A week later
Chintalpore was becoming hot and the air heavy. The south-west monsoon, the yearly salvation of the tens of thousands of ryots who dwelled so close to the soil as to be almost indistinguishable from it, was a full three months away. Throughout the winter months, the sun being low, the surface of the earth in Hindoostan had been steadily cooling until now its temperature was lower than the seas adjoining it. By some as yet unfathomed effect no moisture-bearing clouds could be induced to leave the ocean and water the land. But from March onwards, with the sun higher, and its strength bearing directly on the land for longer, the surface of the earth would speedily become hotter than the ocean. And when this inversion came about, by some equally unfathomed effect, moisture-laden clouds from the south-west would march steadily landwards until, by about the end of May, they would be watering the Malabar littoral prodigiously, and as far north even as Bombay. By the middle of June, if the gods had granted a favourable monsoon, Chintal’s fearsome heat and enervating humidity would be relieved by the daily downpours. Thereafter, there would be a bountiful harvest and plenty in the land. But if the gods were not propitiated and did not grant a good monsoon, then there would be misery, starvation, death. Which of these there was to be would increasingly occupy the prayers of the Rajah of Chintal’s subjects in this onset of the hot season. But as for the rajah himself, what most occupied his mind, and filled his prayers, was the nizam.
Hervey had sent letters to Guntoor for Madras and Paris, together with a note for the collector advising him of his intention to leave for Haidarabad at the end of the (yet another) week. Having become more circumspect since Jhansikote, and now with the complications in respect of the jagirs since the death of Kunal Verma, he intended to proceed with more formality. However, Selden had been unable to transact the business with the land registry. It was not a propitious time, the salutri explained, for the rajah’s ministries were in confusion. Another ten days or so, he believed, would see things better placed.
The letter to Colonel Grant had exercised Hervey a great deal. His immediate disposition had been to write a complete account of all that had passed, yet in successive drafts he had been unable to render any account that did not convey an inauspicious picture of his mission. This he partially ascribed to the difficulty of portraying the peculiar circumstances of Chintal, but mostly he knew it to be the result of his own misjudgements to date. And so he had in the end written a somewhat bland narrative, referring to one or two setbacks, but confident of ultimate success on all counts.
This and the letter to Madras urging the Company to come to the rajah’s aid with an offer of subsidiary alliance had occupied the whole of one evening and most of its night, and so when the hircarrah left for Guntoor next morning it was without any letter to Horningsham. This had not done much for Hervey’s spirits, and he had therefore thrown himself into lance drill with the rissalahs. It perfectly occupied his mind — though the price was heavy, with more than one crashing fall from misjudging the angle of strike on a tent peg. But neither did he think it time wasted in the wider scheme of things, for although the lance was merely his ostensible reason for being in India, the Chintal rissalahs were proficient with the weapon — skilled, even — and his findings would surely find a place at the Horse Guards as they considered at this very moment what should be the future of the lance in the British cavalry.
The Chintal sowars carried lances made of bamboo, ten and a half feet long, with a bayonet-shaped steel head. ‘I dare not recall how close I came to feeling the lance’s point at Waterloo,’ said Hervey to Captain Bauer one morning as they watched another round of tent-pegging, shaking his head at the thought.
‘I am surprised you do not have lancers, after so many years’ seeing their effect,’ replied Bauer, his German heavy.
‘Oh, do not mistake me, sir, for I myself am as yet unconvinced. The lance, for all its fearsomeness, has limited utility compared with the sabre.’
‘Ach, Hervey — but its moral effect!’
True, he conceded, its moral effect alone could be overwhelming, even before the weapon was brought to bear. ‘But in a mêlée, if only one can get in close, the lance is useless against the sabre. The lancer can scarcely parry, or wheel and thrust half so well as a sabreur — or even a resolute infantryman with his bayonet.’
‘Ja, perhaps so — then he throws his lance down and draws his sword. But first, Hervey, how do you get to close quarters with a squadron of lancers?!’
‘That, indeed, is the material point,’ replied Hervey smiling.
Bauer joined in his enjoyment of the pun.
Hervey was still intent on serious study, however. ‘What has determined its length? In England there is a regiment of light dragoons presently engaged with a lance some sixteen feet — longer even than a medieval knight’s.’
‘Ten feet, or thereabouts, is a good compromise,’ said Bauer, nodding. ‘It allows the sowar to pick off a crouching man and follow through cleanly, without surrendering any great advantage of reach. If he wants more reach then he must lean from the saddle!’
Hervey saw as much, as lancers galloped this way and that in front of him, effortlessly taking tent pegs further from their line each time.
‘Of one thing I am sure, Captain Bauer: carrying a lance is a most effective aid. At the trot and canter it makes the man greatly more active, obliging him to ride his horse forward into the rein, and promoting a more independent seat. When it is in my power to do so I shall have my own troopers carry a lance at riding school.’
Bauer was delighted: exactly his sentiments when riding master many years before. ‘Hervey, you would make a good German!’ he beamed.
They did not speak for several more minutes, except to remark on one sowar’s skill or another, but then Hervey’s thoughts returned to the question of moral effect. The rajah’s sowars could wield the lance with impressive skill; he fancied there was no sight more able to strike fear into an adversary than a line of their steel points lowered and approaching at a gallop — perhaps the only chance cavalry had of breaking an infantry square without support of artillery. And it was artillery the rajah was in want of. Yet even now as he watched the drill he could not but imagine that, if the infantry maintained their close order in the face of the moral effect, lancers would make no more material impression than would dragoons. The matter turned — as did every battle in the last instance — on how welldrilled was the infantry. ‘Captain Bauer,’ he said in a measuring way, ‘do you not think a front rank of lances, backed by a second of sabres, and perhaps even the third, might have the same moral effect and yet have greater handiness?’
