A Far Horizon (9 page)

The matter of the worms decided him to disembark at Calcutta, requesting a term on land at the Company hospital attached to Fort William. He found a town that promoted ingenuity and where a change of profession was not unusual if gain was to be found. His work as a lawyer for the Company soon exceeded his hours of purging and bleeding. Eventually his doctoring had ceased in favour of the law. He had never regretted the change.

Drake’s voice interrupted Holwell’s reverie. ‘We must settle many issues with regard to Fort William before the old man dies.’

Holwell looked around. Across the room he saw the various knots
of men surrounding the powerful figures of the Jagat Seth brothers, Mir Jaffir and his son-in-law Mir Kaseem. Above them all towered Raja Rai Durlabh, Alivardi Khan’s chief minister and commander general of the army, surrounded by his sycophants. The
commander’s
power was legend and his wily sense of preservation had seen him remain in his post longer than any other prince. It was rumoured that even Siraj Uddaulah treated the commander with respect. As the Chief Magistrate turned to draw the Governor’s attention to Rai Durlabh, a man appeared at his side. He carried a message that a Murshidabad nobleman wished to see them. They would be taken to him later that night. Even when pressed with money, the man would reveal no names.

‘Now what business is afoot?’ Drake chuckled, wiping his face with his handkerchief.

‘We shall soon see,’ replied the Chief Magistrate, still observing the commander across the room.

*

Although the palanquin was large and accommodated both men, the Chief Magistrate was forced to sit with his chin upon his chest and his legs doubled up like a grasshopper. The Governor was pressed not for height but for breadth. Thick curtains of damask surrounded them. Holwell was bumped about by the rapid pace of the runners and his legs constantly tangled with Drake’s as he sought to improve his position within the swaying litter. Already Drake was sweating profusely from excitement. The ripe smell of his linen charged their stuffy tent.

‘Anything to see?’ Drake enquired, as Holwell parted the curtains.

The Chief Magistrate stared out into the night. The bare shoulders of the runners appeared just below him, their breath rasping harshly. Holwell strained his eyes in the darkness. They had left the town behind; the runners’ flares revealed fields and jungle. The howl of wild dogs and the shriek of night creatures came to them. Huts lined the road, a smell of nightsoil filled the air. A grove of mango trees passed, dissolving blackly into the night. Above them the moon
glimmered through thin clouds, its light spilling over an expanse of water. Holwell could not push his head any further out of the litter for fear of losing his balance.

‘There is a lake,’ he announced. As he spoke he saw the dark shape of a building rising from its depths. Even in the darkness he could not mistake Motijil, the watery palace of Alivardi Khan’s eldest daughter, Ghasiti Begum.

‘Motijil,’ Holwell informed Drake as they approached the narrow strip of land that served as a bridge across the lake to the Palace of Pearls. The silhouette of minarets stood out against the sky.

‘Then it must be the Young Begum we have been summoned to see,’ Drake confirmed as they were bumped across the bridge and through a further set of gates. Flares lit up the night as they entered the courtyard, and the gates swung shut behind them. They emerged from the litter and stretched their cramped legs before the heavily fortified palace. They were quickly escorted into the building and up a flight of winding stairs.

The walls and domed ceiling of the chamber they entered were set with designs in chips of mirrored glass. Oil lamps flickered, reflecting about them like a thousand stars. At first Holwell hesitated, for it seemed they were in an enchanted place. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward. About him the smell of incense mixed strongly with that of charred wicks. He saw that a great many timepieces stood about upon tables of inlaid marble. Several ornate grandfather clocks were marshalled side by side at the far end of the room. Each clock was set at a different hour for reasons the Chief Magistrate could not comprehend. Their tinny hearts beat against the walls in a constant drumming echo. Mattresses and bolsters were arranged before a dividing wall of marble filigree.

As the Governor and the Chief Magistrate prepared to seat themselves, a small entourage of men crowded into the room. The Chief Magistrate at once recognised the Raja Rai Durlabh and behind him the equally powerful Mir Jaffir. That both men were present at this meeting confirmed for Holwell that the intrigue was of the
highest order. Two more wily men were hard to find in
Murshidabad
. Mir Jaffir was a brother-in-law of Alivardi Khan and the nawab’s Paymaster General. From behind the filigreed screen came a rustle of silk, the light clink of bangles and a sudden wave of indescribable perfume. It was neither Rai Durlabh nor Mir Jaffir who spoke through the interpreter but the
diwan
of the Young Begum’s late husband, a prince of some importance who it was rumoured was now established as her lover.

