The Strangler Vine (14 page)

‘Confound it, Blake! What did you say to Feringhea?’

‘What they deserve. Fobbing us off with Thug burials and Feringhea, thinking they can distract me from Mountstuart.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I asked him if Sleeman had brought Mountstuart to see him. He said yes. I asked him what he thought of him. He said Mountstuart seemed like one in the grip of a passion, careless for his own well-being. Like someone half in love with death, as if he might go in search of it. Then he told me that Mountstuart had asked him if Sleeman had tortured him.’

‘And what was his answer?

‘He said it had given him great pleasure to serve the Company since first Major Sleeman had asked him. Because of this, the breaking machine had not been required.’

That night, for the first time since we had arrived in Jubbulpore, I was not exhausted when I went to my bed. I lay awake, and when I judged from the creaks and footfalls he was about to leave, I crept from my room. He was wearing a kurti, pyjamas and a pugree. He carried a lantern.

‘What is this?’ I demanded in a hoarse whisper. I looked about for Sameer and Mir Aziz, expecting to see at least one of them, but he was alone.

Blake sighed. ‘Please return to your bed, Avery.’

‘I will not. Where are you going? Into the native quarter?’

He refused to answer me, but I would not be deflected. At last he said, ‘I am going to the gaol. There is no good in your coming.’

‘The gaol!’

‘Do not argue with me, Avery. I cannot tell you what I am about.’

‘But the gaol! With the Thug prisoners?’

‘I cannot force you to return to your bed. But I’m asking you to.’

‘God knows, I do not wish to challenge you, Blake, but what are you doing? You have got yourself caught up in some dangerous political obsession. This is not why we are here.’

‘Something is wrong here. Do you not feel it?’

‘No. I see light and order and civilization in the midst of darkness and ignorance.’

He shook his head. ‘Why are we surrounded by sepoys wherever we go? Why are we locked in each night? Who is Sleeman to insist that no one in Jubbulpore may speak to us?’

‘He is fighting the darkness,’ I said. ‘Not just Thugs, but everything: widow-burning, the fakirs with their mutilations, the thieves who will poison a passerby for a silver spoon, the filth.’

‘Have you been to London, boy? Never seen the rookeries, I’ll bet, or what a hungry man will do for a silver spoon? There’s terror and evil everywhere, you just haven’t seen it. Now, I am leaving. You will have to lay hands on me to stop me.’

I knew I would let him go. ‘I must know where this is leading. And I am not a boy. I do you the courtesy of treating you as a gentleman; you should do the same to me.’

‘Be patient.’

I returned to my bed. I lay awake thinking about what Colonel Buchanan had said about Blake’s ‘untoward behaviour’.

My aunt once took us – without my mother’s permission – to watch a famous murderer and card-sharp take the noose in Exeter. She liked to frighten my siblings and I with descriptions of hellfire, for the sake of our souls, she said. There was a carnival air – hurdy-gurdy men, and boys selling twists of roasted nuts, and a loud, eager crowd – and something else. A sense of barely curtailed riot. As if the crowd might erupt if the right spark caught. I recall little of the event itself, save that we boys affected great bravado and jeering, while my sister was horrified. Afterwards, the man’s form, bucking and struggling as the life was choked from it, and that sense of
disquiet, returned to me constantly in dreams, and I felt my sister’s disgust as a rebuke.

Blake had decided to go to the Thug hanging, and though I did not much wish to witness it, I wished to keep an eye on him.

The execution place was outside the prison walls in a part of the town I had not visited before, a bare piece of ground not far from the fields, which I supposed had been cleared for just such a purpose. There was a unit of sepoys, and a unit of mounted nujeebs. In their midst stood three tall thick posts. Across them stretched a long beam from which fourteen nooses hung. A temporary platform had been constructed beneath, for the condemned men to stand upon before they dropped off the side into eternity. There were a number of Europeans, several of whom I had not seen before; no ladies, of course. We stood to the left of the posts and were separated from the native crowd by more sepoys. The crowd was large and growing all the time, until the sepoys and nujeebs were making every effort to keep them from pressing in on the gibbets entirely. Major Sleeman sat on his horse, in a blue dress uniform with a thick gold embroidered collar and gold epaulettes. Behind him came Mr Hogwood. Pursloe stood with the sepoys; Mauwle stood by the gibbets, supervising the hanging.

