The Rape of Venice (44 page)

‘I spoke in haste. That is no apology. I'll meet you at some future time which is more convenient to us both. But for us to fight while you are in command here might jeopardise your career; and, as long as Clarissa is a prisoner, I owe it to her to risk a wound only on her account.'

‘That suits me,' Gunston agreed. ‘I doubt, though, that either of our tempers will support a month in each other's company; so you must excuse me if, while we are waiting for Sir Alured to send up more troops, I do not invite you to join my Headquarters' mess. Captain Laker and his officers will form their own mess when we get back to Bamanghati, and the cavalry always do themselves well, so you'll lose nothing by feeding with them.'

Thank you for the thought,' replied Roger, acidly. ‘But your concern for me is needless. I am not going back to Bamanghati.'

‘You mean to return to Calcutta and attempt to hasten matters?'

‘No; I mean to stay here.'

‘Then you should be put in irons again. Staring at the turrets of Bahna will not free your lady; and do you remain lurking in these woods ‘tis a certainty that you will find yourself a prisoner within twenty-four hours of my drawing off my troops.'

‘My escort will prove quite adequate to protect me. Even under Malderini's malign influence the Rajah, unless first attacked, is hardly likely to send his troops against a squadron of British horse.'

‘Your escort!' Gunston's pale blue eyes began to bulge. ‘Captain Laker's squadron was sent up as a reinforcement. It has now come under my orders. If you elect to stay here, you
stay alone. I intend that the squadron shall retire tonight on Bamanghati with the rest of my force.'

Roger's glance was cold and hard. ‘In that you are quite mistaken. Had you been willing to fight a battle, the squadron would have come under your command. That, I could not prevent. But at least I was successful in persuading Sir John Shore that I am a more suitable person than yourself to order matters for the best in Bahna once the Rajah has been brought to heel. He has appointed me the Company's political agent in Bahna. The Company's political agents are entitled to adequate protection in the course of their duties. I might demand more of you; but I will content myself with Captain Laker's squadron.'

Taking his commission from his pocket, Roger showed it to Gunston, who glanced down it, then said: ‘So be it. As the price of parting company with you, I count the temporary loss of the squadron cheap. But it is getting plaguey hot up here. Now that you have seen for yourself the impossibility of taking Bahna with the forces I have available, we had best go downstairs and at least attempt to be civil to one another for the next few hours.'

With the advance of the morning it had become intensely hot up on the flat roof, and both of them were already sweating profusely; so Roger was by no means loath to follow Gunston below. There, the latter sent for his principal officers and gave them their order of march in a retirement which was to begin two hours before sundown; it was also agreed that Laker should then take over the sprawling group of buildings, that the headquarters now occupied, as quarters for his squadron. Then, except for the sentries, they all slept through the heat of the day.

Dinner, with the habitual disregard of the British for unusual circumstances, was served according to custom at half-past three. Despite the fact that four thousand Indians, all of whom would have taken joy in cutting their throats if a battle had started, were still concentrated within a mile and a half of them, the assembled officers cheerfully gorged themselves with roast meats, and washed their food down with liberal potations of claret and Madeira. Either belching freely or partially concealing their digestive processes with varying degrees of politeness, they then made their way back to their men, who had also been feeding to capacity, and an hour later the retreat began.

While Gunston's force was marching off, Roger again went
up to the roof, and he saw that the Bahna army was also beating a retreat. Evidently the Rajah had now come to the conclusion that there would be no battle that day, and was withdrawing his troops into the city for the night.

After half-an-hour spent studying the walls of the city through a spy-glass, Roger discussed the situation very fully with Philip Laker. He then disclosed his intention of attempting a forlorn hope if the Captain would support him in it with his squadron. At first Laker was distinctly dubious about committing his officers and men to such a desperate venture, but he felt that Gunston had behaved very ill towards Roger, which made him the more anxious to help him; and, after some discussion, he agreed that, if his subordinates proved willing to risk their lives in such an affair, he would take the responsibility for leading them.

The Lieutenants and Cornets were summoned and Roger explained his plan to them. They were mainly young men, mostly eager for a scrap; and, their Squadron Commander having clearly stated that this was a chance in a thousand for them to earn glory for their regiment, they were swiftly caught up in a wave of enthusiasm.

