They did not dance, they cavorted. Cavorted for a full five minutes. And their gestures became increasingly lewd until the rajah, smiling indulgently, clapped his hands and shooed them away, at which they besieged the seated audience with little begging bowls — and made hissing noises if they considered the contributions mean. As they recessed to the outer chamber, keeping up the cacophony still, Hervey, astonished by so tawdry (but undeniably amusing) an intrusion, asked the raj kumari who they were. She, like her father before, smiled indulgently. ‘They are known variously, but we call them hijdas.’
Hervey was unenlightened. ‘Meaning?’
‘It is an Urdu word — “neither one thing nor the other”.’
Still Hervey had not understood.
‘Neither male nor female,’ she explained with a sigh.
His embarrassment made her smile.
‘They appear from nowhere at gatherings such as this — weddings, tamashas. They make a great deal of noise and accept money to go away. They always seem to know when there is such an assembly, but I suspect that your Mr Selden told them of this evening. He enjoys their confidence.’
Hervey looked across at Selden, who seemed content.
‘There is a small company of hijdas in Chintalpore, though their greatest number is in Haidarabad, for they are in truth more relics of the Mughal court.’
‘Will they come when the nizam visits?’ asked Hervey.
‘You may be assured of it,’ replied the raj kumari with a smile; ‘whether invited or not. And they will expect generous alms from so rich a ruler and his following.’
When the last strains of the hijdas’ chorus were gone, the rajah and the raj kumari took their leave, satisfied that the banquet had been a worthy gratuity for the service which Hervey had rendered the favoured elephant. The rajah looked forward, he insisted once again, to being able to continue that hospitality in a manner especially appropriate for one of Hervey’s calling, ‘for I believe you will hold with me that hunting is the most noble of our pleasures.’
Hervey thanked him fulsomely.
The raj kumari bowed, smiling also, and thanked him once more for his present of the tushes. ‘They are a handsome trophy, Captain Hervey. And you won them without permitting my Gita to suffer a single mark. Truly, the English are not to be trifled with!’
‘Take a turn with me about the gardens,’ said Selden as the khansamah’s men began the lengthy business of extinguishing the candles and oil lamps.
Hervey was glad of both the air and the chance of broaching at last the subject of his being there. When they were outside, and some distance from the ears of the palace itself, Selden gave his opinion of the evening. ‘The rajah has, quite evidently, taken to you. But I observed him closely as he questioned you on your purpose in coming to India, and I don’t think he was disposed to believing that your mission is concerned solely with the lance. As, indeed, do I not. The rajah is perforce both hospitable to and suspicious of strangers. He knows — without doubt — of the Wellesleys’ late affinity with the nizam, and it will not be beyond possibility that he is thinking of your being an agent of Haidarabad.’
This he had not imagined. He felt at once anxious as he realized that had he first made contact with Bazzard in Calcutta he would have been forewarned of this diplomatic complication.
‘The Pindarees are again making depredations on Chintal’s borders,’ continued Selden. ‘The rajah bought them off last year but they’ve paid his gold little heed. It can’t be long before they come within, for his forces would be hard-pressed to deal with them without leaving Chintalpore open to attack from the west, from Haidarabad.’
Hervey looked about him, anxious there might be ears closer than the palace. His mind was beginning to race and he tried hard to check it as it dawned on him how awkward was his predicament — and of his own making. ‘Selden, may we speak in absolute confidence?’
‘Here is as good as anywhere,’ shrugged the salutri.
‘I mean, may I divulge things to you confident they will go no further?’
Selden paused only for an instant. ‘I would never betray anything that might harm my country — on no account. But if it is something that might harm the rajah then I beg you would not try my loyalty.’
Hervey took the plunge he knew must come. ‘The duke has title to several jagirs in Chintal. They’re governed on his behalf by an official of the Company’s in Calcutta.’
‘Is this of great moment?’ asked Selden, the tone a shade bemused.
‘I don’t know. All I have need to know is that the duke wishes to dispose of them in as discreet a manner as possible.’ Never did Hervey imagine he would dislike a business so.
