Rogue Officer (12 page)

What did not help matters any was the lack of water in the area. They could not spare water to wash. It was a dry arid region, mostly bedrock with granite outcrops. Jack and his fellow prisoner stank. They could not even bear their own company and both were sick. In the end they rolled in the dust to try to cover the slime with a layer of dirt to cut down the power of the smell.

In the morning the havildar ordered his men to make some ropes out of various clothes. These were tied to the bones blocking the pass and with the assistance of the whole group the skeleton was finally dislodged. It had been a long and arduous task and even Jack was relieved it was over. Yes, the elephant’s carcass had delayed the rebels, but even now he could not be sure he was being followed by his men. Who knew where he was? Sergeant King had no doubt surmised that Jack had been captured by Khan and either killed or taken as a prisoner to that man’s camp.

The problem was not yet completely over. Since they were travelling into the high country of the Himalayas, it would soon get very cold and they would need all the clothes they owned. They had to sit and untie all those garments which had been used to make ropes: not an easy task when such force had been put on them. Some of the knots were so tight they had to be undone with men’s teeth: an unsavoury piece of work. By mid-morning all was completed and the group continued on their way, squeezing past the remains of the elephant and on to Tibet.

Jack’s hair was stiffly spiked with dried slime. It went in every direction. There was filth under his nails, between his fingers and toes, and in every crease of his clothes. His companion had fared no better. They both smelled like sick animals. In truth Lieutenant Crossman had never been so miserable in all his life. His arms had been retied behind him and supplies for the rebels strapped to his back. Reduced to a beast of burden now, he hardly viewed himself as human. Certainly the rebels treated him like some dumb creature, prodding him with their weapons when he went too slowly. Not with any malice; it was just an afterthought to them.

It became colder on the trail. At night Jack huddled against his companion for warmth. He had a constant headache, his bowels were playing the devil with him, and he felt giddy and sick much of the time. Hilversum confessed he too was ill. They were both in dreadful physical condition. However, they were not the worst off. At least both men had been well fed and healthy before their capture. One or two of the sepoys had been on the march or run for over a year and had been half-starved before breaking free of their army. On the first night in the mountains the first of them died. He had complained all day of a pain in his left side, just above his hip, which had him screaming in agony by nightfall. At three in the morning he suddenly stood up, announced that the pain had gone and asked for water. After taking a long drink he keeled over, falling stone dead to the ground.

‘What was that?’ whispered the Dutchman. ‘What took him in the end?’

Jack shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Kidney failure? Heart? We’ll never know.’

‘I hope they all die like that,’ growled Hilversum. ‘Every damn one of them.’

Jack made no reply to this, having some sympathy with the idea, but tongue-tied by a conscience which told him that no man deserved to die in such a dreary depressing place as this. On the battlefield is as good a place as any for those who wished to remain a hero in the memories of family and friends. In bed at home, surrounded by caring folk, was a better one if he cared nothing for glory. Up here in this anonymous forbidding rock land, the men were dirty, dishevelled and wracked by dysentery, and it was not a good place or time for a man to quit the world of the living.

‘How are you faring?’ asked Jack. ‘You think you can make it?’

‘Make it to where? We don’t even know where we’re going. I don’t think they know what to do with us. The truth? I feel almost done in. I can’t last a great deal longer.’

‘Me neither,’ agreed Jack. ‘We have to try to escape.’

‘I’ll take my chances with you if you see the opportunity. I’d rather be shot running away than have to endure this stroll through the roof of the world much longer.’

‘Well, we can’t untie ourselves, but we can untie each other. Tomorrow, when we stop for our first rest break, sit with your back to me. You’ll have to undo my arms, because I have no left hand . . .’

‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.’

‘But once I’ve got my good hand free, I’ll be able to do the same for you. Don’t rush off immediately. Wait for my signal. Keep up the pretence that you’re still bound by wrapping the cord around your hands. Am I understood?’

‘Perfectly. You’ve done this sort of thing before?’

‘I’ve been a captive once or twice, but actually never managed to escape without outside help.’

‘That’s very comforting. I’m glad to know I’m in the hands of a professional escapee.’