When the Thugs emerged from two covered bullock carts, some in the crowd jeered, others shouted what seemed like cheers, and I felt that same sense of barely restrained chaos. The prisoners were shackled one to another and each was crowned with a garland of white flowers. They seemed extraordinarily calm for men going to their deaths. One young Thug was even laughing and joking. One by one they were unshackled and mounted the platform, each followed by a sepoy. They lined up behind a noose. Then, before the sepoy could manhandle them into the ropes, each took hold of their noose and placed it around their own neck. The crowd fell silent.

I looked at Blake. He said, ‘So that they will not be tainted by the touch of a lower caste – or at least that’s true for some of them.’

Suddenly, the young laughing man lifted up his arms, cried out, ‘
Kali ka jaee!
’ and stepped deliberately off the platform.

‘What did he say?’ I whispered.

‘Kali is great,’ muttered Blake.

The body twisted and jerked. The crowd gasped, then a great shout went up and some native women at the front began weeping and keening and pressing themselves against the sepoys as if they would push past them. There were two gun-shots. Mauwle had his arm raised and two sepoys had shot over the crowd’s heads. At once the crowd quietened, but it seemed to me unhappy, mutinous and muttering. Around the edges, young men began to run, shouting angrily. Major Sleeman, imperturbable and ignoring the noise, called out to the Thugs, asking for their last words. One protested his innocence, another that some charity might be dispensed in his village, which had lost so many men. The others continued to laugh and shout at the crowd. Then the platform on which they stood was drawn sharply out from under them, and they swung. I watched. Blake looked down.

‘They walked smiling into death,’ I said. ‘No penitence, no remorse.’

Death roused the crowd again. Those at the front began running, some at the sepoys, who used their rifle butts to fend their attackers off. At the back, women scattered, screaming, and groups jostled with each other. The Europeans, with the exception of Sleeman’s men and us, swiftly left the ground. The nujeebs rode forward to line up with the sepoys and once again raised their rifles to shoot. On Mauwle’s signal they fired their weapons. There were screams. Parts of the crowd began to run. Then thirty mounted nujeebs appeared from behind the prison walls. Sleeman watched, entirely calm, and Mauwle moved the soldiers around with what appeared to be almost imperceptible gestures. After that the crowd was quelled very quickly. Those who could took off. The others were rounded up by the soldiers and some were knocked to the ground, while others knelt in supplication. The entire episode had taken about five or at most ten minutes. The women and some of the men were permitted to leave in small groups until a final cluster of twenty men were hauled off by the nujeebs. Meanwhile, the sepoys had cut the dead men down and carried them into the two carts in which they had come. I must confess I had not expected anything
like this to happen in Jubbulpore and found myself a little shaken. The conduct and discipline of Mauwle’s men, however, had been most effective.

When the last natives had been taken from the ground, Mauwle strolled over.

‘Seen enough, Mr Blake?’

Blake shrugged.

‘Trouble is always close to the surface.’ He grinned, a hard smile, as if to force Blake into retreat.

Blake stared back him. ‘I suppose having so many criminals – thousands – imprisoned in such a small cantonment makes people anxious. That and rumours about the famine.’

‘Reasons do not matter. Order does,’ said Mauwle. He strode over to where a sepoy held his horse, forcing Blake to double his stride simply to keep up with him.

‘There must be more Thugs in Jubbulpore than anywhere else in Hind now,’ Blake said. ‘They must pour in.’

Mauwle nodded. ‘A Thug may be caught in Orissa, but come from Oudh, and commit murder in Bihar. Where else should he be tried? We are well set up to try them, sentence them and, if need be, hang them. You cannot trust justice in the native states: there a bribe will get you out of anything.’

‘And in Bengal an Approver’s testimony cannot stand in Court,’ said Blake. ‘They will not accept the accusations of criminals as evidence. But in the Territory you do. And your magistrates have more authority than elsewhere, too. You can pass any sentence, you need no confirmation from Calcutta.’

Mauwle took the reins from the sepoy. ‘I’m no magistrate, Mr Blake, you’d have to ask the Major. But we try more natives than anywhere else,’ and he gave Blake a flinty look.

‘I believe you. The Territory has a great reputation for efficiency. Thug trials are held in secret, isn’t that so?’

‘There is no need for an audience.’

‘I mean, there is no jury, there are no opposing arguments.’

‘The evidence is damning and the natives lie freely. They’re
murderers. They cannot be played with. I’d have thought you’d understand that.’

‘I do understand, Lieutenant Mauwle. It is necessary to be ruthless with ruthless men.’

‘It is.’

‘But sometimes the nujeebs arrest innocent natives and extract ransom payments for their release, and sometimes they arrest on the word of very unreliable local informers.’

