The Strangler Vine (23 page)

‘It is lovely, is it not?’

I nodded. Blake said nothing. I reached about for something to fill the silence.

‘Maharaja, may I ask a question?’

He nodded graciously.

‘Why was it – in the throne room on the day of our audience – that you did not sit upon the throne, but rather at its feet?’

The Rao smiled. ‘The
gaddi
is not for the raos, Lieutenant. It is for Vishnu, our true ruler, the protector, the restorer of balance, bringer of light. We consider ourselves his servants and must sit at his feet. And might I ask, Mr Avery, since it is directly to you that I owe my life, whether you believe that my debt to you should be paid in the way Mr Blake demands?’

I took a breath. ‘We came to find Mr Mountstuart, Your Highness. We must do our best, everything we can, to discover what has become of him. We need your help to do so.’

The Rao pursed his lips. He looked exasperated. ‘I could discharge my debt by having my men show you where Xavier went. I could furnish you with lavish provisions and stores and pack-horses. I could arrange for a fleet of guards to accompany you. I could even plant rumours in those dark places of the court so that those you seek may perhaps hear of you. But I ask you, do not do this thing.’

Blake said, ‘Maharaj, I cannot take your guards.’

The Rao looked cross. ‘If you choose to go alone and do not return, I will regard my obligation to you at an end. I will not come and save you.’

‘I understand.’

The Rao looked at Blake and then at me. He frowned. ‘You may go. I will think on it.’

He clapped his hands, and at once the two guards by the doors opened them and two more came to escort us out through the garden. Blake made a small bow.

‘I thank you, Maharaj,’ he said. As ever, I followed him.

The Rao said, ‘Lieutenant, please, one moment.’ Blake was already past the tiger’s cage in the garden. The Rao waved my guard to follow him.

‘I am sorry, Maharaja, if we displease you. We must do our best.’

‘That is not why I detain you. Here.’ He took out the small bag of gems. ‘Take it. Place it in the hands of the Company’s treasurers if you must. But you must take it.’

He dropped the bag into my hand, making sure he did not touch me.

It was not until we were back in our rooms that I felt free to speak.

‘So, you would trust the Rao?’ I said.

‘I would.’

‘He gave me these.’ I held out the bag.

Blake said, ‘You should keep them. They’ll pay off your debts and get you back to England, at the very least.’

I gaped at him and put the bag down.

‘But you said – never mind.’ I rubbed my forehead in the vain hope that it would help me to think more clearly. ‘If he is harbouring Thugs as Sleeman says, he could have had Mountstuart killed and taken his ring. This Thug story is very convenient. He could have sent Mountstuart off to the jangal and had him killed.’

‘It’s possible.’

‘He did not mention Mountstuart’s monkey.’

‘You’re quite right. I’d forgotten him. Stupid of me.’

‘I did not miss that you called me a stupid boy.’

‘Your Hindoostanee is improving. He called you a stupid boy; I called you a rash boy. He also said you were handsome and a fine shot.’

I looked at him stonily. ‘And who is Henry Derozio?’

‘Was. A teacher in Calcutta. A brilliant man. I never heard anyone speak so well – it was all rationalism and Tom Paine. Enough to make a man drunk with ideas, and for a few years I was. It did not go down too well with the Company redcoat, I can tell you, but Mountstuart was amused. Henry got a post teaching English at the Hindoo college – the school for the sons of rich baboos – when he was seventeen. He could have passed as Portuguese or even English, but he chose to call himself a native. I don’t know what he was –
half-caste, I suppose.’ As he spoke, it seemed to me that Blake, like the Rao, was transported back to a happier time.

‘He was a few years younger than me, but he seemed older. He brought his poetry to Mountstuart; they both admired Byron. He died about seven years ago, just after he was dismissed by the college. He was twenty-two. Some said he was poisoned, but it was more likely the cholera. He made a space for himself and what he believed, which no longer exists in Calcutta now. The Hindoos feared him because he encouraged their sons to question their beliefs; the Europeans hated his talk of republicanism and the rights of natives and India’s great past.’

‘Oh.’ I did not like to ask who Tom Paine was. ‘So, now’ – I hoped he was settled into a talking mood – ‘will you tell me what it is you suspect happened at Jubbulpore?’

‘Truly, Avery, it would be better for you to remain in ignorance. If you will carry my despatches, you will have done the best you can.’

‘Carry your despatches?’

He cleared his throat. He looked evasive.

