Sword of Fortune

by Christopher Nicole

  The Scindhia cannon growled, but did little execution amidst the trees: they had had no time to be properly emplaced. On his left, where the woods were thin, Richard watched Hearsey’s brigade encounter the leading enemy infantry column, still in the act of deploying. The Scindhia sepoys recoiled under the impact, while Hearsey, in full command of his people, steadied them and had them load and deliver a volley before once again advancing behind their bayonets. The Scindhia right wing was in total disarray, while their left was not yet deployed.

  Richard realised that owing to Bourquien’s incompetence in seeking battle before his men had been concentrated and rested, victory could actually be within his grasp in less than half an hour.

  He turned to one of his aides-de-camp.

  ‘Ride to Colonel Hanif and tell him now is the time to deliver his charge. Tell him to roll up the enemy right wing and force it in upon his centre, and the day is ours.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The young Indian spurred his horse and raced towards the waiting cavalry. Richard watched him through his glass. Five minutes later he was up to Hanif and giving his orders. Hanif raised his sabre to show that he understood. Bugles blew, and the cavalry formed into three lines and began to walk their horses forward, then came to the trot.

  Hanif now pointed his sabre at the disintegrating Scindhia brigade, and began to canter. But as he did so, he threw both arms into the air and fell backwards out of the saddle.

  Richard felt his heart constrict. In the twenty years the two of them had adventured together, neither had ever been hurt. Surely nothing could harm his old friend now.

  Thomas was lost in the mêlée in front of him, and he was in sole command of the army.

  He realised that he had no choice but to join the cavalry. For the advance had ceased when Hanif fell. Horses were milling about aimlessly, officers shouting at each other.

  Only Hanif had known the orders sent to him!

  Richard broke into a gallop, hurling himself towards his men.

  ‘To me,’ he shouted. ‘To me!’

  They responded willingly enough, cheered him as he rode to place himself at their head.

  One glance down told him that Hanif was dead; the little man had been shot through the head. The shot he realised, must have come from an advanced skirmisher who had not fallen back with the rest of his brigade.

  Hanif was to be avenged.

  ‘Charge!’ he shouted, and levelled his claymore at the still retreating sepoys.

  The bugler sounded the call, the valley was filled with the drumming of hooves.

  Hearsey heard the cavalry coming, and began to recall his men to avoid being ridden over. Richard gave him a wave of his sword as he careered onwards…and felt his horse go down beneath him, even as his own body suddenly went numb with the shock of a sudden fierce impact.

  Horse and rider had been hit together. There was only darkness…

  *

  Richard awoke to searing pain in his side, and to soothing hands and cooling water.

  Tanna wept as she held a damp cloth to his forehead. The children were there too; Lucy and Margaret held basins for their mother, the younger ones anxiously looked on.

  Beyond them, Soliman and his other servants stood clustered around the doctor.

  The room was dark, save for candles. There was little sound from outside, certainly none of battle.

  ‘Oh, Richard Sahib,’ Tanna said. ‘His eyes are open, doctor. His eyes are open. He will be well.’

  ‘Praise be to Allah,’ said the Muslim surgeon.

  Richard knew he was inside Georgegarh.

  ‘What of the battle?’ he demanded.

  ‘A great victory, sahib,’ Soliman assured him. ‘The warriors of Scindhia are crushed. It is said they have left four thousand dead upon the field.’

  ‘A victory!’ He tried to sit up, but the pain was so severe he sank back with a gasp.

  ‘You must be careful, sahib,’ the Lakim, Nizar, warned.

  ‘The bullet which struck you down broke two ribs.’

  ‘Where is it now?’

  ‘You have been very fortunate, sahib; it came out again. But still are you grievously hurt. The bones will knit, given time and rest. If the wound were to fester, it could go ill with you.’

  Memory flooded back. Of Thomas swinging his great sword as he charged into battle. Of Hanif pitching lifelessly from his saddle.

  ‘Where is Ship Sahib?’

  An uneasy rustle seeped through his attendants.

  ‘He is well,’ Tanna said.

  She had never learned to lie. And thus, he realised, she was not telling a lie. She was unhappy about the truth she had to utter.

