Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns

by Malcolm Archibald

  'That is the real India,' Jack said. 'India without armies and killing and plunder.' He led his men on, leaving the village and temple and the peaceful people behind.

  In other villages, watchmen guarded studded doors in the mud walls and stared at them from behind the protection of a large stick while little naked children laughed at these exciting strangers invading their world.

  There were stretches of country where the incessant noise of crickets rattled around Jack's head until he wanted to cover his ears, and where the Johnny Raws pointed to snakes on the track.

  'Here, you!' Jack pointed to a man who staggered in the heat and dropped his water bottle. 'Pick that up! You'll need it later.' He rationed the water and ensured each man wore his hat and neck-flap. He positioned O'Neill or Greaves at the back of the column to stop anybody falling by the wayside. He made sure his men camped in the shade, and he took every precaution he could to preserve their health.

  When Jack accepted the hospitality of isolated villages, he paid generously for chapattis from the hands of wide-eyed women, filled up the men's water bottles from wells, picked ripe tamarind fruit from the trees, and ensured nobody interfered with the local women or killed the village animals. Always, Mary asked for Jayanti and Major Snodgrass.

  They heard nothing about Snodgrass, but on three occasions they heard rumours of Jayanti, a woman the locals swore had risen in the ashes of the Mutiny. Each time the intelligence was vague, with only one evident fact resulting.

  'The people are certain that Jayanti is powerful,' Mary said.

  'Her fame is spreading, with nothing ever definite.' Jack rubbed his head. He had been experiencing headaches ever since the mutineer had cracked him over the skull.

  'Are you all right, Jack?' Mary sounded concerned.

  'It's just a headache. It will pass.'

  'You've had headaches for days now,' Mary said.

  'It's nothing, I tell you. It will pass!'

  'You've been more irritable since you left Bareilly as well.' Mary placed her hand on Jack's head. 'You have to take better care of yourself.'

  'It's more important that I take care of Jayanti.' Jack closed his eyes, as he felt suddenly dizzy. He thought of that strange meeting with Jayanti outside Bareilly. I should have killed her there and then. I neglected my duty through fear of his life. I failed. Duty should come first, last and always. Duty, duty, duty.

  Only vaguely aware that Mary was watching him, Jack walked away. I must catch Jayanti. I have to kill her before she murders anybody else. It's my duty. Oh, God, I wish it were cooler.

  Chapter Eight

  A full moon glossed the countryside, shining on the topes of trees and the patches of jungle. In the distance, the city of Gondabad sat under its protective fort, with the now abandoned British cantonment a mile away.

  Jack lit a cheroot and slowly inhaled. He had been born in Gondabad in 1833. Now, in 1858, he was going back with fifty hard-bitten men of the 113th Foot, a Pathan, a prisoner, a rag-tag of camel-drivers and servants and one woman. Of them all, that lone woman concerned him most.

  Apart from his stepmother and his mother, there had been two women in his life. Myat had been the first. He had been a very raw ensign, a Griffin, during the Second Burmese War in 1852. Had that only been six years ago? It seemed like a lifetime when he had rushed into every action in his hope to make a name for himself and gain promotion. He had taken a fancy to Myat until he learned that she was the wife of one of his sergeants. It had been a sickening disappointment, alleviated when he met Helen, the daughter of Colonel Maxwell, the then commander of the 113th.

  Jack inhaled, watching the tip of his cheroot glow bright red. He tried to ignore the constant thumping of his head.

  Jack had harboured high hopes of Helen. She had been everything that a woman should be, beautiful, shapely, intelligent and incredibly courageous. Her family connections helped, of course. If he had married a colonel's daughter, he would have almost guaranteed a smoother passage to promotion. Fate decreed otherwise.

  The dirty copper coin clattered onto the stony ground at Jack's feet.

  'There's another penny, Jack. Now you have to share your thoughts.' Elliot had his silver flask in his hand.

  'I was thinking about Helen.' Jack didn't need to hide his recent past from Elliot.