Alter Fritz did not hesitate. ‘Hervey, I give you my opinion, but I am an old quartermaster only. You should have made these enquiries of Captain Steuben. He commanded a squadron against the French, you know.’
They had not spoken of Steuben since the accident. On the subject of cold steel, that German had been as passionate as at other times he had been distant. But now he lay in the palace’s great marble crypt with the other honoured servants of Chintal. ‘It was a swift death, says everyone, for he must have broken his neck at once.’
‘Ja, a howdah is a fair height to fall from.’
‘Captain Bauer, do you know… did anyone see what happened at this time?’
Alter Fritz shook his head. ‘I heard tell only the mahout and two attendants.’
As drill ended, Private Johnson appeared. He had the sort of smile which Hervey knew portended awkward news. ‘That Miss Lucie is ’ere, Captain ’Ervey, sir,’ he announced.
And before Hervey could begin anything by reply, Emma Lucie, beneath a straw hat of huge diameter, came striding towards the edge of the maidan. ‘Good morning, Captain Hervey,’ she said in a matter-of-fact way.
Hervey and Bauer dismounted, the German’s heels clicking together in the prescribed manner, while Hervey took off his shako.
‘I heard that you were… how shall one say? — in trouble?’ she smiled.
Hervey sighed. ‘News travels quickly along the Godavari, it seems, madam.’
Emma Lucie sighed too. ‘News, perhaps, but alas, not the budgerow: progress upstream is very slow.’
Hervey stood before her almost lost for further words. ‘Madam, I am not sure to what news exactly you refer, but I am dismayed to think that any cause of mine should be occasion for your discomfort.’
Bauer gave a discreet cough.
‘Oh, forgive me, sir,’ said Hervey. ‘Miss Lucie, may I present Captain Bauer, quartermaster and acting commanding officer of the Rajah of Chintal’s lancers?’
‘Il me donne du grand plaisir de vous rencontrer, madame,’ replied Bauer, his accent clipped.
‘Captain Bauer: Miss Lucie,’ continued Hervey, in French. ‘Miss Lucie’s brother is in the Company’s service at Madras.’
Emma Lucie made more of a bow than a curtsy. ‘Von welchen Staat des Deutschen Bund kommen Sie, Herr Rittmeister?’
‘Von Württemberg, gnädiges Fräulein.’
But, happy though Bauer evidently was with the company of a lady who spoke his language, he had pressing duties to be about, and after a few pleasant exchanges he made his apologies and took his leave.
Hervey handed his reins to Johnson and invited Emma Lucie to walk back with him to the palace.
‘Well,’ she began breezily; ‘it appears the reports of your perilous situation were but exaggeration!’
Hervey smiled. ‘We have had our difficulties, Miss Lucie, but I believe them to be past.’
‘Captain Hervey,’ she smiled, ‘in my experience of this country, as one misfortune abates another follows quickly on its heels.’
‘A most depressing observation, madam.’
She chose not to respond directly. ‘I was in Rajahmundry when I heard, and I thought what Henrietta would do in the circumstances. I had not seen Chintal — the river is very beautiful I heard tell — and had never met the rajah. Mr Somervile always speaks so well of him. And my brother would not too, I think, wish to hear of your lying untended in Chintalpore. So thus I am come.’
Hervey admired her spirit if not her judgement. ‘I hazard a guess, madam, your brother will be greatly more alarmed at learning of your being here!’
‘He will be greatly cheered when he learns of your dash at the mutineers. You recaptured the cantonments single-handed, I learn!’
‘Hardly that, madam!’ he laughed: ‘that is far in excess of the truth. But may I enquire how you have learned of it?’
‘From the rajah — to whom, of course, I first presented myself on arriving here. He is most happy to receive visitors from Madras.’
‘Oh…’ he groaned.
‘Why do you make that noise?’ she asked.
‘Because the rajah’s daughter, the raj kumari, is suspicious that I intend bringing Chintal under the Company’s domination.’
‘And what can I be to such a scheme,’ she smiled, ‘a mere woman?’
‘The raj kumari is a “mere woman”, madam, and I do not underestimate her power and influence!’
‘But it cannot be supposed that I — travelling by budgerow up the Godavari with two servants — am in some way party to intrigue?’
‘Miss Lucie,’ said Hervey resolutely, ‘I warrant there is more intrigue here than in Rome. There isn’t a khitmagar who is not party to it. The sister of an official of the Honourable Company must be immediately suspect.’
‘Ah,’ she replied simply, though without concern.
‘Do not trouble yourself, madam,’ he laughed. ‘I do not believe it will amount to much. I must tell you, however, that I shall in all probability be leaving Chintalpore within the week, and I would advise that you be escorted to Guntoor at that time, if not before.’
In the shade of the palace’s great walls they were now walking more briskly, and as they passed through the gates a thought seemed to occur to her. ‘You have, I suppose, heard of the latest depredations by the Pindarees?’
‘The latest, as I understand, Miss Lucie, are those of which I had intimate acquaintance with Mr Somervile. I believe we were within half a day’s ride of them as they fled into Nagpore.’
Emma Lucie seemed surprised. ‘Why no, Captain Hervey: there have been more incursions into the Circars since then. There was terrible murder and rapine. They came within the civil station at Guntoor, even, and almost as far as Rajahmundry. There was great alarm.’
