Then came the sudden, monstrous hissing. Like a cold douche. They looked in terror to where the cobras coiled, the mouth of one about the other’s neck, coiling now turned to violent thrashing. Hervey sprang to his feet, pulling the raj kumari after him. They fled the trysting place, straining every muscle to give speed to their limbs. As sometimes in his dreams, he felt as if no effort, however great, could make them work. They ran, and ran, and ran, not daring to glance back, fearing any moment the cobra’s strike would halt their flight. They fled along the gaur track, darker now than it had first seemed, Hervey clutching the raj kumari’s hand, pulling her with all his strength, until at last they stumbled from the forest into half-blinding sunlight.
XII. RACE TO THE SWIFT
The rajah’s apartments, that evening
As Hervey entered, his host held out his hand. They were to dine alone, and all but the khansamah had been dismissed. ‘Captain Hervey,’ began the rajah, his face not as grave as in the morning, ‘I have here a letter for you, just come — brought this day from the Collector of Guntoor by dak. And with uncommon velocity, I might say.’
Hervey wondered on what matter the collector might write to him, and took the letter curiously. Then he saw the hand.
‘It is not inclement news, I trust?’ asked the rajah solicitously.
‘I do not suppose it to be, Your Highness. It is a letter from the lady I am to marry. I… I am astonished that it should find me here!’
‘Do not be, Captain Hervey: we are hardly a primitive tribe of Africa here in Chintal.’
Hervey was discomfited by the rebuke. ‘Sir, I did not mean… it is just that she had every reason to suppose me in Calcutta or even Haidarabad.’
‘And how was the letter addressed?’ he asked, still kindly.
Hervey glanced at it again. ‘Captain M. P. Hervey, Aide-de-Camp to the Duke of Wellington, India.’
‘In which case there can be no surprise, for such a letter, were it to be misdirected or delayed, would bring severe opprobrium on the official concerned. This is India, Captain Hervey: the duke’s name still inspires a respect verging on reverence.’
Hervey nodded, gladly acknowledging his error.
‘And now you would wish to read it in some privacy, of course. I shall retire for one half-hour and then, if it is agreeable to you, we shall resume our intercourse.’
When the rajah was gone, Hervey opened the letter. But he did so hesitantly, taking care to preserve as much of Henrietta’s seal as he could. He unfolded the single sheet; only the one — not a propitious sign. He began to read, with every shade of feeling from trepidation to joy — and guilt, for the forest was all about him in one sense still. It was addressed from Paris not five days after his leaving.
My dearest Matthew (a good beginning — as affectionate as ever he had seen),
Your letter from Paris was given to me upon arrival at Calais by the admirable Corporal Collins who was at once all solicitude, explaining that he had waited there for three days in vain, and feared that you would by then have sailed for the Indies. We set out at once, however, for Le Havre — a pleasant town where I learn that your name is now well known to the authorities for so fearlessly opposing the enemies of the King. Alas, I also learn that your ship has sailed two days before, and I am unable to find any which admits to the possibility of overtaking a frigate of the Royal Navy, and, in any case, Corporal Collins is insistent that your express wishes are that I should remain in France or England until such time as it is expedient for you to return or for me to follow you. And now I am in Paris at the house of Lady George, whose husband shows me every kindness and understanding — as, I may say, does your Serjeant Armstrong in equal measure. Tomorrow I shall call on the duke and make all our arrangements known — if, that is, he be in any doubt of them at this time — and thereafter shall return to Longleat with a heavy heart, though not so heavy as upon first hearing of your mission. Be assured, dearest Matthew, that I understand perfectly the duty to which you have submitted. I beg you do not have any concern that might stand in the way of affairs in India. I pray only that, in the fullness of God’s time, we may be restored to one another and that thereafter there should be no unwonted putting asunder.
Your affectionate — nay, adoring — Henrietta.
