Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns

by Malcolm Archibald

  'Would you fight against the British if he ordered you?' Jack remained on the offensive.

  'I hope it never comes to that,' Baird temporised.

  'If it came to a choice, Commander-sahib, where would your loyalty lie?'

  Baird didn't reply directly. 'How do you intend to encourage the Rajah to back the British, and keep his word?'

  'With a hostage.' Jack saw Baird start. Batoor's suggestion had at least caught the Commander-sahib's attention. It might also work with the Rajah.

  'Asking for a hostage will show your distrust of the Rajah.' Baird sat back down, with his fingers tapping on his bureau.

  'I know,' Jack said.

  'There is nothing to stop the Rajah from taking your fortune – if it exists – and then supporting the rebels.' Baird seemed to be thinking aloud.

  'Yes, there is,' Jack said. 'I will arrange for the hostage to be sent to Calcutta. If the Rajah reneges on his word, then the hostage will be hanged.' Jack was lost in the murky waters of Indian and Imperial politics now, so far out of his depth that he felt as if he was drowning.

  Baird lay back in his chair. 'The Rajah might not agree to that condition.'

  'Then the treasure goes directly to John Company in Calcutta, less the cut that I will take to ransom the British prisoners from Jayanti.' He put an edge to his voice. 'I will take my men to Sir Colin Campbell and inform him that the Rajah of Gondabad has sided with the mutineers and has given shelter to Nana and Jayanti. I will say that Jayanti murdered British prisoners in this fort. Sir Colin will be incensed and will march here with his army.'

  Jack stopped talking for a moment to emphasise his next words. 'Sir Colin will storm Gondabad and raze this fort to the ground. He will hang the Rajah and ensure his family lose any rights to British protection or British money. The Company will take over the lands, and that will be the end of the Rajah of Gondabad and his line.'

  Although Jack had no authority to issue any of these threats, he had enjoyed acting the tyrant. Perhaps it was because of the strain of the last few months, or the abject poverty of so many people in India when compared to the gross luxury of the princes. He waited for a reaction.

  Baird nodded slowly. 'I will pass on your message.'

  'There is no need.' Jack felt more reckless than he had for months. 'The Rajah's spy is behind the screen in this room, so he will soon relate all that I said. Here is more for him. I wish the Rajah's sons as hostages. I know how important it is to Hindus to leave an heir, so I will promise the British will care for them, as long as the Rajah remains loyal. On the other hand, if we so much as sniff disloyalty, they will be hanged without mercy.'

  That was a pure bluff, Jack knew. The British government and especially the Queen would never countenance such treatment. Once the Rajah's sons were in British custody, they would be as safe as any public schoolboy in England.

  Baird breathed out slowly. Jack heard slight movement in the room and guessed that the spy had left, presumably by some hidden doorway. These old Indian forts were rumoured to be full of secret tunnels and entrances.

  'The Rajah won't like the British threatening him,' Baird said.

  'I'm not here to be nice to the Rajah,' Jack said. 'As somebody told me recently, I'm not a diplomat; I'm a soldier. How long will I have to wait here before I get an answer?'

  'The Rajah might order you killed out of hand,' Baird said. 'I've never known anybody talk like that in this fort.'

  'If the Rajah has me killed,' Jack said, 'then Sir Colin will undoubtedly destroy the place. My men know where I am and have orders to report to Sir Colin if I don't return within a specified time.'

  'You're a brave man,' Baird said.

  Jack shrugged. Nobody would ever know how untrue Baird's statement was. For all Jack's bluff, he was shaking inside, and the prospect of the Rajah killing him in some hideous manner was terrifying.

  When the door opened a file of tall Rajputs in breastplates and helmets entered, each one carrying a tulwar.

  'The Rajah's guard,' Baird said. 'Your fate is now out of my hands.'

  Jack forced a smile. 'Well, grandfather, it has been interesting meeting you once more. I hope there is a third time, but if not,' he shrugged, 'look after yourself.'

  As the guard pushed Batoor aside and formed around Jack, he wondered if the Rajah would call his bluff. Think well of me, Mary. I tried to do my duty.

  The durbar room was much as before, with the Rajah and Rani sitting on their thrones as if they did nothing else. The Rajah still sported his jewels and finery while the Rani remained plainly dressed.