  ‘Take me to him. But first, take me to the battlements.’

  ‘Sahib, you should rest,’ Nazir said.

  ‘Take me to the battlements,’ Richard commanded.

  *

  They carried him on his charpoy along the corridors hewn out of the living rock, and out to the battlements. The sepoys raised a great shout as he emerged, and hurried forward to clasp his hand and reassure themselves that he was well.

  Hearsey and Birch were amongst them.

  ‘Where is the enemy?’ he asked.

  ‘On the far side of the valley,’ Birch told him. ‘They have suffered a grievous loss.’

  ‘Four thousand men,’ he said. ‘I know. Show them to me.’

  He was propped up in his bed, though his side felt shot full of red-hot daggers, and looked out across the valley at the flags which marked the cantonments of the Scindhia army.

  ‘It has been a great victory,’ Hearsey said.

  ‘So I am told,’ Richard observed. ‘But they are still there, and we have retreated within the fortress.’

  Birch and Hearsey exchanged glances.

  ‘It was the decision of Ship Sahib to break off the battle,’ Birch explained. ‘When he heard that you were down, as well as Hanif and Hopkins…’

  ‘Hopkins?’

  ‘The gallant fellow advanced his guns too far, to join in the victory,’ Hearsey said.

  ‘There is naught to concern yourself with about the situation, General Bryant,’ Birch insisted. ‘Those rascals have had all the fight knocked out of them.’

  ‘For the moment,’ Richard growled. ‘What are our casualties?’

  ‘Scarce five hundred men. Our people are cock-a-hoop.’

  Yet they have allowed themselves to be confined in the fortress, Richard thought savagely, because Thomas would not take command and continue the battle to victory.

  ‘Take me to Ship Sahib,’ he commanded.

  The officers exchanged glances.

  ‘Ship Sahib has given express orders that he is not to be disturbed,’ Hearsey said.

  ‘Take me to him,’ Richard shouted.

  He was carried along the corridors to the entrance to the Viceroy’s apartment, where the guards only opened the doors at Richard’s express command.

  From within came the sound of raucous singing, in Gaelic.

  The men carried the litter inside and laid it on the floor, then hastily retired and shut the doors.

  Richard saw Multi, her face convulsed with sorrow, as she knelt among the servants, beside the divan on which Thomas lay sprawled, singing at the top of his voice.

  He interrupted his song, both to reach for another bottle and, uncertainly, to sit up.

  ‘Who’s that?’ he demanded. Bottle in one hand, he swung his great sword above his head. ‘Treachery, by God! I’ll slice his head away. Treachery!’

  ‘It is I, George,’ Richard said.

  Thomas blinked in the direction of the voice, and the sword was slowly lowered.

  ‘Dick, lad,’ he said. ‘Is it really you?’

  ‘None other.’

  The bottle dropped from Thomas’s hand to shatter on the marble floor. Instantly a girl ran forward with another.

  Thomas gripped the neck and took a swig, then staggered up from his divan to kneel beside Richard.
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  ‘Christ! I thought ye dead. They told me ye’d likely not survive.’

  ‘I’m not ready to die yet, George. I was never better, save for a stitch.’

  ‘A stitch!’ Thomas stared at the bandages. ‘God Almighty, ye’ve broken bones in there. I thought ye were dead. Hanif is dead. Hopkins is dead.’ He began to weep.

  ‘George,’ Richard said earnestly. ‘Now is the time to act.’

  ‘Act?’ Thomas raised his head. ‘Act!’ he bellowed. ‘We showed the bastards. We licked the hell out of them. Christ, we did. There’s four thousand dead. Did ye know of that, Dick lad?’

  ‘Yes,’ Richard said. ‘I know of it. But even with four thousand dead, they outnumber us by two to one. Our only superiority is morale. We beat them, George. Now is the time to rally and beat them again, before they can recover. I cannot even walk, much less sit a horse. You must do it, George!’

  ‘Beat them!’ Thomas lumbered to his feet, waving his bottle and scattering rum in every direction. ‘We beat them They’ll not fight again. Not against Ship Sahib!’

  ‘George!’ Richard screamed, trying to sit up, and sinking back with the pain.

