Free Lance Page 27

  ‘Fire!’

  The case whistled and ripped and tore. Crews rhythmically reloaded, fired again. Amaury waited a minute while eight rounds belched from the guns. Then the squadron, two ranks deep, thundered into the charge.

  A leaderless mob intent on escape, the Pindaris were straw for the Rahtors’ swords. Caught like rats between steel and water they dropped their weapons and screamed for mercy. The troopers laughed, and hacked them bone from bone. Vedvyas halted the carnage, shouting like a lunatic, striking up the blades. ‘Prisoners! Take prisoners! Take them alive!’ Darting from man to man he forced blood-maddened Rahtors to spare their shrieking victims.

  Amaury faced him furiously. ‘What the devil are you doing?’ he rasped in English. ‘Sirdar sahib, why let these jackals live?’

  ‘We need an example,’ Vedvyas answered. ‘Do as I say - and Pindari raids will trouble us no more!’

  Amaury met his eye, breathed deep and sheathed his sword. They rode through the night to Dharia and entered the gates at dawn. Roped to saddle-bows and cantles a hundred footsore captives stumbled beside the horses. Many were wounded; some had been dragged half-drowned from the river; all were spent from a twenty-mile march, half trot, half walk. Vedvyas crammed them into a hut, mounted a guard, and climbed to the citadel’s topmost floor where Amaury, sprawled on cushions, devoured curried goat and greeted the mirasdar glumly.

  ‘Without those useless prisoners, Vedvyasjee, we could have been back last night.’ He dipped a rice ball in chillee sauce and stuffed it into his mouth. ‘You are not by nature a merciful man - so what is the point?’

  Vedvyas inspected the food, and licked his lips. ‘You permit, sahib?’ He scooped a handful, and champed gustily. ‘We burned our first Pindari prisoners alive, and so destroyed the evidence which might have discouraged their friends. This time we shall warn them in a more emphatic manner that the cost of crossing Dharia is more than they can pay.’

  ‘What will you do?’ Amaury said uneasily.

  ‘Leave it to me, sahib.’ He selected a juicy titbit, and popped it into his mouth. ‘Better, perhaps, you do not inquire.’

  Amaury, naturally, did inquire. The Pindaris were divided in batches of ten and sent under guard to villages near the border. The choice, he learned, was not haphazard: every hamlet neighbourhood a route which Pindari gangs had used in the past. He mounted a horse and followed at a distance a party whose destination lay not far away. When he reached the village the havildar in charge interviewed the headman and then relinquished his captives to a crowd of eager peasants which was quickly swelled by traders from the buzar and workers running from fields. They surrounded the prisoners, and hustled them into the jungle.

  Amaury joined the havildar, who leaned against his horse and blissfully scratched his armpit.

  ‘Where are they going?’

  ‘A little farther on a cart track crosses the border. There they will carry out the orders I passed from Vedvyas Sahib.’ He smiled bleakly. ‘This village has been ravaged by Pindaris - and I think the people will enjoy themselves!’

  Thoroughly disquieted, Amaury entered the jungle, guided by the clamour far ahead. Trees and bushes thinned; he reined on the edge of a clearing where a ruined temple crowned a hillock sloping to the path. The villagers, shouting abuse, gathered in a ring about their victims. They loosed the ropes that bound a Pindari’s wrists, stripped his loincloth, gripped head and arms and legs and held him tight. A muscular half-naked peasant, knife in hand, shambled around the wretch, prodded his ribs and pinched the flesh. Smoothly he sliced the scalp from nose to nape, slashed along the backbone, traced a bloody line down thighs and calves. Slouching to the front he carved from jaw to genitals, along each leg to the toes.

  The Pindari shrieked and struggled; his captors held him fast while the audience pranced and yelled.

  Amaury swallowed spittle, and rode away, the din becoming fainter as he went. He climbed the steps to his quarters, collapsed on a cot and closed his eyes. In forty-eight sleepless hours he had ridden seventy miles, and was tired beyond thought. Sleep came to him at last, an intermittent stupor haunted by evil dreams.,

  A hundred bodies, flayed and living, sentinelled the frontiers, a vengeance for the people and a warning to Pindaris. For years thereafter none set foot in Dharia.

  ‘Christ in heaven, have you done no more than arrest a stupid havildar?’

