Sword of Fortune

by Christopher Nicole

  But first, Hyderabad.

  Hyderabad had been one of the very earliest viceroyalties, the whole Deccan being claimed by Mir Qamar-ud-Din, who took the title Nizam-ul-Mulk, and was granted his viceregal power within seven years of the death of Aurangzeb. But as Aurangzeb himself had only extended Mughal rule over the Deccan in 1685, Hyderabad had only lost its independence for some thirty years.

  At that time the borders of Hyderabad had, at least in theory, encompassed almost the whole peninsula, but internal squabbles between Mir Qamar’s descendants, together with the growth of the rebel Maratha power to the south, had split the viceroyalty apart. As Cornwallis had told Richard, a further rebellion, against the Maratha Peshwas, had established Scindhia as an independent state, just as Haider Ali had created the independent and warlike state of Mysore at the Peshwa’s expense. But the Nizams continued to regard themselves as the true and legal overlords of the Deccan. Their contempt for the latterday Viceroys they regarded as usurpers was one of the principal obstacles which Richard knew he had to overcome.

  The Nizams had, inevitably, clashed with the Company during the French wars, and had been defeated. Indeed, since installing its own puppet, Nizam Ali, on the throne in 1765, the Company had maintained a resident at the viceregal court. It was for this reason that Hanif had warned Richard against seeking refuge there in 1780. But the resident appeared able to do very little to persuade the Nizam to take up arms in support of the Company against his erstwhile subjects. Now it was up to the Company ambassador.

  The city had been built as recently as 1591 by the fifth of the Qutb Shahi sultans of Golconda, after the old fortress town of Golconda had been found too unhealthy for human habitation. This sultan, Muhammad Quli Qutb Shah, had been something of an amateur architect, and had built a monument which had not even been equalled by the Taj Mahal.

  As a result Hyderabad was known as the City of Gardens, while the centrepiece, around which the entire city had been planned, was the Charminar, less a building than an ‘architectural composition’, a parade of open arches at every level, dominated by four minarets, one at each corner, and each a hundred and eighty feet high.

  The approach of the Company embassy was of course well known, and Richard and Wright were greeted by a guard of honour of brilliantly accoutred lancers, supported by both sepoys and elephants, while also on display was a park of four batteries of artillery.

  ‘As you see, the Nizam would be a worthwhile ally,’ Wright muttered.

  ‘I never doubted it,’ Richard agreed.

  The Resident, Mr Parkinson, was waiting for Wright and Richard at his house, where they were directed after passing the parade. Lieutenant Inglis was detailed to see to the quartering of the Company troops, together with their commanding officers.

  Cicely Parkinson served them tea.

  ‘Mr Bryant,’ she said. ‘I have heard so much about you.’

  ‘All bad, I’ll wager, ma’am,’ Richard suggested.

  She blushed. ‘All very exciting, at the least.’

  She was rather an excitable little thing, and quite pretty. But he was not there to flirt.

  Next day Parkinson escorted them to the viceregal palace to meet the Nizam.

  Ali had now been on the throne for more than twenty years. He had been placed there by the Company in place of his brother who had refused to accept British tutelage. Thus no doubt Ali was aware that he remained in power entirely by the presence of the Company army in Bombay, no matter how imposing his own forces might be. Yet having enjoyed at least the outward show of power for so long he clearly regarded himself as every inch a prince, and Parkinson led the way in bowing low before the jewel-encrusted golden throne upon which the Nizam sat.

  The Nizam was a short, stout, middle-aged man, who wore a cloth of gold tunic over white breeches, and several stars and orders on his breast. As he was a direct descendant of Nizam-al-Mulk, who claimed descent from the Prophet, he also wore a green turban. One of the incongruities of Hyderabad was that, like Sardhana before Aljai’s ‘conversion’, the ruler was Muslim and the bulk of his people Hindu.

  But again, as in Sardhana, they seemed to get on very well together.

  ‘Richard Bryant,’ the Nizam said, to Richard’s surprise in English, clearly so that whatever was said would not be understood by most of his courtiers. ‘I have been told of your victory outside Allahabad.’