‘You will go to Mirzapore and then on to Calcutta – unless there are orders to join your regiment. I have several reports and they must reach the right hands in Calcutta. I want you to deliver them. You will take Sameer. I’ll make it clear that I ordered you to return. I’ll say that you have undertaken all your tasks with great conscientiousness, and with the reports about the hunt and how you single-handedly repaired relations with the Rao you’ll be well placed for the future. Though how much longer he will be able to hold on to his throne, I don’t know.’

‘You are planning to go and find those Thugs without me.’

‘I have to try to find what became of Xavier Mountstuart. It’s why I came – the only reason.’

‘Do you think I will slip off obediently now, before our work is done, and when you refuse to explain all those dark suspicions you hint at? Because I will not!’

‘You will. You take orders from me.’ His calmness was infuriating.

‘I will not! I will not allow it.’

‘You will not allow it.’ He sighed. ‘We’ve gone beyond Company business now, Avery. You’re not bound to this, but I am, for my own reasons. I must follow this to its end. And it may not turn out well – it is quite likely not to turn out well. You know that. You have gone as far as duty and your orders oblige you, as far as the Company can expect.’

‘What you mean is, you are deliberately going out on your own to find the Thugs who took Mountstuart, and you reckon they are as likely to kill you as not,’ I said. ‘Do not condescend to me. Do you think I act purely for my own advancement? Have I not done enough to show that I do not? And what if you found Mountstuart and brought him to Mirzapore, and I was halfway to Calcutta?’

‘Listen to me, I don’t doubt your courage, but you are young.’

I bristled.

‘That is not an insult, Avery. Make use of it. It doesn’t last for ever. I have obligations and bad old habits. You do not.’

‘And what of Mir Aziz?’

‘I expect him to return to Mirzapore too.’

I thought of the stones in my pocket.

‘I will not go to Mirzapore.’ I realized I was close to tears.

The Rao housed us in luxury while we waited for his answer, but wherever we went the palace was full of soldiers. The day after our audience, he sent the tiger’s skin, complete with its head, for my inspection before it was taken to the tanners for curing, and his
shikaris
took me out on a ride.

It was impossible to speak to Blake. Every time I did so it ended in argument. But it never occurred to me to suggest that he should not go into the forest and instead return to Mirzapore with us, for I knew he would not. The next day the Rao agreed to Blake’s request, as I had known he would. Blake set about making his plans, and those for our departure for Mirzapore. I refused to take any part in them. I packed up my modest bags and went out to shoot game with the Rao’s
shikaris
. When I returned, Mir Aziz told me the palace was abuzz with rumours that the Rao’s first cousin had been
imprisoned, and that Orange Turban had decided to retire to his estates and relinquish his position as diwan. That night I buried myself in Macpherson’s now almost unreadably worn
Pickwick
s, and their absurd, warm-spirited Englishness.

We left the next morning, riding out of the city on the road for Mirzapore with a sizeable escort. After several miles, where the road forked left in the direction of Allahabad, Blake stopped and Mir Aziz with him. Both were dressed almost identically in native garb. I realized that Mir Aziz was going with Blake. Half the guards peeled off to accompany them. We had stopped by the side of the path, which was flattened by the pounding of hooves and feet like so many others we had traversed together. Blake made to take my hand and shake it. I refused.

He took my hand anyway. ‘Goodbye, Avery. You’ll realize this is the right way of it. Good luck.’

I glared at them both. I found it hard to speak. Mir Aziz said, ‘We will see each other again, Chote Sahib,’ and bowed.

An hour on, I said goodbye to Sameer, as we had previously agreed, and we parted, though not without argument. He wished to follow them too, but I persuaded him that one of us must deliver Blake’s despatches. We had arranged that he would go on to the Company cantonment at Mirzapore. After a week he would send Blake’s report and my few belongings on to Calcutta. After three weeks he would leave. I retraced my steps. I spied the dust kicked up by the troops’ horses in the late afternoon. I remained at a discreet distance until I was certain they would have made camp for the evening. They were putting up their tents in a mango grove when I rode up and began to unload my packs. Blake looked up. He pressed his lips together in disapproval.

‘You’re going back in the morning with the Rao’s men,’ Blake said.

I laid out my bed, then took myself off under a tree with Mountstuart’s
The Courage of the Bruce
and my bayoneted musket on my lap and lost myself in the verse until it became dark. Blake sat with his back to me, but eventually Mir Aziz picked up his huqqa and came and sat by me. He puffed for a few minutes and then said, ‘Chote Sahib, it is better if you return. Please.’

‘You are staying,’ I said.

‘I have many reasons, and I am many years older.’

‘It is not just my being young and rash. I cannot leave now, it would be – dishonourable, an abandonment of a sacred charge.’