‘Alivardi Khan is not long for this world. We must look to the future now. From the Emperor in Delhi there is as yet no confirmation for the accession of Siraj Uddaulah. Such a
confirmation
is needed in order to legally rule.’ The
diwan
spoke smoothly, his eyes resting in turn upon the Chief Magistrate and then upon the Governor.

The incessant ticking of clocks hammered in the Chief Magistrate’s head. The strong perfume about him appeared suggestive of the barbarities enacted in these rooms. A moment of panic overwhelmed him. Almost at once a grandfather clock began its deep strumming. The Chief Magistrate’s hands turned clammy. In this fortress he could die and no one would be the wiser. His body could lie forever at the bottom of the lake, fodder for fish and water snakes. A lamp glowed behind the filigree screen and showed the outline of a seated figure, surrounded by wide skirts. The Chief Magistrate strained his eyes to assess the Young Begum better.

Everyone knew the story of Ghasiti, and her obsessive love for her father. On the death of her impotent husband, Ghasiti Begum returned to Murshidabad, to this palace on the lake, to be near her ailing father. She brought with her a treasure of considerable worth and also a sizeable army. Childless, she had adopted the infant son of Siraj Uddaulah’s brother. She intended to surreptitiously rule Bengal once the child was on the throne. Suddenly the Young Begum began to speak and the
diwan
fell silent. Holwell knew it was unheard of for a woman to speak publicly in this way, but it was well known that Ghasiti Begum made it a habit to break rules.

‘My nephew has little love for you Englishmen. He does not value your trade. If he ascends the throne he will throw you out of Benga.’ The rasp of pent-up anger reverberated through the words.

‘We seek your help,’ the
diwan
explained. ‘Only the merchant Omichand has knowledge of what we speak of.’

‘What help can we be to you?’ Governor Drake enquired, anxious to establish his presence before these nobles. To the Governor’s frustration, the Chief Magistrate’s haughty demeanour and seniority in years drew the attention of the noblemen for lengthy spans of time. Drake felt almost superfluous in the crowded room.

‘Siraj Uddaulah prepares even now to put down all opposition. The Begum has her husband’s treasure, which we now need to hide. This treasure will be used for the revolution to depose Siraj Uddaulah. We ask that you keep it safe within your fort at Calcutta,’ the
diwan
announced.

‘How is this treasure to be transported, provided of course that we agree to take it?’ Holwell asked.

‘My son, Kishindas, is already in Calcutta with the treasure. He is the guest of the merchant Omichand. For the moment the treasure is in his house. My son left Murshidabad on the excuse of a pilgrimage to Orissa,’ the
diwan
informed them.

‘In thanks, your licences for trade would be greatly increased and a part of the treasure will be given you. Such provision you will not get from my nephew. And, immediately, a gift of fifty thousand rupees will be made available to you both upon the promise of help,’ announced the throaty voice behind the screen. Ghasiti Begum’s words were almost lost beneath the crashing chime of another grandfather clock. Each stroke hacked deep into the Chief
Magistrate’s
frazzled mind. Eventually silence settled once more within the room.

‘You can be assured of our help and support,’ Holwell responded, anxious to make their answer known before the next clock began to strike. He saw there was no choice in the matter; they could not
afford to ignore a faction who tomorrow might be in power. Yet it was a dangerous business.

‘We must act quickly. Time is not upon our side,’ the
diwan
informed them.

At the mention of time, the Chief Magistrate thought suddenly of Alivardi Khan. Each impatient chime he heard might mark the last breath of the old nawab. And no less for Holwell himself. One wrong move or one loose word would see his head upon either the sword of Siraj Uddaulah or that of his aunt, Ghasiti Begum. Holwell turned to stare at Raja Rai Durlabh, who sat with a bored expression on his fleshy face, as if he took no part in the conspiracy. A thick beard was parted to meet in great wings on either side of his face like the whiskers of a cat. Already Holwell had an image of the man riding fearlessly into battle. Both Mir Jaffir and Rai Durlabh were deep in Siraj Uddaulah’s camp; nobody else in the room had such access to the nawab, or the ability to arrange the prince’s assassination. If either man decided to play the traitor, everyone’s life would be in danger. The Chief Magistrate shifted uncomfortably against his silken bolster as Governor Drake repeated his avowal of help.