  ‘That was a long time ago, your excellency,’ Richard said.

  ‘What is five years? Tell me of this mad Irishman whom now you serve?’

  Richard did so, and the Nizam listened attentively.

  ‘And will he march his army against Mysore?’ Ali asked when Richard was finished.

  ‘It is my hope that he will do so, your excellency.’ There was no need to be pessimistic to this man.

  ‘Tippoo Sahib,’ Ali mused. ‘I do not know this man. His father was a scoundrel, but a bold one, and a brave warrior. He split the Marathas. Now the Company wishes to grind his son into the dust.’

  ‘Not so, your excellency,’ Richard protested. ‘The Company seeks no territorial aggrandisement. Lord Cornwallis merely seeks allies, to contain the ambitions of Tippoo.’

  ‘Ambitions which are not yet revealed.’

  ‘Ambitions which can be perceived well enough, your excellency. Tippoo is recruiting a vast army, buying cannon and muskets, employing French advisers. It would be senseless of the other powers in the Deccan to wait until he is ready to strike, and then allow him to roll us up, one by one.’

  Ali snorted, as if he considered that eventuality unlikely.

  ‘Is Scindhia prepared to take the field?’ he demanded.

  ‘There can be no doubt of it, your excellency.’

  ‘Will de Boigne march at the side of my troops? At the side of the Company troops?’

  ‘I am sure he will, your excellency.’

  ‘You have fought against de Boigne, and not been beaten. Is he as formidable an adversary as they say?’

  ‘I have never fought against General de Boigne, your excellency. I have fought against his lieutenants, and they are formidable men.’

  ‘Ha! And you, General Bryant, who has never lost a battle, will you march with the Company?’

  Richard could almost feel Wright imploring him to say the right thing; this was obviously the crux of the matter.

  ‘I march where Ship Sahib marches, your excellency. But if the Company should need me, then be sure I will be happy to serve.’

  ‘Ha!’ the Nizam said again. ‘Then we will crush Tippoo out of existence, as you say.’

  Wright sighed with relief.

  *

  It was necessary to spend a fortnight in Hyderabad, for a large number of feasts and entertainments had been prepared for them. There were boat rides on the river and firework displays outside the city. There were displays of nautch-dancing by girls naked except for gold bangles and nose rings. Afterwards the distinguished guests were required to take their pick. It was necessary to obey custom and retire with a delightful little companion, but Richard’s heart and mind were already reaching ahead, to Scindhia and beyond.

  *

  There was little of architectural beauty in Gwalior, the capital of Scindhia Mahadoji, which lay due south of Agra at no great distance from the Begum’s capital. The land was too rugged, the people needed to work too hard for a living. In any event, Richard was not there to admire architecture.

  But from a military point of view, he could only stare in wonder at the fortress which dominated the city. Situated on a cliffed plateau nearly two miles long, and rising some three hundred feet sheer from the plain below, it was, at a glance, the reason for Scindhia’s success and Benoit de Boigne’s arrogance.

  Within its walls were contained eight reservoirs, six palaces, six temples, a mosque, as well as a barracks and stables. It was a place which might withstand a siege for a hundred years, as had been recognised since antiquity, for there was no legend, no matter how old, that did not include
a mention of the fortress of Gwalior.

  Ranoji Scindhia had led his people in revolt against the main Maratha power in 1726, after being granted a viceroyalty by the then Peshwa. His successors had made themselves secure in their impregnable fortress, and the present Scindhia, Mahadoji, was the most famous of them all. He had already ruled for more than twenty years, and had thrust his tentacles up into the land of the Rajputs and the Sikhs, and maintained an ambassador in Delhi; it was said the Great Mughal himself called him Protector.

  Yet Scindhia Mahadoji was a low-browed, sullen-looking man with a nervous tic. He sat on a throne surrounded by French and Indian officers, and did not indulge in much conversation.

  ‘Military matters,’ he told Richard, ‘are to be discussed with my commander-in-chief.’

  That was all the invitation Richard wanted.

