The Rape of Venice (36 page)

By midday they reached Paruli and by evening Bahalda, having covered little more than half the distance that they had on the previous day. At neither place could they find anyone who had seen Gunston's party go through, which disquieted Roger somewhat; but Tej Mewár assured him that they were taking the quickest road to Bahna and should reach the city by the following night.

On the Friday they came down through the mountains to Boalda, and Roger's fears that Gunston might have taken some other direction were stilled by learning that his party had breakfasted there the day before; so they had doubtless arrived in the city of Bahna the previous evening. Soon after leaving Boalda, Roger and his three companions crossed another river, the Kharkai. By mid-morning they were on its far side up in another range of mountains and making their way through a pass that led into the little state of Bahna. Late in the afternoon they came to a forked gorge with a small stream running through it, and dismounted to water their horses. It was there that swift and unexpected disaster fell upon them.

From somewhere up in the crags a single long-drawn note sounded on a horn. Instantly it was followed by the thunder of horses' hooves, wild shouting, and confused echoes from the surrounding rocky defiles. Down both forks of the gorge ahead, and from behind as well, groups of white-clad, turbaned horsemen converged upon Roger's little party.

They had no time to mount; hardly time to draw their weapons. Before they could even get back to back, the three troops of native warriors had met and formed a swirling cloud about them so dense that it shut out the sight of the hills and gorges. Close beside Roger one of his men went down with a shriek, pierced through the chest with a lance that, from the force of the thrust, protruded nearly a foot behind his back. Of the others Roger temporarily lost sight while striving to defend himself. He shot at one warrior with a pistol he had snatched from his holster, and had the brief satisfaction of seeing him roll from his saddle. Throwing the empty pistol in the face of another he whipped out his sword. As he lunged
upward with it, the weapon was nearly struck from his hand by the fierce sweep of a weighty scimitar. At the same instant, a hand from behind seized him by the hair. With a violent jerk of his head, he freed himself, ducked under his horse's belly and came up the other side. As he did so he nearly tripped over Tej Mewár's body. He caught a glimpse of the guide's head; it was almost unrecognisable, having been cloven in two halves from crown to chin. Again Roger lunged with his sword at the nearest of the yelling mob of dark-faced horsemen, but again his slender blade was beaten down. Next moment he received a blow on the back of his head that sent him reeling. He fell to his knees. Before he could get back on his feet, two natives had flung themselves off their horses and seized him from behind. His wrist was twisted until he was forced to let go his sword and his arms were swiftly bound behind his back.

In another few minutes the din, and the cloud of dust kicked up by the melée, had subsided. Still dazed by the blow on the back of the head, Roger looked about him. His other escort had survived the fray, but was held between two of the attackers. A tall man mounted on a fine black charger, and wearing a bright red sash, who seemed to be their leader grunted an order. To Roger's horror one of the men who was holding the prisoner promptly drew a curved dagger and slit the poor fellow's throat from ear to ear.

For an awful moment Roger's anger and disgust were mingled with fear that a similar fate was about to overtake himself. But swiftly his reason told him that he was the prize that the ambush had been set to catch. That explained why care had been taken during the scrimmage not to do him serious injury; these fierce-looking hill men were a band of robbers and meant to hold him to ransom.

Within the next five minutes he had abandoned that idea and come to quite a different conclusion. During that time, with his arms still bound behind him, he had been lifted into his saddle and one of his captors had taken the bridle of his horse; the led horses and the mounts of his dead escort had been rounded up, and the man wearing the red sash had shouted a number of staccato orders. As a result, the thirty-odd horsemen had formed up with military precision, two abreast in a long column, having Roger about halfway down it. The butts of their lances were now stalled so that they stood upright, their bright pennants fluttering in the gentle breeze above the men's heads as they moved off after their leader up
the wider of the two gorges. Roger saw now, too, that the flowing white habits of the men, their turbans and accoutrements had a definite similarity, which was as near to uniform as native cavalry ever came. Suddenly it flashed upon him that he had been captured not by brigands but by troops.

