The Maharajah's General (11 page)

The Maharajah acknowledged his words with a nod. ‘It takes courage to gainsay a king, Danbury. You, at least, are not all powder and no balls, unlike so many of your damned countrymen.’ He sighed. ‘You know nothing of our ways, you damned English. You think you can apply your customs and your laws even though you are thousands of miles from home. I admire that. Your conceit and arrogance is something to respect. But it also makes you dangerous.’

‘We want what is best. For you and for your people.’

‘What is best? And who are you to say what is best? Who appointed the English as the arbitrator of what is right and what is wrong? Do we not know what is best for ourselves? Do I not know what is best for my people?’

The Maharajah shook his head to compose himself. His passion had risen as he had spoken, and it took a moment for him to bring his rising temper back under control.

‘These men are punished as an example to their kind and as a warning to their bastard leader. He will know what manner of man I am.’

‘He didn’t strike me as the kind of man who would be easily frightened.’ Jack dared to respond forcefully. ‘Not even by that.’

But the Maharajah did not seem the least bit offended. He smiled at Jack’s forthright opinion. ‘I will rid the world of the Tiger, Danbury. This is my land. It is my people who suffer at his hands. I will find him, I will kill him, and I will drag his carcass through every town and every village so that my people may know that I killed the man who could not be killed. They will see that their ruler still protects them and that my army still guards their future. They will see that it is I who rule here and not some white-faced strangers who think they can buy my kingdom and bind me up in all those bits of paper that they set such stock by. These are my people. You English would do well to remember that.’

Jack saw the passion on the Maharajah’s face as he spoke. He thought of Proudfoot and his plans to annex the state of Sawadh regardless of his legal right to do so. He knew then that any such plan would result in conflict; the Maharajah would never surrender the future of his kingdom without a fight. Dutton would get his wish.

If Proudfoot were intent on annexation, then there would surely be war in Sawadh.

‘Captain Danbury! Assist me this instant.’

Reverend Youngsummers stood leaning against the barricade, his chest heaving with the exertion of walking up the sloping corridor that led from their temporary prison. Any reluctance the clergyman had felt about leaving his sanctuary had clearly disappeared now that the danger was gone.

‘Excuse me a moment, sir.’ Jack nodded as he left the Maharajah’s side and walked over to the barricade. He heaved a bullet-scarred wooden crate to one side, leaving an opening big enough for even Youngsummers to squeeze through. He spotted Isabel trailing behind but there was no opportunity to catch her eye before her father’s bulk screened her from his view.

‘I cannot fathom why you left me in that infernal place, Danbury. You should’ve brought me with you,’ Youngsummers admonished Jack as he pushed past the barricade, easing his hefty buttocks through the narrow passage that now looked a lot smaller than when Jack had first tugged the crate away. ‘It really was badly done, Danbury. Badly done indeed.’

‘You were indisposed.’ Jack tried to sound pleasant in the face of the underserved rebuke, well aware that the Maharajah was listening to every word. ‘I didn’t want to risk causing you any further harm.’

Like a stubborn cork finally wrenched from a bottle, Youngsummers forced his way out through the barricade. ‘Nonsense, man.’ He was clearly not appeased by Jack’s words. ‘You left me to fend for myself when you had been sworn to protect me. But enough of that for the moment; there will be plenty of time for an inquest at a more suitable juncture. For the moment, please do me the honour of telling me just who these fellows are.’ He had apparently regained some of his usual bombastic style. ‘I cannot say I recognise them.’ The clergyman peered down his thick nose as he tried to identify the uniform of the men who had saved him.

‘Truly?’ Jack was surprised. He understood that Youngsummers had been in Bhundapur for nearly a year; surely he must have some idea as to the identity of the lancers and their leader.

‘Do not be impertinent. I never ask a question if I already know its answer.’ Youngsummers was growing in confidence again as he sensed a number of the lancers looking in his direction. ‘Pray tell me who these blackguards are so that I may decide what course of action is best. It will fall to me, as the senior official here, to negotiate with these ruffians.’ He seemed to puff up with the importance of his own words, relishing playing to the audience.

Holding out a hand, he summoned Isabel to his side, taking her arm and wrapping it protectively around his own. It was an indication of her distress that she obeyed meekly, and Jack felt an immediate concern for her well-being after all she had witnessed in the past day and night.

‘If you would be so kind as to introduce me to their leader, Danbury.’ Youngsummers continued to sneer as he spoke, clearly unimpressed at being faced by the lancers. ‘The damned savage won’t likely understand a word we say, but we must show willing.’