‘Post hoc ergo propter hoc?’
‘In what connection?’
‘Earlier you said something about one misfortune following another. I have been at pains to understand events here. I was wondering if there might be some connection between what happened at Jhansikote and the Pindaree depredations.’
Emma Lucie nodded. ‘Another thing I have observed in this country,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘is that everything is perceived to be a consequence of human intrigue or the malevolence of the gods, no matter how apparent to us might its accidental nature be. If there is no connection between the events to which you refer, there will indeed be a connection in the minds of those who contemplate them, and there will therefore, in time, become a real connection in practice.’
‘In that case, Miss Lucie,’ said Hervey, with some foreboding, ‘the situation here may be graver than I feared. But that cannot be a concern of mine — or, I venture, yours.’
‘And there is not a frigate of the Royal Navy at hand,’ she replied opaquely.
He did not catch her meaning. ‘Madam?’
‘Captain Peto and the Nisus are at present stationed at the mouth of the Godavari.’
‘Then I am pleased for Mr Somervile. I trust that Captain Peto has been able to effect all the repairs he wished for?’
‘I know not,’ she replied, shaking her head. ‘Nisus was just come one morning — in some show of force, I believe. She was a most welcome sight.’
‘A fathom of water,’ smiled Hervey.
‘I do not understand you, sir.’
‘Something Bonaparte once lamented: wherever you find a fathom of water, there you will find the Royal Navy.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Johnson, can’t you stop that horse from doing that?’
‘No, it’s ’ad ginger up its arse since I first took it out!’
‘I had hoped for an easy ride this afternoon, and Jessye’s in a muck sweat already.’
‘D’ye remember that big geldin’ that Captain Jessope ’ad afore Waterloo? I reckon that ’ad been figged right ’n proper when ’e bought it!’
‘Enough about figging, Johnson. If you kept your backside a little stiller you might have more success.’
‘Does tha want to change ’orses, sir?’
Hervey laughed. ‘No!’
‘Then we’ll ’ave to make t’best of it. Like life.’
This was one of the rare deeper revelations of Johnson’s philosophy, a unique distillation of barrackroom wisdom and the residual scripture of his poorhouse upbringing. Johnson saw little point in contemplation. Once, in Spain at the height of the campaign, he had modified the chaplain’s rendering of the Gospel, and ‘sufficient unto the parade is the evil thereof’ had become for a time the axiom of the grooms. Johnson saw no difference in a parade in peace or in war, for each required strenuous preparation, each required him to follow precisely the commands given by word of mouth or the trumpet, and each ended when an officer decided that it should. The interim — whether bloody or not — scarcely mattered. Indeed, Johnson believed that he was alive because there was war, not in spite of it: it would otherwise have been the pit or the foundry for him had not the recruiting party happened his way ten years before (few orphans who found their way into those nether worlds saw more than a quarter of what scripture promised was their span of life).
‘Johnson, are you content here?’ asked Hervey, trying once more to urge Jessye onto the bit to stop the jog-trotting to which she had recently become inclined.
Private Johnson, whose Arab mare had done nothing but jog-trot since they had left the stables a half-hour before, was taken aback by the solicitude.
‘Me? Ay, I’m content enough.’
Hervey knew this to be an expression of considerable satisfaction. ‘You are not overly vexed that we might have been killed at Jhansikote?’ he smiled.
‘If it’s all right by thee…’ was all that came by reply.
‘Johnson, do you ever think that it might be more prudent to follow some other line, perhaps a—’
‘No.’
‘So you are not illdisposed to the country?’ he pressed.
Johnson would have sighed had even he not thought it disrespectful. ‘Captain ’Ervey, sir, I’ve ’ad more square meals ’ere than I can remember, and they cost next to nowt. Why is tha concerned abaht me all of a sudden?’
Now it was Hervey’s turn to feel offended. ‘I have never knowingly been unconcerned! It’s just that you’re far from home, and there’s no knowing when you’ll see it again.’
‘Captain ’Ervey, ’ow many times ’ave I told thee I don’t ’ave a ’ome as I calls one!’
‘No, forgive me. Perhaps what I meant is being among your own people — being with the regiment, even.’
‘Ah well, that’s another matter, but there’s nowt I can do about it so… an’ I tell thee, I’ve never eaten as well as ’ere.’
Hervey smiled again. For an enlisted man food was usually the criterion. ‘And I have observed that you are popular with the rajah’s establishment.’
‘If tha means that lass whose father’s one of t’rajah’s fart-catchers — ay.’
Hervey was now smiling broadly.
‘They must ’ave seen Englishmen afore, since they know a few words. But I can’t make ’em understand much.’
Hervey shook his head, still smiling. ‘Private Johnson, I am of the opinion that you lay on your diabolical Yorkshire speech deliberately to confuse!’
‘It doesn’t take much to confuse some officers!’
Hervey laughed outright. ‘And how much of this lady do you see?’
‘Tha means ’ow often?’ he replied, with a wry smile.
‘Johnson!’
‘I eat with ’em most nights.’
‘And native fare is to your liking?’
‘I ’ad the shits all last week, but it weren’t so bad.’
‘There’s good food enough,’ Hervey conceded, ‘though I confess to a pining for beef!’
‘An’ the women is friendly. Even Mr Locke seems to ’ave ’is feet under t’table with one of them naught girls.’
‘Nautch girls, Johnson, nautch: there is nothing naught about them. They’re respectable dancers. Their dance is a very ancient one.’
‘Oh ay, sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘I bet Miss Lindsay wouldn’t approve.’