‘If he has an agent in Calcutta, why should you be concerned in this?’
‘Again, I don’t know why. I understand that not even the jagirs’ steward here in Chintal knows their true ownership. It’s the duke’s wish that they are disposed of as advantageously as possible, within Chintal, and that their former title remain privy.’
Selden inclined his head in a manner that suggested he was now well apprised of Hervey’s purpose. ‘And you wish me to assist in this disposal?’
‘Yes,’ said Hervey quietly, but emphatically.
Selden sucked his cheeks. ‘So your meeting with me was not coincident: you sought me out?’
‘The meeting on the Sukri was entirely coincident, but my orders were that I should go to Calcutta and meet an agent of the duke’s. He was to see to my entry here. I told you about our diversion to Madras; it seemed opportune when I did meet you, and little point then in my going to Calcutta. It was a misjudgement, I see now.’
‘Indeed,’ nodded Selden, ‘quite a misjudgement! There might no longer be the glittering path ahead, then?’ The tone was of sympathy, even if a little brutal.
Hervey hardly needed reminding of the personal consequences.
‘And so, who now has the title deeds?’ he asked, wanting to pick something from the ashes.
‘I do,’ replied Hervey, quick to respond to the suggestion of help. ‘But since they bear the duke’s name they will need to be transferred through a third party. My instructions were to request that you yourself fulfil that role. And, further, that you ensure any reference to the duke in the land registry is expunged.’
Selden smiled. ‘Hervey, you — or, I suppose, the duke’s agents — astonish me. Assuming that I would have access to the registry, you would wish me, say, to spill a bottle of ink on the offending page — or to set the entire ledger alight?’
‘Whatever is necessary,’ he replied bluntly; ‘but my principal had hoped that the original document might be delivered up to him. He is quite willing to meet all expenses.’ This last troubled him. He had rehearsed it many times so that it might be rendered lightly, but it smacked none the less of a crude bribe.
Selden saved him further discomfort by ignoring it — at least, on the surface. ‘My dear Hervey, I think it time I made a clean breast of one or two things too.’ They sat on a low wall by one of the fountains, its fall of water a further aid to their seclusion. ‘Now,’ he began, dabbing at the edge of his mouth with a silk square, ‘you must not suppose me to occupy any great office of state here — or even position of influence.’
Hervey looked worried. ‘But—’
‘Let me finish. I am the rajah’s salutri. There are few of us in India, and most of them are quacks, men who would scarce make a good farrier’s assistant. I know my worth in this respect, and so, I flatter myself, does the rajah. I am the only Englishman at his court, and since he places his trust in my facility with his horses he is inclined to seek my opinion on other matters. He’s not obliged to take it, of course.’
Hervey was not now so discouraged, but it was far from what he might have wished. ‘And do you have dealings with the Company?’
‘I am not a spy, if that’s what you mean. Periodically I have given my opinion on this matter or that when in Calcutta — as any loyal subject of the King wou
ld.’
Hervey thought for a moment, for Selden evidently had more to give. ‘Are you therefore able to help me dispose of the jagirs?’ he asked plainly.
Selden smiled again. ‘One of the many things I have learned in India is that what one supposes to be a secret is known as often in the bazaars.’
‘Are you telling me that the duke’s title to them is known of?’
‘Not, I suspect, in the bazaars, but the rajah knows — certainly.’
‘Oh,’ sighed Hervey, now even more anxious that his misjudgement would see his mission come to nought.
‘The jagirs are, indeed, something of an insurance to him.’
‘How so?’
‘The rajah has always supposed that as long as the Wellesley family held title to land in Chintal the country would be secure from predation by others.’
‘You mean he expects the Company would be prevailed on to come to his aid?’
‘Just so.’
‘I’m astonished. It would be little better than—’
‘There you go again, Matthew Hervey: false civilization, still to be sweated out!’
He frowned. ‘You will tell me next that the duke is somehow a party to this pretence!’
‘I would presume no such thing,’ replied Selden, a little archly. ‘But I tell you two things — or, rather, I ask you one thing first.’