‘Certainly, Reverend. It’ll be my pleasure.’ Jack heard the sarcasm in his own voice. He stepped back a few paces so that he could usher the Maharajah into the conversation.

‘Reverend Youngsummers, may I introduce the Maharajah of Sawadh.’ Jack turned to the Maharajah, delighted at the look of utter astonishment on the clergyman’s face. ‘Sir, may I introduce Reverend Youngsummers, the chaplain at Bhundapur, and his daughter, Isabel.’

The Maharajah greeted the introduction with a huge guffaw. He stepped forward, clapping his hand forcefully on Jack’s arm as he did so.

‘You are a scoundrel, Danbury.’ The comment was muttered and solely for Jack’s benefit as the Maharajah moved towards Youngsummers, who was visibly shaking as the foreign ruler approached.

‘Delighted to meet you at long last, my dear Reverend. I’ve heard much about you.’ The Maharajah reached forward and shook Youngsummers by the hand. If he was put off by the clergyman’s limp and unenthusiastic grip, he did not let it show. A wide smile crept across his face.

‘Good Lord.’ Youngsummers stammered as he spoke.

The Maharajah paid him no heed, his attention now focused fully on Isabel, who curtsied demurely, lowering her eyes before looking up at him through her thick lashes.

‘Isabel Youngsummers.’ The Maharajah rolled the name on his tongue as if tasting it. ‘I had been told you were a rare beauty, but those reports did not do you justice.’ He bowed at the waist as he offered both hands to Isabel, gently lifting her back to her feet.

Isabel blushed at the flattery, the flush of colour spreading from her neck to her pale cheeks. ‘You are too kind, sir.’

‘No need for modesty, my dear. I merely speak as I find. It is one of the privileges of being a king.’

‘My liege, if I could have a moment.’ Youngsummers cleared his throat noisily before carrying on, clearly unsure how to address the Maharajah. ‘May I enquire what you intend to do with us?’

A trace of annoyance flared on the Maharajah’s face as the Reverend interrupted his study of Isabel. ‘Do with you? I have no notion what I shall do with you.’

‘Well, um, sire, in that case, I must insist you return us to the nearest British establishment with all due haste.’ Youngsummers frowned as he saw that his daughter remained the subject of the Maharajah’s intense scrutiny. He ploughed on, trying to speak in a suitably grave tone. ‘Otherwise I cannot be held accountable for what may occur.’

The Maharajah tore his eyes from Isabel and placed his hands on his hips as he pondered Youngsummers’ bold choice of words. ‘Do you presume to give me orders, Reverend?’

‘Not at all, Your Highness, not in the slightest.’ Youngsummers was clearly flustered. The Maharajah stood uncomfortably close, the force of his personality making the clergyman regret ever having opened his mouth. ‘I merely wish to point out that the authorities will not be pleased should they learn that you did not permit us to return to our rightful place as soon as possible.’

‘The authorities? What authorities? Am I not the only authority that matters here?’ The Maharajah stamped his foot in obvious irritation.

‘Yes, Your Majesty. Of course.’ Youngsummers fluttered his hands in front of his wide stomach, as if to shoo the Maharajah away. He looked around for support, but Jack was in no mood to assist. ‘I meant no insult. I merely wish to ensure the safe return of my daughter to the station at Bhundapur.’

‘Good. I hope we understand each other, Reverend. I would hate there to be any confusion. For the moment, I must ask you to be patient. It is nearly dawn, so I suggest that you rest as best you can. I will have one of my men bring you some food.’

Youngsummers nodded in mute acceptance, clearly relieved that the Maharajah was bringing the conversation to a close, the promise of food enough to buy his silence.

The Maharajah turned and stalked away. More blue-coated lancers were arriving on the bloodstained hilltop, the carbines on their saddles revealing the identity of the gunmen who had succeeded in forcing the bandits to gather together. The Maharajah welcomed them with loud praise, leaving the three former prisoners to themselves.

Jack did his best to compose himself. They had been saved from the Tiger, but they were still not yet safe.

The country was on the brink of war. When it came, there would be no refuge for anyone with a white face. Not until the Maharajah and his army had been destroyed.

Dawn crept across the far horizon, reds, oranges and ochres rushing to paint the sky with warmth, banishing the forbidding colours of the night. The first grazes of blue followed quickly, heralding the azure vastness that would fill the heavens until dusk.

