a treasure wagon that by rights belonged to the East India Company, Jack knew he was far exceeding his authority. The Army could cashier him, or charge him with theft. On the other hand, if he waited for orders, Jayanti might execute her prisoners. It was a choice between his career and the life of an unknown number of soldiers of the 113th.
Most of the outskirts of that part of Lucknow were in ruins, with a gaggle of refugees huddling in whatever shelter they could find. Jack found a battered house within a walled garden, posted sentries at the only gate and settled his men in until dusk. Used to the tedium of army life, the men accepted their lot without demur, while Jack fought his frustration at the inactivity and led them back to the riverside as soon as the light faded.
'How did you come to find the treasure in the first place, Riley?'
'The last wagon in the column broke a wheel,' Riley said. 'The driver ran away, and a couple of men drove it into the river to hide it.'
'You and Logan would be the two men.' Jack smiled when Riley shrugged. 'It's all right, Riley. Carry on with your story.'
'The wagon was in a bad state, sir,' Riley said. 'It might have broken up in the river.'
'If that happened, the current would take the contents downstream,' Jack said. 'Whatever was inside could be anywhere, miles away.'
'Maybe, sir,' Riley knew more about treasure than Jack ever would. 'The river would take away the wood and any documents, any light stuff. It was last November, sir, after last year's rains, and this year's rains are not due for a couple of months yet.'
'I am aware of the seasons, Riley,' Jack said.
'Yes, sir. I mean that the current is not strong enough to shift anything heavy, or not far. If we look downstream from where these men – whoever they were – left the wagon, we should find at least some of the golden or silver items.'
Jack hid his smile. 'Can you remember where these mysterious
men left the wagon?'
'Opposite that tree, sir,' Riley said. 'Logie and I were watching them and wondering what they were doing.'
'Yes, sir,' Logan added. 'We thought they looked a right pair of blackguards, sir, and wondered if we should tell you.'
'I'm sure you considered that, Logan.'
Jack spread the men downstream from the tree, with orders to scour the bed of the river and hand him anything they found. He sat on the bank and prepared to supervise. A lot had happened since he had been last in Lucknow. He had met his grandfather and played chess with Jayanti. He had also made love to Mary. Jack smiled at the memory. Now life had moved on again, and he was back in this city of palaces, watching his men wade in the river.
There was something surreal about this task, with eight men splashing about in an Indian river by the light of a sickle moon, dipping and cursing as they searched for a Rajah's treasure. Jack grunted; he hadn't expected to do this when he accepted the Queen's commission. The life of an officer in the British Army was full of variety and interest, although he could never tell his grandchildren about this particular experience.
'I've found something.' Mahoney held up a glittering object.
'Bring it here.' Jack stepped into the river.
It was a small golden cup with a single band of rubies. 'Well done, Mahoney.' That cup would be worth more money than Mahoney would pocket in ten years. Jack placed it in the canvas sack he'd brought. It was a start. 'Keep looking, lads, Mahoney's cup might be the first.' Alternatively, the Sikhs could have found everything months ago. Jack gave a rueful smile; the Sikhs were reputed to be the most expert looters in India.
As dawn lightened the horizon, he called in the men and checked what they had brought him. Among the assorted rubbish he collected was one human skull, a few miscellaneous bones and a silver coin with Arabic script.
'Well done lads,' Jack said when his men straggled ashore, dripping wet and slightly furtive. 'Now strip.'
They stared at him. 'What?'
'Strip,' Jack repeated. 'Why so shy, boys? I've seen you unclad before.' He raised his voice slightly. 'Shall I ask the sergeant to help you?'
Slowly, one-by-one, they began to take off their sodden uniforms, with Jack searching each piece of clothing and removing the items he found. Within minutes, he had a sizeable collection of golden artefacts, pieces of jewellery and coins.
'Good hunting, lads.' Jack bundled his treasure into a sack. 'We'll do the same tomorrow night and onward until we have sufficient treasure to free our colleagues.' He felt their eyes on him, the suspicious, predatory, bright eyes of some of the most desperate soldiers in the world. These were his men, yet he would not sleep easy until he had handed the treasure over. As Colonel Hook had said, the love of money, as well as power, was the root of all evil.
'Sergeant O'Neill,' Jack said. 'I want this treasure guarded. Its presence is a great temptation to some of the men. Batoor will help you.'
'The Pathan? They're the greatest thieves in the East!'
'Set a thief to catch a thief,' Jack said. 'Besides, he has eaten my salt.' He was aware that Batoor was listening and knew he need say no more.
Jack joined the men in the water on the second night, probing further down river and finding an elegant brass chest adorned with emeralds, and a jewelled knife scabbard that must have been worth a small fortune. On the third night, Riley handed over an ivory chess set.
'Thank you,' Jack said. The set with its exotic pieces brought back memories of his deadly game with Jayanti. It was a reminder why he was here.
'Keep working lads,' Jack encouraged. 'We have lives to save.' He drove them harder after that, starting earlier, keeping them longer in the water and taking more risks of discovery. He set Batoor as a permanent guard of their haul, with the Pathan sleeping on top of the treasure by night and remaining in their base house through the stupefying heat of the day.
When any locals came too close, Jack had Armstrong or Logan scare them away, and on the only occasion that a British picket looked curiously at these men in the river, Jack pulled rank on the sergeant in charge. With so many of the British garrison engaged in chasing after the remaining rebels in Oudh, the Central Provinces and Rohilkhand, there were insufficient soldiers to spare in Lucknow, to investigate his small party.
