by John Masters
Back on the frontiers of Tiruvadi one chilly morning, months ago, he had taken a man’s blanket at knife-point and later found two silver rupees sewed into a corner of the blanket. All night he had tossed and turned beside her, sleepless because of one dirty blanket and two silver rupees! He slept soundly now after deeds much more cruel than that.
This road led only to the execution block, or to a rajah’s courtyard, there to be trampled under elephants as a petty criminal. Yet she was sure he had a very different picture of his goal. Narrowly she examined her mind to remember words that would give her a clue. It was during the reading lessons that he talked most freely and revealingly. What had he asked her to write down, so that he might see it in black letters on the paper? Jason has a pistol! Jason has fine clothes. Sagthali is a great city. (And he’d said dreamily, ‘Greater cities lie ahead-- Bhowani, Jhansi, Lashkar, Agra.’)
He’d practised writing more than reading, and once asked, ‘How long would it take to write a history of my travels? It doesn’t matter. Can you play the flute?’
The word pictures fell into place. Perhaps she was wrong, but she did not think so. Jason saw himself in a big, quiet room, writing with a quill pen until it was evening. Then he’d play old tunes on the flute until she brought him his food. There would be other servants and other women, but she had to be there, to kneel in front of him while he ate, and take the silver dishes away when he finished, and so pay with humility for her impertinence in loving him. But where was the money to come from? By robbery--not petty thieving, but something bigger. Twice now he had said, out of his thoughts, ‘It’s only the small people who get caught and punished.’
She smelled water in the dust, and the road sloped gently down. She saw the gleam of a river ahead and big boats moored to the near bank. Jason said, ‘A ferry. Mansur hasn’t crossed yet.’ He urged the donkey up the plank, and the ferrymen poled off. Catherine heard Mansur ask fussily, ‘Where is the stage, fellow? How far on?’
The ferryman answered, ‘You won’t reach Madhya tonight. Most people sleep in the banyan grove. It is about a mile from here and quite a way into the jungle. There is a big banyan in the centre of it. You can’t mistake the way in, because there’s a path--just past a bijasal that has been split and killed by lightning.’
‘Are you sure we will be safe there?’ Mansur asked anxiously.
The ferryman said, ‘Safe enough. Keep a watch, of course. And don’t leave the grove when you’re looking for firewood. There’s an evil spirit lives a little farther in--a woman who died in childbirth. But she won’t harm you as long as you keep to the grove.’
‘Do you hear that, everybody?’ Mansur squeaked. ‘Don’t move a foot outside the grove!’
Then they disembarked and joined the rest of the travellers waiting on the far bank, and, all together now, hurried westwards. It was a dry country, spread with a carpet of desiccated teak leaves, and the light was pale yellow on her eyes. As soon as she saw the loom of the dark grove she knew that Jason would never find a better place than this to rob Mansur Khan. There were scattered bushes among the big trees, and a little stream, and dense scrub all around. He would do it tonight and then slip away with her and the donkey before the camp awoke.
She had never before tried to turn him from any particular act of stealing. This time she must. She was frightened, but did not know why. Perhaps Mansur’s saddlebags held enough jewels to enable Jason to settle down for ever in this evil life. Perhaps it was something else; but she was afraid. She hardened her jaw. She’d stop him.
Inside the grove he followed Mansur, and they were close behind when Mansur said to the old servant, ‘We’ll sleep here, just here, at the foot of this tree.’
‘Very good, lord,’ the servant quavered.
Jason led on to a clump of bushes nearby and said, ‘This will suit us.’
She said, ‘This is only a bush. It won’t keep the dew off us.’
‘This is where we’re going to sleep,’ he said curtly. The old servant was muttering to his master, and Catherine looked in their direction. Should she warn Mansur of Jason’s intention?
But then they’d seize Jason, and beat him, and perhaps discover his other robberies. Besides, she was afraid.
Jason said, ‘You can gather firewood tonight. It’s everywhere. Just feel with your hands along the ground.’
She went off obediently, but, while she gathered sticks, kept looking back into the grove. From this distance she had a clear picture of it. The travellers were scattered about under the trees, though tending to bunch towards the centre. The sun had set, and already one fire had been lit. She heard Mansur call, ‘Ohé, friend Jason!’