For that there could be only one explanation. Gunston must have realised that the golden-haired Clarissa would be easy to trace, and that on Tuesday Roger might set out in pursuit of them. He had known that by driving his bearers hard he could easily get back to Bahna before Roger could catch him; but on arrival he had taken precautions against Roger's coming upon him unexpectedly there, perhaps by night. To make certain of not being surprised at a disadvantage, he had sent out a troop of cavalry to lay an ambush and, if his old enemy did appear, capture him before he reached the city.

At these thoughts Roger positively seethed with rage; not so much on account of the humiliation that had now been put upon himself, although that was infuriating enough, but at the utter unscrupulousness of Gunston's latest move. He had not the faintest justification for using the Company's troops for his private ends, and as a result of his orders three innocent men had been brutally slaughtered. In the circumstances, Roger felt his own situation to be distinctly precarious; but, even so, he could not believe that Gunston would go to the length of having him killed too. He thought it more likely that Gunston meant to hold him prisoner for a time, while pursuing his amour with Clarissa and unknown to her. Grimly Roger decided that somehow he would manage to escape, and that when he did it should no longer be a matter of a duel. He would see to it that Gunston was court-martialled, cashiered and hanged for the murder of his escort.

Meanwhile the cavalcade wended its way, mostly at a trot, along the winding road through the mountains. As dusk fell, the way began to lead downwards and, after a sharp turn round a great head of rock, Roger saw in the evening light a valley below from which, a few miles distant, there arose the turrets and domes of a walled city. Another hour and they were riding along the flat with farm buildings at intervals at the sides of the road, and the dark silhouette of the city, not far ahead, standing out starkly against the pinkish-gold of a sunset sky.

At length they entered a belt of shadow thrown by a lofty wall, and pulled up before a great arched gateway in it. A horn was blown, a pair of huge wooden double gates were dragged
open and the cavalcade rode into the city. The horses' hooves ringing on the cobbles, it clattered through several dimly-seen streets, then through another archway into a courtyard. Roger was lifted down from his horse and led by the arms by two of his captors through a low doorway. It gave onto a corridor; some way along it another door was opened and he was thrust through it, the door was slammed and bolted behind him.

Left in the dark, and with his arms still bound, he went forward cautiously, feeling his way a footstep at a time. After he had taken a few steps, his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, as enough light was percolating in from the cracks round the door for him to see that he was in a small, unfurnished room. But along one wall there was a stone bench, so he sat down upon it.

He had only a vague idea how long he sat there, but it was in fact just on an hour. Then two armed men in costumes made rich with much gold braid came in for him. They pushed him along through several passages and courts then finally through an ornate doorway into a lofty pillared hall hung with many lamps.

At the far end of it a young native was seated on a throne made from a score of elephant tusks that had been carved, gilded and inlaid with semi-precious stones. At his right on a low stool sat an older military-looking man with a grey upturned moustache. Behind them, rigid but watchful, stood a score or more richly dressed courtiers, guards, and servants bearing peacock-feather fans on long handles.

Roger's escort hurried him forward across the highly polished floor; then, when he had come to within two yards of the throne, they suddenly jerked him back, thrust a foot apiece in front of his and flung him forward. He fell flat on his face, his forehead landing with a bump on the lowest step up to the throne.

Slowly he struggled to his knees, then to his feet. Meanwhile the young Rajah smiled with amusement. Roger put him down as about nineteen. His eyes were black, narrow and cruel; he had a big hooked nose, and a fleshy sensual mouth. Suddenly he spoke, in excellent Persian, but with a slight lisp.

‘I take it there has been no mistake. You are Mr. Brook, are you not?'

‘I am,' replied Roger tersely. ‘And I take it that you are the Rajah of Bahna. May I ask if it was by your Highness's orders that my escort has been killed and myself brought here as a prisoner?'

‘You are quite right,' smiled the young man. ‘We thought it best to arrange matters in that way.'

‘Arrange matters!' Roger burst out. ‘You have been guilty of murder and the illegal arrest of a British subject. I'll have you know that no man within the Company's sphere of influence can commit such crimes with impunity. Unless you intend to murder me, too, the Governor shall hear of this and …'

Oh, but we do.' The Rajah cut him short. ‘Even if Sir John Shore should learn that your death was no accident, he is far too cowardly a man to attempt to call me to account. But there is little likelihood of his ever hearing anything except that you and your men were set upon by robbers up in the mountains and slain there.'