  The escort pushed Jack inside.

  'Good evening,' Jack said as he entered the room. He contemplated salaaming and decided not to. He was not here on a diplomatic mission. 'You will remember me – Captain Jack Windrush of the 113th Foot.'

  'We remember you.' The Rani's voice was low.

  'I believe that you are considering joining the rebels.' Jack thought it politic not to mention the rebel warriors already ensconced within the fort.

  The Rajah looked at him as if he were some form of lower insect that he should squash underfoot, while the Rani raised a single finger.

  'The wind blows this way and that,' the Rani said. 'If it blows from the north, it may blow the British into the sea. If it blows from the south, it may bring more British across the Kala Pani.'

  'That is very cryptic,' Jack said. The Rajah looked away. The Rani lifted a small brass bell and rang it, once. A soft-footed servant appeared holding a silver tray on which stood a bottle and one glass.

  'Have a drink, Captain Windrush.'

  'Thank you.' Was the Rani offering him the last drink of a condemned man? It was impolite to refuse hospitality, so he poured himself a small glass of a milky white liquid and tasted it. 'Very nice.'

  'I know how much British soldiers like to get drunk,' the Rani said.

  'Some do,' Jack agreed.

  'I hear that you have tribute for us.'

  Tribute? That's one way of describing a bribe. 'I have some wealth that the British government may wish to exchange in return for the privilege of looking after your majesty's sons.' That sounded good.

  'My sons are happy here,' the Rani said.

  'If the war continues,' Jack spoke slowly, 'and Sir Colin Campbell or General Rose learn that Nana Sahib and Jayanti have taken refuge in Gondabad, they will believe that you are siding with the rebels. They will undoubtedly destroy this fort, and there will be no safe place for your sons. If I take them with me, they will be safe.'

  'Will they?' Jack thought there was genuine concern in the Rani's face.

  'You have my word as a British officer,' Jack said.

  The Rani's smile was as cynical as anything Jack had ever seen. 'Even with that assurance from a captain in the 113th Regiment of Foot, will they be safe?'

  'I believe so.'

  Leaning across to the Rajah, the Rani whispered something, to which he replied. They spoke for a few moments, and the Rani returned her attention to Jack. 'How much tribute do you have for us?'

  'I have five camel loads,' Jack said. 'I have not counted the value.'

  'Will there be more tribute later?' The Rani held Jack's gaze.

  'If you confirm your support to the British, I am sure that the Honourable East India Company will show its appreciation.'

  The Rani leaned back in her throne as if exhausted by the conversation. She flicked her fingers as if in dismissal.

  'There is one more thing, Your Majesty.' Jack didn't know the correct term of address for a Rani so used the same as he would for the queen. 'The outlaw Jayanti holds some British prisoners in another section of your fort. Perhaps they sneaked in without your knowledge.' He watched the Rani for some sign of emotion, either satisfaction or guilt. He saw neither. 'Could Your Majesty use her authority to free these prisoners?'

  The Rani looked bored, if anything. She spoke quietly to her husband for some time while Jack waited for an answer. 'We know nothing of these matters,'
she said at last and spoke to the guards.

  As Jack opened his mouth to continue the conversation, he saw the guards approaching him. Without a word, they formed around him and marched out of the durbar room. It seemed that their majesties had no interest in helping the British prisoners.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Batoor was waiting for Jack at the camp. 'I thought the Rajah would throw you to the elephants,' he said.

  'So did I.' Jack forced a smile.

  'What happens now, sir?' O'Neill asked.

  'We try to ransom the prisoners.' Jack lifted his head. 'Can you hear firing?'

  'Yes, sir. It's been going on half the night. Not constant, just every half hour or so and then it fades away again, maybe depends on the wind.'

  'That might be our boys,' Jack said. 'I heard musketry earlier but thought nothing of it. As far as I'm aware, the only British unit near here is Elliot. Forget the prisoners for the present, O'Neill. We're heading to the temple.'

  'Yes, sir. How about the camels?'

  'We're taking them too; I'll be damned before I give the pandies a present of our loot.'

  O'Neill grinned. 'Yes, sir. The pandies already know we're here, sir.'

  'I thought they might,' Jack said. 'We're moving right away before the Rajah sends his army after our treasure.'

