Sword of Fortune

by Christopher Nicole

  His frown was back, more deeply than before. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you feel some affection for him?’

  ‘How can a woman live with a man for five years and not feel affection for him?’ she cried.

  He stared at her.

  ‘I thought you dead,’ she sobbed. ‘The Begum told me you were dead.’

  ‘And so you fell in love with the next in line,’ he said grimly, aware of a red anger beginning to surge through his system.

  ‘Richard, he is the father of my children.’

  ‘Your children?’ He was aghast.

  ‘How may a woman live with a man for several years and not have children?’ she asked.

  ‘My God! How many children?’

  She bit her lip. ‘I have four children. Richard.’

  ‘Four?’

  ‘There is Michael, and also little Jacques, and Louise, and Genevieve. I am still feeding Genevieve.’

  Richard could think of nothing to say.

  ‘I beg your forgiveness, Richard,’ Caty said. ‘But there was nothing I could do.’

  ‘And have you not given me at least three reasons why I should cut that man down like a dog?’

  ‘I cannot be a party to the murder of my children’s father, Richard. Please understand. It would be murder. Everyone knows that. You are a renowned duellist. Peyraud is not.’

  Richard looked into her eyes.

  ‘If I spare his life, will you come away with me?’

  She hesitated. ‘I could not.’

  ‘You mean you would rather stay here with him, than come to Hariana with me?’

  ‘I cannot abandon my children. We could never undertake such a journey, with a babe at my breast.’

  The same argument he had used to Thomas, five years before.

  ‘And what of my son?’

  ‘Believe me, he knows of his father. I have made certain of that. But he counts you gone forever. Peyraud treats him as his own son. And he is happy. Please believe that, Richard. He is happy.’

  ‘Happy,’ he muttered. But he was realising that she had turned aside the important question, twice.

  ‘There will be no problem, should I kill Peyraud,’ he said. ‘No one here will stand against me. You may remain here with your children until your youngest is well enough to travel. Indeed, I will come back for you, then.’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘You do not wish Peyraud to die.’

  ‘No,’ she said

  ‘You are telling me that you love him?’

  Caty raised her head to gaze at him. She took a long breath. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I love him. I love him, Richard. I am begging you to spare his life.’

  He held her shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘He means that much to you?’

  She gave a little shudder, but would not lower her eyes. ‘If Peyraud should die,’ she said. ‘So should I, Richard. So should I.’

  *

  She left him, and he remained sitting for some time, staring at the wall. Had any man ever had happiness more often dangled before his eyes, only to see it snatched away?

  The temptation to kill Peyraud, and seize Caty and her children and carry them off was enormous, if only to regain possession of Michael. But what would that accomplish? Michael! What claim had he on the boy now? He had not seen him since he was a few weeks old.

  But how easy to go out at dawn, and cut Peyraud down. Surely, whatever she felt at the moment, Caty would come to accept that, and come to him, too.

  But suppose she hated him for the rest of her life? She loved Peyraud! What had she said? How may a woman live with a man for five years and not feel some affection for him?

  All his fears for her, all his dreams of their reunion, had been so much wasted time.

  He was not, apparently, a man women loved with constancy. It was a bitter thought.

  But why should Caty ever have loved him? She was the Begum’s creature, and she had been given to him, through no will of her own. Where did love come into it?

  Peyraud was, or could be, a charming, sophisticated man. Richard Bryant was a savage, who fought for a savage and lived in a savage land.

  He paced the floor. He had never suffered from inability to make a decision before. But this one was peculiarly difficult, not simply because the clarity of his thinking was overlaid with anger, and desperation, and despair. She had appealed to his love for her, to spare the man she loved. Though his whole being was consumed with fury at her betrayal, he knew that he still loved her sufficiently to do what she begged of him. But there was the rub. He could not fake a duel with swords, as he could with a pistol; there was too little margin for error, and if Peyraud was determined to fight to the death, it might be impossible to stop him, short of killing him.