  Marriott, recalled a second time from tour, held an after-dinner council in the dining-room. All the Englishmen in Hurrondah - except the chaplain, assisted, after the ladies left, hiccupping to bed - lounged in chairs around the table. Glasses and decanters dotted the cloth; houcca and cheroot smoke garlanded the candles and swirled through open windows. Told of the treasury’s sacking Marriott had sat for a moment stunned while the implications flooded his mind. He faced the Council’s wrath, would probably be recalled. The promising career that climbed like a golden ladder had cracked beneath his feet. Frustration honed his rage; he glared at Anstruther and Todd.

  ‘You both deserve court-martialling. By God, I shall see that you are!’

  Anstruther said sulkily, ‘What more could we do? I led out my dragoons directly it was light, tracked the gunwheels’ ruts and caught them near the border.’

  ‘You found them? Then why the devil are they not here, and under guard?’

  ‘I shall tell you why,’ the cornet snapped. ‘They saw our dust and unlimbered into action. Have you faced six cannon layed and loaded, portfires smoking a handsbreadth over the vents? No! Would you be brave enough, Charles, to charge with twenty dragoons?’

  Marriott lighted a cheroot with shaking hands, swallowed smoke and coughed. ‘So. What then?’

  ‘I tied a handkerchief to my sabre, and advanced alone. Upon my conscience, you should recommend a brevet, not a court! That rascal Welladvice received me civilly enough. I asked to see inside his ammunition wagons.’ Anstruther fanned his face. ‘I declare my conduct surpassed all bounds of courage!’

  ‘Did he comply?’

  ‘Grinned like an ape and opened every one. Nothing but cartridges, case and roundshot.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said General Wrangham, ‘the guns were used to lure you from the trail of the Company’s funds. You had to let him go?’

  Anstruther raised his eyebrows. ‘What else? Only ferocious numbskulls such as Amaury ride down guns!’

  ‘Hugo!’ Marriott exclaimed. ‘You saw neither him nor Vedvyas?’

  ‘No. Hugo, I should think, has been murdered.’

  Todd stirred uneasily in his chair. Wrangham said, ‘I am cursedly afraid you’re right - those blackguards had no option. Now they have decamped, cavalry, guns and money, to somewhere in Berar.’

  Beddoes drained his claret glass and planked it down decisively. ‘Be damned if I see young Amaury trotting like a sheep to the shambles! Ye mistake his quality - as ruthless a rogue as ever I saw! A capital sort, the kind that carves out empires and don’t give a damn for a soul. Not unlike meself, egad! Are ye certain he ain’t alive and well, gone roving as a free lance?’

  ‘You have no grounds for that assumption, sir!’ Todd protested angrily. ‘Would you malign the honour of a man who is surely--’ He stopped, and bit his lip.

  Beddoes gave him a penetrating look. ‘Dead, Mr Todd, would ye say? Why d’ye pause? Zounds, I won’t believe Amaury dead till I see him nailed in his coffin!’

  Marriott said impatiently, ‘Conjecture does not help us, gentlemen! We must immediately make plans to recover the stolen funds. With cavalry and sepoys, and your consent, Sir John, I propose we pursue directly!’

  ‘A Company force invading Berar?’ Wrangham pursed his lips. ‘ ‘Tis expressly forbid by the India Act of ’84. No Company servant, not the Governor-General himself, may declare war without the Court of Directors’ permission.’

  ‘Who talks of declaring war?’ said Marriott, exasperated. ‘Surely we have the right to retrieve our property?’

  ‘A distinction lacking differ
ence, Mr Marriott. On no account will I lend my authority to the military entering a native state.’ Grouchily they wrangled on, the general obstinate, Marriott indignant. Beddoes lumbered to his feet. ‘For blood and hounds, I can’t abide y’r bickering! Such wishy-washy soft-fellows as ye are these days! Thirty years agone I’d have hunted out those beggars wheresoever they had fled. Good night to ye, sirs!’

  He stamped out. Wrangham said dryly, ‘Thirty years ago Robert Clive had just left India. Beddoes is not sensible he lives in another age. No, Mr Marriott. It is absolutely necessary you act with moderation. I suggest you write to the Council - to Mr Harley, indeed - and await advices.’

  ‘A month or more before we receive an answer! Meanwhile we do nothing.’ Angrily Marriott stubbed his cheroot, snatched a candle and lighted another. ‘What use are the Company’s soldiers idling here in barracks? Unneeded in Bahrampal, forbid to be sent beyond. They had best return to Madras!’

