won were as great as any achieved by any British army in India, or beyond. But Arthur was wise enough to realise that when word of Assaye reached London the newspapers there would scarcely believe that such a victory could be achieved against such great odds. Therefore he took great care that his report did not seem boastful or in any way vain. Besides, Arthur felt that there was little to celebrate when so many good men had been killed and mutilated in order to defeat Scindia’s host. At length he completed his account, sealed the document and placed it in the hands of Captain Fitzroy to convey to the Governor General at Calcutta.
While the defeat of Scindia had left Britain the virtual master of the subcontinent, there were still a number of minor threats to deal with. With Scindia out of the way, Holkar assumed the mantle of the handful of rulers still opposed to British rule and he at once demanded that Arthur hand over Scindia’s lands to him. It was a bold threat, but one that Arthur knew he could counter with ease. Such was his reputation, and that of his men, that no Mahratta force dared face them in battle and the conflict with Holkar was marked by a wearying series of small raids and skirmishes that dragged on into the early months of the new year.
Then, early in spring, as Arthur was inspecting one of his sepoy battalions in the glare of the sun, his head began to spin, and his legs buckled under him. He lost consciousness so swiftly as he collapsed on the ground that he had no recollection of it when he came round.
His eyes flickered open and for a moment Arthur’s mind was hazy as he struggled to understand what had happened to him, and even where he was. The room was shaded and overhead a punkah swayed from side to side and stirred the air over his face.
‘Ah, awake at last.’
Arthur turned his head and saw Colonel Stevenson smiling at him from a chair beside the bed. Arthur swallowed and spoke softly. ‘At last? How long have I been here?’
‘Three days.’
‘Three days!’ Arthur repeated in horror. ‘And where is here exactly?’
‘Our supply base at Dimlah, sir.You’re in the hospital.’
Arthur frowned. ‘Was I injured?’
‘No, sir. Bless you, you collapsed. On the parade ground. Surely you recall?’
Arthur shook his head, furious with himself, and ashamed. He struggled to rise and found that it required all his strength merely to prop himself up on his elbows.
Stevenson looked concerned. ‘Sir, please lie back. I sent for the doctor the moment you began to stir. He will be here any moment. Just rest.’
For a moment Arthur was determined that rest was the last thing he would do, especially since he had been out of action for over three days.Then his strength gave out and he slumped back on the bed, breathing hard. He waited a moment until he had recovered and then turned his head to Stevenson.
‘What’s happened since I was brought here?’
‘Nothing, sir. There’s been no news of any raids, and the frontier with Holkar is holding fast, as far as I know. He’s given us little trouble for nearly a month now. I think the danger from that quarter has passed. For now, at least.’
‘Thank God,’ Arthur replied quietly. ‘I think I am about done in this country. One more campaign would break me.’
The door to the room opened, admitting a shaft of light that made Arthur squint, before the new arrival closed it and strode across to his bed.
‘Ah, so you’re with us again, sir?’ The doctor leaned over the bed, grasped Arthur’s hand in a powerful grip and pumped it.‘I’m Hollingsworth, a Company surgeon. You’re probably a bit too dazed to recall me, eh?’
Arthur nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No matter.’ The doctor straightened up. ‘Have to say I was very worried about you when they brought you in, sir. Looked like you was in a bloody coma.’
‘What is wrong with me?’
‘Same thing that’s wrong with most men who have served in this land for long enough. Exhaustion, that’s what. It’s time for you to quit India. While you still can.You need a long rest and a change of climate, sir.’
‘I just need a rest. A few days and then I’ll be back on duty.’
‘Ah, no, sir. Not at all. I know the symptoms. Trust me, you either take my advice and take the first ship you can back to Britain, or have yourself measured up for a coffin.’
‘Balderdash.’
The doctor smiled kindly. ‘India has broken your health, sir. You must accept that and return home, or you will die here. Now, as you are back with us, I’ll see to it that you’re started on a diet of good broth. I’ll see you again later, sir.’
Once the doctor had left the room Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. There was no denying how his body felt. How his mind felt, for that matter. He found it an effort to merely think, let alone talk.
‘Sir?’
‘Yes, Stevenson.’
‘Is there anything I can do for you?’
‘Not now. I need sleep. But when I wake, I’ll need you to take down a letter for me, to my brother Richard . . .’
As he slowly recovered and gradually resumed his duties, Arthur waited for a response to his request. But none came, and it was not until he had sent a second letter that a reply came, late in May, summoning him to Calcutta. Before he quit his army, Arthur made sure that it was amply provisioned and carefully deployed to counter any attacks by Holkar, and then set off in a palanquin with a small cavalry escort. He reached Fort William in August and immediately made his way to the office of the Governor General.
Richard was in a meeting with senior officials from the East India Company and Arthur was kept waiting in the anteroom for almost an hour. At times there were heated exchanges from the Governor General’s office but Arthur sat and stared out of the window heedlessly. Below the ramparts the sprawl of Calcutta teemed with life and industry. It was over five years since Arthur had last seen this view and much had already changed. The increasing control that Britain had over India had brought further commercial expansion in its wake and scores of new houses had been built for Company employees, merchants and native traders, clear proof of the success of the enterprise of Richard and his brothers.Yet as Arthur gazed out over the thriving city he recalled the men he had known and fought alongside, who had died to make this possible.
At length the door to the Governor General’s office swung open and a half dozen civilians trooped out, barely acknowledging his presence. Then Richard was standing at the door. Five years had marked his face with more lines, yet Arthur noted the look of anxiety that flitted across his brother’s expression when he saw him. It came as no surprise. He had seen his gaunt expression every day in his shaving mirror, and knew all too well how exhausted and ill he appeared.
‘Arthur . . . God, you’re thin. I had no idea . . .’
‘It’s good to see you too, Richard.’ Arthur smiled.‘I take it you did not read my letter. Letters I should say.’
‘Of course I read them,’ Richard replied quickly, but betrayed himself when he failed to meet his brother’s eye. ‘But it’s hard to retain every detail of all the correspondence I have to deal with. Anyway, come in and have a seat.’
Arthur followed him into the office and eased himself into one of the chairs that had just been vacated by the Company officials.
‘God, you have no idea how those penny-counting pedants vex me,’ Richard grumbled as he pushed aside a sheaf of papers. ‘After all that we have done for the Company you would think they would be more grateful. But no. It seems that they are plotting to have me recalled to England . . . I’m sorry, Arthur. I shouldn’t regale you with all this. You have your own concerns.’
‘It’s been five years since we last met,’ Arthur said quietly.‘I am your brother, yet I feel like a mere item on your agenda . . .’
Richard frowned. ‘I hardly think—’
‘Please, Richard. Hear me out.’ Arthur took a deep breath and continued, ‘I am exhausted. Utterly exhausted.