  Then why not fight to the death, and die? Did he have anything left to live for?

  He remembered Clive. He had sworn he would never be such a fool as to commit suicide. Then why should Richard? He had a great deal to live for. There were empires to be conquered at George Thomas’s side, women to be wooed and won, riches to be amassed. He would yet return to England a wealthy man.

  But to do that, and not destroy Caty, he must first pretend to be a coward.

  As if it mattered. He valued only one man’s opinion in all the world, and George could certainly be told the truth.

  Richard went to bed.

  *

  His decision made at last, he slept soundly, and was awakened at dawn by Wright and Bootil.

  ‘They have sent us this sabre,’ Wright said. ‘Do you know aught of fighting with sabres?’

  ‘A sabre is not much different from a claymore,’ Richard told him. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just past six. The meeting is set for seven.’

  ‘Good. Now do you go along, Major, and rouse all your men, and have them fall in. We leave this place at seven.’

  ‘Seven? But…the duel?’

  ‘Immediately after the duel. But I wish your people assembled, armed, and ready to move out.’

  ‘Ah,’ Wright said, nodding. ‘I take your point, General. You feel there may be trouble after you have cut Peyraud down.’

  ‘I am merely endeavouring to anticipate every eventuality, Major.’

  Wright saluted, and left.

  Richard dressed himself, tested the sabre again. It was a beautifully balanced weapon. The French were not considering any treachery, it seemed. Well, he had not expected them to; Peyraud did not lack confidence.

  He breakfasted, and waited for Wright to return, which he did in half an hour.

  ‘The men are assembled, sir,’ he said.

  ‘And the French?’

  ‘There are a great number of them about, to be sure. But their talk is all of the duel.’

  ‘Then let us attend them.’

  The Company escort was drawn up as if on parade, and Lieutenant Inglis came to them to tell them his men were ready to move out.

  ‘Advance to the gate as soon as I give the signal,’ Richard told him, and faced the doorway of the palace, out of which there now issued the Begum, followed as always by le Vasseult. Peyraud was behind them, already stripped to his shirt, followed by several other officers.

  Behind the officers was Caty, standing alone, wearing a dark sari, the cowl of which was drawn across her face, leaving only her forehead and eyes exposed.

  But now was not the time to think of Caty. She had made her feelings plain.

  He could see no boy near her who in any way suggested Michael.

  Richard and Wright advanced to meet them.

  ‘I see you are ready to leave us, General,’ Aljai said, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

  Clearly she supposed that he was prepared to overawe any opposition from the French the moment Peyraud was dead.

  ‘My mission here is finished, Highness,’ he told her.

  ‘It will be,’ she agreed. ‘After the duel has been fought. Are you pleased with your weapon?’

  ‘It is adequate, th
ank you, Highness.’

  ‘Good. Well, then…’ she beckoned Peyraud to join them. The Frenchman’s face was stern, but he looked confident. ‘I have never supervised a duel before, but I am informed by Mr Dyce, who seems to know about these matters, that it is my duty to attempt to reconcile you two gentleman before blows are struck. Come now, General Bryant, will you not own that you were mistaken in calling General Peyraud a coward, apologise, and beg his forgiveness?’

  Her eyes were glinting even more strongly. She was playing one of her games, and enjoying every minute of it.

  Now she waited for him contemptuously to refuse her invitation.

  Richard bowed. ‘On due reflection, Highness, I have come to the conclusion that you are right. I was mistaken. I most humbly apologise to General Peyraud, and ask his forgiveness for the insult I offered him.’

  He reversed the sword and held it out.

  The Begum stared at him, the glint in her eyes holding the iciness of pure steel.

  Richard could only hope and pray that the Frenchman would refuse to accept the apology. He would then have done all he could.

  But Peyraud was smiling.

  ‘Why, General Bryant, I am pleased to see you have learned some sense. I have never sought to murder men who have no stomach for a fight. Your apology is accepted.’

  Richard handed him the sword. ‘Perhaps some other time,’ he said.

