Nizams Daughters

to read, with every shade of feeling from trepidation to joy — and guilt, for the forest was all about him in one sense still. It was addressed from Paris not five days after his leaving.

My dearest Matthew (a good beginning — as affectionate as ever he had seen),

Your letter from Paris was given to me upon arrival at Calais by the admirable Corporal Collins who was at once all solicitude, explaining that he had waited there for three days in vain, and feared that you would by then have sailed for the Indies. We set out at once, however, for Le Havre — a pleasant town where I learn that your name is now well known to the authorities for so fearlessly opposing the enemies of the King. Alas, I also learn that your ship has sailed two days before, and I am unable to find any which admits to the possibility of overtaking a frigate of the Royal Navy, and, in any case, Corporal Collins is insistent that your express wishes are that I should remain in France or England until such time as it is expedient for you to return or for me to follow you. And now I am in Paris at the house of Lady George, whose husband shows me every kindness and understanding — as, I may say, does your Serjeant Armstrong in equal measure. Tomorrow I shall call on the duke and make all our arrangements known — if, that is, he be in any doubt of them at this time — and thereafter shall return to Longleat with a heavy heart, though not so heavy as upon first hearing of your mission. Be assured, dearest Matthew, that I understand perfectly the duty to which you have submitted. I beg you do not have any concern that might stand in the way of affairs in India. I pray only that, in the fullness of God’s time, we may be restored to one another and that thereafter there should be no unwonted putting asunder.

Your affectionate — nay, adoring — Henrietta.

He was at once overcome by two wholly different responses. First, great relief at learning of Henrietta’s constancy. Second, shame at how close he had come in the forest to losing any honourable claim to it. He resolved in that instant to be done with intrigue in Chintal — for it had been that, he imagined, which had predisposed him to such conduct — and to press Selden for a speedy resolution of the matter of the jagirs. Then he might proceed with the business of Haidarabad. And when this was done he might return to Horningsham, or have Henrietta join him in Calcutta when the duke came there. By the time the rajah returned, he had steeled himself to his new course; gathering up the reins, so to speak, with a view to driving forward at last with some impulsion.

His face must have reflected this change, for the rajah felt obliged to remark on it. ‘Is everything well, Captain Hervey? You look a little agitated.’

‘Thank you, Your Highness; everything is well. There is not the slightest cause for concern.’

‘I am very glad to hear it,’ said the rajah somewhat heavily, ‘for I wish to speak with you of certain matters, and it would not do for you to be distracted. I believe I may confide in you things that I scarcely dare think to myself, for to place trust in anyone in these lands is almost always folly.’ There was sadness in his voice, but a note of optimism, too: ‘You are an honourable man. That, or I am no judge of men at all.’

If the hamadryads had not so savagely ended their own coupling, might he still have been worthy of that esteem? What might have been standing now between him and Henrietta, between him and God — and between him and the rajah? He could not blame any great primeval power, as the raj kumari might, or Selden even. If there was nothing, in one sense, beyond a fervid embrace, there was much else in his heart that called for the most abject contrition. ‘India will sweat the false civilization out of you,’ Selden had told him. And he had not believed it for one instant. To his sins, therefore, he must also add pride. ‘Sir,’ he began hesitantly, ‘I fear that I, as most men, have feet of clay.’

The rajah frowned. ‘Englishmen are inordinately fond of their Bible.’

Hervey looked surprised.

‘You think that I should not be acquainted with your good book? I have read the Bible many times from beginning to end. I read it every day. I would speak with you of it at some time. But I confess I do not remember with any precision whence come these feet of clay.’

‘The Book of Daniel,’ sighed Hervey. The knife — for such was the rajah’s undeserved admiration — was going deep.

‘Ah, yes — Daniel. Remind me of Daniel, if you please.’

Though bemused by the rajah’s diversion, Hervey needed little time for recollection, for it was one of the regular stories of his boyhood. ‘Daniel, you will recall, sir, was a Hebrew slave in Babylon, but he had become something of a favourite of King Nebuchadnezzar.’

‘I trust you see no more than a superficial correspondence with your own situation here in Chintal, Captain Hervey?’ smiled the rajah.

Hervey smiled too. ‘No, indeed not, sir.’

The rajah rose from his cushion to take a book from a recess in the marbled wall. ‘Here,’ he said, holding out the black leather volume, ‘here is your Bible. Read to me where is this allusion to feet of clay. I am much intrigued by Nebuchadnezzar and his slave.’

Hervey could not sense whether there was any design in the rajah’s meanderings, but he opened the bible a little after the middle and turned the pages until he found the Book of Daniel. ‘I think it must be in chapter two, or possibly three,’ he said, searching. ‘Yes, I have it — chapter two. The king has a dream, sir, a dream in which there is a graven image. I will read from verse thirty-two: “This image’s head was of fine gold, his breast and his arms of silver, his belly and his thighs of brass, his legs of iron, his feet part of iron and part of clay.” ’

‘Read on, if you please, Captain Hervey,’ said the rajah, sitting down by a window and gazing out into his gardens.

‘ “Thou sawest till that a stone was cut out without hands, which smote the image upon his feet that were of iron and clay, and brake them to pieces. Then was the iron, the clay, the brass, the silver, and the gold, broken to pieces together, and became like the chaff of the summer threshing floors; and the wind carried them away, that no place was found for them: and the stone that smote the image became a great mountain, and filled the whole earth.” ’

The rajah remained silent for a moment. ‘And what is its meaning?’

Hervey paused a moment too. ‘Nebuchadnezzar was a great king. He is the head of gold, but the kingdoms that follow his shall be in turn weaker, until at last one — represented by the feet of clay — shall be shattered, and a greater one — ordained by God — shall take its place. It is a prophecy of the coming of the Hebrew state, sir.’

‘And what said the king to this?’ asked the rajah intently.

‘He revered Daniel thereafter, sir.’

‘Read it to me please, Captain Hervey. I wish to know exactly what is written.’

Hervey was growing uneasy, sensing now some purpose in the rajah which might run counter to his resolve over the jagirs. ‘ “Then the king made Daniel a great man, and gave him many great gifts, and made him ruler over the whole province of Babylon, and chief of the governors over all the wise men of Babylon.” ’

There was a long silence. At length the rajah sighed. ‘Captain Hervey, your father is a priest.’

Hervey confirmed, again, that it was so.

‘And it is evident that you have much learning in these matters, too.’

‘Sir, I cannot call it learning, only long exposure to scripture.’

The rajah nodded. ‘I wanted first to speak with you of the nizam, for his coming to Chintal is exercising me greatly. But now I am minded to ask you more of scripture. Captain Hervey, I tell you things that I scarce dare think. Our sacred faith is become mere superstition here in Chintal, a constant endeavour to propitiate so many gods that may do us mischief. And some gods do each other mischief so that we do not know, in appeasing one, whether we anger another.’

‘The Bible, sir, is not without its contradictions too.’ He felt reasonably sure this did not go beyond the bounds of orthodoxy.

‘Which is more than the nizam’s religion would admit to,’ said the rajah ruefully.

‘And yet he is tolerant of faiths other than his own, is he not?’ There were no rumours of conversions by the sword.

‘Who knows what is the nizam’s mind?’ sighed the rajah. ‘The best that may be said is that he despises