Twice MacKinnon reported that something was wrong. Each time Jack sent him out with Coleman and Thorpe to scout the surrounding area, and they returned without incident.
'It's just the general tension, MacKinnon,' Jack said. 'We'll only be one more day.'
The one more day stretched into two, and then three, and although Jack's store of Lucknow's royal wealth mounted, it was not sufficient to bribe a rajah. Every day at least one of the men would approach him with the suggestion that they could divide the loot between them and desert en masse. Each time Jack thanked the man for his idea and ordered him back to work. Such a reaction was inevitable when a collection of desperadoes such as the 113th collected treasure.
At the back of Jack's mind was the worry that the men might decide to slit his throat and run with the loot. Despite their valour in battle, the men of the 113th were still the dregs of the British Army. Jack slept with his revolver to hand and his sword loose in the scabbard.
'Sir!' Thorpe held up his hand as if he were a schoolboy. 'I've found something.'
'Well bring it over, Thorpe,' Jack kept his patience – Thorpe was doing his best.
'I can't, sir. It's too big.'
Jack splashed through the river. 'What do you have, Thorpe?' He grunted as he stubbed his toe on something hard and delved into the water. His hands encountered a wooden frame, and then something circular.
A wheel. Thorpe had found the remains of the wagon. He'd discovered the mother lode.
'They must have driven the wagon into a hole in the river bed, sir, and it's broke up.' Thorpe gave his opinion.
'Well done, Thorpe,' Jack said, raised his voice and gathered all the men together. 'Up here, men.'
Jack agreed with Thorpe's assessment. The thieves had driven the wagon into the river, aiming for the deep central area, but only quarter way across must have lurched into a hidden depth. That was lucky for us. After months in the river, the wooden body of the wagon had rotted, and it was the work of five minutes to tear a sizeable hole and reveal the contents. Jack organised the men, with the best swimmers diving under the surface to lift the booty and the others forming a human chain, handing the objects to one another until they reached the riverbank, where Jack took final delivery. The pile of golden objects and jewelled clothing, shining cups and strings of pearls and rubies grew by the minute.
Dawn was threatening before they finished, and the heap of treasure littered the bank.
'That will do,' Jack decided at last.
'There's more left, sir.' Thorpe had enjoyed looting the wagon.
'I'm sure there is, Thorpe. When you leave the Army, you can return here and take what remains.'
'No, sir,' Thorpe said. 'I would never do that. It's stealing sir.'
This was a new side to Thorpe. 'Well said, Thorpe.'
'You go to Hell for stealing, sir,' Thorpe informed him.
They carried the loot to their base in relays, with Jack leaving honest Private Thorpe in charge of the collection at the riverside. 'If anybody tries to take anything, Thorpe, shoot him. Whoever it is.'
'Yes, sir,' Thorpe said and happily pointed his rifle at Armstrong.
'Not one of us, Thorpey,' Coleman pushed the rifle barrel aside. 'Captain Windrush didn't mean that.'
'I was only jesting,' Thorpe said.
Jack wasn't sure. He should know by now to ensure his orders were explicit for men such as Thorpe. Armstrong didn't seem amused at the joke either.
'That's us,' Jack said when the last of the treasure was deposited inside their base house. 'Now we have to get this to Gondabad.'
'We have one camel,' Riley said. 'We'll need at least six, or a wagon.'
'No wagon,' Jack
decided. 'They move too slowly, and we won't be on pukka roads most of the time. We'll use camels.'
'Where the hell will we find camels?'
'Batoor.' Jack tossed over half a dozen gold mohurs from the pile on the floor. 'You're the expert. Take our camel driver and find us half a dozen camels. Don't get caught, and if you cut anybody's throat, make sure he's not important.'
'Yes, Captain Windrush.' Batoor gave a mock salaam.
'Now we prepare and wait for Batoor,' Jack said. The fate of the British captives in Gondabad and the possible allegiance of the Rajah of that city depended on the loyalty of a Pathan who had lately fought against them. For some reason he couldn't understand, the thought made Jack smile.
Even inside the thick walls of the house, the heat was intense. The men of the 113th lay there, sweltering, aware that their future would be one of poverty and danger despite the king's ransom that lay at their feet. Jack leaned against the wall with his hand never far from the butt of his revolver. He hated himself for distrusting his men after all they'd been through together.
'Something's not right,' Mackinnon said. 'I feel it.'
'You're not bloody right,' O'Neill growled, 'and you'll feel my boot up your arse unless you shut your mouth.'
Flies buzzed around them, seeking sweat. The men swatted ineffectually.
'I hope Batoor isn't long,' Coleman said.
'He'll be as long as it takes,' O'Neill said. 'You go to the window and keep watch.'
'What am I watching for?'
'Anything that could be suspicious, Coleman. You heard MacKinnon; something's not right.'
'Why not send Mac, then?' Coleman asked.
'Because I sent you.'
'Get the loot into sections.' Jack gave the men work to reduce the tedium of waiting. 'We better be ready to load up when Batoor arrives.'
Jack let the day's routine continue, wondering if he was right to trust Batoor. It would be easy for the Pathan to whistle up a dozen unscrupulous rogues in Lucknow, descend on his small party at night and slaughter them for the treasure.
'Sir.' Coleman's voice awoke him from a heat-induced doze. 'Somebody's coming.'
Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns Page 21