The world came to life. The animals that had survived the bandits’ ransacking of the village started to voice their protest at being confined, a cacophony of bleats, grunts, barks and hisses greeting the dawn. The lancers’ horses added their own noise, urging their masters into activity. As the last grey shadows of the night crept stealthily away, the cavalrymen bustled into life, beginning the long list of chores that had to be done to prepare themselves and their horses for the day ahead.

The three former prisoners sat in silence around a simple fire that the lancer charged with their care had coaxed to life. They had broken their fast on some of the rations the cavalrymen carried in their saddlebags, none of which had managed to meet Reverend Youngsummers’ high expectations.

‘If only they had been able to locate our provisions. Then we would not be forced to eat this muck.’ For the umpteenth time Youngsummers lamented the loss of his picnic, as he stared sorrowfully at the dried mutton and hard bread he was continuing to eat at a healthy rate, despite his misgivings.

Jack forced himself to his feet, urging his aching joints into action. He watched the Maharajah’s lancers as they went about their duties, running a professional eye over the troops he might one day have to fight. He was impressed by what he saw. The blue-coated cavalry worked with the industry of trained soldiers, their movements practised and efficient. Everything he saw told him that Major Dutton had been too complacent in his judgement of the Maharajah’s army. The British contingent at Proudfoot’s disposal was beginning to look woefully inadequate.

A series of loud shouts interrupted his casual inspection of the lancers. Like any good commander, the Maharajah had established a number of vedettes, and now a single rider was spurring hard up the slope to the top of the hill where the bulk of the lancers had made their bivouac.

Jack brushed away the dust that covered his uniform. He turned to face the direction the rider had come from, kneading the small of his back to work away some of the nagging pain that the hours on the hard ground had awoken.

His hands froze in place.

A column of soldiers had marched into view. Even from a distance there was no mistaking the red coats that had been made famous on countless battlefields in the four corners of the globe.

The British army had arrived.

Jack stood to one side as the column of redcoats marched up the hillside. The sun was still low in the sky, but already the heat of the day was starting to build. He felt the first prickles of sweat emerge as he did up the last of the brass buttons on his heavy scarlet coat, forcing the stiff collar into place and setting his shako straight on his head. He might have been missing his weapons, but he did his best to look as presentable as possible as he prepared to greet his new command.

The Maharajah ordered his own men to form up in column as he readied them to meet the arrival of the British forces. He stationed himself at the front of his troops, lolling easily in the saddle as he waited for the foreign soldiers whose presence in his land so grated on his pride.

Jack watched the redcoats closely. The tight column lost some of its order as the men struggled to maintain their spacing on the slippery loose soil and rock of the scree slope, which continually gave way under their feet. He savoured the opportunity of leading a company again, eagerly anticipating the coming months and weeks when he would get to know every facet of his new command. It was the privilege that he coveted most, the one that meant so much more than all the gaudy trinkets that bedecked an officer’s life. Despite all he had experienced since he had first stolen James Danbury’s identity, he still felt pride as his red-coated soldiers marched resolutely on.

Reverend Youngsummers strode forward to greet the column, arms spread wide in greeting. As Jack listened to the clergyman’s sonorous voice delivering a loud prayer of thanks for his deliverance, he continued to watch his new command carefully, assessing their bearing after what must have been a long and draining night march. He was pleased with what he saw, the men marching with elan as they showed off their skills in front of the Maharajah and his lancers. He read the expressions on many of the faces, recognising the mix of anxiety and distrust of infantrymen parading in front of cavalry. He smiled, understanding the feeling well. The smile faded as he noticed the presence of Lieutenant Fenris. His dashing subaltern sat his fine white horse well, riding with grace and composure despite what had been a long ride from the British cantonment.

Jack was about to move forward and offer his own greeting when he noticed that there was a second officer present with his company. He froze, staring at the man in confusion. He could not comprehend why there should be another officer wearing the uniform of a captain in the 24th Foot; a uniform identical to the one Jack himself wore.

He closed his eyes as it all began to make sense. He had thought the army would be slow; that the long, protracted negotiations that followed the death of an officer on campaign would give him months before the real Captain Danbury’s commission could be sold. He had been utterly wrong. The presence of the second mounted officer proved his assumptions to be nothing more than hopeful folly, condemning him to a bitter future, one that would likely lead to a cold dawn on the scaffold.

The new owner of the late Captain Danbury’s commission had arrived. Jack’s charade was over before it had barely begun.