‘I do not know how you come by your information, Mr Blake, but what do you expect? It happens. But not often.’ He lifted his saddle and tightened the girth.

‘I have one last question.’

‘You can ask what you wish. Whether I answer is another matter.’

‘I’ve heard tell of a breaking machine.’

Mauwle laughed. ‘And I thought you were going to ask about Mountstuart.’ He put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself on to his horse. ‘The breaking machine. The truth is, we do not need it. The Major’s system is the breaking machine: the maps, the lists, the family trees. That is what has broken the Thugs. Now they fear us. Of course, they imagine we have racks in our dungeons. But we do not need them. And if the Major heard you ask about such things, he’d say you were in league with our enemies.’

‘What about Mountstuart?’

He laughed again. ‘Disliked him. A pestering kind of a man with a high opinion of himself.’

‘Sar,’ Mir Aziz said in my ear, ‘the Major comes.’

It was early – the sun had barely risen. I pulled on the clothes I had to hand and rushed on to the verandah to find a dozen nujeebs wrestling to unlock our gates, and behind them Major Sleeman astride an elephant. The procession entered the compound, almost entirely filling the yard in front, and the Major, aided by a
mahout
, dismounted from the elephant’s neck on to its bent thigh and thence to the ground. By now Blake had joined me.

‘You are most splendidly dressed today, Major,’ he said. Sleeman wore a blue regimental uniform with a great deal of gold braid and a feathered cocked hat. The elephant was draped in silk and covered in silver meshwork, and the nujeebs wore yellow silk turbans.

‘I am making my tour of the local villages,’ he said, and gestured at himself. ‘Naturally I cannot appear less impressive than the landowners. It’s necessary to quell local concerns about yesterday’s events. Such things happen. I am sorry you had to witness it. The crowd whips itself up about nothing. We plan to continue with our dinner. I hope we shall still see you there. I understand you leave tomorrow?’

‘There is no more reason to stay.’

‘Where will you go?’

‘To Doora.’

‘I see.’

‘Perhaps you would like to direct us somewhere else, if you think us mistaken?’

‘I would not presume to,’ said the Major. ‘But I would advise you to take care. The Rao is extremely hostile to Company emissaries. In fact, I should say he loathes the Company. His court is rife with intrigue, and he is almost certainly not to be trusted. Moreover, we
believe he provides protection to at least one Thug gang in return for a share of their plunder.’

Blake gazed impassively at the Major and gave a tiny nod.

‘Oh, he is not the worst. Our attempts to stamp out Thuggee have often been undermined by the collusion of native princes. Among the rulers of the central states I should say there is not one truly admirable man. Robbers and murderers all, with no sense of duty towards their people. I take the Rao of Doora’s resistance particularly hard. He should know better. He had the advantage of an education in Calcutta, among the best European minds.’

Major Sleeman tapped his fingers on the table. He stood up.

‘Mr Blake, it has not escaped my attention that you have been quizzing my people, though I expressly asked you not to. I imagine you have found it of very little help. But I also wish to clear up what may be a misconception.’ The bright blue eyes gazed at Blake, whose expression, as usual, betrayed nothing. ‘My nephew, James, Captain Pursloe, came to me. I fear he said things in anger to Lieutenant Avery regarding the man you seek that he regrets. That imply things he did not intend. He can be very excitable, but he is devoted to me and to his duty. I want you to understand that though he was very provoked by … by that man’s behaviour, he would certainly never have done anything to harm him. He is a good boy.’

‘I never thought otherwise,’ said Blake.

‘Good. I hope we understand each other.’ The Major coughed. It was an uneasy cough. He looked to one side, as if he could not quite meet Blake’s eyes. ‘Your quarry. The poet. I should say that he had the look of a man who did not want to be found by anyone. I should say he was beyond hope.’

Later, Mir Aziz removed the stitches in my arm. The little red scars and scabs made the skin look as if it had been laced on to my bones. I made a fist, dismayed by how weak it felt. As each little thread was pulled from the skin, I reflected upon our journey and Nungoo’s death and how little we had achieved. I told Mir Aziz about the
School of Industry, and Feringhea, the riot at the hanging and what the Major had said about Pursloe.

‘I thought I would go to see Hogwood again. To ask him if he will tell me what happened when Mountstuart was here. What do you think, Mir Aziz?’

Mir Aziz considered. ‘Nothing is being lost by it, Chote Sahib.’