  'Ah, the delectable Helen of dubious intentions,' Elliot said. 'The woman you intended to marry who scrambled off with your esteemed brother.' He sipped from his flask. 'Your best view of Helen was her backside, as she wriggled farewell.'

  'Indeed.' Jack said no more.

  'You're better without her,' Elliot said. 'And now you have Mary, another woman with no future.' His voice hardened. 'As I have already told you, more than once.'

  'Thank you for your advice,' Jack said. 'Which I will completely ignore.'

  'I thought you would,' Elliot said. 'You're too fat-headed to listen to the truth. You know the old army maxim about women, don't you? Catch them young, treat them rough, tell them nothing and leave them.'

  'Not my style,' Jack smiled.

  'I know.' Elliot passed over his flask. 'You're going to talk to Mary, aren't you?'

  'I am.' Jack took a swallow and coughed. 'By thunder, Arthur, what is this muck you're forcing me to drink?'

  'I've no idea. Riley found it for me. We were much better in the Crimea; Campbell's Highlanders always had a supply of the real Ferintosh.'

  'Well, Arthur.' Jack handed back the flask. 'Thank you for the Indian courage. I am off to speak to that woman of whom you disapprove.'

  'I don't disapprove of the woman,' Arthur said. 'Only of the effect she might have on your career.'

  'To the devil with my career,' Jack said.

  Chapter Nine

  'I wonder how old that place is.' Elliot sipped at his flask as they surveyed the ancient fort of Gondabad. 'And what sort of terrible things have happened there.'

  The fort squatted on top of a hillside, its red walls sprawling along the summit, with circular towers every hundred yards and the sun flashing on the steel points of spears and helmets on the battlements. It looked sinister, a massive place that dominated the sprawling acres of flat-roofed buildings and alleyways at its base.

  'I'm less concerned about its age than its security,' Jack said, 'and whether or not Jayanti is inside.'

  'The Rajah and Rani of Gondabad live in there,' Elliot continued. 'They are two of the most mysterious rulers in the country.' He borrowed Jack's binoculars to scan the walls. 'They're the most northerly Hindu rulers in this part of India, I think, scions of the Rajputs and nobody knows if they are loyal to the mutineers or us.'

  Jack grunted. 'That will depend on who looks like winning.' He signalled to Batoor. 'Right, Batoor, this is where you prove your worth.'

  The Pathan grinned through his beard. 'Yes, Captain Windrush.'

  'Don't let me down,' Jack said.

  'I would not trust him.' Bryce was openly sceptical.

  'He's eaten our salt,' Jack wasn't as confident as he tried to sound. 'And he's not betrayed our trust yet.'

  Bryce grunted. 'That means nothing.'

  'All right Batoor, I want you to go into Gondabad and discover if Jayanti is there,' Jack said. 'Then you return and tell me. We are here on your word.' As Batoor walked away, Jack called him back. 'Batoor!'

  'Captain Windrush?'

  'Take this.' Jack threw across the tulwar he had taken from the prisoner. 'You might need it.'

  The Pathan caught the sword one-handed, smiled and stalked away, his stride long and confident.

  'That's the last we'll see of him,' Bryce said.

  'You could be right,' Jack said. I have taken my men to Gondabad on the word of an enemy, and now I have allowed him to walk away. Am I stupid?

  Mary was sitting outside her tent, watching the moon when Jack arrived.

  'Good evening Jack,' she said, 'or is it Captain Windrush?'

  'It's Jack.' Jack cursed his bluntness.

  'What can I do
for you, Captain Jack?'

  'Just a social call,' Jack said. 'Elliot is looking after the camp.'

  'It's in good hands, then,' Mary said.

  They looked at each other, with a distant jackal breaking the silence. Moonlight cast quiet shadows across Mary's face as Jack stood under a banyan tree.

  'I would offer you tea, but I haven't any,' Mary said at last.

  Jack forced a smile. He couldn't think what to say. 'I thought this would be a simple search expedition to find Jayanti. It seems it might be something more, something I don't understand. First, that naik saved my life and then Jayanti knew my name. There was also the attempt to kidnap me.'

  'You're an important man, Jack Windrush,' Mary said.