  'There are about thirty men on that ridge to the south,' O'Neill said.

  'As long as they remain on the ridge, they can number three hundred and thirty.' Jack patted the neck of the nearest camel. 'Come on, sergeant. We're on the road again.'

  They headed north towards the jungle and the temple, keeping the camels in the centre of their small column and watching their surroundings.

  'They're following us, sir,' MacKinnon reported.

  Jack swore when he heard a spatter of firing ahead. Whoever was following him, he had no desire to lead them to the temple, yet his handful of men was too weak to fight off a determined attack.

  'Go and find out what's happening, O'Neill. Don't get involved.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  Jack glanced around. 'We'll wait on that knoll there.' The small hillock would provide a decent all-round field of fire.

  O'Neill slipped ahead, moving as silently as any jungle-dweller as he vanished into the trees. Jack led the others to the knoll, settled the camels down and formed a defensive perimeter. He sighed. None of his plans was working out in this campaign. He had made no progress with the Rajah, the enemy seemed to have discovered Elliot's position, and Jayanti still held the British prisoners. Colonel Hook had ordered him to find and destroy her, and she was as strong as ever.

  'They're coming closer,' Whitelam warned.

  'Good.' Logan hefted his rifle.

  Jack scanned the now-nearby enemy. 'That's the same bunch that stole our camels.' He searched for the woman with the ruby ring.

  The mob yelled at them, waving swords, spears and sticks.

  'If shouting is the best they can do, we've nothing to worry about,' Coleman said. 'Bloody raggy-arsed blackguards, them.'

  'They're bloody raggy-arsed blackguards,' Thorpe repeated. 'Aren't they, Logie, raggy-arsed blackguards?'

  'Aye, that's right, Thorpey. A bit like you, eh?'

  'They're nothing like me,' Thorpe objected. 'Eh, they're nothing like me, Coleman? I'm not a raggy-arsed blackguard; I'm a soldier.'

  'Yes, you're a soldier Thorpe,' Jack said. 'Now act like one and have a decko around the perimeter. Take Coleman with you in case you get lost.'

  A single shot ran out, and Jack flinched as the bullet thudded into the tree a few inches from his head. He ducked, swearing, and searched the surrounding forest. A betraying puff of smoke drifted high up and to his right.

  'There's a sniper,' Riley reported.

  'It'll be one of Jayanti's women,' Jack said. 'Do you remember Fort Ruhya?'

  'How can I forget?' Riley scanned the treetops.

  'There she is,' Whitelam aimed his rifle. 'She's in that palm, hidden behind a bunch of fronds. Can I fire, sir?'

  'Yes, Whitelam.' Jack sighed. Sometimes he found it irritating working with men who needed an order for the simplest thing.

  Whitelam's rifle cracked out. 'That's one less,' he said, as a body hurtled from the tree to swing upside down from the end of a rope. 'She was tied in.'

  'There will be more.' Jack wondered if the markswoman wore a ruby ring. 'Keep your heads down and watch the tree tops.'

  A figure appeared, weaving through the jungle. Hatless and dishevelled, O'Neill ducked as a musket roared out, jumped over something Jack couldn't see and threw himself into the 113th position.

  'Trouble, sir,' he said. 'There must be fifty of the enemy around us, with these crazy women amongst them, and Lieutenant Elliot's under siege.'

  Jack nodded, trying to assimilate the information. 'Thank you, sergeant. How is Elliot holding out?'

  'He's doing all right, sir. I don't know how many men are besieging him, I couldn't get close enough to count.'

  'A hundred? Two hundred? A thousand?' Jack asked. 'Take a guess, sergeant.'

  'I can't tell sir. Maybe two hundred, maybe three.'

  'We'll join Elliot,' Jack said. 'We're doing no good here.'

  The temple was still a mile away through the forest, with narrow tracks perfect for ambush and overhanging trees on which sharpshooters could perch.

  'Move fast,' Jack ordered. 'O'Neill, lead us, and I will be rear guard.' In situations such as this, the last man was in most danger, and Jack wished to ensure that all his men were safe. 'Drive those camels fast!'

  Batoor grinned at Jack. 'We are now camel drivers as well as warriors.'

  'I don't care what they call us, as long as we get through safely.'

