The Far Pavilions (53 page)

Unless he could persuade Juli to run away with him, the wedding would take place. And once she was married to the Rana he would never be able to see her or speak to her again, for she would vanish into the sealed and secret world of the Women's Quarters, and be lost to him as surely as though she were dead. He would not even be able to write to her or to receive any news of her, unless, perhaps, through Kaka-ji – though that was highly unlikely, as Kaka-ji would not consider it proper to discuss the Rana's wife with another man, and the only information he would be likely to pass on would be the kind that would be unbearable to hear. That Anjuli-Bai had become a mother. Or was dead…

The thought of either was so intolerable that Ash flinched involuntarily as though ducking a blow, and the mongoose that had finally crept out across the sand to investigate this strange creature who sat so still, whisked away with a chatter of rage and vanished into the shadows.

Ash did not see it go, but the sound reminded him briefly of another mongoose: Tuku. It surprised him a little to find that after all these years he should still remember that name; and remember, too, the look of satisfied malice on Biju Ram's face, and the feel of Tuku's small body lying lifeless between his hands. But the memory of that day only served to bring his thoughts back to Juli, for it was she, ‘ Kairi-Bai’, who had filled the void left by Tuku's death.

There were very few memories of the Hawa Mahal, now that he came to think of it, that did not include her; for though his attitude towards her had been a mixture of irritation and lordly condescension, she had come to be an integral part of his days, and but for her he would never have left the palace alive. Yes, he owed a great debt to Juli; and he had done nothing to repay her – unless possibly by forgetting his promise to come back for her, for honesty forced him to the conclusion that it might have been better for her if she had never seen him again and been able to think of him as dead. He remembered now that even as a child she had never questioned her fate but accepted it as inevitable – the decree of the gods – and had he not returned she would have come to terms with it, and at the very least have enjoyed a certain amount of comfort and security as the wife of a ruling prince. But what would her life be like if she ran away with a
feringhi
– a mere junior officer in the Guides – and just how far would they be allowed to run? That, after all, was the crux of the matter…

‘Not very far, I imagine,’ decided Ash grimly.

There was no blinking the fact that everyone in the camp, and in all India for that matter, would regard such an elopement as indefensible: a shameless and dishonourable betrayal that insulted Bhithor and brought black disgrace on both Karidkote and the Raj.

The British would take an equally strong view, though from a somewhat different angle. They would dismiss Juli's part in it with a careless shrug: ‘What else can you expect from some illiterate little bint in purdah?’ But there would be no mercy for Captain Ashton Pelham-Martyn, who had betrayed his trust and ‘let his side down' by running off with a woman (and a ‘native woman’, at that) whom he had been charged with escorting across India and delivering safely into the care of her future husband.

‘I would be cashiered,’ thought Ash.

A year ago he had fully expected to face a Court Martial for his part in the affair of Dilasah Khan and the stolen carbines, and he knew that this had only been avoided by the narrowest of margins. But were he to run away with Juli there would be no question of avoiding it again. He would be court-martialled and dismissed from the army in disgrace: ‘
Her Majesty having no further use for his services.
’

He would never see Mardan again… or Zarin and Awal Shah – or Koda Dad. The men of his troop and his fellow officers, the Corps of Guides, and old Mahdoo, too… they would all be lost to him. And so would Wally; for even that inveterate hero-worshipper would not be able to condone this.

Wally might talk a great deal of nonsense about love and romance, but his views on such matters as duty were uncompromising, and he would see this in simple terms as a breach of trust: a sacred trust, because to Wally duty was sacred, and had he found himself in Ash's situation he would certainly have been able to say, like Lovelace: ‘I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honour more.’ For it would never occur to him that Juli, or any woman in the world, could be worth more than honour…

‘I should lose him, too,’ thought Ash. And for the second time that night, flinched at a thought as though from a physical pain. Wally's friendship, and Wally's admiration, had come to mean so much to him that the withdrawal of both would leave a gap in his life that he would never be able to fill; or to forget. And there was another thing… why should he suppose that Juli would like living in England, when he himself had not?