He was at once overcome by two wholly different responses. First, great relief at learning of Henrietta’s constancy. Second, shame at how close he had come in the forest to losing any honourable claim to it. He resolved in that instant to be done with intrigue in Chintal — for it had been that, he imagined, which had predisposed him to such conduct — and to press Selden for a speedy resolution of the matter of the jagirs. Then he might proceed with the business of Haidarabad. And when this was done he might return to Horningsham, or have Henrietta join him in Calcutta when the duke came there. By the time the rajah returned, he had steeled himself to his new course; gathering up the reins, so to speak, with a view to driving forward at last with some impulsion.
His face must have reflected this change, for the rajah felt obliged to remark on it. ‘Is everything well, Captain Hervey? You look a little agitated.’
‘Thank you, Your Highness; everything is well. There is not the slightest cause for concern.’
‘I am very glad to hear it,’ said the rajah somewhat heavily, ‘for I wish to speak with you of certain matters, and it would not do for you to be distracted. I believe I may confide in you things that I scarcely dare think to myself, for to place trust in anyone in these lands is almost always folly.’ There was sadness in his voice, but a note of optimism, too: ‘You are an honourable man. That, or I am no judge of men at all.’
If the hamadryads had not so savagely ended their own coupling, might he still have been worthy of that esteem? What might have been standing now between him and Henrietta, between him and God — and between him and the rajah? He could not blame any great primeval power, as the raj kumari might, or Selden even. If there was nothing, in one sense, beyond a fervid embrace, there was much else in his heart that called for the most abject contrition. ‘India will sweat the false civilization out of you,’ Selden had told him. And he had not believed it for one instant. To his sins, therefore, he must also add pride. ‘Sir,’ he began hesitantly, ‘I fear that I, as most men, have feet of clay.’
The rajah frowned. ‘Englishmen are inordinately fond of their Bible.’
Hervey looked surprised.
‘You think that I should not be acquainted with your good book? I have read the Bible many times from beginning to end. I read it every day. I would speak with you of it at some time. But I confess I do not remember with any precision whence come these feet of clay.’
‘The Book of Daniel,’ sighed Hervey. The knife — for such was the rajah’s undeserved admiration — was going deep.
‘Ah, yes — Daniel. Remind me of Daniel, if you please.’
Though bemused by the rajah’s diversion, Hervey needed little time for recollection, for it was one of the regular stories of his boyhood. ‘Daniel, you will recall, sir, was a Hebrew slave in Babylon, but he had become something of a favourite of King Nebuchadnezzar.’
‘I trust you see no more than a superficial correspondence with your own situation here in Chintal, Captain Hervey?’ smiled the rajah.
Hervey smiled too. ‘No, indeed not, sir.’
The rajah rose from his cushion to take a book from a recess in the marbled wall. ‘Here,’ he said, holding out the black leather volume, ‘here is your Bible. Read to me where is this allusion to feet of clay. I am much intrigued by Nebuchadnezzar and his slave.’
Hervey could not sense whether there was any design in the rajah’s meanderings, but he opened the bible a little after the middle and turned the pages until he found the Book of Daniel. ‘I think it must be in chapter two, or possibly three,’ he said, searching. ‘Yes, I have it — chapter two. The king has a dream, sir, a dream in which there is a graven image. I will read from verse thirty-two: “This image’s hea
d was of fine gold, his breast and his arms of silver, his belly and his thighs of brass, his legs of iron, his feet part of iron and part of clay.” ’
‘Read on, if you please, Captain Hervey,’ said the rajah, sitting down by a window and gazing out into his gardens.
‘ “Thou sawest till that a stone was cut out without hands, which smote the image upon his feet that were of iron and clay, and brake them to pieces. Then was the iron, the clay, the brass, the silver, and the gold, broken to pieces together, and became like the chaff of the summer threshing floors; and the wind carried them away, that no place was found for them: and the stone that smote the image became a great mountain, and filled the whole earth.” ’
The rajah remained silent for a moment. ‘And what is its meaning?’
Hervey paused a moment too. ‘Nebuchadnezzar was a great king. He is the head of gold, but the kingdoms that follow his shall be in turn weaker, until at last one — represented by the feet of clay — shall be shattered, and a greater one — ordained by God — shall take its place. It is a prophecy of the coming of the Hebrew state, sir.’