‘Very well then,’ said Hervey, squarely.
‘Ask yourself why the duke has jagirs here in the first place.’
‘Is there reason why he should not? His family has wealth, and he was here a half-dozen years.’
‘Quite so,’ conceded Selden. ‘You have heard of Seringapatam?’
‘Of course: the Sixth still spoke of it when I joined.’
‘And well they might — the loot was prodigious!’
‘What has that to do with the duke? He put a stop to as much of it as he could, as is commonly known.’
Selden looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘See here, Hervey: I have no wish to sully the name of a great man — and one you serve so admirably. But there are persistent stories in India that he sequestered some of the prize-money that should by rights have gone to General Baird, the man whom he superseded after the capture of the fortress, and it’s supposed that the Chintal jagirs are part of that… shall we say, artifice? Do you not suppose that that might account in some degree for the needy discretion in disposing of them?’
Hervey protested that there were too many suppositions.
‘And I must further inform you,’ pressed Selden, ‘that the jagirs themselves have yielded meagre revenues these past years. The rajah supplements them handsomely.’
Slowly it began to occur to him that he might have been kept in the dark by Colonel Grant for no better reason than to conceal something that was — at best — unbecoming. And then he tumbled to the notion — but prayed it was not true — that his mission to gauge the effectiveness of the nizam’s army was no more than a diversion. He sighed heavily. How clever of the duke’s chief of intelligence if it were so, for in conniving with him at the diversion of the lance, he diverted himself from the truth that the business of the jagirs was Grant’s real purpose — and an infamous one at that.
Still he did not dare share this with Selden. Yet his look must have spoken of some sense of betrayal, for the salutri placed a hand on his shoulder and warned him of the consequences of judging things too keenly. ‘For I dare say the duke believed he did nothing dishonourable. He broke the Marathas at what might have been no little cost to his reputation, or even his life, had things not gone well. “To the victor the spoils”, Hervey!’
It was all supposition in any case. And, indeed, Hervey could ill afford too many scruples in his position.
Selden was prepared to agree with him — for the purposes, at least, of lifting his spirits for the time being. ‘Who, by the way, were you to meet with in Calcutta?’
Hervey wondered if this were information he might not rightly divulge. ‘I think it better if—’
‘It wasn’t Bazzard, was it?’
‘Why do you name him?’
Hervey’s surprise encouraged Selden to assume it was. ‘Because he is the writer who forwards the revenues to London.’
‘I should not say more.’
‘It makes no difference, my dear fellow,’ frowned Selden, ‘for Bazzard has been dead these past three months.’
‘Dead? You mean… killed?’
‘By the fever.’
Hervey saw at once some mitigation of his misjudgement. Going to Calcutta would have proved fruitless after all. A pity he had written already to Grant telling him it was his own choice. But at the same time the death of Bazzard meant the loss of his best means of recovering the situation. A picket officer’s duty in the Paris garrison seemed suddenly attractive compared with aiglets. At length he steeled himself to his purpose in Chintalpore: ‘Do I assume from this you are unable, and unwilling, to help me dispose of the jagirs?’
Selden let out a deep sigh. ‘Hervey, I’m not sure I would do this for anyone else. Let us not be too sentimental by recalling Androcles and the lion, but you were rare among your fellow officers in showing me more than sufferance. I have no notion how to begin the jagirs business, but begin I shall. It will take time, though. And meanwhile I advise you to be most attentive to the rajah, and not to give him any grounds to suspect you have come on business other than the lance. Play the simple soldier, in heaven’s name!’
X. THE BOURRH LANDS
A few days later
‘Choose which you would, Captain Hervey,’ said the rajah. ‘You will have an eye for quality, and Mr Selden has told you of the requirements for hunting the boar.’
The rajah’s stables were indeed full of quality, and punkahs in each stall drove air over the fifty saddlehorses that were his pride. However, he had had all the stall-names covered for Hervey’s visit so that he might choose one horse above the rest without knowing anything of them (though since the Sanskrit names were written in the Devanagari script he could hardly have gained anything from seeing them).