  'I think we're putting the lid on a boiler,' Jack said. 'Unless we do something fundamentally different, India will simmer and boil, and we'll sit on top, smiling and smug until it explodes again.' He sat at Mary's side, watching the moon. 'Oh, we'll defeat them this time. With men such as Campbell and Sir Hugh Rose, we'll scatter their armies. My lads of the 113th won't get beaten by any number of pandies.' He lit a cheroot. 'We were lucky though. If they had a couple of decent leaders, things could have turned out completely differently.'

  Mary sat on a small mooda stool that somebody had found for her. 'Do you think the sepoys can be trusted any more, Jack?'

  Jack considered for a moment as he studied the familiar sky. 'I don't know, Mary and that's worrying. The sepoys are good soldiers. I would say they are equally brave as our lads and careless of dying. They don't have our Christian doubts or humanitarian sentiment, and scenes of slaughter and mutilation don't concern them.'

  'In that case, how do we always defeat them? Is it all down to leadership?'

  'We don't always defeat them,' Jack said. 'They have inflicted quite a few reverses on us.'

  Mary nodded. 'How then are we usually successful? Is that only due to our superior generals?'

  'Not only better leadership.' Jack said. 'I said that the sepoys, or the pandies, match us in bravery and are less concerned about casualties. We have other qualities.' He pointed to the pickets, where Coleman and Thorpe were walking a few steps outside the perimeter of the camp. 'See these two there?'

  'Coleman and Thorpey?' Mary gave a little smile. 'An odd couple, they are always quarrelling.'

  'They are, yet when things are tough, they will never let each other down. They use dark humour to get through even the worst of situations. These two things, plus their innate determination never to get beat helps us win. Even after a defeat, our men don't think they're the best. They know they're the best.'

  'That's very arrogant,' Mary said.

  'It may be.' Jack pulled at his cheroot. 'If so, then thank God for arrogance. If we lose the humour and the comradeship, we'll be like any other army.' He stopped as he heard somebody shouting.

  'Listen.' Mary held up her hand.

  'We are the 113th!'

  'That's something else we have.' Jack couldn't restrain his smile. 'We have regimental pride.'

  'I noticed.' Mary was also smiling, but whether at him or with him, Jack couldn't tell.

  Jack realised he was having an intelligent conversation with Mary, unlike the light nonsense he had exchanged with Helen. Had the Mutiny altered him that much, or was Mary a different kind of woman? He looked at her anew, seeing the light lines around her eyes and the determined set of her mouth.

  She was a woman, rather than the half-child that Helen had been. Jack took a deep breath. 'Oh, dear God,' he said softly.

  'What's the matter, Jack and do you have to blaspheme?'

  'It's nothing.' Jack suppressed his sudden desire to reach across and kiss her. 'It does not matter.'

  'I see.' Mary said. 'You can tell me when you're ready.'

  They sat side-by-side in the now-comfortable silence.

  'I'm scared, Jack. If we lose India, where will we – people like me – go?' Mary continued to gaze at the sky.

  'We won't lose India. Not this time anyway,' Jack said.

  'We will sometime,' Mary spoke quietly. 'And then there is nowhere.'

  Jack saw the opening and opened his mouth to speak. Mary was faster of speech and forestalled his words.

  'Your mother used to tell me that I could marry an officer. I thought about it, Jack and I looked after their children and spoke to them. Some officers treated me as an equal – nearly. Most treated me as a servant. I found their lives to be excessively boring.'

  'Boring?' Jack started. 'Don't you think it would be fun to have female company, with regimental parties, afternoon teas and a change of scenery every time the army posts the regiment elsewhere? You would see the world, with guaranteed accommodation and friends.'

  'No.' Mary's headshake was emphatic. 'It's a trivial life centred on the husband's work and sport. All the wives must do is look respectable, dress decently and not say anything outrageous at the endless dinner parties and balls. It would be claustrophobic and confining, wasting one's time and only being an appendage to one's husband. I need more than that, Jack. I want to be useful in my own right.'