Hervey felt chastened, even though he did not fancy it true.
‘I reckon one of them girls would do Mr Selden a power of good, though,’ he added mischievously.
‘Now that’s enough! There’s to be no talk of those matters concerning Mr Selden — anywhere.’
‘Well, my lass’s family seem to know about it.’
‘I thought you said they couldn’t understand English?’
‘We get along with signs and things,’ said Johnson, matter-of-fact.
Hervey was at once diverted by the picture of their signing Selden’s predilections. ‘What Mr Selden needs more than anything is a good physician. The fever has laid him low again; he could barely raise his head this morning.’
‘Well, there’s a lot of talk about ’im ’n them eunuchs. My lass’s folk reckon there’s somethin gooin’ on — fiddles ’n the like.’
Having become tired with the struggle to keep in a walk, Hervey decided they should trot slowly, even though both mares were in a lather. After a minute or so they were settled to a good rhythm, and Johnson felt ready to resume their conversation. ‘’As anybody found out yet about that ’Indoo as was fished out of t’water?’
‘No, not a thing,’ replied Hervey. ‘He was the rajah’s dewan, one of his ministers, that’s all I know.’
‘My lass’s folk say that ’e must ’ave been on the take with them that was fleecing t’sepoys.’
‘Yes, I had heard something of that too. But it’s all speculation. The rajah is loath to speak of it.’
‘What about Mr Selden: doesn’t ’e know owt? Isn’t ’e supposed to know everything that’s gooin’ on?’
‘I’ve not had much opportunity to speak with him on the matter. It’s not our concern, in any case. I want to move on to Haidarabad as soon as we can. There’s a lot about this place that I wouldn’t wish to know.’
‘’As tha got them papers yet for t’duke, sir?’
‘No, not yet. I had hoped by the end of the week, but since Mr Selden is bedded down I fear it will be longer. And those papers, frankly, are part of what I mean by not wanting to know certain things.’
Johnson said nothing, leaving Hervey to his thoughts. Not wanting to know was perhaps the best policy — for both of them. Little was as it appeared. The tryst at the pagoda, for instance: what did that portend? And did Selden know everything? Was it likely that he did, a horse surgeon periodically racked by fever? Selden himself protested he did not, but…
They rode up to a bluff overlooking the approaches to the palace. Hervey liked to dismount here to take in the view. The horses were glad of the rest, too, picking at the dhak for a stem or two that was worth the effort of pulling, while their riders sat on the ground holding the reins — not, however, before Johnson had thrashed about the ground with his whip, as if he were flaying corn.
‘Johnson, I don’t think it’s absolutely necessary to pound with quite so much vigour. The thud of the hooves will have been enough to drive anything away.’
‘Tha mustn’t ’ave been close to a snake ’ere yet then. I don’t want one within a ’undred yards of me!’
Hervey blanched at the recollection of the hamadryads. ‘Let us not talk about snakes.’
‘They give me the cold creeps just thinking about ’em.’
‘Enough!’
They sat a full quarter of an hour without a word, taking in the distant views, the horses as content. At length Johnson voiced his thoughts. ‘Can we talk about what we’re gooin’ to do next, sir? It’s not for me to say owt, but…’
Hervey sighed. ‘I’m glad you do say something. I’m glad to have someone who I might speak freely to, for I can’t with any other.’
‘Not with Mr Locke?’
‘Oh, indeed: I should be very happy to share everything with Mr Locke, but I am bound to secrecy in this matter, and I have already had to tell you and the frigate’s captain.’
‘But you could trust Mr Locke. You saw how he fought at them barracks!’
Hervey agreed that there was no-one better to have in a fight: ‘But he drinks so much at times — I could not wholly trust his discretion.’
‘You might booze it, too, if you ’ad ‘is looks.’
‘I’m not making any judgement, Johnson; I am merely observing on his reliability.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ shouted his groom suddenly, springing to his feet and drawing his sabre. He sliced powerfully in one motion straight from the draw to the ground a few yards ahead.
Hervey was up a fraction of a second behind him, catching the Arab’s loose reins. ‘What the devil—’
‘Bastard snake! Bastard, bastard cobra creeping up on us! It could’ve ’ad us both!’
The headless reptile writhed in the short scrub. Johnson sliced it into a further three parts for good measure. ‘They can grow new ’eads, tha knows! Bastard cobras!’
Hervey was not inclined to question him on the regenerative properties of Indian snakes, but he looked as close as he dared — which was not very — before coming to the conclusion that they had been in no real danger. ‘Not a cobra but a rat snake.’
‘Is tha sure?’
‘Moderately. Mr Somervile told me of the difference.’
‘It sounds just as evil as a cobra. Why’s it called a rat snake?’
‘Because they eat rats?’
‘Is tha tellin’ me them’s not poisonous?’
‘That is what I understand; but believe me, Johnson, I would have done the same — only I fancy I would not have been so quick!’
The bluff had lost something of its charm to them, so they gathered up the reins. But as they turned for home Hervey’s eye was caught by activity below, on the approaches to the palace.
‘Looks like somebody important,’ suggested Johnson.
Hervey got into the saddle and took out his telescope: ‘Twenty, I can see. Half a dozen civilians with white faces. And the uniforms behind look the same as those Madras troopers we were with in Guntoor. Now what do you suppose this is about?’