‘A greater test than merely spearing the biggest boar,’ Selden had smiled as Hervey began to appraise each animal.
Fifty horses and ponies, perhaps two minutes to run over each — there were two whole hours before them, unless he was to come across perfection before then. The trouble was that he knew little enough about the Arab, let alone the other breeds, to make a choice. What made one better than another? All he could do, therefore, was apply the trusted principle of eye, wind and limb. Wind would have to be judged by depth of chest alone. As for limb, the feet, and leg blemishes, seemed his safest indicators, since these were horses too superior to possess significant faults of conformation. Up and down the lines he went, into each stall — Arab, Turkoman, country-bred, Akhal Tekke (much prized for their legendary endurance) and the hardy Khatgani from Afghanistan. He looked at every eye. More, even, than with a man or a woman, it could tell so much. He glanced at the chest and ran a hand up and down the legs, then looked at each foot, lifting one here and there. It took him the best part of two hours, but noone — the rajah especially — showed the least concern, until at length he chose a jet-black Turkoman gelding, about fifteen and a half hands.
‘Why do you choose him?’ asked the rajah.
‘Your Highness,’ replied Hervey, his hesitation speaking of the difficulty he had, ‘I could say that it was his quarters, which seem especially powerful, and his legs, which look to me to have exactly the right amount of bone to make him at once both hardy and fleet. His chest is deep; I like his head, too, which is set on well, and gives him a most noble appearance. But above all, this horse has a look of intelligence. His eye says to me that he would see what I could not, and would take the right course in spite of my inaptness.’
Selden had smiled broadly during the verdict, the reason apparent when the rajah clapped his hands together and made a little sound of delight. ‘Truly, Captain Hervey, I could
not better have expressed why this gelding is my own favourite. And you shall ride him when we hunt the boar. His name is Badshah.’
‘ “The King”?’ replied Hervey; ‘Your Highness, I am greatly honoured.’
Next day, Private Johnson arrived with Jessye and two bat-horses carrying the remainder of Hervey’s baggage in yakhdans almost as big as the horses themselves. He had lost no time in setting out, but progress from Guntoor to Chintalpore — a full ninety miles — had been slow. As soon as Cornet Templer had returned with Hervey’s message to join him, Johnson had assembled his little equipage and demanded that one of the sepoys accompany him as guide. This brought no great advantage, however, for the Madrasi sepoy had no English — though even had he been able to speak it tolerably well he would have found that Johnson’s vowels and the truncation of his consonants rendered his speech incomprehensible. There was certainly little chance that Johnson himself had acquired any native words that might have aided discourse: four years in Spain had not seen him with more than a dozen, and these of a basic, alimentary, nature. And yet, as they arrived at the gates of the rajah’s palace, where Hervey was just returned from morning exercise with the lancers of the palace guard, Johnson and the sepoy, formerly a cinnamon-peeler from the southernmost part of the presidency, were enjoying some joke together.
Later, as he and Hervey were sluicing a hot but still fresh-looking Jessye, with the aid of a chain of syces passing buckets from one of the running-tanks, Johnson at last spoke his mind. ‘Captain ’Ervey, sir, what are we doin’ ’ere? I thought we was gooin’ to Calcutta.’
Hervey paused before answering, but he had already concluded that it was time to take his groom into his confidence. ‘See here, Johnson,’ he said at length. ‘I will tell you all we’re about, since I may have to rely on you to act independently, and you’ll be no earthly good if you don’t know everything.’
Once in the seclusion of Jessye’s stall, Hervey began to explain his purpose, while Johnson continued with the sweat-scraper as if it were nothing of any moment. The best way to judge the nizam’s general disposition, suggested Hervey, was indirectly, by observing him during the coming visit to Chintalpore. And as for the business of expunging all trace of the jagirs — well, he would have to trust to Selden’s address. ‘And so, in the circumstances the very best thing is to remain here in Chintalpore for the time being. If I were to go directly to Haidarabad I don’t see that it could fail to arouse suspicion, both here and there.’
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