Faced with this callous sentence of death, Roger felt the sweat break out on his forehead. He had never imagined for a moment that Gunston would go to such lengths as to have him murdered. In desperation, he cried out:

‘Your Highness cannot mean this! Why should you desire my death? You have no quarrel with me.'

‘No, none,' the young man replied still smiling. ‘But you must die all the same. I have done what I have done, and shall do that which there is to do, to pleasure one whom I honour and admire. He is, I know, waiting impatiently to see you.'

As he finished speaking, he made a sign to one of the men behind him, who struck three times on a small gong.

For two long minutes nothing happened. While the Rajah and his court remained regarding Roger in calm silence he breathed again. The gong could have been rung only to summon Gunston. Blackguard as he might be, he was a British officer. It was impossible that he really intended to go through with this ghastly business. Roger felt certain now that the whole affair had been staged to scare him and, perhaps because Gunston expected to enjoy the spectacle of seeing him plead for his life.

The thought filled him with new resolution. He would not plead. Instead he would make Gunston look a fool in front of his friend the Rajah by refusing to do so; Gunston might threaten and bluster, but he would never dare to order the cold blooded murder of a fellow countryman.

A door at the side of the hall swung open. Roger turned towards it with a smile of contempt. The smile froze on his lips. It was not Gunston who was advancing towards him but Signor Rinaldo Malderini.

At the sight of the Venetian Roger's heart missed a beat. For a second the blood hammered in his ears and he thought he was about to choke. All his new-found resolution and optimism ebbed from him. Since this was the friend that the Rajah had ‘pleasured' by having his men murdered and himself captured, his hope of life was now even less than it had been when he was dragged down by the whirlpool of the sinking
Minerva.
As he looked again at the pasty pudding-like face with the abnormally compelling eyes, he read his death sentence in it.

Like a large grey cat, Malderini padded up to within a few feet of him, smiled and said in French, ‘Welcome to Bahna, Mr. Brook. When I set out for India I little thought that we should meet here. But I had not forgotten you, Mr. Brook. Oh dear me no. I owe you far too much. And did I not promise that sooner or later I would find an opportunity to repay you all I owe with interest? When I learnt by chance in a conversation with Colonel Gunston that…'

‘Gunston!' The word burst from Roger's lips. For the past four days he had been praying for a speedy chance to plunge his rapier through the gallant Colonel's heart; now he would have opened his arms to him as to a long lost brother. His eyes lighting up with the sudden new hope that if Gunston was in the city he might play the rôle of a guardian angel, Roger hurried on: ‘Gunston! Colonel Gunston. Where is he? I demand to see him!'

‘You are no longer in a position to demand anything—not even satisfaction, should I again knock you down,' Malderini replied with a sneer. ‘As for Colonel Gunston, when His Highness learned that troops were advancing in this direction from
Orissa he sent heralds forbidding them to cross his border; but later he graciously consented to receive their Commander. So Colonel Gunston came here only for three nights as a visitor. The lack of success which he met with in his mission was, I think, more than made up for by the happy time he had with the dancing girls that His Highness provided for his entertainment. He left here with obvious regret and many expressions of friendship, to return, presumably, to the encampment he had established across the mountains in Orissa.'

Having rendered Roger's new hope still-born, the Venetian went on, ‘But, as I was about to say, when describing to us the present state of society in Calcutta, among other names the Colonel mentioned yours. That you should chance to be in India at the same time as myself seemed to me an unmistakable indication by the Fates that they had arranged matters to facilitate my paying my debt to you. I at once put in hand the necessary measures and my faith in the Fates was justified. Like a lamb to the slaughter you walked into my little trap. I felt confident you would have wit enough to pick up the clue of my using Bahna warriors as an escort and, once you were directed to the road we had taken, our gaudy palanquins must have proved as good confirmation as paper scattered by the hare in a paper chase that Bahna was our goal. The Fates were kind to me, too, in having made you so obsessed with Miss Marsham's charms as to marry her. That was guarantee enough that, did I bait my trap with her, you would be certain to come after her in hot pursuit.'