Jack said, ‘There’s no need for sarcasm.’

A sepoy jumped up and came over to them.

‘You shut up. No talking.’

‘We need to talk,’ Jack shouted at the man angrily. ‘We need the comfort of words.’

‘I am not listening to your excuses. You must keep silent.’

The havildar said wearily in Hindi, ‘Leave them alone – what can they do?’

The rebel stared at his leader then shrugged and sat down again.

Thus Jack and Hilversum found themselves free to talk in normal voices.

‘If we die here, which we may very well do, what will you have left undone that you wished to do?’

Jack, who had been asked the question, replied with some asperity. ‘Killing that idiot Deighnton,’ he said, then instantly regretted the remark. ‘No, no – I didn’t mean that. What then? I can hardly think. Oh, yes, I will have left undone a family. I’m newly married and have not yet had the chance to start one.’ He thought for a while. ‘I haven’t even discussed it with my wife. We haven’t yet had the luxury of time on our hands to talk over such future plans. I’m one of those, you see, who believe that immortality is leaving part of ourselves on this earth. A child. A grandchild. Perhaps several, if one is lucky. Yet, not only that . . . we influence all those we ever meet, however briefly, and part of us rubs off on them. There is our immortality – in that small influence.’

‘I am a God-fearing man, myself,’ said the Dutchman, ‘but I think I know what you mean. I once gave half a rupee to a beggar in Delhi – a spontaneous action, quite uncharacteristic of me. It was before the mutiny, of course. The upshot was the man blessed me with such fervour I knew he would tell his friends about me and that I would live on in their minds – yes, yes, I can see what you mean, I think. A limited immortality though, if that’s not a contradiction in terms, for eventually all who know you will be dead themselves.’

‘Not where progeny is concerned. Grandchildren beget grand-children. The likeness will survive
ad infinitum
, will it not?’

They were both quiet for a while, then the Dutchman asked, ‘Who is Deighnton?’

‘Oh,’ replied Jack, ‘a man not worthy of further notice.’

‘No, please. You’ve aroused my curiosity.’

Jack sighed. ‘A cavalry officer who’s taken it into his head to bring about my downfall. I insulted a powerful friend of his – no, I didn’t just insult him, I struck him. Captain Deighnton is now determined to make me pay for affronting his friend. We’ve already duelled once, but the pistols failed us. I’m sure we’ll get round to it again if I ever get out of this mess.’

Hilversum suddenly became animated. ‘Ah! Now, that’s where I can help you, Crossman. This chance meeting was fated by the gods. I’m the very man who can assist you to kill this officer. You know what I am? You see that bag which the sepoy clings to? My bag. You know what’s in it?’

‘You told me – firearms.’

‘Yes, but a particular firearm. Just guess what it is.’

Jack stared at the now battered black leather traveller’s bag, quite uninterested in its contents at this moment in time.

‘A cannon.’

‘Come on, don’t be frivolous.’

‘This is wearisome.’

‘What else have you got to do? Try.’

‘You’re right, I can hardly stroll down to the mess tent for a glass of Madeira, can I? Um, let me hazard something. Now what does one normally duel with? Single-shot pistols?’

Hilversum first looked disappointed, then brightened. ‘How did you guess?’

Jack raised his eyebrows. ‘It leapt into my mind.’

‘Yes, single-shot pistols. Very accurate and exceptionally well-made pistols. That’s what I do, I sell small arms. There is a pistol in there, a beautifully fashioned single-shot pistol, you couldn’t miss with it. A five-year-old could knock the pip out of an ace of hearts with it. It’s very expensive of course, but how much is your life worth? The balance is perfect, the barrel is made of the finest steel and is as straight as an architect’s line. It has been lovingly crafted, that pistol, every part being precision-made over a long period of time, until the whole is a work of art. All you need to do is point and fire and your opponent will cease to breathe.’

Jack was horrified to find himself dreaming of shooting Deighnton through the heart with this miraculous single-shot pistol.

‘Well,’ he said, composing his thoughts into more acceptable images, ‘the chance will probably never come.’