She worked quickly back towards their place so that she could hear what they said. Mansur went on, ‘I think we ought to have a man on watch, don’t you? It will be safer. All night, by turns. It will keep the evil spirit away too.’
Jason muttered something. Mansur said, ‘And a fire burning all night, in the middle there, to frighten off the dwarfs. I hear they’re afraid of fire.’
Jason said, ‘Why should they be? They must have fires themselves.’ Then his voice changed, and he said cordially, ‘But it is a good idea. I will certainly do my share.’
Mansur fussed away towards the centre of the clearing, obviously bent on enrolling more volunteer sentries. He gave her an impression of gazelle-like movements and soft, uncertain outlines. But his voice did not match.
Now Jason was thinking how clever he was. As a sentry he would have a right to be walking about in the night. Besides, the travellers would sleep more soundly if they thought they were being guarded. Now at what time of night would he want his duty to fall? It must be late enough for him to be sure that Mansur and the servant would be asleep, early enough to let him get well away from the camp before dawn. He would probably need at least two hours of darkness for that.
She watched him stroll over to the group round Mansur. She had enough wood now. She gathered up the sticks in her arms and walked carefully to their place. Jason returned, and she said, ‘What time are you to be the sentry?’
His body moved, and he said, ‘Eavesdropping, were you? The last hour but one of the night. I said it had been laid on me as a penance to say prayers every night at that time--prayers for Molly. God’s blood, I wish Molly were here instead of you.’
She said, ‘You loved her, didn’t you? I would like to know her. But she wouldn’t help you to steal.’
‘Oh, yes, she would!’ he shouted. ‘You don’t know anything about her. Go and gather big wood now, and take it to the middle of the grove.’
‘Yes, lord,’ she said.
Now what was he thinking of, lying there on his back? Of the robbery he planned? Of the great house where he would live one day? In spite of himself he thought too about other things than money. Once he had asked her, ‘Why is there so much difference between a statue in England and a statue here?’ She returned and poured oil from a flask into the little bowl of the lamp, and lit the wick. Kneeling opposite him, she asked, ‘Shall we do our reading now, Jason?’
He said, ‘Not tonight. I’m tired.’
She turned away from him and lit the fire. His voice was on edge. She glanced at Mansur Khan’s tree and tried to decipher the wavering picture her eyes presented to her. Usually, she had noticed, master and servant slept side by side, probably with the bags between them. Jason had his knife as well as the pistol. He had never killed anyone yet. That would be a barrier she must not let him pass at any cost.
Suddenly Jason said, ‘After tonight, if our friend over there has what I think he has, we’ll leave the road.’ He spoke dreamily in English. From the tone of his voice she thought he hardly realized she was there, and he certainly was not speaking to her. Yet he spoke at all only because she was there.
He went on, ‘I’ll live in a big house with a garden and books and music--in Agra, perhaps, where the Great King’s palace is. I’ll only have to go on the road in the cold weather. It’ll be
easy. Rich men hear what other rich men are doing. I’ll know when the merchants are sending bullion from market to market. I’ll learn to play the flute. I’ll read and write.’
She stirred the vegetables slowly in the black pot. So she had been right, but not wholly right. He had at least learned that wealth was only a key. But he did not know himself well enough to know that for him there would be no wonder, not even the meanest kind of happiness, behind any door that would open to that key.
After tonight. She had no more time to think and worry. Tonight she must act. Tonight, for the first time for many years, she cursed her blindness.
She handed him a leaf plate loaded with vegetables in a thick, hot sauce. He ate, and she noted that it was already quite dark. The big fire burned merrily in the centre of the grove, and its sparks swam up among the treetops. Mansur Khan bustled off towards the fire again, but she thought that the servant stayed by the saddlebags. Most of the travellers began to gather round the fire, as was the nightly custom. They would gossip for an hour while digesting their meal, and then return to their places, and gradually the grove would fall still, and soon the only sounds would be the horses changing their positions and the heavy breathing of the sleepers and the creak of the high boughs. The sentry was supposed to walk round and round the whole encampment, but probably he would stay by the fire, telling himself it was his chief duty to keep it strong and big.