  Thomas staggered across the room and fell across the bed. ‘We beat the buggers,’ he said, and began to snore, the bottle trailing from his fingers.

  ‘You must be patient, Richard Sahib,’ Multi said. ‘Ship Sahib is grievously distressed at the death of Hanif and Colonel Hopkins. At your own wound. He will soon be himself again.’

  *

  I must be patient, Richard told himself, and cursed the bullet which had laid him low. Yet only Thomas was capable of leading his army to victory.

  But when! Richard had known George to go on a bender before, but never one like this. Day after day passed, and he remained lying on his divan, calling for bottle after bottle.

  While every day, as the news that Ship Sahib had shut himself up inside his fortress spread, more and more men came to gloat over his downfall.

  Watching from his bed on the battlements, Richard could make out the distinctive apparel and banners of the Sikhs and the Rajputs, the Jats and the men of Holkar, even the imperial banners of the guards of the Great Mughal.

  There were too the red, white and black colours of Sardhana, in the midst of which was pitched an elaborate silken tent. Even the Begum had arrived to view the downfall of the alien monster who had threatened to turn India upside down.

  With the armies there arrived legions of camp-followers. It seemed as if half of India was encamped before Georgegarh; they were eating the entire country bare.

  Most disturbing of all was the disappearance of Bourquien’s personal banner from the centre of the enemy host. That he had been dismissed for incompetence was made obvious by more than that. The attackers were being arrayed and advanced with the utmost caution, to undertake the siege of Georgegarh.

  It suggested that Pedron had been restored to the command.

  No less alarming was the arrival of additional artillery. By the end of the week, Richard estimated, there were at least a hundred guns in the valley beneath them, not to mention forty thousand men. Their chance to send Scindhia’s forces reeling in headlong retreat before Perron’s allies could arrive had vanished.

  *

  Seyene came to see Richard, to kneel beside his bed on the battlements, and hold his hand. She knew Hanif’s death meant as much to him as it did to herself.

  Will he be avenged, Richard Sahib?’ she asked.

  ‘If I have anything to do with it,’ he promised her, ‘he will be avenged.’

  *

  At last Thomas’s binge ended. He staggered on to the battlements holding a wet towel to his head.

  ‘Bejasus,’ he remarked. ‘I’ve a man in there wi’ a hammer, bangin’ away. Richard, how are ye, lad? I heard ye were sore wounded.’

  ‘I’m recovering,’ Richard said. ‘In another month I’ll be able to sit a horse, they say.’

  ‘Another month,’ Thomas blinked at the huge force gathered around his fortress. ‘They’ll not wait that long.’

  ‘I’m surprised they’ve waited this long.’

  There was again no point in engaging in recriminations. Only the future mattered now.

  ‘They’ll not take Georgegarh,’ Thomas growled. ‘Not with a hundred thousand men.’

  ‘They can starve us out, George,’ Richard told him. ‘We cannot hold out here forever. And meanwhile, they’ll be overrunning the whole of Hariana, if only to look for food. So what will you have left?’

  Thomas frowned at him. ‘Ye’d not have me surrender, Dick, lad?’

  ‘No. I’d have you fight.’

  ‘Ye mean, sally forth? I remember ye shoutin’ at me last week. No doubt ye were right. Ye always said drink would be the death of me. But it’s not practical, Dick. Without ye at me side, I’d not know how to go about it. I’m no strategist.’

  ‘So forget strategy. George, I am not going to be able to ride at your side for another month. By then there’ll be no hope for us. But you can’t go out to fight a battle, anyway. There are too many of them, they’d see us coming, and they’d catch us while we were deploying. So they’re cock-a-hoop out there simply because they know where Ship Sahib is: bottled up. George, if you were to take a regiment of picked horsemen and ride out of here one night without warning, cut your way through that army and make for Hansi, and there raise another army, that’d change the whole game. They’re afraid of you, George. Turn you loose, and that alliance out there will fall apart. The Sikhs will suppose you mean to cross the Sutlej again; the Begum will be terrified you’ll ride for Agra and her treasure chests. The Great Mughal will suppose you’ll make for Delhi and appropriate his throne. Your only chance is to rip them apart.’

