A Christmas Garland (12 page)

“I know that, Narraway, damn it!” Strafford said angrily. “Who the hell do you think chose you? Latimer
doesn’t know you from the clerk who writes up the dispatches home.”

“Then he should bloody well look at the pips on my shoulders!” Narraway snapped.

Strafford almost smiled but stopped himself. “Would you prefer it if I said he doesn’t know you from any other newly commissioned young officer fresh off the boat? I do, however, at least by repute.”

Narraway’s heart sank. Here was the issue of Strafford’s brother again, the whole school record, the teasing, some of it less than good-natured, the inner contempt from the “swot” who preferred classics to sports—except cricket.

“Is that why you suggested to Colonel Latimer that he have me defend Tallis?” Narraway asked bitterly.

Strafford’s eyebrows rose. “Did you think I picked your name out of a hat? Of course it is. You’re a stubborn bastard, and you won’t be beaten until you can see it so close in front of you you’ll hit your nose if you take another step. Every man, no matter what he’s accused of, deserves someone to speak for him. And right here and now, in this gutted town with its ground still reeking of blood, we need to be sure we’re hanging the right
man, and then we need to do it quickly. Fight, by all means, but when you’re beaten, which will be tomorrow, give up. Don’t give Tallis false hope. That’s like a cat playing with a mouse. Let the end be quick and clean.”

Narraway looked at Strafford, searching his face. He saw dislike in it, but not deceit.

“Are you absolutely certain Tallis is guilty?” he asked.

“Yes, I am,” Strafford replied without hesitation. “I’ve looked into every other possibility, and it could have been no one else. Damn it, Narraway, the man may be an insubordinate clown, but he’s one of the best medical orderlies I’ve ever seen. Men respect him. He’s probably saved as many lives over the last couple of years as Rawlins himself. Do you think I’d pin this on him if there were any other man it could have been? I want the truth—and I wish this weren’t it, but it is.”

“Why?” Narraway asked stubbornly. “Why would Tallis rescue Dhuleep Singh? They didn’t even know each other. If they did, you’d have produced a witness to say so.”

“I don’t know,” Strafford admitted, miserable but not disconcerted. “Why do people do half the desperate or
idiotic things they do? When you’ve been here another year or two, you won’t ask questions like that. Where were you during the summer? Not here! Not watching men you know dying of heatstroke or cholera, getting weaker day by day, sharing what food and water there was, protecting the women, desperate to save them. You weren’t here crouching behind that pathetic wall of earth, with nothing to shield you but a few bits of wood planking and some boxes, knowing that devil Nana Sahib was massing his hordes around you, growing closer every hour.”

Narraway wanted to interrupt him, but he dared not.

“Some of these men have seen hell in a way few people ever do,” Strafford went on. “Look in their faces sometime, Lieutenant. Look in their eyes, then come back and ask me why they do crazy things, or forget who they are or why they’re here. Imagine what Tallis has seen, and ask me if he could have gone mad and acted in a way that makes no sense. Maybe he thought Chuttur Singh was Nana Sahib, or some other monster who cut up women and children. Maybe he simply lost his mind for a moment. I don’t know. I just know that no one else
could have done it. Believe me, I wish they could have. I tried to find any other answer.”

Narraway felt as if he had suddenly tripped and fallen, or that the ground had risen up and struck him. Of course men who had endured what these men had could not be expected to keep the grip on sanity that men sitting comfortably at home could.

Tallis’s clear blue eyes did not look insane. Desperate, perhaps, lit with an occasional, wild, mocking humor; but was that madness or the ultimate sanity? The only way to survive might be to take life a minute at a time, laugh when you could, weep when you had to.

“I saw the bodies of the men on the patrol,” Strafford went on, his voice cracking from his effort to control it. “They were cut to bits too. I knew every one of them. I’m the one who had to tell their wives, lie a little and say it was quick, pretend they hadn’t bled to death out there knowing no one would come for them or perhaps even find them before the animals had destroyed their bodies.”

“I spoke to Tierney,” Narraway said. “Actually, I spoke to him for quite a long time. Told him about Kent, where I come from, and he told me about his home. But
sir, everything you said—all these terrible things that happened—I’m not going to add to that. I’m not going to give up until I don’t have another step to go.”

Strafford’s face was grim. “My brother said you were a stubborn sod.”

“Yes, sir,” Narraway replied, standing to attention. “I don’t suppose you want my opinion of him?”

“No, I bloody don’t!” Strafford’s face eased slightly. “I’ve got my own, better informed than yours.”

Narraway relaxed a fraction, but not quite enough for Strafford to be certain of it, he hoped.

Strafford stared at him for a moment, then turned and walked away. He disappeared in another swirl of dust as the wind eddied more sharply, the bare branches of the trees above him clattering, a host of dry seedpods falling lightly to the ground.

Narraway also turned, but instead he walked farther away from the shattered barracks and the entrenchment, away from the Bibighar Gardens and the clustered outbuildings and the beginning of the houses. He must think of something to say tomorrow. Strafford Minor had called him stubborn but not fit to make a good soldier, all brains and no courage, no steel in the
soul. He knew that because he had said it to Narraway’s face, at Eton.

Well, he would prove that Strafford Minor was wrong.

I
N THE MORNING
, B
USBY CALLED
M
AJOR
S
TRAFFORD TO
give evidence. He began by establishing that it was Strafford who had been commanded to investigate the murder of Chuttur Singh, which was a direct result of Dhuleep Singh’s escape.

Then he drew in a deep breath. “I regret the necessity for going into detail in this, but you were the officer entrusted with conducting the investigation into this act that has cost the lives of ten men and will yet take the life of whoever is guilty of perpetrating it. Colonel Latimer has known you and your record for years, but his companion judges may be less familiar with exactly what manner of man you are. I say this because they are going to accept your honor, integrity, and diligence as evidence of other men’s actions and pass their verdict accordingly.”