That evening
Hervey rode back at no great pace and took his time bedding Jessye down. He saw no necessity to hurry, for he knew his letter could not yet have reached Madras, let alone elicited a response in the form of a visitation, and so he supposed that here was some initiative by the Company or even by the rajah himself. In either case he wished to be at arm’s length from the proceedings. But how fortunate, he reflected, that he was able to address such a missive to someone with whom there was mutual confidence. Indeed, he owed much, did he not, to that felicitous meeting with Philip Lucie on the Madras foreshore, for, fever apart, he was close to securing the registry documents and he would soon begin making his journey west to see the nizam’s forces. And it was perhaps as well that the nizam had cancelled his visit to Chintal, since he would now be able to observe him first on his own ground — perhaps a fairer gauge.
He went to his apartments, bathed and made ready for dinner with the rajah, to which he and Emma Lucie were invited alone. The rajah had of late become absorbed in a study of the Pentateuch, and Emma Lucie, he supposed, would be well versed in those books. Since the tryst at the pagoda Hervey had observed the rajah’s manner become strange. Indeed, it seemed singularly ill-matched to the hour. Before, he had spoken frequently of the nizam’s daughters; now they appeared to occupy him not in the least. Hervey wondered if money had changed hands at the pagoda, whether the shrivelled figure were an agent of the nizam’s, or a spy of the rajah’s.
Before the appointed time for dinner, however, he was summoned to the rajah’s apartments, where he found the principal members of the party observed from the bluff — the Collector of Guntoor and Cornet Templer. ‘You are acquainted with one another, I understand,’ said the rajah.
All made bows and the usual gestures of greeting. The collector looked pulled-down by the journey, his thinning hair glistening with little beads of perspiration. Cornet Templer, on the contrary, looked enlivened by it, his eager features incapable of concealing his delight at being there.
The rajah resumed. ‘Well, Captain Hervey, it very much seems that we are in peril both where the sun rises and where it sets. The nizam, I learn, is intent on striking in the west, and — from the intelligence which these envoys of the Honourable Company bring — the Pindarees are set to ravage the east of Chintal.’
But the collector looked puzzled by this appreciation. ‘Your Highness, I brought intelligence of the Pindarees on the lower Godavari: why do you say the nizam is intent on striking Chintal? Are you not aware of the Pindaree depredations in his own domain?’
The rajah was not. The rajah knew only of the guns, about which, he revealed, he received daily reports, telling of their seemingly aimless movement about his border with Haidarabad.
The collector said he must explain the situation with the Pindarees at some length, and the rajah bade all sit, ordering his khitmagars to bring refreshment.
‘Your Highness,’ began Somervile, measuring his words carefully so that none of their import might be lost. ‘Last October a body of — by some estimates — ten thousand Pindarees crossed the Nerbudda and swept through the nizam’s provinces as far as the Kistna.’
‘That I knew. And not even the Company’s subsidiary force in Haidarabad could do anything to prevent this,’ said the rajah accusingly.
‘I regret not, sir.’ Somervile cleared his throat and moved quickly on. ‘The Pindarees then returned to their stronghold in the wilderness between the Nerbudda and the Vinhya Hills with so much plunder that merchants came from far and wide to purchase it. And, with such demonstrable success, they were able to attract even greater numbers to their ranks. In February, therefore, a force three times as big as that which had ravaged Haidarabad crossed the Nerbudda again, but this time their object was the Company’s domain — the Northern Circars. They marched through Nagpore without, it seems, the rajah of that state raising a single musket to oppose them, poured into the Circars and sacked the civil station at Guntoor — not many days after you had left, Captain Hervey.’
‘I have only recently heard of it, Your Highness,’ said Hervey, turning to the rajah. ‘The destruction of life and property was very great, I understand.’
The collector confirmed it. ‘Over three hundred villages were plundered, many torched and razed to the ground. Two hundred persons put to death and three times as many grievously wounded. Thousands more — men and women — subjected to the vilest torture and defilement. Twenty-five lakhs of rupees — more than £300,000 — is my estimate of the loss of property alone.’
The rajah sighed wearily. ‘I am troubled to learn that my fellow prince Raghujee Bhonsla should have connived at such outrages by letting through these marauders without hindrance.’
‘It is now of no moment, Your Highness,’ said the collector, ‘for the Rajah of Nagpore died one week ago.’
The rajah looked alarmed: ‘Raghujee Bhonsla is dead? I am very sad for it, but I am even more fearful, for Persajee — his son — is blind, palsied. He must not be rajah of so powerful a state as Nagpore!’
The collector remained wholly composed. ‘You need have no worry on that account, Your Highness. The rajah’s nephew Modajee — Appa Sahib — is, with the help of the Company, to be acknowledged as regent. We expect to conclude a treaty of alliance soon.’
‘Consider, father: a subsidiary force and a resident in Nagpore!’ said the raj kumari in a tone of disapproval.
Hervey had not noticed her beside the window, behind him.
The collector sought to reassure her. ‘Your Highness,’ he tried, ‘surely it would be best to have a reliable neighbour, as would be guaranteed by the Company? The Rajah of Nagpore will be forbidden to make any alliances except with the approval of the Governor-General and his council, and it is an express condition of the treaty that Nagpore should never initiate hostilities against allies of the British. He could therefore be of no threat to Chintal.’
‘But there is just such a treaty with the nizam,’ she countered. ‘There has been a British resident in Haidarabad these many years, and it has not made our position more assured.’
The collector was now seeing where the chief obstacle to his embassy lay. ‘You are right, madam, to say that Haidarabad has not been without tumult. But there has been no eruption of warfare outside that kingdom’s borders.’
‘That is as maybe,’ sneered the raj kumari, ‘but Haidarabad has used every subterfuge to gain an equal result. The nizam’s sons now throw the court into confusion while the resident is bribed into inaction!’