The British in India invariably referred to their island as ‘Home’. But it had never been home to him, and staring back into the past he knew very well that even if Juli went with him, he did not want to go back there. Yet they could not remain in India, for quite apart from the fact that they would be ocially ostracized by British and Indians alike, the danger of reprisals from the offended rulers of Bhithor and Karidkote would be too great.

The former consideration carried little weight: Ash had never cared very much for social approval or the opinions of his fellow men. But for Juli's sake he could not risk the latter, so they would have to leave the country and live elsewhere – if not in England, then in America. No, not America… Americans, like ‘memsahibs’, held strong views on miscegenation, and even in the northern states Juli would be regarded as a ‘coloured woman’ and treated accordingly.

South America, then? Or perhaps Italy – or Spain?

But he knew in his heart that it would make no difference which country they chose, for wherever they went it would only mean one thing for both of them. Exile. Because India was their country: his as much as Juli's. And if they left it they would be going into banishment just as surely as he had done once before, when he had sailed from Bombay as a forlorn twelve-year-old in the care of Colonel Anderson.

Only this time, he would know that he could never come home.

22

The night was almost gone when Ash at last rose stiffly to his feet, and having slapped the sand from his clothes and retrieved the
lathi
, turned to make his way back to the camp.

He had not meant to stay away for so long, and it was only when a small, cool wind arose and blew down the dry river-bed, stirring up the sand between the boulders and driving it into his eyes, that he realized how late it must be; for this was the wind that blows across Rajputana in the dark hour before the dawn, and dies before sunrise.

Standing once more on the crest of the ridge that had shielded him from sight of the camp, Ash saw that the myriad fires and lamps that had earlier made a red glow in the sky had burned out or been extinguished long ago, and now there were only a few scattered pin-points of light to show him where the camp lay. He would need them, as it was far darker now than it had been when he had set out; the stars had already begun to pale, and though there was now a segment of moon in the sky, it lay wan and lemon-coloured in the dregs of the night and gave little or no light.

The darkness forced him to walk slowly in order to avoid stumbling over rocks or into holes, but even this failed to prevent his brain from continuing to bedevil itself with the problem that had sent him out into the night some hours ago, and which he was now carrying back with him, still unsolved. It had not seemed particularly complicated when he set out – a mere matter of clearing his mind and deciding upon a course of action. It was only when he realized that he could not give Juli up, and began to plan ways and means of running away with her, that the appalling difficulties that would have to be faced and overcome rose up before him; and now as he made his way back to the camp, the problems seemed to multiply with every step…

Should they attempt to escape together they would certainly be followed: and this was not British India – this was Rajputana – ‘King's Country’ an amalgam of sovereign states ruled over by independent princes, where the writ of the Raj meant little. The hereditary rulers paid lip-service to the Queen-Empress, but apart from that they did very much as they pleased, and their rank protected them from prosecution in any court of law. A paternal Government provided them with ‘advisers’ in the form of Residents, Commissioners, Political Officers and an Agent-General, and decided such vexed questions as how many guns each should be entitled to have fired in salute on ceremonial occasions. But otherwise it made a point of not interfering with them unless actually forced to do so, and there would be little safety for a runaway princess and her lover in such country.

Once the word of their flight had gone out, every man's hand would be against them and no state in all Rajputana would give them refuge. So for the present there was nothing he could do but wait upon events and trust to the inspiration of the moment, hoping, like Mr Micawber, that something would turn up – a miracle, for preference, for he was beginning to think that they would need nothing less. ‘Yet what have I ever done to deserve a miracle?’ thought Ash.

He could find no answer to that, and when, half an hour later, something did indeed turn up, it was not the miracle he hoped for, but a confirmation of all his fears, and proof – if he had needed proof – that the dangers he had visualized were very far from imaginary.

Because the light was still poor enough to make the going treacherous, he had been keeping his eyes on the ground, and it had not occurred to him that his movements would be of any interest to anyone save Mahdoo and his own servants, or that he might be attacked.

