there had been a discernible strand of purpose — some clarity, even — in their endeavours. However, the rajah’s two rissalahs of cavalry, albeit with remounts in want of schooling, and the three battalions of infantry had the stamp of a brigade drilled with purpose and infused with confidence. That much was obvious at once, testimony to Henry Locke’s aptitude and determination. How the marine had managed it Hervey could not imagine, for the sepoys spoke in so many different tongues and Locke had no Telugu or Urdu, nor even any German, and no others had any English beyond the here and now. It was all the greater surprise, therefore, when Hervey learned that the force was now under the command not of Locke, but of Alter Fritz.
Alter Fritz could not explain why Locke had taken leave of his command. The old Wurttemberger had even less English than the native officers, and Locke had not been able to convey his thoughts well, it seemed. He had therefore given the Rittmeister a letter for Hervey, but in a comedy of errors it had been rendered unreadable when the German’s sabretache had proved not to be waterproof. All that Hervey could now glean was that Locke had become cast down on receiving his note, learning that the nizam’s guns had slipped from their grasp at the border, and that he had left some hours before the news of the destruction on the river reached Jhansikote.
Hervey was now plunged into deep gloom. If he had ever truly thought there to be a chance of overcoming the Pindarees it was only with the resolute help of Henry Locke. What had made him discouraged — Locke, the staunchest of men, the doughtiest of fighters? It was inconceivable that he should take counsel of even his most deadly fears. And yet he was not at his post. Could the sodden letter have contained any explanation that might remove from Hervey’s reluctant thoughts the word ‘desertion’? Surely it must.
But what, now, was he to make of Selden’s fear that Alter Fritz might be implicated in the business of the batta? The officer’s very presence signalled the improbability of guilt — unless he were scheming to deliver the rajah’s lancers into the nizam’s hands. Hervey knew he must trust to his judgement in this. He had not in the beginning always judged men right, but years with the duke’s army had taught him well enough. Taking Alter Fritz to one side as they watched a procession of grass-cutters bearing their loads to the stables, he chose to confront him more or less directly, and in his own tongue. ‘Rittmeister Bauer, could the sepoys have been placed under stoppages without knowledge of their officers?’
Alter Fritz seemed surprised by the question — a not unreasonable reaction, thought Hervey, given their circumstances. ‘Not without the quartermaster knowing,’ he replied unflinchingly.
So plain an answer augured well. ‘And therefore the sepoys were cheated by a European officer?’
‘Yes, and he is dead, I am pleased to say.’
Hervey thought it base to continue in this way: he would speak openly. ‘Certain papers have been found in Chintalpore which suggest that more than one officer may have been guilty.’
‘They are all dead but me, and so you wish to know—’
Hervey, deeply embarrassed, made to stay his words.
‘No, Hervey. It is right that you should consider it — your duty as a soldier.’
Hervey’s look indicated his gratitude.
‘But there is nothing I can say. No papers will show any guilt of mine, yet I can do nothing to prove that I am without it.’
‘You are here: that is enough, perhaps?’
‘
Rani knew why Locke had been downcast. Rani, the hijda whom Hervey had asked to accompany him, knew everything about the gora log. Yes, Rani knew the reason Locke had gone, and now he spoke. There was only one person who knew in advance of Hervey’s intentions, he said in his squeaking Urdu. It was Locke. And Locke had told the nautch girl with whom he shared his bed. Pillow talk had given away the secret, said the hijda, running his tongue between his lips. And now Locke-sahib could not face the shame.
Hervey felt the shame strongly enough just hearing him speak of it.
But Rani knew not quite so much of the gora log as he supposed. An hour later, just as the little force was about to leave Jhansikote for the lower plains, Cornet Templer returned from his galloper duties and was able to disavow all thoughts of Locke’s perfidy — if not of his want of judgement. The dust of the cornet’s hard ride, turning his uniform to the colour of the earth, and caked hard to his hands and face by sweat and the baking heat, neither obscured his fine features nor shrouded his golden hair. Rani’s excitement was all too apparent, but Templer merely smiled where Hervey recoiled, for he had been in Hindoostan long enough.
‘Well, then, man!’ demanded Hervey, his frustration with everything and everybody getting the better of him. ‘What is it that Mr Locke thinks he is about?’
Templer smiled winningly. ‘I saw him on the road to Guntoor — or, rather, to Rajahmundry: the two are as one for much of the way—’
‘Yes, yes, Templer: let us have it directly!’
‘Well, he would not tell me what he was about, only that he would deal with the nizam’s guns in his own way. He said that he had written a full account for you, and had given it to Captain Bauer.’
Hervey could only raise his eyebrows. ‘The Godavari has claimed the account as well as the nizam’s daughters — some of them, at least.’
‘Sir?’
‘It is no matter — not at this time. Continue, if you please.’
‘That is it, sir. Except that Mr Locke said that he was having to work on the presumption that you might be dead!’
‘I could have no quarrel with the logic of that, be assured of it!’ laughed Hervey, pleased at least that Locke’s steadfastness could no longer be doubted.
‘And now, is the collector able to render us any assistance?’
‘Yes indeed, sir!’ beamed Templer. ‘Two rissalahs of Colonel Skinner’s irregulars!’
‘No artillery?’
‘Artillery? Yes, sir: a troop of the Gun Lascar Corps from Madras.’
Hervey looked at him despairingly. ‘Mr Templer, it is artillery which we have greatest need of; you might have told me of them first!’
Templer was unabashed. ‘You have not seen Colonel Skinner’s Horse, sir!’ he grinned.
Irrepressibility was not to be undervalued, Hervey told himself, however trying it might be. ‘Well done, sir!’ he acknowledged. ‘And when might we expect them?’
‘Gallopers were sent to Rajahmundry, where Colonel Skinner’s regiment have come from Calcutta. And the Gun Lascars have already set out from Guntoor. Their progress will not be rapid, for the artillery is hauled by bullocks. Two days, perhaps three?’
‘Oh,’ said Hervey; ‘not as felicitous as I was beginning to imagine.’ And then, as if he remembered an obligation to be at all times optimistic, he added: ‘But a great deal better than nothing.’
All that was a day and a half behind them. As, too, were sixty weary miles of marching, part by day and part by night, until they were come from Jhansikote to the plains of the lower Godavari, the plains where Hervey had first become acquainted with Chintal through the distress of the rajah’s favourite hunting elephant. Now it was so much hotter than then, and more parched, for the monsoon was a month at least in the coming — if, indeed, it came at all. Green was no longer a colour of any prominence on the plains, except in the jungle itself. It was but an hour after sunrise, and already the heat was distorting any image beyond a few hundred yards.
The rajah’s men were breaking camp after hazree — eggs, ghi, pulses, dakshini rice, dried fish, mutton, poori. It was a breakfast, said Alter Fritz — a quartermaster of very singular ability — that would send them into battle with not a doubt as to the rajah’s generosity (and, therefore, their loyalty). Mention of the rajah set Hervey brooding once more: if only he had insisted on his coming here, for sepoys and sowars alike would need more than a good meal to inspire them for what was to come. But they had at least slept well. He had estimated that the enemy would not risk an attack during the night. Why, indeed, should they? Their greatest strength (and, certainly, their superiority) lay in the guns which stood immobile in the redoubts half a league across the kadir. There was little point in attacking at night when that advantage would be at nought. Selden had said they would not attack at all. Pindarees never attacked: they
But not all of the rajah’s men had passed the silent hours in sleep or on watch. Hervey himself had spent the early part of the night writing letters. He was not without hope for the outcome. Assaye had, after all, been a battle