The collector bridled inwardly at the slur (though he would have admitted, privately, that there was truth in it), but forbore to show offence. Instead he tried to deflect the guilt. ‘Madam, I own that the Governor-General would at present share your poor opinion of Moneer-ool-moolk, but—’
She would hear none of it, however. ‘Sir, do you suppose we have no knowledge of affairs in Haidarabad? I speak not of the nizam himself, but of his vizier Chundoo Lall. He is the scourge of the nizam’s kingdom. He, a fellow Hindoo, imposes his dastak on Chintal by threatening us with the very forces the resident has been so pre-occupied in bringing to such efficiency. And all in exchange for Chundoo Lall’s gaudy bribes — a marble palace and gilded furniture from London, it is said!’
The collector knew he would have to trim. ‘Madam, I assure you that I am not insensitive to the concerns of Chintal. That, indeed, is why I am come. With the greatest of respect, the danger to Chintal lies first in the Pindarees. The Governor-General — and take note that it is Calcutta now which acts, not merely Madras — the Governor-General hopes very much that the Nagpore subsidiary force which will be embodied once the treaty is signed will be of sufficient strength to deter them. Six, or perhaps seven, thousand will be the number. Colonel Leach, a Company officer of considerable distinction, will be placed in command. Yet more is needed if these brutes are to be prevented from finding booty here.’
The raj kumari was convinced this was but an incomplete explanation of their mission. ‘And what is your design for us, therefore?’
‘Your Highness, Lord Moira would welcome the assignment of the forces of Chintal to these efforts to keep the Pindarees north of the Nerbudda, or better still, to extirpate the menace once and for all.’
The rajah bade his daughter keep silent, and conceded there were fewer causes worthy of greater effort than the extirpation of the Pindarees. He thought for a while in silence, and then asked that the collector withdraw so that he might consider it more fully — which the agent of the Company did with all proper ceremony and deference. When he was gone, the rajah turned to Hervey and asked his opinion.
Hervey agreed wholeheartedly with the Company’s proposal. Indeed, it was the very thing his letter, now en route to Madras, urged. He might wish these overtures had begun in a manner less pressing, for the implication of concerted action from Fort William — from the very place, indeed, where he expected the Duke of Wellington to be installed in but a few months — made him acutely conscious of another factor. He was obliged to consider what might be the duke’s own wishes in the matter, for any alliances would constrain a new governor-general as surely as if they had been concluded by him in person. This much seemed easy, however, for a vigorous policy likely to promote greater peace would be entirely within the duke’s notion of stewardship. But Lord Moira’s intention to take vigorous action was so much at odds with what he had been told in Paris — that it was Moira’s very passivity which was most likely to lead to the duke’s being appointed in his place. ‘Sir,’ he began resolutely, but perplexed, ‘I believe you may be confident of my respect for you and of my affection for Chintal: I would do nothing that would imply otherwise.’
The rajah bowed.
‘I am strongly of the opinion that you should make an alliance with the Honourable Company — and with all haste. At least, that is, one limited in time or purpose, for a treaty is the greatest guarantee of your sovereignty in these difficult circumstances.’
The raj kumari turned on her heel and strode to the window, hissing. She would not engage in debate over the sovereignty of Chintal.
The rajah looked at her wearily, and then at Hervey. ‘Do you suppose they would send an officer in command of this subsidiary force who was sensible of my condition, Captain Hervey?’
‘It could only be to mutual benefit,’ he replied.
The rajah looked at his daughter again, and then bade him leave them.
For the first time, Hervey was conscious that no matter where he went in the palace, or its gardens, he was observed — or, at least, might be observed. And overheard, too, should he speak in more than a whisper. He would have liked to meet with the collector and Cornet Templer, but to do so could only arouse suspicion that he was in collusion with the Company. He therefore avoided their quarters and went instead to look for Emma Lucie. He found her beside one of the fountains in the water garden, reading — as if there were not a care in the whole of the palace. ‘Do I disturb you, madam?’ he enquired.
‘You do not disturb me, Captain Hervey,’ she said with a smile, closing her volume of the natural history of Madras. ‘But something disturbs you, evidently.’
Hervey sighed. ‘For all its perils, the battlefield is at least a place of simple certainties.’
She looked at him quizzically.
‘Events here have taken another turn.’
‘Why should you, above other men, be privileged to a life without confusions, Captain Hervey?’ she smiled. ‘What are these events?’
The reproach in her voice was not excessive, but enough nonetheless to check him. ‘You are right, madam. I accept the rank and position readily enough.’
‘Well, let us not dwell too deeply on such matters. What exactly troubles you?’
‘You are aware, I must suppose, that Mr Somervile is come?’
‘Mr Somervile, here?’
Clearly she was not. ‘Why yes, Miss Lucie: he is come with an offer of alliance with Chintal, this very afternoon.’
Emma Lucie rose as if to leave, and then sat down again. ‘I had not thought that—’
‘Forgive me, madam,’ Hervey interrupted, ‘but he comes with intelligence that there are to be further Pindaree forays, and next it is expected they will ravage Chintal.’
She seemed less agitated. ‘I see. And this is what distresses you?’
‘Indirectly, madam. I have been in India these past three months and I am become embroiled with a very minor potentate — albeit most engaging — whose interests are threatened by a man whose assistance I was intent on seeking.’
‘Assistance, Captain Hervey?’
She had seized on it quickly. Had the hesitation in his voice betrayed him? ‘Yes: you will recall that I am to visit his lancers.’
‘Oh,’ she replied, sounding not entirely convinced.