  The enemy was waiting, with men and women dodging through the trees, firing at them, throwing spears and shouting slogans that they may have been intended to intimidate.

  'Push on!' Jack slapped the rump of a reluctant camel. 'Don't stop for anything!'

  A half-naked man sprang from the trees in front of O'Neill, who barely broke stride as he thrust his bayonet into the man's stomach, ripped sideways and tossed him aside like a sack of meal. Somebody fired from the right, and another from the left, with Thorpe yelping as a shot grazed his leg.

  'Hey! You dirty blackguards! Come and fight fair!'

  'Never mind that scratch,' Jack yelled. 'Keep moving!'

  Driving camels was never easy, and when the drivers were scared and the path narrow, the task was much more difficult. After another quarter of a mile, the enemy began to target the camels.

  A black-turbaned woman emerged from a stand of bamboo, fired point-blank and ran away before Coleman could react. The leading camel spat blood, tried to recover and fell in a tangle of legs and tumbling panniers.

  'Coleman, Thorpe! Lift these panniers; put them on the nearest two camels!' Jack fired his revolver in the direction the warrior woman had fled. He looked around. His convoy spread over twenty-five yards of the path, with the escort very thin to guard the five remaining camels. 'Close up!'

  The enemy was getting bolder now, standing at the jungle edge to try to slash escort and camels with swords and spears. Jack saw Logan step sideways and thrust with his bayonet, and heard him curse as his attacker melted into the trees.

  'Keep moving!' Jack said. 'We're nearly there.'

  There was still a quarter of a mile to go, uphill and with the sun hammering down on them. 'One last push,' Jack yelled, and then a second camel fell.

  Jack saw it happen. A red-turbaned man lunged from the jungle and pressed a long musket to the chest of the camel driver. MacKinnon, the nearest escort, was a second too late in swinging his rifle butt at the man's head. Red-turban fired the musket, the driver screamed and fell, and three more men burst from the trees at the opposite side of the track.

  Lifting his revolver, Jack hesitated as the camel shifted, coming between him and his target. The men hacked at the animal with long knives before vanishing between the trees. MacKi
nnon began to follow until Jack grabbed hold of his arm. 'No, MacKinnon, they'll be waiting for you in there.' He fired a pointless shot after them and knelt by the camel. It was not dead but severely wounded, thrashing around on the ground beside its prone driver.

  'Poor bugger,' MacKinnon said. 'Why do we have to bring animals to war?'

  'Parker would agree,' Jack said. Placing his revolver against the animal's head, he pressed the trigger. 'Best to end its suffering.'

  'Yes, sir,' MacKinnon said.

  'Take the camel's gear and spread it around,' Jack said. 'Hurry man!' He could hear the rustlings in the forest and knew the enemy was gathering. If he had been their commander, he would launch an attack now, while part of the British force was struggling to unload the camel and they were still some distance from the temple.

  'Come on, lads!' Jack helped MacKinnon carry the panniers to the next animal, which still walked with its characteristic slow lope along the jungle path.

  'Not far now, sir!' O'Neill shouted.

  As the remaining camels struggled with the increased loads, their speed dropped further. Jack sympathised with the animals, yet knew he had no alternative. He fired a shot when a face appeared in the jungle, swore as he tried another shot, and the hammer clicked on an empty chamber.

  'Sir!' O'Neill's voice. 'We're at the temple!'

  O'Neill's claim was slightly premature as the convoy emerged from the jungle to the hundred-yard-wide maidan that separated them from the temple, and intermittent firing on both sides. Mysterious small humps littered the maidan, and the acrid reek of gunpowder drifted among the trees.

  'The lads won't know who we are,' Jack said. 'Tell them that we're the 113th!'

  'Cry Havelock!' Coleman elongated the last vowel. 'Cry Havelock!'

  'Cry Havelock!' The shout echoed from the temple.

  'And let loose the dogs of war!'

  Between the heat and the powder smoke, the outskirts of the temple were hazy. Although Jack knew that Mary, Elliot and the bulk of his men were there, he could see only the vague shapes of men darting among the ruins and the occasional orange flashes of muzzle-flares.

  The small humps in the maidan, Jack realised, were the dead bodies of men, some recent and furred with flies, others older and already decomposing in the heat. The sweet smell of purification hit him.