The shot took him by surprise, and for a moment he did not realize that he had been the target. The bullet struck the
lathi
and spun it out of his hand in the same instant that he heard the report, and it was instinct alone made him throw himself flat among the stones; though even then it did not occur to him that he had done anything more than cross the line of fire of some local hunter who was shooting for the pot, and he raised his head and shouted angrily into the darkness.

The answer was a second shot that whipped above his head, missing him by less than an inch. The wind of its passing stirred his hair, but this time he made no sound, for though the first shot could have been accidental the second was not. He had seen the flash, and realized that the man who had fired was standing little more than fifteen yards away and could not possibly have failed to hear him call out, or mistaken his voice for that of a wounded animal. And in the next moment, as though to confirm this, he heard quite clearly in the silence the snick of a breech block as the man reloaded.

It was a frightening sound, and the cold deliberation of it made his heart lurch and miss a beat. But at the same time it seemed to clear his brain, and make him think a good deal more quickly and more concisely than he had done for many days. The vacillation of the past hours fell away from him and he found himself assessing the situation as coolly as though he were on a training exercise on the plains beyond Mardan.

The unknown man was certainly no wandering
budmarsh
shooting at a stranger for sport or viciousness; rifle bullets were far too valuable to waste without the certainty of reward, and he carried nothing worth stealing. His assailant was also plainly aware that his quarry was unarmed, for in spite of having fired twice, he had not troubled to move his position, but was standing confidently upright, concealed but in no way protected by the tall clump of pampas grass where he had been waiting for his victim to pass…

That last was something else of which Ash was suddenly certain, for this was the one place where the lie of the land dictated his route, and anyone wishing to waylay him would know that he must come this way, and had only to wait. Someone had known, and waited; and even in the darkness the shot must have been an easy one, since at that range the chance of missing was almost negligible. Moreover Ash had been walking very slowly and without troubling to move without noise, and had it not been for the
lathi
he would have died or been seriously wounded.

But the watcher with the gun would not know about the
lathi,
and having seen Ash fall, the chances were that he imagined the bullet to have gone home and that his victim was either dead or dying – the latter, probably: it had been a mistake to call out. On the other hand, many men did so at the moment of impact, and as he had made no further sound he could only hope that his assailant, thinking him dead, would refrain from wasting a third bullet on a corpse. It was not much of a chance, but the fact that the man must be reasonably confident that he had not missed was the only card that Ash held, and unless he could make good use of it he would die.

His assailant made no move for the best part of five minutes, but stood motionless in the shelter of the tall grass. Then at last he began to creep forward, treading as softly and as warily as a cat and pausing between every step to listen.

He was barely more than a dark outline against the shadowy background of pampas and thorn-scrub, but the sky was becoming lighter and objects that a few minutes ago had been unidentifiable were beginning to take shape and reveal themselves as rocks and bushes, and Ash could make out the barrel of the rifle that was still trained on him. From the angle at which it was held he knew that there was still a finger on the trigger, and that for his life's sake he must not move or breathe.

The wind had dropped with the approach of dawn, and the world was so quiet that he could hear the soft crunch of dry earth and pebbles under shoe leather, and presently, the sound of his would-be murderer's breathing, quick-drawn and uneven. The man was now less than a yard away. But that was still too far, for his rifle remained ready and unwavering and any premature movement would be the signal for a third bullet – fired this time at point-blank range. He was standing motionless, listening, and it seemed hardly possible that he could fail to hear his quarry's heart-beats when to Ash's own ears they sounded as loud as trip-hammers falling on iron. But apparently he did not, for after a moment or two he came forward and touched the supposed corpse with his foot. When it did not move, he kicked it, this time with some violence.

His foot was still in the air when a hand closed like a vice about his other ankle and jerked it savagely, and losing his balance he fell forward across something that appeared to be made of steel and whipcord.