  Benoit de Boigne was a surprise. Richard had expected a typical Frenchman, slim, perhaps even dapper, elegant, moustached. Instead, de Boigne was as tall as himself, clean-shaven, square-shouldered and barrel-chested, with a great square head and a shock of close-cropped yellow hair, only sparsely dotted with grey.

  To Wright’s discomfiture, but to Richard’s relief, he opted to receive the ambassador alone, after having introduced the company officers to his own leading commanders. Sutherland, Gardiner and Pedron, Richard had of course already met, but this was the first time he had come face to face with Pierre Cullier, who went under the name of Perron, and who was de Boigne’s second-in-command.

  Like Thomas, Perron had begun life as a naval gunner. It was amusing to think that since Thomas had taken part in some naval encounters with French men-of-war in the Indian Ocean, he and Perron might well have exchanged shots. In any event, there could be no doubt that Perron hated the very sound of Thomas’s name, and regarded his general with ill-concealed contempt.

  And he was a typical Frenchman, small of stature, with lank black hair and a drooping moustache. For all his fine uniform he looked as if he had come straight from the Faubourg St Antoine.

  ‘He is a hot-head,’ de Boigne agreed, when he and Richard were alone, and after he had also introduced his wife, a handsome woman who, like the Begum, was from Persia, and by whom he had two charming daughters. ‘But a fine fighting man. I would not have you overlook this, General Bryant.’ His eyes twinkled. Nor would I have you take offence and kill him in a duel, while you are my guest. I have heard much about your ability with a pistol.’

  ‘You flatter me, monsieur.’

  ‘It is not a habit of mine,’ de Boigne pointed out. ‘So, you have abandoned your Irish friend?’

  ‘By no means. I shall never do that. I have been seconded by Ship Sahib to aid the Company in this matter of Tippoo Sahib.’

  ‘Aid he will not provide himself.’

  Richard knew there was little point in attempting to deceive de Boigne with false optimism.

  ‘Ship Sahib has no love for the Company,’ he agreed.

  ‘Neither have I.’

  ‘You have never suffered at the Company’s hands, Marshal.’

  ‘Neither has Thomas. He merely hates the British. But you, General Bryant, you have suffered at the Company’s hands. Yet you attempt to negotiate on their behalf?’

  ‘Perhaps I look to the future.’

  De Boigne stroked his chin. ‘An admirable point of view. Tell me something, monsieur: are you a rich man?’

  ‘I have some wealth.’ Over the years Thomas had been generous to his second-in-command, where he had taken little money for himself. In the chest in Richard’s house in Hansi, watched over by Tanna, were several lakhs of rupees. ‘I would hope to obtain more.’

  ‘Of course. And you are young enough to do so. You will not deny that you are a mercenary?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I also am a mercenary. A mercenary fights for money. His aim is to attain sufficient wealth to support his old age. That has always been my aim. And I can tell you that I am well on the way to achieving that aim. My master, the Scindhia, has been good to me. I even have a small jaghir of my own, within the Scindhia’s territory, to be sure, but from which I draw all the income. I can, I think, look forward to a retirement to France, as a rich man, and to an old age of comfort and even good works. I seek no glory…’

  ‘Because you have sufficient of it,’ Richard murmured.

  ‘Fighting for Scindhia? Protecting Scindhia, more likely. That is the task I have been paid to carry out, and I have earned my keep. It was necessary to fight at first, to establish my reputation. Now it is hardly necessary at all. Only madmen like your friend George Thomas would ever seek to oppose me.’

  ‘Which confrontation has not yet come about,’ Richard pointed out.

  De Boigne smiled. ‘Why should it? Is it not advantageous to us both that our reputations should remain untarnished by defeat?’ He raised his finger. ‘Do not misunderstand me. If, in the course of my duties as commander-in chief of Scindhia’s armies, it became necessary for me to engage Ship Sahib—if, for instance, after defying General Pedron he had sought to set up an independent state in Khunde instead of agreeing to co-operate with him, and if, as things turned out, he had continued to fight for Appa Khunde Rao instead of fleeing to Hariana—then I would wage war on him without hesitation.’

  Richard decided to make no comment on George’s ‘flight’ to Hariana; he was here as an ambassador.