  ‘You are a coward,’ the Begum said. ‘You, Richard Bryant, are a sham and a coward.’

  ‘Highness.’ Richard gave her a brief bow, and signalled Bootil to bring his horse forward. ‘This embassy will now withdraw from Sardhana. I will convey your refusal to join in the campaign against Mysore to His Excellency the Governor-General.’

  ‘You are a coward,’ Aljai said again, as Richard mounted. ‘A coward!’

  Richard rode out of the courtyard, with the laughter of the French soldiers ringing in his ears.

  Part Three: The Fortune

  Diary of Mrs Alistair Lamont, 12 December 1787

  Richard has returned.

  Alistair has met Major Wright, and come home with the strangest story I ever heard. He claims Major Wright told him that Richard was challenged to a duel while in one of the state capitals he visited in the course of his embassy, and when the moment came to fight, his courage failed him, and he apologised and withdrew!

  Can this be true? Of Richard?

  I cannot believe it.

  My plans are made. They have been made for the past two months. My satchel is ready, my mind made up.

  My diaries are stored in the bank, save only for this one, which I shall take in my reticule, together with my pencil. I do not suppose there will be pens where I am going.

  It is fortunate that my reticule is waterproof; it is pouring with rain.

  I am going to elope, with Richard, to seek a life of adventure and freedom and happiness!

  With a coward? I refuse to believe it. Whatever Richard did was for an excellent reason. That is what I have to believe.

  Suppose he refuses me? Yet how can he? I know he wants me, even if he does not love me. How can he refuse me?

  I must go to him, in any event. Alistair means to challenge him tomorrow. Alistair has doubled in courage since learning of Richard’s disgrace. Oh, how I hate the man!

  Alistair says that Richard will be refused lodgings at Government House, in view of his behaviour; Lord Cornwallis is shocked. Alistair says he will be given no lodgings by any decent person in Bombay. Therefore he will have to go to the inn of the half-caste Mortimore. Alistair says that is where he will find him, tomorrow—he will allow him today to report to the Governor-General.

  But I will find him first.

  Have I not a single regret?

  I have been fortunate. I am in possession of my health, my complexion, and my youth. But I have suffered enough. I have mourned the loss of three children, maltreatment by a brutal husband, the suppression of my spirit. Now I must fly, or die.

  I leave behind a comfortable bungalow, with nothing in it I value.

  I leave behind no friends, only acquaintances who, I know, do nothing but whisper behind my back.

  Is poor Andrew a friend? I doubt even that. He wishes to lie with me because I am the prettiest woman in Bombay. I have no doubt he describes every detail of our liaison to his friends: after all, that is how Lamont came to know of it.

  I leave behind a husband whom God knows I tried to love and respect. That I have failed I will admit is partly due to the weaknesses of my own character. But equally is Alistair at fault. He has never treated me as other than a possession. Once his pleasure in possessing me became commonplace he grew bored with me, and once he realised I could not give him a son and heir he positively disliked me. No doubt I am doing him a good turn, as he will be able to seek a bill of divorcement and marry again.

  I am going to Richard!!!

  11: The Summons

  ‘Well, Mr Bryant, you are to be congratulated,’ Lord Cornwallis said.

  There was no warmth in his tone or in his eyes. He was saying what had to be said.

  ‘Both the Nizam and Scindhia have agreed to contribute forces to our campaign against Mysore. So indeed has the Peshwa, although I don’t altogether trust that fellow. Of course we never did have very high hopes of Sardhana. Thomas we knew to be uninterested. But we shall have more than sufficient men to teach Tippoo a lesson, and curb his ambition. Oh, indeed. Again, my congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Richard said.

  ‘As for your personal…ah, problems, well…Wright has made a full report, of course. It was something he had to do. I have to confess that I do not understand it at all. But I’m afraid, well…Bombay is a terrible place for gossip.’

  ‘But as you have suggested, sir, my personal problems are no concern of yours or anyone else’s,’ Richard said.