‘Soon Siraj Uddaulah will see through this ruse of a pilgrimage. Spies will betray us. You must return quickly to Calcutta to secure the treasure. All other business can wait.’ As the
diwan
rose to end the interview, a large brocade purse with a gold drawstring was placed before Holwell and Drake. It sat heavily upon the floor, the weight of its contents clear.

From behind the screen there was once more the rustle of silk and the clink of bangles as the Young Begum departed. Servants appeared and the Englishmen were led back down to the courtyard. As they left the room, a clock struck four, although it was past ten.

Outside, the Chief Magistrate gulped in the cool air and the heavy tang of the lake. In the confines of the palanquin again, the two men were at first silent, each ruminating upon the past hour, acutely aware of the silken purse that now sat between them in the litter. The Chief Magistrate lay back in exhaustion, no longer caring if his legs
tangled with Drake’s. The heavy bulk of the purse, although pleasant to contemplate, already filled the night with a sinister weight. The black shadow of the palace drew slowly away behind them.

‘We will gain much by supporting the Young Begum.’ Drake’s voice was filled with the boyish bounce of a young man set on adventure.

‘It is a dangerous business,’ the Chief Magistrate warned. ‘Never before has Fort William concerned itself with court intrigue.’ The purse pushed coldly against his calves, the hard coil of gold coins thrusting through it.

‘Rai Durlabh will do away with Siraj Uddaulah. I do not think Mir Jaffir is the man for such work. If he does this quickly there can be little danger,’ Drake announced brightly.

‘We English have been traders, not king-makers here. What if Rai Durlabh cannot or will not rid himself of the prince? What if Siraj Uddaulah hears we have the treasure and comes down upon us?’ The Chief Magistrate was filled with doubts.

‘What have we to lose? If the Young Begum’s faction wins we will have accrued much personal money, and new power for Calcutta. And if not, well, let us think of that then. We can always gift the treasure to Siraj Uddaulah or keep it ourselves if we can,’ Drake replied. The Chief Magistrate frowned at such flippancy.

‘I do not think there is really any need for the Council to know of the Young Begum’s personal gift to us. Clearly, the fifty thousand is to be divided between us two alone,’ Drake continued.

‘Certainly, no need. The treasure, of course, is another matter. The Council will have to be told and Fort William’s reward shared fairly with them,’ Holwell snapped, his nerves taut. Drake’s very presence now annoyed him.

‘We have nothing to lose on any front,’ the Governor repeated, for once firm in his opinion.

The Chief Magistrate leaned back and closed his eyes in sudden fatigue. He remembered again how long ago he had stood on the beach, his eyes trained upon the horizon, watching the ships
disappear beyond it. When eventually he had set sail for India, he found, however many miles he travelled, his distance from that elusive line never seemed to alter. The horizon lay always before him, always beyond his reach. When at last he arrived in India and, disembarking, turned upon that alien shore to measure the distance he had travelled, he saw the horizon had slipped behind him. He had the feeling then that he had passed imperceptibly through a strange portal to emerge on the dark side of a mirror.

He remembered too how on the deck of the ship carrying him to India he had stood before the noxious casks of water contemplating the precariousness of his life. The ship beneath him rocked, small as a thimble upon the great ocean, liable with every wave to spill him to a watery grave. And that strange horizon towards which he sailed came again into his mind. He saw now that it was like that invisible line that separates life from death. He had watched his father die, quietly, imperceptibly, with a single exhalation slipping across that mysterious divide. Who could tell where the dead went, what happened to them once they were sucked across that line? And in that same way, who could see the future, lying always beyond the same unmoving line? He remembered then that he had looked down into the vat of water with its wriggling mass of worms. When they had set sail there had been no sign of the creatures; the water had been clear. From where had they come? Had they lain invisible in the cask until the time to hatch was ripe? For the first time then a terrible fear had taken hold of him. Perhaps he had journeyed too far. What lay ahead he could neither forsee nor imagine. In the clearness of that long ago morning he had known only that experience waited for him, ready to hatch when least expected with the same vile flourish as those worms.