  ‘And leave ye here.’

  ‘It’s you they’re afraid of,’ Richard said. ‘I can hold out until I’m fit again, then the moment that army starts to disperse to go looking for you, I’ll come out as well. We’ll have two armies in the field, and they won’t know which way to turn.’

  Thomas stared at him for several seconds, then went to the battlements and looked out.

  ‘Maybe ye’re right,’ he said.

  ‘Have I ever given you wrong advice?’

  Thomas turned and grinned. ‘Ye’d have had me do some strange things. But who’s to say ye weren’t right then? This time I’m goin’ to take yer advice. But Richard, if I fall…ye’ve the right to negotiate whatever terms ye can.’

  ‘I know that, George. But you aren’t going to fall.’

  *

  The following night Ship Sahib charged out of the fortress of Georgegarh at the head of a regiment of his untouchables, cut his way through the astounded besiegers, and disappeared along the road to Hansi.

  Richard fired his cannon and the garrison roared their support, while the forces of Scindhia and the Punjab, Holkar and Sardhana, and the Great Mughal, parted before the huge armoured figure brandishing the double-edged sword.

  ‘A miracle,’ Birch said.

  ‘Aye,’ Richard agreed. ‘He is a miracle. Now we must wait for him to work a few more miracles.’

  Although a considerable force was sent in pursuit, Georgegarh was still besieged by an army vastly outnumbering the garrison. On the other hand, Thomas was free, and with every day Richard’s strength returned. He thought it would only be another week or two before he might be fit enough to lead the entire garrison in a break-out, the very moment there was any sign of a dispersal of the enemy.

  But before that happened, a herald rode up to the foot of the walls, beneath a white flag.

  ‘General Bryant!’ he shouted. ‘Marshal Perron summons you to surrender.’

  ‘We shall not surrender,’ Richard answered him. ‘Not so long as we obey Ship Sahib.’

  ‘Ship Sahib is no more,’ the herald said.

  Richard’s heart seemed to constrict.

  ‘Do you expect me to believe that?’ he asked.

  The herald summoned an aide
, who rode forward, leaned from the saddle, and threw a huge double-edged sword to the ground. Another aide hurled beside it an outsize chain-mail cuirass, and a third Ship Sahib’s shield.

  *

  Richard sent out a white flag. There was nothing else he could do. His men had seen the evidence, and they would no longer fight.

  Once again he gazed at the familiar faces. And this time Peyraud was with them, smiling contemptuously from the ranks of the Scindhia’s officers.

  So was the Begum Sombre, resplendent and bejewelled in her cloth-of-gold sari.

  ‘You have strange ideas of gratitude, Aljai,’ he said, using her name in public for the first time ever, so far as he knew. ‘To do to death the man who saved your life.’

  ‘Oh, Ship Sahib is not dead,’ Perron told him. ‘But we have forced him to surrender. He could not raise an army. Even Ship Sahib could not raise an army.’

  ‘He stands in the way of the new India,’ the Begum said piously. ‘He fights for the East India Company. He is the enemy of all Indians.’

  Well said, for a Persian, Richard thought.

  ‘What are you going to do with him?’ he demanded.

  Perron shrugged. ‘I would hang him, personally. But certain of my officers…’ he glanced at Sutherland and Pedron, ‘feel that would be dishonourable, of so mighty a foe. I may add, if it will relieve your anger, that the Begum has also insisted that his life be spared. I am sending him under guard to Calcutta, there to drink himself to death, if he chooses. Certain it is that I will have him executed if he ever sets foot outside Company territory again.’

  The end of an epic, Richard thought. Oh, if only George had not got drunk on the night of the battle, and had driven Bourquien’s rabble before him, as he could so easily have done.

  ‘And what have you in mind for me?’ he inquired.

  ‘The same, General Bryant.’

  ‘And my people?’

  ‘They are now the people of Scindhia. Your soldiers will be incorporated in my army.’

  ‘Colonels Birch and Hearsey?’

  ‘They may retain their commands, if they wish.’

  Perron was showing remarkable generosity, even statesmanship. But he would need every man he could raise if he was going to oppose the Company when it marched north, as it surely would.