‘And what said the king to this?’ asked the rajah intently.
‘He revered Daniel thereafter, sir.’
‘Read it to me please, Captain Hervey. I wish to know exactly what is written.’
Hervey was growing uneasy, sensing now some purpose in the rajah which might run counter to his resolve over the jagirs. ‘ “Then the king made Daniel a great man, and gave him many great gifts, and made him ruler over the whole province of Babylon, and chief of the governors over all the wise men of Babylon.” ’
There was a long silence. At length the rajah sighed. ‘Captain Hervey, your father is a priest.’
Hervey confirmed, again, that it was so.
‘And it is evident that you have much learning in these matters, too.’
‘Sir, I cannot call it learning, only long exposure to scripture.’
The rajah nodded. ‘I wanted first to speak with you of the nizam, for his coming to Chintal is exercising me greatly. But now I am minded to ask you more of scripture. Captain Hervey, I tell you things that I scarce dare think. Our sacred faith is become mere superstition here in Chintal, a constant endeavour to propitiate so many gods that may do us mischief. And some gods do each other mischief so that we do not know, in appeasing one, whether we anger another.’
‘The Bible, sir, is not without its contradictions too.’ He felt reasonably sure this did not go beyond the bounds of orthodoxy.
‘Which is more than the nizam’s religion would admit to,’ said the rajah ruefully.
‘And yet he is tolerant of faiths other than his own, is he not?’ There were no rumours of conversions by the sword.
‘Who knows what is the nizam’s mind?’ sighed the rajah. ‘The best that may be said is that he despises tolerantly. Though he would not do even thus were there a Christian realm on his borders.’
‘That is hardly likely, sir, from all I have heard. The missioners make few converts, even where they are active.’
The rajah frowned. ‘Captain Hervey, the missioners would need to make only one convert in a Hindoo dominion.’
Hervey was incredulous. ‘You mean, sir, that all a prince’s subjects would be baptized with him?’
The rajah nodded. ‘Indeed, yes — all save his Mussulmen, no doubt. So you see, Captain Hervey, it would take a ruler as great as the Emperor Constantine to adopt that alien faith.’ And he smiled benevolently.
Hervey smiled too, for he knew well enough that Constantine’s conversion had as much to do with the promise of victory as anything else.
As indeed did the rajah. ‘His triumph over his fellow Caesar brought the Christians freedom to worship — yes. But I do believe his own conversion, a little later, was rather more profound.’
‘On this, who could argue?’ replied Hervey, ‘for a man’s heart — as the nizam’s bears witness — is in the end impossible to know.’
The rajah was much intrigued. ‘Mr Selden will never talk of that faith. He refers me only to the creeds.What is your opinion in this?’
Rarely did Hervey feel less adequate for a task. ‘Mr Selden,’ he began, confident that here at least he was on ground of which he could be moderately certain, ‘does not believe. That is to say, he does not believe yet. For the rest, I fear that I could give you but an unsatisfactory answer. The Nicene creed is — by my understanding — a sufficient account.’
‘You could not account more sufficiently for your own faith, Captain Hervey? I would be astonished if this were so.’
The challenge was as fair as it was difficult, he conceded.
‘Perhaps, therefore, you may ponder on it until this time tomorrow, and then we may resume. I do so feel the want of scholarship here in Chintalpore in these times.’
Hervey agreed readily enough, pleased the rajah did not press him now. To what purpose this exchange was directed, he had not the slightest idea; nor why, indeed, the rajah should at this moment feel so driven to introduce it when so much else demanded his attention. How he wished himself free of intrigue. It was uncommonly difficult to share a man’s table while at the same time being a deceiver.
Such escape was a vain hope, though. There was no dismissal in the rajah’s invitation to ponder on the creed. Instead, his aspect became grave once more as he took the bible from Hervey and placed it back in the recess. ‘Now I wish to consider with you the great danger that Chintal finds herself in,’ he said, walking to the window and glancing with more than a suggestion of anxiety towards the city. ‘I have today received intelligence that the nizam’s artillery is being assembled close to our border.’
