The Sabre's Edge

it was more appropriate to address him by that style rather than as 'General'.

Sir David did not reply at once, nodding as if in a dream.

Hervey stood at attention but removed his cap, uncertain how the interview would proceed. Without doubt, there was here before him what in Calcutta they called a 'mofussil eccentric', one who had been overlong in native India. Any reference to military rank seemed incongruous, and the display of military normality that had attended his arrival only served to make the situation seem more absurd. It was not entirely true to say that his heart sank, but it was not nearly so light as when he had begun his assignment. 'I have the honour to report for duty, three officers and fifty-three dragoons at your service, sir.'

Sir David took the pipe from his mouth and beckoned a khitmagar to bring a chair. 'And a pipe,' he called after him in Urdu, or something very like it, for Hervey grasped its meaning.

'No, thank you, sir. I am, in truth, rather parched.'

'My dear boy, my dear boy!' Sir David took the pipe from his mouth again and bellowed, ^‘Quai hai! Sherbet for Captain Hervey-sahib!'

Hervey took his seat and waited to be spoken to, doubts crowding in apace.

The silence continued. Sir David, pipe to his mouth once more, was content to sit and contemplate the new arrival.

At length he seemed satisfied. He took the pipe from his mouth and nodded. 'How are things in Calcutta?'

It was a not unreasonable question, except that Hervey had scarcely moved beyond the confines of the garrison save to the Somerviles' house at Fort William since coming from Rangoon. He trusted that the resident had no more appetite for drawing-room gossip than he. 'In as far as I can say, Sir David, the war with Ava goes badly. There is news, or rumour perhaps would be the better description, that Lord Combermere shall succeed Sir Edward Paget next year. Beyond that I fear there is little I know.'

Sir David's expression of surprise was very pronounced. 'Calcutta has become an exceedingly dull place these late years if that is the extent of your intelligence!'

Hervey sighed inwardly; this was very like keeping company with an ageing parent. He would have to try hard not to become by turns impatient or indulgent. 'In truth, Sir David, I have been laid low these past months, and confined largely to the military lines.'

Sir David looked vexed. 'Laid low? Laid low with what?'

Hervey forced himself to remember that he was speaking to the hero of Nipal. 'I received a ball in my shoulder at Rangoon, Sir David, and thereafter contracted the fever.'

Sir David's mien changed at once. 'Rangoon? Tell me of it.'

It was like the stirring of a sleepy old lion - at first the mere twitch of an eyelid, a flick of the tail, until by degrees the huge beast was on all fours and circling with intermittent grunts and snarls. Hervey spared him nothing. At the end of his account the resident shook his head and sighed. 'That won't do; it won't do at all!'

'I wonder, sir, if I may have more sherbet?'

Sir David scolded the khitmagar for his inattention, as a lion might swipe at an errant cub. 'You will stay to dinner, Hervey, and lodge here. You will no doubt wish to see your troop properly billeted, but your lieutenant may easily exercise command.'

Sir David, for all his eccentric attire, had by now acquired a wholly commanding bearing. Hervey saw no point in protesting. It threw onto Perry an undue burden of society with Green, but that was the way of it: he was captain and he had other concerns. 'I am very obliged, Sir David. But I had better send for my small kit. I have nothing but . . .'

'Oh, we shall not dress,' said Sir David, airily. 'Not in this month. I'll have the khansamah bring you a robe.' He looked at him intently. 'And at dinner I shall tell you of where our troubles may lie in the months ahead.'

Hervey bathed and then lay down on the narrow divan in his otherwise ample quarters. All about was marble, like the palace at Chintalpore, but whereas at the Rajah of Chintal's seat the air was full of intrigue and menace, here it was peace, although in the resident's words there was a promise of action. He began looking forward to his commission once more. Dereliction there might be - in so many ways Dehli reminded him of Rome - but he sensed it could fascinate. In any case, it was good to be away from the Calcutta garrison, a station full of left-behinds while hounds were hard at work elsewhere.

Hervey closed his eyes. There was not a sound but for a hoopoe and its mate in the garden beyond his shuttered window. They brought to mind Chintalpore again. How long ago it seemed. Was it seven, eight years? He remembered telling the rajah how he wished one day to entertain him in England. Had he really imagined that he might? Or was it that everything was lived so intensely in India? Could he go back there? It would be easy enough - one of the Calcutta coasters down to the Godavari, thence by budgerow as far as he might up that disobliging river, and on to Chintalpore. Godaji Rao Sundur, Rajah of Chintalpore - Hervey was, after all, one of his jagirdars, and his jagir returned a respectable income each year, not all of which was covenanted to the widows of those desperate days' fighting the nizam's guns and the Pindarees. Would the raj kumari be purged of her crimes? Would her father have recalled her from deep in the forest of the Gonds? Or did she scheme and plot still - so reckless a daughter of so sensible a man? Did he really want to see her again? In one respect at least he had no doubt, for even as he lay, her allure had its effect.

At seven, the sun on the horizon and the heat of the afternoon given way to a balmy dusk, Hervey put on the green robe that the bearer had brought him and joined Sir David Ochterlony in his Mughal courtyard. With the resident was a tall, well-made native man, clean-shaven, with sleek hair drawn back and held with a clip. He wore a loose-fitting kurta, white trousers and embroidered slippers, and he spoke freely and easily.

'Hervey, this is Jaswant Sing, my master of horse. And this,' said Sir David, turning to the man, 'is Captain Hervey of His Majesty's Sixth Light Dragoons, who, as of this afternoon, is captain of my escort.'

They both bowed.

'What are your horses, Captain Hervey?' asked Jaswant Sing, with a warm aspect.

'Marwaris, for the most part.'

Jaswant Sing inclined his head in a way that signified approval. 'And you yourself ride the Marwari?'

'I have a charger brought with me from England, but my second is a Marwari, though she is not with me for the present, having been sick.'

'And the Marwari pleases you, Captain Hervey?'

'Oh yes. Yes indeed. I have never seen a better doer' (Hervey checked himself), 'that is, I have never seen a horse that subsisted on so little, and is yet so handy and obliging.' It was too early to volunteer information about the Marwari's endurance in his jungle raid, however.

'The Marwari is from Rajpootana, Captain Hervey, which is my home. If your duties are allowing, I should be very pleased to show you the breeding horses there.'

'If my duties were to allow it, Jaswant Sing-sahib, I should like that very much.' He would leave it at that, for he did not imagine Sir David would be inclined to spare him too soon, if at all.

Sir David was attentive, however. 'One of Rajpootana's neighbours gives me considerable cause for worry, Hervey. I am frankly fearful of a struggle over the succession in Bhurtpore.'

Hervey was surprised by such frankness in their present company.

'You will not know of it, I dare say?'

'I know but a very little, Sir David.'

'Nothing much troubles Fort William but the war with Ava, I suppose. Well, the Rajah of Bhurtpore, Baldeo Sing, has long honoured the treaty of friendship with the Company. He is now becoming frail, and his son Balwant is but a boy, and the rajah is fearful that his nephew Durjan Sal has designs on the succession. The old rajah asked that I invest the boy with a khelat - a sort of honorary dress - as a sign of our recognition of his rightful claim, and this I did in the early part of the year.'

Sir David beckoned his khansamah and told him that he wished to eat at once.

Hervey decided he would not wait on Sir David's pace. 'And I presume therefore, sir, that you have intelligence that this action has not entirely dissuaded Durjan Sal from his designs?'

'Just so, Hervey,' replied the resident, in an approving tone. 'And everything that we know of him says he is