  Cornwallis looked him in the eye. ‘Except where it may affect the public peace, sir. There is, in addition, the matter of your commission.’

  ‘My commission, sir.’

  ‘I was going to offer you a brigade, General Bryant, in view of your reputation as a fearless fighting soldier. But now…’

  ‘Who’d want to ride behind a coward, eh? Don’t worry, your excellency. It was not in any event my intention to take part in the campaign against Mysore. I have an employer, and I have a home and a wife and family to which I am anxious to return.’

  The only home and wife and family I will ever have now, he thought bitterly.

  ‘I see. Well, I would say that is the best course. When were you thinking of leaving Bombay?’

  Richard grinned. ‘Are you so anxious to be rid of me, my lord?’

  ‘Well, sir, the preservation of the public peace is my responsibility. There are people on this island who dislike you intensely. Now that your reputation…how shall I put it?...has been allowed to dwindle, one of the hot-heads in the garrison, remembering poor Ford, may well call you out.’

  ‘Were anyone to do so, sir,’ Richard said evenly, ‘I would like to give you fair warning that I would shoot him down like a dog. Whatever Wright may have told you, I had my own reasons for declining the duel with General Peyraud. Cowardice was not one of them. Thus I am not at the moment filled with any sense of kindness towards humanity.’

  ‘Bless my soul, sir,’ Cornwallis said. ‘You are a most strange fellow. Well, General Bryant, I must then ask you to leave Bombay with all expedition. Shall we say, by dawn tomorrow? I have here letters continuing to accredit you as my ambassador until you regain the safety of Hariana. The letters expire in six weeks’ time. After that, I would hope not to see or hear of you again.’

  Richard bowed. ‘You are too kind, my lord,’ he said sarcastically. ‘I doubt you shall ever see or hear of me again. I have no intention of leaving Hariana. Good day to you, sir.’

  *

  He left the Governor-General’s office in a seethe of anger. Cornwallis’s contempt had been almost more than he could bear.
But the Governor-General was probably right in assuming that such contempt was now spreading through the entire presidency.

  ‘We shall find lodgings in the city for tonight, Bootil, and leave for Hariana first thing tomorrow,’ Richard told him.

  ‘It is good to be going home, sahib,’ Bootil agreed.

  Oh, indeed, Richard thought. It is good to be going home. To put ambition and desire and conflict behind him, for ever.

  Never had he felt so tired, so disillusioned, so miserable.

  *

  They found a lodging easily enough, at an inn owned by a half-caste named Mortimore, the son of an English soldier and an Indian woman. He seemed pleased to see the famous renegade.

  ‘Many strange things are said of you, General,’ he remarked.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t repeat any of them if I were you,’ Richard suggested.

  ‘Oh, I would not do that, sir. You are welcome to stay in my house for as long as you choose.’

  He ate, and retired to his room. He actually had no desire to meet anyone, and provoke anyone, even though he was in the mood to kill someone. And, Bombay being what it was, he did not doubt that where he was staying would soon be common knowledge; best to keep out of the taproom.

  He was also very tired. He had pursued a killing schedule over the preceding few months, buoyed up always by the dream of what lay at the end of it. Now there was nothing, until he regained Hariana.

  There, at least, he would be among friends.

  He slept, Bootil on the floor at the foot of the bed, until a tap on the door awoke him.

  He sat up, pistol in hand; Bootil had sprung to his feet, knife drawn.

  ‘Pardon me, General,’ Mortimore said in a whisper.

  ‘There is someone here to see you.’

  He sounded somewhat amazed.

  ‘What time is it?’ Richard asked.

  ‘It is a quarter to eleven, sir.’

  ‘My God! I’d have thought it was dawn. Who is this fellow.’

  ‘Ah…it is a lady, sir.’

  Richard got out of bed. Of course there could be no doubt who it was, this time.

  Was he to be cursed all his life, by women who could not keep away from him, regardless of their reputations?