He lay that night staring up at a great expanse of stars, millions of them, which all seemed closer to the earth than they had in Britain. Jack wondered if Jane were staring up at the same skies, seeing the same heavenly bodies. It was possible. It was entirely possible. The moon was in her sphere of vision as much as it was in his. It was comforting to know they were both joined by its light, no matter how far apart they were.

Then he remembered the time difference! It was deep evening to him, but late afternoon for his beloved wife. Perhaps what Jane was seeing was the setting of the sun, not the rising of a bright golden moon. How easily romance could be shattered by the laws of motion!

He had the vague idea that someone might be responsible for this cold grey state of affairs and derived some satisfaction in cursing him.

‘Damn you, Newton!’

The next morning the rebels killed Jack’s horse and ate what they could of its flesh, taking some of what was left for the next few days. It was pointless taking the whole carcass: it would be inedible within a week. Jack felt sorry for his nag: it had never known real affection and now it was dead. That was the life of a beast for you. They worked you until you were of no more use to them, then they ate part of you and threw the rest away!

Where they were heading Jack had no idea. Indeed he wondered if the havildar himself knew what lay ahead of them. They seemed to be lost in an endless maze of rock chimneys, gorges and towering slopes. Finally the came to a verdant valley overshadowed by a monastery high up on a pinnacle of rock. There was a village at the far end of the valley. Men and women, poor peasants, Jack concluded from their appearance, were working in the fields as the group entered. These farm hands looked up in shock as the rebels dragged themselves along one of the paths which skirted the fields. The rebels were very wary at this point, though Jack could not see them being challenged by these simple Tibetans. It was doubtful there was any kind of military force in the area and it would take weeks to get word to any Chinese governor of this region. Rescue was not going to come running, that much was certain.

They walked past the villagers, who had all paused to view this motley brigade of armed men. The rebels in their turn looked out of the corners of their eyes at the peasants. Jack knew what the sepoys were thinking: what were the chances of robbing this village of supplies without causing too much havoc? It was doubtful that the Buddhist priests up in their stronghold above – the masters of these field workers – were armed or prepared to use violence. Their religion forbade it. This was a remote region though and one had to be prepared not only for the unusual, but also for the extraordinary. Perhaps they had mercenaries or had armed the ordinary population? Any foreigners who had been in here in recent times had run the risk of execution, so little news of Tibet had sifted down to India. No one could be sure of anything in these troubled times and caution was the watchword.

During the rest stop Jack and Hilversum had managed to free each other as they had planned. They had been awaiting their chance to bolt ever since. Now the rebels’ attention was wholly occupied by the situation. Jack saw a clear opportunity to make a run for it. As it happened an ox wagon was coming towards them. Jack waited for his chance. With heads turned in other directions he slipped away without a sound, ducking down on the far side of the wagon. He then rolled underneath it and swung himself up. He hooked his handless arm around the front axle and, slipping his fingers through the planks of the wagon’s base, he held himself off the ground, his boot heels on the back axle. Fortunately the axles of the wagon were turning quite slowly and he did not need to worry about skin burns or injuries.

It was only once he was on his way that he remembered he and Hilversum had agreed on a signal. Jack had slipped away without giving his companion any notice. Still, what could Jack have done? The opportunity had presented itself and had to be taken in a split second. The pair of them could not have escaped in the same way at the same time. They would have been sure to have been seen. Jack acknowledged however that Hilversum’s problem was that now that he had gone the sepoys would be especially vigilant, and would probably check their remaining prisoner’s bonds. Of course, they might carry out their threat to shoot the other man if one of them escaped, but that threat had slipped Jack’s mind.

The Dutchman was just as bewildered by Jack’s disappearance as were the sepoys. It was as if the lieutenant had been spirited away. The rebels looked this way and that, staring back at the mountains from which they had descended, wondering at this spiritual landscape they had entered. One even ventured to suggest Jack had been lifted up by the gods, a suggestion which drew scorn from the havildar and others in the party. Yet there was no prisoner there. Indeed the man had vanished from their presence without leaving a trace. Jack’s importance at this point in their journey was negligible. The havildar was not going to waste time searching for him. The rebels were ordered on their way.