Strafford did not reply.

“It is a matter of record that you have served in the Indian Army for eleven years, with distinction. Were you here during the siege last summer?”

Strafford stiffened, and his face paled. “Yes.”

“You must have seen an appalling amount of suffering and death.”

“Yes.”

“During that time, did you know the surgeon, Major Rawlins?”

“Of course.”

“And Corporal Tallis, his medical orderly?”

Strafford was clearly distressed by the question. He licked his lips and coughed before replying.

“Of course I did. Before you ask me, he was an excellent orderly, often performing duties far beyond the requirements of his office or his training. Any man here will tell you that.” He took a deep breath. “Believe me, I hate having to conclude that he is guilty of orchestrating Dhuleep Singh’s escape. I did everything I could to find any other answer at all. I failed, because there is no other.”

Busby stood ramrod stiff, carefully avoiding Narraway’s eyes and Latimer’s.

“Major Strafford, I need to ask you, so no one is in any doubt whatsoever regarding your personal feelings: Have you at any time had cause to dislike Corporal Tallis? We are all aware that on occasion he has been known to be … insubordinate, to have a sense of humor that is somewhat unfortunate, given to rather childish practical jokes on those he considers to be … stiffer in their command than he judges to be warranted. Has he ever played any of these rather childish jokes on you? Perhaps caused others to have less respect for you than is right? In other words, have you ever been the butt of his humor? Have you been laughed at, made fun of, had your authority belittled?”

“No.”

“I see. Major Strafford, I know it is difficult, but can you describe your experience of what happened here at the end of the siege?”

A dull flush spread up Strafford’s lean face. “For God’s sake, man!” He all but choked on his words. “We were both there when Mrs. Greenway came with the note from Nana Sahib, offering on oath and treaty to give safe passage for the wounded, the women and the children, across the Ganges and then to Allahabad. In
return he asked for and was given all the money, stores, and guns in the entrenchment.” His voice shook, and he had difficulty continuing.

Narraway sat frozen, not in misery for Tallis but for Strafford himself.

Busby waited.

Strafford controlled himself with a fierce effort, drawing in breath again and again. His face was ashen.

“On the morning of the twenty-seventh, those of us left went from the entrenchment to the boats. There were Indian soldiers lining the banks.”

Busby shifted his weight. No one else in the room made even the slightest sound.

“You know what happened after that,” Strafford said, his voice so constricted in his throat that he could barely form the words. “Tantia Topee ordered the bugle sounded, then two guns were pulled out of concealment and opened fire on the boats, with grapeshot, followed by the muskets.” The tears were running freely down his face now, and he made no effort to conceal them. “The thatch on the boats caught fire. The wounded and the helpless were burned to death. Some of the women, including my own wife, leaped into the river with their
children. They too were shot, or cut down by the sabers of the troopers who rode their horses into the water and slaughtered all but a few. The men who made it to the shore were killed there, the women and children taken prisoners.”

The room was silent.

Finally, Latimer spoke. “Nothing we can say will ease such horror. It is all a man needs to know of hell. I presume you have some purpose, Captain Busby, in obliging Major Strafford to relive his loss?”

Busby swallowed. “Yes, sir. Major Strafford, during all this horror, and afterward, what was Corporal Tallis’s role, to your knowledge?”

Narraway was stunned. He had no idea what to do. The course of the trial had slipped uncontrollably out of his hands. He looked at Tallis and saw tears on his face also.

“He was with the wounded and among the last to embark,” Strafford answered. “He did everything he could to help those further attacked. No man exhibited more selfless courage than he did.”

“So it must hurt and dismay you, as much as it does Major Rawlins, to be forced to come to the conclusion
that Corporal Tallis, and only Corporal Tallis, could have released Dhuleep Singh? And that it is possible that Corporal Tallis could’ve been the one to murder Chuttur Singh?”

“Yes.”

Busby gave a slight shrug. “Just in case anybody should think of it, is there any chance that Chuttur Singh was part of that hideous massacre? Could Tallis have had revenge for it in his mind?”

“No,” Strafford said flatly. “Chuttur Singh was loyal all his life. I know that for a fact. No one could have thought differently.”

“Thank you. Now let us continue with your detailed evidence of the day of Dhuleep’s escape and Chuttur’s murder,” Busby continued. “What evidence did you find that immediately implicated anyone?”

“None,” Strafford replied. “Chuttur Singh had died without naming anyone, and the men who answered the alarm were too late to catch sight of anyone, even when they went after Dhuleep.”

“So what did you do?” Busby asked. They all knew what Strafford was going to say.

Strafford sounded tired, and there were lines of fatigue
in his face. “I started questioning the other men who had been on duty—or off duty, but in the general area—at the time. They could all account for their whereabouts, except Corporal Tallis.” His jaw was tight, as if every muscle was clenched.

Busby looked apologetic. “Since Corporal Tallis has denied any involvement in either the escape or the murder, I’m afraid that obliges me to ask you for the details of your investigation. Lieutenant Narraway has informed me that he will not accept your assurance, as I had hoped he might, and save us this miserable exercise. God knows, we have enough else to do.”

Narraway rose to his feet, driven by anger rather than sense. “Is Captain Busby suggesting that we hang a man for a crime of which he may be innocent, in order to save the time it takes to go through the procedure of a trial, sir?”

Latimer’s lips thinned, and his hands on the tabletop were rigid. “Of course not!” he snapped, turning to Busby. “Captain, your choice of words was clumsy, to put it at its kindest. It is you who is wasting time with this grandstanding. Move on.”

Busby flushed with anger. He dared not retaliate,
but neither would he apologize. He turned to Strafford again.