He judged it better to remain silent.
And she said nothing at first. But then she smiled — laughed almost. ‘Captain Hervey, your friend Mr Selden — a most intriguing gentleman — has much entertained me this afternoon with stories which likened your time here to the trials of Hercules.’
Hervey frowned. ‘Mr Selden is sick with a fever, madam. I had not thought him capable of receiving anyone.’
‘Indeed — he is not at all well. But he had insisted on being brought to the rajah’s stables, it seems, to examine a new foal. Such a pretty little thing. Yes, he was quite full of classical allusions to your time here.’
He did not see how it could be so.
‘Oh, do not be modest, Captain Hervey: I have heard of your Herculean efforts to divert rivers, to capture boars, and even to confront the Hydra!’
He smiled at the rivers and the boars, but reference to the Hydra escaped him. ‘You confuse me, I believe, madam.’
She frowned. ‘Indeed? I had heard you saved the princess from a most fearsome two-headed serpent deep in the jungle.’
Hervey blushed a deep crimson. How could Selden have known of the encounter? ‘I… that is,’ he stammered; ‘I confess that I ran from it.’
‘You, Captain Hervey? You ran from it?’
‘Well, Miss Lucie, in truth it was not one snake but two. They were entwined: perhaps that gave the impression of two heads.’
‘Why were they entwined, Captain Hervey?’ she asked, with all apparent innocence.
He blushed deeply again. ‘It was part of their courtship, I understand.’
‘And does such entwining always signal an inclination to mate?’
He felt almost as close to danger as he had been in the forest. What did Selden know, and how? ‘I am not privy to the habits of the hamadryad, madam,’ he replied, with as much an air of unconcern as he could manage.
But she was not inclined to let it pass. ‘Do you know if the hamadryad mates for life?’
‘Miss Lucie, as I said, I know little of the habits of this or, for that matter, any snake.’
She frowned once more. ‘They are not so common in Madras, but I read in my natural history that the female will allow the male to make advances — even to mate with her — and will then kill him with a single bite. Do you know what is the habitual diet of the hamadryad, Captain Hervey?’
He shook his head as she leafed through her book to find the page.
‘There,’ she said, showing him the place. ‘Its scientific name… see?’
‘Oh,’ said Hervey, tumbling to her meaning, ‘Ophiophagus hannah.’
‘Yes, Captain Hervey: Ophiophagus hannah — it eats only other snakes. Indeed, the female will even kill and eat a male with which she has just mated.’
Hervey shivered involuntarily, now convinced her purpose was more allegory than natural history. ‘Perhaps we might change the subject, madam; I cannot even recall how it came about.’
‘I spoke of the labours of Hercules,’ she smiled.
He was partially relieved.
‘It is as well, anyway, that we close that allegory, sir, for Hercules’ eleventh labour would be most perilous.’ She inclined an eyebrow.
Hervey saw it at once. ‘Taking the world on his shoulders, do you mean, madam?’
‘Just so. The rajah seems especially keen that you shoulder his burden, does he not?’ She raised both her eyebrows, and smiled.
Hervey looked at her intently. ‘You do not suggest that the rajah seeks to confine me in some way?’
She raised her eyebrows again, and tilted her head. ‘I have been in India many years—’
‘No!’ he protested. ‘If I am any judge of men at all, the rajah is incapable of such a thing!’
‘I do not know the rajah,’ she replied softly, ‘but I believe any prince in his position would often as not be an unwitting deceiver. He may not have the cares of the world on his shoulders, but those of Chintal are quite enough of a burden for one man, by all accounts.’
Next morning, following a feast and entertainment as impressive for their improvisation as for their sumptuousness (which was nevertheless great), the rajah summoned Hervey once more to his apartments. He was quite alone, although the screens in his chamber might have concealed an entire council of ministers — a possibility Hervey would scarcely have imagined had it not been for Emma Lucie’s caution.
‘Captain Hervey, I have considered most carefully the position. Indeed, so long did I turn these things over in my mind that I saw the day break over Chintalpore. I have resolved to conclude a treaty with the Honourable Company.’
Hervey smiled and nodded appreciatively.
‘I am glad you approve, for I make but one condition.’
Hervey nodded again.
‘It is that you shall command the subsidiary force.’
Hervey’s eyes were wide with disbelief. ‘Sir, that is not possible, I—’
‘Those shall be my terms.’
‘Sir, allow me to explain. I am an officer of the Duke of Wellington’s staff, albeit a junior one. But I have been given quite specific duties here, duties I could not discharge were I to command such a force. The second objection is that I am a King’s officer, not a Company officer. I am not in the least certain that such a command would be lawful.’
‘There is not a third, perhaps greater objection?’ asked the rajah.
Hervey’s brow furrowed. ‘I, I do not think so, sir.’
‘Then you do not feel yourself incapable of such a command? Insufficient for the responsibility of such a force?’
‘Sir, I—’
But the rajah would not let him finish. ‘No, of course you do not think yourself incapable. Captain Hervey, I should think there are few men more capable of exercising command than you.’
He blushed. ‘I am flattered, sir — greatly honoured — but it does not diminish the primary objection.’
‘Then,’ said the rajah, sighing, ‘we shall see what the agent of the Company has to say of the matter.’ And with that he called for hazree. ‘Take breakfast with me first, Captain Hervey.’
Instead, however, Hervey begged leave to speak with the collector at once.