The gun exploded in a deafening crash of sound and the bullet slammed into a rock and filled the air with a hornets' nest of flying splinters, one of which slashed across Ash's forehead, leaving a shallow cut that filled his eyes with blood.

But for this he would almost certainly have killed his adversary, because that kick had made him lose his temper with a thoroughness that he had never previously equalled, and driven anything he had ever been taught about Queensberry Rules out of his mind. He was intent only on killing – or being killed, though there was never much chance of the latter. His opponent might be dangerous with a gun in his hands, but deprived of it he proved to be no match for Ash, being not only shorter but inclined to stoutness, and judging from his frantic gasps for breath and the flabbiness of his muscles, sorely out of condition.

Nevertheless he fought hard for his life, scratching, clawing and biting with the desperation of a cornered rat as the two rolled over and over among the stones, until with a sudden frenzied wrench he was free. Ash, blinded by his own blood, grabbed at him but missed his hold, and was left clutching a handful of clothing that had torn in his grasp as their owner, sobbing and gasping, scrambled to his feet and bolted like a terrified animal for the cover of the pampas grass.

There had been no point in following him, for by the time Ash had cleared the blood out of his eyes the man had disappeared. And though the darkness had by now thinned to an indeterminate grey, there was still too little light to make tracking a fugitive through that maze of scrub and grass a feasible proposition, while any attempt to do so by ear alone would be equally fruitless, since the noise of his own passage would drown all other sounds. There was obviously nothing for it but to get back to the camp as quickly as possible and institute a few inquiries there.

Ash tied a make-shift bandage round his head to keep the blood out of his eyes and picked up his
lathi
and the fallen gun. The
lathi
had splintered and was of little further use, but the gun was evidence, and it should not be too difficult to trace the owner, for by the feel of it it appeared to be a modern sporting rifle similar to the one he himself owned. There could not be many other men in the camp who possessed such a weapon; and as only someone who was familiar with that type of rifle would think of using it for such a vital assignment as murder, the task would not have been given to a servant or an underling.

He did not doubt that the owner had come from the camp, and the rifle should be able to prove it. But he was daunted by the discovery that he possessed an enemy who was not only prepared to kill him, but had, to that end, kept so close a watch on him that when on the spur of the moment he had walked out on the plain that night, he had given the watcher an opportunity to put into practice a scheme that had probably been decided on much earlier – the death of Captain Ashton Pelham-Martyn.

Oddly enough, it had not occurred to Ash until now to wonder who had tried to kill him. But then the whole ugly incident, from the first shot to the moment when his assailant had wrenched himself free and escaped to the shelter of the thickets, had lasted no more than ten to fifteen minutes, and during that time he had had more urgent things to think of than the identity of the killer. But now the point seemed vitally important, and looking back on his own actions during the past two months, Ash wondered why it had not occurred to him before that he might have an enemy in the camp, when the person or persons who had attempted to murder Jhoti must still be with them, and could well hate him for his part in preventing it – and for the pains he had taken afterwards to keep an eye on the boy. Then, too, there was Juli…

It was not beyond the bounds of possibility that there were others besides the old
dai
, Geeta, who had learned of Juli's visits to his tent, and if so it might well be regarded as a matter of honour to kill him, since it would be assumed that he had seduced her. Or then again, there was always a chance that someone – possibly Biju Ram? – had somehow managed to trace a connection, through the Guides, with Zarin and Koda Dad, and from there to the Hawa Mahal, and had recognized the one-time servant of the late Yuveraj of Gulkote: the boy Ashok.

Ash considered this last and rejected it as unlikely. That trail was cold, and with Lalji and Janoo-Rani both dead there was no one in the newly named State of Karidkote who would derive any benefit from his death on that score, or even trouble to remember him. Nevertheless, after setting that aside, it was clear that there were several reasons to account for his having an enemy in the camp; and realizing that there was likely to be more than one, Ash took particular pains during the remainder of his return journey to keep well clear of any rock, bush or fold in the ground that might provide cover for a marksman, and registered a vow that never again would he go anywhere without a revolver.