Mr Hogwood was in the magistrate’s office signing letters on a desk piled so high with boxes and documents that he was all but invisible. One by one he handed them to two dak runners who stood restlessly by.

He looked up at me. ‘Just one moment, almost done. Endless reports, most of them never to be read.’

‘I hope you do not mind me calling upon you, Mr Hogwood. But we depart tomorrow.’

‘I thought I should be seeing you and Mr Blake tonight at dinner with the Major. May I say how sorry I am that you had to witness what happened at the hanging. Unfortunately, even in the best-run stations such things happen.’ He sat back in his chair and stretched a little, and the bones in his shoulders cracked. He looked at me meaningfully and dismissed his runners.

‘Mr Hogwood, I have not only come to say goodbye.’

Hogwood sighed. ‘I am truly not sure that anything I could tell you would help you.’

‘We have come so far. And we leave with nothing.’

‘You would have to promise not to reveal the provenance of the story. The Major would feel it a great betrayal if he knew.’

I was surprised but I hid it. ‘I swear I will not divulge it to anyone but Blake.’

He stood and stretched again. He shook his head and sighed. I pulled up a chair and sat down.

‘Mr Mountstuart arrived in late May, or was it early June? He had no servants, only the monkey and a letter of introduction from Government House, just like your Mr Blake. He stayed for almost a month. He said he was writing a long poem about the Thugs and he wished to know as much about them as possible. The Major was happy to help him. He brought him to see the Approvers and
Feringhea. He allowed him into the Department, which he very rarely does. Mountstuart seemed a little eccentric, with his monkey and all, but we were all very impressed by him and pleased that he had come to Jubbulpore. He and the Major had a good deal in common, with their languages and their love of the country.

‘But after about a week, perhaps ten days, things began to go awry. Mountstuart became cool towards the Major. I still do not understand quite why. One day everything was good, the next it was bad. He became irritable. Then he began to be volubly critical. He was deliberately contrary, even though we did our best to accommodate him. It was at this time that I accompanied him on an exhumation. He seemed to view it as some macabre entertainment. The grave was an old one; we found a number of skeletons. That cursed little monkey stole some of the bones and ran off with them, and Mr Mountstuart considered this amusing and would not call him back. The natives were … well, they should not have seen it. Then he asked the Approvers to demonstrate the use of the
rumal
upon each other, and gave them some coins to do so. It was very unseemly. He had an absolute mania for the Thugs, by the way. He wished to speak with them endlessly.

‘It came to the point where he and the Major could not agree on anything. Even matters on which they should have shared views. They argued especially about the native princes. Then Mountstuart took to wearing native robes and wandering about the bazaar. This is not something we do in Jubbulpore. The crust of civilization is still very thin here. There are only a few Europeans, and keeping order and peace in the cantonment must be a priority. Wearing native clothes gives quite the wrong impression. Perhaps we should not have been surprised – he is a poet after all and we provincial Company men are prosaic creatures. But looking back, I do wonder if perhaps he was not quite himself – if he was entirely well. Years in the tropics can have an effect on a man.’

‘You mean that he was mad?’

Hogwood shook his head. ‘I could not say for sure, but he was most erratic.’

‘So, what then?’

‘The Major invited Mountstuart to dinner. It was an attempt to make peace. He came, but two hours late. He was argumentative and rude and sullen. I tried to pacify him – but he only grew louder and more uncontrollable. He stood up, and before everyone he said that the Company was an institution whose sole purpose was to immiserate the natives, and that Jubbulpore was the worst. He said, “You are no better than criminals, and you know why.” Then he repeated it in Hindoostanee and Marathee for the benefit of the servants. And then he said it again. “You are no better than criminals.”

‘I have never seen the Major so angry. He ordered Mountstuart from the house. Mountstuart laughed and said he was going, and that when he had finished with us the world would shun us like Cain.’

‘Good God!’

‘You are upset,’ said Hogwood.

‘It seems foolish to admit it, but I have admired Xavier Mountstuart since I was a boy. His writings were what brought me to India.’

‘Sometimes it is better not to approach one’s heroes too closely,’ Hogwood said, almost sadly. ‘Better to meet them only on the page. Anyway, the next day he had gone.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The servants at his compound, where you are staying in fact—’

‘He stayed in the same place as us?’ Had I been sleeping in the same bed as he had?

‘Why yes, did I not say? The servants came to me saying that he had disappeared, and the monkey too. We went to see if we could discover what had happened. There was no trace of him anywhere. It was nearly July and the monsoon had started, so any tracks had long since vanished. There were rumours that he had left Jubbulpore walking north. But it was a hard time to travel, especially for a man not young, nor in the most robust health. I honestly do not know if he is alive or dead. I prefer to think that he walked to Doora – they say he knows the Rao. But there has been no news that he was there.’