He found him at breakfast in his quarters. It was the first opportunity he had had to speak with him alone, though even here he could not be certain that their conversation would remain private. There was little he could do about that, however, and, in any case, he proposed to say nothing — nor even did he think anything — that might not be laid before the rajah without embarrassment. That some of the rajah’s establishment were in the nizam’s pay left him no alternative, indeed.
Somervile seemed pleased, but not surprised, to see him, and beckoned his khitmagar to bring him coffee. ‘These are momentous times, are they not, Captain Hervey?’ he asked, smiling.
‘I am beginning to think that I might not see otherwise in my lifetime,’ replied Hervey, sighing.
‘I learn that the Duke of Wellington is having a little difficulty in Paris, too.’
‘Oh?’ said Hervey. ‘How so?’
‘He has been assailed in the street. It seems that there is some resentment that he commands an army of occupation. The royalists feel that now the usurper Bonaparte is gone France should be returned to the French. And, I hear tell, there is trouble with one or two husbands…’
‘I am sure that the duke is able to bear these things with fortitude,’ smiled Hervey. ‘How are things with Lord Moira?’ he ventured.
The collector looked baffled by the enquiry. Hervey wished he had not made the connection so directly, for Somervile was quite astute enough to draw the inference.
‘Lord Moira is, it seems, in the very best of sorts. He is quite determined on vigorous action in order to have peace from these Pindarees, and I understand that he now has the support of Leadenhall Street and the government. Or at least, there is quiescence in those quarters. I have it on the best authority, even, that he is soon to be ennobled with a marquessate.’
Hervey sensed that his next words were crucial to preserving his cover, but before he could speak the collector demonstrated the perceptivity of which Lucie had made so much.
‘Captain Hervey, did you suppose that the Duke of Wellington were somehow to be translated here at the expense of Lord Moira? Are you in some manner his scout?’
Hervey was aghast.
The collector laughed. ‘My dear sir, I have known as much since first we met! You forget that it is my business to be in the minds of men. You suppose that what in London is plausible will be equally so in the Indies. Well, I may tell you that it is not. You may, so to speak, have a parade of Grenadiers pass muster on the Horse Guards, but in India the sun is so bright that the merest speck on a tunic will stand out like an inkblot on parchment!’ He laughed again, calling to his khitmagar in confident Telugu for more coffee — and then to leave them alone. ‘Captain Hervey, you would be an adornment in Calcutta — for sure — but more importantly, you would come to see India as I do. And, since the wretched affair of Warren Hastings, there are fewer men each year who are prepared to see India as it is, rather than as it might be were only its rulers Englishmen.’
Hervey was not immediately convinced. ‘Do you not confuse our purpose in the East, sir?’ he asked boldly.
‘ “Let not England forget her precedence of teaching nations how to live”?’
Hervey all but scratched his head. ‘That is familiar, but—’
‘Milton,’ he replied.
‘Oh, Milton. My major was wont to quote Milton, but he had a decidedly melancholic turn. It does seem apt, though.’ Then he had second thoughts. ‘But have we not fought Bonaparte these past twenty years on that very precept?’
The collector frowned. ‘Would that you knew your Milton better, for it is less contrived at polity than with private morals!’
‘I think it dubious to suppose there is a distinction…’
‘Oh, Captain Hervey!’ groaned the collector, and then declaimed as if on the boards: ‘ “I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat.” ’
‘Milton again, sir? And what is your meaning by that?’
‘Dust and heat — the essence of India!’ said the collector, surprised.
Hervey looked blank.
‘Captain Hervey, I shall speak plain: if you are the man I believe you to be, you will ever think meanly of yourself if you refuse the rajah’s request.’
‘Forgive me, sir, but I think you must perceive my difficulty at least. Such a course would be to stray a very great deal from that which I was meant to follow. I took a gamble in coming to Chintalpore because I believed it would be most expeditious to my mission. I must have the greatest care not to compound an error. And in any case, how do you know of the rajah’s request?’ he added, indignantly.
Somervile chose to ignore the question. ‘Captain Hervey, officers are appointed to the staff of great men to exercise their judgement, being in the mind of their principal. There is nothing uncommon in your exercise of initiative in coming to Chintalpore. I dare say that you are in a better position today to instruct the duke in the actuality that is Haidarabad than if you had dutifully ploughed your way first up the Hooghly river!’
‘Perhaps,’ replied Hervey, mollified slightly; ‘but how did you know of the rajah’s request?’
‘It is of no matter,’ replied the collector dismissively.
‘I consider that it is, sir!’ insisted Hervey; ‘I wish to know what collusion there has been in this concern!’
The collector smiled. ‘Captain Hervey, you must not suppose there are spies everywhere. I said before that it was my business to know what is in men’s minds. I knew perfectly well that that would be the rajah’s stipulation.’
Hervey sighed again. ‘See here, Mr Somervile, I make no admission by this, but the duties given to me by the Duke of Wellington do not permit of it. Nor, I believe, may a King’s officer be so employed on Company business without express authority.’
The collector sighed too, and more wearily. ‘The latter is but the refuge of the legalist. The former — well, I do not suppose that the duke is entirely illdisposed towards initiative.’
‘There is a perfectly able King’s officer here in Chintalpore who could exercise command with equal address as I.’
‘Who?’ enquired the collector, incredulously.
‘Mr Locke.’
‘Locke? That potulent officer of Marines? From what I hear you would have the greatest difficulty hauling him off his little nautch girl!’
Hervey frowned in dissent. ‘That is unfair. He fought like a lion at Jhansikote.’
‘Hervey,’ said the collector, his voice lowered in conspiracy, ‘there will be no shortage of lions. What the rajah needs is a lion with the acuity of a mongoose!’