  'Oh,' Jack felt something sink inside him. He wasn't sure what to say.

  'I have two skills that may help.' Mary seemed unaware of Jack's discomfiture. 'I have many languages, and I'm happy with children. I could be a language teacher at a school somewhere, if they would have me.'

  'Why would they not have you?'

  'Because I'm Anglo-Indian,' Mary said. 'Eurasian, a half-caste, a part blacky, I've a touch of the tar-brush.'

  'All right.' Jack stopped her. 'That's enough of that.'

  Mary smiled as if all her troubles had suddenly vanished. 'So, I promised I would teach you languages, Jack and there's no time like the present. Come on!'

  * * *

  'Batoor's not coming back.' Elliot tipped back his hip flask.

  Jack nodded. He was disappointed in Batoor, he had thought the Pathan would remain true to his word. It was a full thirty hours since Batoor had entered Gondabad and there was no sign of him. What should I try next?

  'He probably has some private business in Gondabad.' Elliot passed over the flask, shaking it to encourage Jack to partake. 'He'll have a throat to cut or a horse to steal.'

  'That will be it.' Jack was in no mood to argue. Was their entire journey wasted? Had he been following a will-o-the-wisp on no more evidence than the word of an enemy?

  'I'm going in myself,' Jack announced. He had no choice, he couldn't return without having achieved anything.

  'Don't be a fool, man!' Elliot nearly dropped his hip flask. 'You'll never get away with it.'

  'I'm not coming all this way to turn back right at the gates,' Jack said. He would search for Jayanti. Warrior women would inevitably be prominent. When he found her, he would kill her. The decision wasn't hard. A British officer and gentleman would not kill a woman, he knew. He also knew that it would ruin his reputation and his career. That didn't matter if it saved India from more bloodshed and more carnage.

  India was as much his home as Britain was. Killing Jayanti might save his homeland much bloodshed. After all, what reason had he to live? He couldn't afford the next step to major, he couldn't afford to leave the army, and with Mary determined not to marry an officer… There, I've admitted that I had contemplated marriage to that blasted woman.

  'They'll spot you right away,' Elliot said.

  'We got away with it in the Crimea,' Jack reminded.

  'You could look Russian,' Elliot pointed out. 'You don't look Indian.'

  Jack's smile was more ironic that Elliot realised. 'I should,' he said. 'I'm part Indian, remember?'

  'I remember,' Elliot said. 'You're also a British officer. Are you certain you wish to act the spy?'

  'I've done it before,' Jack said.

  Elliot sighed. 'If you want to risk your fool neck, then I'll come with you.'

  'No, you won't,' Jack said. 'You'll look after the men until I get back.'

  'Yes, sir!' Elliot gave
a smart salute. 'You're a blasted fool, sir.'

  'Thank you, Lieutenant Elliot.' Jack returned the salute. 'Now you can help me prepare.'

  Naturally dark haired and with a complexion that easily tanned, Jack, didn't have to apply blacking. Dressed in a flowing white robe that descended to his ankles and with a dirty white turban on his head, he concealed his revolver next to his skin and thrust a long Khyber knife through the green cummerbund around his waist.

  'There you go,' Elliot said. 'You look every inch a bazaar badmash.'

  'What's this?' Mary peeped inside the tent. 'What's happening here?'

  'Captain Windrush is going into Gondabad,' Elliot said.

  Jack could feel Mary's sudden anger.

  'Why?' Her voice was like ice.

  'To search for Jayanti,' Jack said.

  'Is there nobody else who can do that job?' Mary's eyes were smouldering. 'You're meant to command this force, not swan about acting the spy.'

  'It's because I am in command that I have to go,' Jack said.

  'You can hardly speak a word of any native language,' Mary said.

  'I'll grunt a lot,' Jack said.

  'I'm coming too,' Mary told him.

  'You are not!' Jack said. 'I order you to remain behind.'

  Mary's laugh may have been genuine. 'I'm a civilian, Captain Windrush. You can't order me to do anything.'

  'By the living Christ, I can!' This woman can make me angry with only a few words. 'I can send you back to Lucknow.'