He gazed at me in the dark. ‘We will speak tomorrow.’

The next morning the Rao’s escort turned back for Doora, but I would not go with them. Blake did not address a word to me. I took a perverse pleasure in the knowledge that he was angry.

Mir Aziz said simply, ‘Chote Sahib, I ask you humbly. Return to Mirzapore.’

I shook my head.

We climbed slightly uphill under an umbrella of sal trees, with the sun continually breaking through the leaves, and the undergrowth thick on either side, tracing small paths until I had lost all sense of our direction. The trees became sparser, and large rocks and boulders began to strew the way. Somewhere I could hear the sound of water.

By a small tank and a broken old tomb where the trees had fallen away entirely, a native stood, watching our approach. As we came closer, I confess a feeling of dread began to take hold of me. Blake turned and looked at me once, then dismounted. As we came closer I saw that the man’s face was hard. He was thin-lipped and had small, black, bird-like shiny eyes, but I could see he smiled. There were heavy lines etched from eye to chin, and a mass of finer ones around his eyes and mouth. He was short, held a long wooden staff, and he was quite well dressed, wrapped in a great shawl of fine cotton that covered his head, his spindly legs ending in a pair of soft Bundelkand slippers. He hailed us and waved. Blake went up to him and they exchanged greetings. Blake began to speak and the watcher listened, his gaze shifting urgently between Blake and me, but he did not stop smiling.

How persuasive Blake was, I do not know, but after some minutes the man agreed to join us, walking beside Blake. Behind them came Mir Aziz, and lastly myself, leading our horses. Perhaps a mile on along the path we came upon four more men, taller than the first, more poorly dressed, but powerful-looking. One man led an
ass whose harness was laced with small bells which tinkled as it walked. It seemed that no explanations were needed. The men bowed and uttered a greeting, ‘
Namaste!
’

Blake said, ‘
Aule khan salaam
.’

We set off again. Blake was at the centre of the group, and it was not clear who was leading and who following. There was sporadic talk, led by Blake and our original guide, and I thought I heard Mountstuart’s name, but I was not sure. Mir Aziz spoke occasionally in answer to a question. No one spoke to me, but now and then one or other of our new escorts would look back at me doubtfully, concerned, it was clear, by my evident Europeanness. In the late afternoon we came upon a larger gang of ten or twelve natives who appeared to be in the act of setting up camp for the evening. I could not tell if they affected not to know our guides, but they surged towards us, greeting us all enthusiastically, and insisted we set up our tents near them.

‘Are these the men we seek?’ I asked Blake quietly.

‘I think so. The leader, the little bird-like one, calls himself Gulab. He likes to talk of “his people”, who are further on into the forest.’

‘What do your omens say, Mir Aziz?’

He looked at me sadly. ‘I heard the cry of the
ullu
– the owl – in the day, sahib.’

‘That is a bad omen, is it not?’

The dark came, and the evening seemed to take on an almost delirious quality. They called us over to eat with them. There were a number of fires, but we were brought, with some ceremony, to sit round the largest. They welcomed us and showed us friendly faces. They separated us from each other by planting themselves between us.

The food was like dust in my mouth. Blake and Mir Aziz said little. Our hosts chattered and joshed with each other, for all the world as if it were a night like any other.

Our first escorts brought out a drum and two very crude stringed instruments, one plucked, one played with a rude bow. The gathering listened as they performed. There was a gentle breeze and the
night felt velvety. At some point I looked down and saw that my musket had gone. The native next to me grinned in a friendly manner. When the musicians finished playing, the leader, Gulab, began to tell a story. The audience laughed and clapped. I became aware that we were each surrounded. I knew what was coming. It was just as Sleeman had described, just as I had read in his book: men behind us, pressing in, apparently enjoying the music; one man on each side to hold us down when the time came. I could not bring myself to look behind me to see if the man I could sense at my back had a scarf – a
rumal
– in his hand. We would sit and wait for it, like lambs. I tried to brace myself.

Blake leant across the circle and said to me quietly, though somehow the words came clearly across the music, ‘The advantage of living is not measured by length, but by use; some men have lived long, and lived little. You’ve done well, and honourably.’

The storyteller stopped speaking and called for refreshment. Mir Aziz looked over at me. He smiled and stretched his hand out to me in a strange, almost brotherly, gesture.
It will be now
, I thought.

As the storyteller drank, there came the screech of an owl from high in the trees above us. Even as I lifted my head to look up, I knew what was coming.

I felt a hard blow on the head, the light fluttered, my hands were grabbed, then there was another blow, and then darkness, then nothing.