Jason went away for a moment. She felt in the saddlebag, took out the pistol, loaded and primed it, and hid it in her blanket. Jason returned, rolled himself into his blanket, and turned his back to her. She lay down beside him and muttered, ‘Don’t rob Mansur Khan, Jason.’
He murmured, ‘Mind your own business.’
She touched his shoulder and whispered, ‘Please don’t. We have enough money to reach the mountains now. How can you think you will be happy as a rich man, when you have to rob and kill to keep rich?’
‘I’m not going to the mountains,’ he muttered. ‘And I haven’t killed anyone. Now be quiet, or it will be the worse for you.’ She decided she must try to sleep. Jason would do nothing until his turn for sentry duty came, and then he must awaken her and tell her to be ready to flee, with the donkey. The pistol lay hard against her thighs. She did not know how or when she was going to use it, but she knew she would if she had to. She thought she could hit him in the arm, if she stood close enough, without doing him much hurt.
Just as she was going to sleep she saw the blurred figures of three men coming over from the fire. She heard the servant yawn as the three men passed Mansur’s tree--so he was there still, guarding the money.
Mansur was one of the men. He leaned over and said to Jason, ‘Friend, surely you haven’t gone to sleep already? Come to the fire. It’s warm there, and the little Hindu clerk from Sagthali has turned out to be a wonderful story teller--wonderful, quite wonderful.’ He seemed to be in a jovial mood.
Jason muttered, ‘I don’t think I will, friend. I’m tired and sleepy.’ He yawned convincingly.
‘Oh, come on,’ Mansur said. She thought he had caught Jason’s shoulders and pulled him to a sitting position.
One of the other men, by Jason’s head, cried in a loud and cheerful voice, ‘It’s time for a story”
She heard Jason’s startled shout. All the movements about her became jerky and fast. A soft thing encircled her neck. She grabbed the heavy pistol, raised it, pointed it at a black, eye-twinkling shape above her, and fired.
A choking silence fell, the dead leaves thrashed, the thing round her neck let go its hold. Jason’s hand seized hers and dragged her away. Gasping, he said, ‘Run! Murderers! I knifed one. You shot the old servant. He was in it--Stop! Lie down!’
He pushed her down, and she turned towards the unsteady light. That would be the campfire. Two men of the murderous band had not been hurt and would be coming after them. Jason muttered, ‘Mansur! A murderer! The swine. He’s coming now. I can see him against the firelight.’ Catherine held the empty pistol by the muzzle and hoped she would not strike Jason by mistake.
Jason muttered, ‘They’ve stopped now--behind a tree, sixty feet away!’
She whispered, ‘Can we go on?’
He breathed, ‘On? The shot must have awakened everybody. We’ll wait for some of the men to come out from the camp. Then we have the treacherous devils trapped.’
After a time he said, ‘They’re going back to the grove! Quick, get up. We’ll follow and shout as soon as the people in the grove can be sure of catching them.’
She thought: They’re going back? Into the camp? There was something wrong about that, as wrong as Mansur’s voice. She said, ‘Don’t follow them. I don’t like it.’
He said, ‘Don’t be a fool! Come on.’
He gave her his hand, and she had to follow him towards the glimmering fire. He muttered, ‘God’s blood, they’re strolling along as carelessly as though they don’t mind who knows they’re coming. They tried to strangle us with black cloths. The servant had one round your neck.’
He stopped suddenly, jerking at her hand to bring her to a standstill. She smelled the smell of fear on him and held his hand closely. Then she smelled worms and new-turned earth and became very afraid herself.
Jason whispered, ‘A pit! Newly dug. Five feet deep and ten feet long. Wide. The fill is hidden under the thorn bushes.’
It smelled like a grave. But that was nonsense, that there could be a newly dug grave, enough for a dozen people, here in the empty jungle. Jason said, ‘Mansur and the other man have gone into the grove. Come on.’
But she held him back, her fingers closing in spasms on his hand. She could see the firelight. The people were dancing round it, dancing slowly, with bright colours flowing at their feet. She said, ‘What are they doing?’