  ‘I am entirely of your mind, sir, and intend to take them with me when I go.’

  Todd’s hand jumped on the table, overturned his glass. A crimson puddle starred the cloth. ‘The s-sepoys also?’ he stuttered. ‘B-back to the Carnatic, to Arcot?’

  ‘Indeed, Mr Todd.’

  Bemusedly the ensign mopped the wine strain with a napkin. ‘But I cannot. . . not yet . . . not when Hugo is . . .’ He pushed back his chair, and walked unsteadily from the room.

  ‘Henry idolized Amaury,’ Anstruther said sadly.

  While Caroline changed her clothes on return from a morning ride a shocked Amelia - whom Beddoes had just informed - told her Amaury was dead. Her face went grey as cold spent ashes; an uncontrollable shuddering shook her from head to toe. Amelia caught her as she fell, lowered her on the bed, ran for camphor salts and hartshorn. Caroline lay motionless, green eyes wide and staring; and so she stayed till evening, refusing food and drink. At sundown Amelia, highly alarmed, counselled her medical skills, stirred laudanum drops in water and made her swallow. She slept like a corpse all night, and kept her room next day, refusing everyone but Amelia, including her father.

  ‘What is the matter with the girl?’ said the general. ‘Amaury is not the first acquaintance she has lost - men die like flies in Madras.’

  Amelia, mixing a bowl of gruel, kept her thoughts to herself.

  Within a week Caroline took her place again in Hurrondah’s little society, resumed her morning rides and attended meals. She was pale and listless, her vibrant liveliness lost. Her languor was matched by Todd’s, who strangely neglected his duties, remained withdrawn, unsociable, gloomily wrapped in thought. Anstruther’s rallies met Caroline’s melancholy smile, Todd’s baleful glare; and despondently he abandoned his encouragements. ‘Cursedly doleful pair - don’t know what afflicts ’em!’

  General Wrangham, engaged in preparations for departure, became increasingly impatient of his daughter’s mood, which he regarded as some arcane feminine tantrum. Another irritation was the betrothal urged on Marriott before the guard house robbery. He recognized that the calamity reflected on Marriott’s competence, would earn the Council’s reprimand, might ruin his career. But Wrangham, an upright man, decided he could not in honour withdraw; he had pledged his word and that was that. Had the fellow offered? If not, why not? Sir John crossly attacked the Collector as he left his office.

  Time is getting short, sir. Have you spoken to Caroline?’

  Marriott fumbled a packet of deeds, and looked at the ground. ‘Not yet. The time is hardly opportune... she is not herself…’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense! Tis the sickly season, nothing else. Damme, I feel like a wrung-out rag myself! No more dawdling, sir! I want my daughter engaged for marriage before she removes to Madras.’

  Next morning before sunrise Marriott, wearing his best blue saxony coat, silk cravat, tan breeches and gleaming boots, met Caroline’s customary escort waiting mounted outside the bungalow. He sent Fane smartly to the court room, rudely dismissed Anstruther; and so contrived to ride with her alone. There were shadows beneath her eyes, and tired little furrows touched the corners of her lips. She seemed abstracted, and answered only briefly his inconsequential chatter. Marriott felt dismayed: this reserved young woman was far from the provocative hoyden who had kissed him on the racecourse.

  He screwed his courage.

  ‘Caroline...pray forgive me. I must discuss with you a matter which engages, day and night, my heart and mind. I told you long ago I loved you dearly. My sentiments are unchanged; I love you more than I can say. Humbly I beg you--’

  ‘Stop, Charles!’ The hand that clenched her whip was bloodless at the knuckles. ‘You must not speak ... I cannot accept . . . marriage is not for me, not to you nor any other...’

  Marriott, confounded, stared at her stricken face. ‘I thought you entertained a kindness ... in Madras, you will recall, you promised us betrothed.’

  ‘So long ago, so much has happened since! ‘Tis impossible, Charles. You must forget me, erase my image from your mind. I am unfit...’

  ‘Sir John,’ Marriott said determinedly, ‘encourages my suit. Your parents’ opposition, I collect, is totally withdrawn.’