Hervey could scarce believe it. Only a moment before, the rajah was speaking of receiving the nizam here in Chintalpore.
‘The nizam has very great artillery, Captain Hervey: he has pieces so big that the walls of any fortress would be quickly reduced.’
The exact import of the rajah’s intelligence was beyond Hervey at that moment, but the movement of artillery was a usual presage of hostilities. ‘I have heard of the formidable power of these batteries, of course, Your Highness — the nizam’s beautiful daughters?’
‘Just so — the nizam’s daughters. The daughters of Eve no less, for such power tempts a man to more than might be his due. The nizam has three sons, also — the basest of men. They have often boasted what they would do with these guns. The nizam himself at one time I called a friend, but he is become enfeebled. His sons will not be satisfied until they have disseised me of Chintal. I know they have exacted plunder from the Pindarees, and encouraged them — and aided them — in ravaging us, but the gold which my Gond subjects extract from the rivers and hills, with all the skill of their ancestors, is what their minds are set on. Captain Hervey, would you consider it possible to fight the nizam when we have but a half-dozen light pieces?’
The prospect was absurd. Had not Bonaparte himself said that it was with artillery that war was made? ‘Your Highness, I hardly know the particulars… And you have Colonel Cadorna to give you this advice, a man of greater experience than me.’
‘But he is not with me at this moment, Captain Hervey — and you are one of the Duke of Wellington’s own officers.’
It seemed pointless confessing his own narrow regimental seasoning. He wondered if the rajah somehow hinted obliquely at the obligation of the jagirs, as explained by Selden. Was this why the rajah had mentioned the duke’s name? ‘Your Highness, I am a mere staff captain. You ask me things which are of sovereign importance to Chintal—’
‘I do, Captain Hervey,’ said the rajah, softly but resolutely.
Hervey had now to think, as it were, on two tracks — as a horse responding to contrary aids. The rajah wished for his strategical opinion: that itself required the very greatest address. But he also had to consider what effect his opinion might have on the outcome of his mission, for whatever the true importance of the jagirs, his mission as stated demanded an estimate
of Haidarabad’s fighting capacity. And implicit in their speaking now was Hervey’s acceptance of the nizam as the enemy — the nizam, ‘our faithful ally’ as Colonel Grant had called him. How he wished he had gone to Calcutta in the first instance. Yet how might the duke’s greater purpose be served if a man as good as the rajah were crushed? Nor was it merely a question of the worthiness of men: the independence of Chintal — the collector had made it clear — was a pressing matter to the Company. And was it not the nizam’s sons who were the enemy rather than the nizam himself? In any event, the rajah expected an answer. ‘Your Highness, if the precepts on which war is made are universal, then I fear that I have no counsel but to seek terms. But something Mr Selden has said to me may indicate that in India it may not be quite so: bullocks, money and faithful spies are the sinews of war here.’
The rajah looked encouraged.
Indeed, Selden’s words seemed to gain in substance even as Hervey spoke them. Peto’s treatise on the art of manoeuvring, which had been his constant companion these past weeks, was coming alive at last as he began to imagine the rudiments of a strategy — a strategy, indeed, not without precedent. ‘Sir,’ he resumed, and rather more resolutely, ‘the Duke of Marlborough, who mastered the French a century ago, used to say that no war can be conducted without good and early intelligence. I believe, therefore, that it is of the first importance that you should know everything there is to be known of the nizam’s intentions, and in the case of your own intentions you must dissemble to the utmost.’ He took another breath, half-surprised by his own authority. ‘You have two able rissalahs of cavalry. They should be your eyes and ears on the borders with Haidarabad; they should deceive his spies as to your strength and intentions; and, perhaps above all, they should attack at once wherever it appears the nizam’s forces are assembling, for though their material success might be limited, the moral effect would be incalculable.’
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