After a long time Jason whispered, ‘They’re--What are they doing? Nine or ten men are moving about, round the fire. They’re dragging saddlebags behind them. They’re carrying
women’s shawls. Some Oh, the wounds of God! Men and women, dead, their hair trailing in the dust--they’re dragging them by the feet! Mansur’s there in the middle of them. He’s their leader. He’s pointing and speaking, and they do what he tells them.’
Now she saw, before her inner eye; and all about the fire the brightness moved, a slow dance of looted silk and gold and shining hair. All dead--the merchants and travellers and the old dancer with the jewels, dead.--’They’re picking them up.’ Jason gasped. ‘They’ve killed everyone else! They’re coming out in a procession. Mansur’s at the back with a lamp.’
‘Quick!’ she whispered. ‘They will bring them to this grave.’ She jerked at his hand, and he hurried her back farther into the jungle. But they could not go very far, for the twigs went off like pistols under their feet and the murderers were close. They crouched, huddling together in the darkness, and turned to watch.
What she saw ran together with what she sensed, and with Jason’s slow, awed whispers in her ear. The murderers laid down the bodies, the naked bodies, and set upon them with stakes and clubs, ripped them open, broke their bones, and threw them into the pit.
They treated the bodies worse than a butcher treats meat on his block--but they were not butchers. These were ritual movements, and the men who were not hacking and battering stood by the side of the grave, as still as priests at prayers. The tall trees arched overhead, from the fire came music, and music, and a man chanting. The murderers stood like men waiting for the sacrament. All about them the forest was tinged with yellow and red and gold, and the blood lay sweet on the air, and they had black cloths in their waistbands.
They finished and began to shovel back the earth. The sacrament was over. Mansur’s voice broke out cheerfully. ‘It is a pity those two escaped.’ He laughed. ‘You know, I swear that young man was going to rob me! Another laughed with him, and Mansur said, ‘I wish I knew for certain, because I would like to have him in our band. He is quick and careful. So is she. Does she always sleep with a cannon unde
r the blanket? Poor Daud’s head is quite hollow now. I don’t think they are far away. Shall I call them and offer them membership with us?’
‘Just as you wish, Jemadar-sahib,’ the other said politely.
‘It’s worth trying.’ Mansur’s voice boomed through the trees. ‘Ohé, Jason! Come back, and we will make you a member of the band. Your woman can live in one of our villages while you are on the road. We do not permit women to travel with us. Come back now to the fire. Otherwise we will certainly catch you tomorrow and kill you!’ Aside he muttered--but she heard it--’We will find them round here in the next two or three days if we look for them.’ Once more he raised his voice. He shouted, ‘Come back, and you shall be a great man among us! Six months on the road, six months as a gentleman of leisure!’
Beside her, Jason started. He was sweating like a horse frantic for the race. This power, this wealth, and half a year with the shelves of books and the thin voice of the flute! The wind from the Plain that he always talked about, blowing through his mind. Power like the Romans, like the people of Stonehenge, where, to him, the stones smelled of blood in their places. He leaned forward to call out to the leader.
The pistol was useless. She slipped her hand down his back and drew his knife from its sheath. She stepped close and slipped the point of the knife under his ribs, and pushed. He should not go, and she was not afraid to die with him.
She thought his pale eyes turned down in amazement on her, but he made no sound. Perhaps he did not even feel the knife in his flesh, though the running blood warmed her fingers.
She listened desperately, holding hard to the slippery handle, while Mansur and his men walked back in procession to the grove.
Now he was safe. She wrenched out the knife and flung herself against him, trying to enwrap him in love. She whispered, ‘I couldn’t let you, Jason. I love you.’
He turned away from her, and she heard him vomiting and gasping and trying to make no sound in the agony of his disgust. She put her hand under his forehead and crooned gently to him until he recovered. Yet, in all his pain, which she shared, and in all her horror that she had wounded him, she felt a stubborn gladness. It had taken a rougher lesson than any she could have given, and for a moment the temptation had almost overthrown him--but now he was safe. One road was blocked to him for ever. He would not seek his goal through violence.