  ‘It does not signify.’ She saw the hurt in his eyes, and touched his hand. ‘Forgive me, Charles. You believe me fickle and faithless. I should be sorry you think so ill of me, but it is better so. Forget me, Charles, I entreat you! Dismiss me from your thoughts - a woman quite unworthy your respect. It is,’ she added miserably, ‘no more than the truth.’

  Marriott’s stallion lunged at the bit. Savagely he hauled the rein, and scowled across the familiar landscape. Sunrise flushed vermilion the drab scrub-raddled plain, spun flashes of light from Hurrondah’s smooth black rocks. Marriott clenched his fists. Obeying some womanly whim the girl had changed her mind. Profitless to speculate why. The Wrangham riches, the Wrangham influence, were lost as drowned Atlantis; he faced an uncertain future clouded by a. blunder which must earn an official rebuke. He might be recalled to Madras, by God! - relegated to an ink-stained desk and a Junior Merchant’s ledgers. Damn and confound the bitch!

  He said spitefully, ‘I find it entirely remarkable that your retraction should coincide with the setback my fortunes have lately suffered. Are you afraid to engage yourself to a man whose career may be at risk?’

  Caroline looked astonished. ‘I do not understand your meaning, Charles. The only misfortune I know,’ she continued sadly, ‘belongs quite to... another.’

  Marriott composed his features. ‘You have decided, my dear. There is no more to be said - I must accept my congé gracefully. Shall we return to the house?’

  He saw, with bitter satisfaction, tears in Caroline’s eyes.

  When Marriott related his daughter’s refusal the general’s emotions mingled irritation and a relief he tried to conceal. ‘Did the wench advance no reasons?’ he inquired testily; and pursued her to her room and came out looking worried. ‘Her wits are addled; she is not sensible by half.’ He looked at Marriott straightly. ‘I am sorry, upon my word, the affair has. fallen out like this. Perhaps at a later time, when Caroline has recovered her health...’

  Marriott said stiffly, ‘No, sir. I sincerely lament your daughter has refused my hand - but ‘tis over and done. I am perfectly satisfied she will never alter her mind.’

  Beddoes’ wedding lightened the pervading gloom which had settled like a blight on Hurrondah’s tiny community. Announcing his intention of leaving Bahrampal with Wrangham’s party, he insisted on marrying Amelia before they left. ‘Prodigiously indecorous to carry her off unwed!’ He searched the chaplain’s room, removed brandy and rum and claret and gin, and confined him under lock and key for twenty-four hours before the event. A pallid, shaking cleric conducted the service in Marriott’s drawing room. Sir John gave away the bride; Anstruther acted as groomsman, a glorious military vision in scarlet and blue and gold. Caroline, a subdued, unsmiling bridesmaid, supported Amelia to the altar - a bureau draped by a tablecloth, candles flaring like ta
ll gold spears.

  When the service was done Beddoes conducted his bride, leaning on her husband’s arm and avoiding Marriott’s eye, to the dining-room where a wedding breakfast waited. Corks popped and champagne gurgled.

  ‘The bride and groom!’ said Wrangham, raising his glass. ‘To your happiness and health, Mrs Beddoes, and yours, sir!’

  The chaplain, arid with abstinence, fell ravenously on the liquor. Anstruther called a toast, and Fane; servants darted busily, prising corks from bottles; the rattle of talk swelled louder. Todd put down his glass untasted, slipped from the room, wandered along the veranda and discovered Caroline in the shade. She reclined in a lounging chair, swishing the flies with a feathered fan and gazing across the parade ground.

  ‘You abandon the celebrations early, Mr Todd!’

  The ensign sat on the veranda step at her feet, propped sword between knees and scrutinized the hilt.

  ‘ ‘Tis difficult for me, Miss Wrangham. My men have failed their duty; I myself must share in their disgrace. Also there is the uncertainty . . . Under all the circumstances I don’t feel like a jolly.’

  ‘Nor do I.’ Caroline sighed. ‘But we soon remove to Madras, where routs and dinners and balls may sponge, pray God, all memories of this hateful place from both our recollections.’

  ‘I am resolved,’ Todd said heavily, ‘not to return. I have a duty to accomplish which, when done, may set my mind at rest.’

  ‘Are you permitted to reveal its nature?’

  Todd twisted the sword knot between his fingers. ‘I must ascertain beyond doubt what happened to Hugo Amaury.’ Caroline’s fan clattered on the floor. ‘Doubt? What do you mean? Captain Amaury, by all accounts, has certainly ... died.’