I nodded. ‘I have a question. About Pursloe.’

Hogwood sighed. ‘He is inclined to become over-excited.’

‘He told me he hated Mountstuart. He was shaking with rage.’

‘He has a very strong attachment to his uncle. He feels the need to defend him from all comers, even when it is not necessary. He felt Mountstuart belittled the Major. But for what it’s worth I do not think he would … I myself feel certain that Mountstuart left Jubbulpore.’

‘Better to know this, even if we do not know where he went,’ I said. I had a sudden intimation of Mountstuart dead, somewhere in the jangal. ‘I thank you.’

‘The truth is invariably duller than one’s imaginings.’

I stood up. Then a thought came to me.

‘Mr Hogwood, might I ask your advice in confidence? A delicate matter upon which I am at a loss.’

He drooped a little, but said, ‘How may I help?’

‘I am sorry, you have quite enough to think about.’

‘No, no, believe me, so much of my work is dull administration – the projections of the mango harvest, road repairs in Sleemanabad – it is a relief to be called upon to think about something different.’

‘It concerns Mr Blake.’

‘Ah.’

‘In Calcutta I received my orders from the Chief Military Secretary, Colonel Buchanan.’

‘I know of him. Everyone does.’

‘Indeed. He told me that one of my duties was to keep an eye on Blake to make sure he did not stray from the task. And if he did then I should consider reporting him to a senior officer. He mentioned Sleeman by name.’

‘I see.’

‘It is a charge that goes against all my training and instincts.’

‘It would be a most awkward position to find oneself in.’

‘This is in strictest confidence, Mr Hogwood. I have become quite anxious about Blake. I felt confident at first because, well, because he asked me to make my recovery as slow as possible, so as to give him more time here. I thought that must mean that he was investigating Mountstuart. But he seems to be entirely preoccupied by the
Thugs. He disappears at all times of the day and night, and refuses to tell me anything. And he seems determined to enrage everyone. Feringhea mentioned a breaking machine. So Blake asked Mauwle about it.’

Hogwood grimaced. ‘How did Mauwle respond? It is the case that they are very sensitive about all that. Jubbulpore is not perfect. I know the Major can seem arrogant. When one is left to run things as he has been, so far from civilization, one comes to rely upon oneself and one’s own judgement. Also, the fight against Thuggee has been hard, the things we have seen, the way it has insinuated itself into our lives … but I swear, I’ve seen nothing that would lead me to believe a breaking machine exists, nor anything else of which the Major should be ashamed. And he has many fine qualities – great qualities, even – as I think you would agree.’

I nodded. ‘That is not all. A few days ago I discovered Blake had done something that truly alarms me. He seems to have broken into the prison.’

Hogwood looked at me in astonishment. ‘He what?’ He paused and rubbed his forehead. ‘Broke
into
the prison? How odd. I am sure that none of the prisoners has escaped.’

‘Apparently that was never his aim.’

‘I had considered Mr Blake an intelligent man, even if he is not one of us – a gentleman, I mean. You know, this all reminds me of Mountstuart’s visit.’

‘They knew each other, a long time ago. But I do not think they were friends.’

‘How can I advise you?’ he said, rubbing his head again. ‘I suppose you should tell the Major, but Mr Blake may end up in the lock-up, or worse. On the other hand, it does not seem that he has actually done any real harm, and your Colonel Buchanan evidently takes a rather cautious view of him. You are off tomorrow – you could say nothing. I wish the Major had spoken to you, but he was sorely provoked. If you warned him, at least he would be able to counter any wild accusations from Blake. In the meantime, I swear I shall not say anything of what you have told me.’

I thanked him, almost more confused than before.

‘Watch out for yourself, Avery. If you go to Doora. It is a dangerous place.’

I had not sat down at a dinner table with ladies since I had left Calcutta, and I had missed it. Just like her husband, Mrs Sleeman had a talent for order and organization. In the soft glazed light everything in the room seemed to glow or shine: the polished mahogany of the dinner table, the porcelain and silver, the crystal candlesticks, the light reflected off the long looking-glass – a little tarnished by the elements – the ladies’ pearls. Outside, the insects hurled themselves against the muslin stretched across the windows. There could not be, I thought, another room like this, such a grand but comfortable haven of familiarity and Englishness, for hundreds of miles in any direction.