  ‘But to fight him for the sheer sake of enhancing my reputation, that would be folly. To fight anyone for that reason would be folly. That is why I would not lead my men against the Company when the late war was being fought, despite, I may say, urgent appeals from Paris. I fight for Scindhia and de Boigne, not for Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. Do you not agree with my point of view, General Bryant.’

  ‘I take your point, General. You are saying that before you will lend your troops to a campaign against Tippoo Sahib, you will have to be paid.’

  ‘My armies will have to be paid.’

  ‘But you, more than they.’

  De Boigne smiled again. ‘I am worth more than they.’

  ‘And the idea that Tippoo may be preparing to overrun the entire Deccan does not alarm you.’

  ‘Not in the slightest. Tippoo hates the British. He is recruiting French officers, because he does not hate the French. His agents have even made advances to some of my people here. He will never make war on Scindhia. More, he will never willingly make war on de Boigne.’

  It occurred to Richard that when he had complacently been happy to describe himself to Barbara Lamont as arrogant, he had not known the meaning of the word.

  But he was not here to become angry, either.

  ‘However, would I be right in assuming that were sufficient funds forthcoming, Marshal, you would be prepared to wage war upon Tippoo, whether he wanted it or not?’

  ‘Of course.’ De Boigne wagged his finger. ‘And do not attempt to moralise, young man. If you are in the business of selling your sword for money, the one mistake you can make is to become confused, and offer it for some other reason, as you are apparently well on the way to doing. I have heard a great deal about you, and all of it I admire. Now that I have seen you, I can admire you as a man. I can use a man like you, better than Thomas will ever know how to. I know you refused me once. But perhaps now you know better. Would you like command of one of my brigades? They are the finest troops in India. I have seen to that.’

  ‘Thus personal friendship does not enter into your calculations either,’ Richard observed.

  ‘Personal friendship is one of the most confusing of all human emotions, Monsieur Bryant. It clouds the clarity of the brain.’

  Richard nodded. ‘I will convey your answer to Lord Cornwallis, Marshal. It may well be that he will consider your services worth a great deal of money.’

  ‘But you do not.’

  ‘Happily, monsieur, I am not in the position of having to make that decision.’

  ‘And you will not consider remaining here and taking a command
under me?’

  Richard stood up. ‘I could hardly do that, General. Would I not have to begin by despatching Monsieur Perron?’

  *

  He wrote a letter to Cornwallis setting out de Boigne’s attitude, and despatched it at once. Then it was necessary to endure another week of festivities and entertainments, in which de Boigne smiled and Perron glowered; Mahadoji was seldom present.

  Richard could hardly wait to turn his back on Scindhia and head for Sardhana.

  ‘Have you apprehensions about returning?’ Wright asked.

  ‘None for myself,’ Richard told him, truthfully enough.

  But as to what he would find...

  *

  News of the embassy had again travelled ahead of them, and the Sardhana border guards offered no opposition, rather lining up as another guard of honour. Richard led the Company people across the plain, and listened to their exclamations of delight as they saw the sun’s rays reflecting from the Taj Mahal.

  ‘What a superb structure!’ Wright exclaimed. ‘All for a single woman!’

  ‘An empress,’ Richard reminded him.

  As they approached the city they saw that the Sardhana army was drawn up outside, almost in battle array, with the two batteries of artillery out in front.

  Also in front was Jacques Peyraud, wearing the uniform of a general, and mounted upon a white stallion. Beside him, in a white sari, but side-saddle upon a black horse, was the Begum Sombre; the crucifix upon her breast glinted in the sun.

  Le Vasseult was immediately behind her, in front of his guardsmen.

  Richard listened to the sudden intake of Wright’s breath. Five years had made no difference at all to the Begum’s beauty.

  He walked his horse in advance of the troop, until he was within twenty feet of Aljai. Then he bowed in the saddle.

  ‘The prodigal returns, Highness.’

  ‘It is good to see you, Richard,’ Aljai said. ‘To see you looking so well. Have you brought me news of that rascally Irishman’s death?’

  ‘By no means, Highness. Ship Sahib lives, and prospers.’ He saluted Peyraud. ‘General.’