The hundred and eighty-odd non-commissioned officers and men were then paraded, and Roger addressed them. He said that within a few hours they might be ordered into action. If they were, it would be a desperate business and many of them might be dead before morning. But they would not be ordered to attack unless there was a fair chance of victory. Should the action prove successful, they would be hailed as heroes throughout the whole British army, and to enable them to celebrate he meant to distribute a thousand guineas amongst them. Any man who had no stomach for such a fight might take one pace to the rear, and he would be left to do a woman's task of getting breakfast ready for those who had survived the fray.

It was as wicked a blackmail as he had put on Sir John Shore; but the troops did not regard it in that light. As with British soldiers of every generation, from Agincourt to Plassey, they liked the idea of a scrap that had an element of the unusual about it and, provided they were given good leadership, were not afraid to enter one knowing that the odds would be against them. Not a man stepped back.

Roger then called for a dozen men willing to come with him on the specially hazardous first stage of the night's work. There was no lack of volunteers; so he had the officers pick
him three men from each of the four troops, and placed them under a Cornet named Angus McCloud—a gaily impudent young blade of whom he had formed a particularly good opinion on the march up from Calcutta.

Soon after darkness had fallen, the final arrangements were made; then there ensued a nerve-racking period of waiting. The young moon was due to rise soon after midnight; so the initial stage of the operation had to be completed before that, otherwise the sentries who were certain to be posted on the walls might detect an approach to it, however cautiously made. On the other hand, the longer that could be allowed for the inhabitants of the city to settle down for the night, the better.

At half-past ten Roger and McCloud set off on foot with their squad, avoiding the road but making across country for the great gate. A quarter of a mile from it they left the men lying in a ditch and went forward on their own. Through his spy-glass earlier in the evening, Roger had located the house from which he had been let down by a rope, and made a careful estimate of its distance from the gate. The towers at either side of the gate now stood out as stark black masses against the star-lit sky, so he had no difficulty in identifying the house. The windows in it that looked out over the country-side were thirty feet from the ground and there were five of them in a single row. There was a light in only one, and it was not the one from which Roger had descended; but he felt that he was lucky to find even one which was apparently occupied.

McCloud, in accordance with their plan, went right up to the wall and took up a position with his back against it so that he could not be seen from above. Roger remained about twenty feet away from it and, taking a handful of pebbles from his pocket, began to throw them up at the lighted window. His fourth shot struck the wooden lattice-work with a clatter that sounded abnormally loud in the stillness of the night.

After a moment the lattice swung back and the dark silhouette of what he felt sure was a woman's head appeared. Softly he called up to her in Urdu, ‘I would have speech with the Begum Gunavati.'

She did not reply and the head disappeared. With his pulses racing, he waited. He had decided against disguising himself in one of the native robes left in the big farm-house, as its whiteness would have made him much more conspicuous when approaching the city, so the starlight might be sufficient for the woman to have seen that he was wearing European clothes. In
any case, his accent must have told her that he was a foreigner and he thought it certain that she would have guessed him to be an Englishman from Gunston's force. If, after the Wazier's fall, his house had been taken over by the Rajah's people, within a few minutes men might be poking long-barrelled guns out of the window.

Roger, standing there with his pale face upturned, knew that he would then provide a perfect sitting target. He could only hope that, if his fears were realised, the first shots would miss him. By dropping at once he meant to sham death, then, even if he were wounded, the men would after an interval leave the window, and McCloud have a fair chance of getting him away before the guard on the gate came out to collect his body.

The minutes seemed endless, but at length another head appeared at the window. No long muzzle was thrust out so he called up again. For a second time there was no reply and the head was withdrawn. Another wait ensued, but he was more hopeful now, which made it a shade less agonising. Five more minutes passed, then the same head reappeared and another wearing a turban. A voice came to him from above and with immense relief he recognised it as that of Mahmud Ali Kajar.

A quick stumbling exchange in Persian followed. Mahmud Ali left the window and reappeared at another farther along the row. Down came the rope and Roger hauled himself up it. On clambering into the room, he found that Mahmud Ali's companion was the mute in the red jacket who had rescued him from the dungeon. The latter grinned at him and, leaving the Afghan to haul up the rope, led him downstairs to the room in which he had talked with Rai-ul-daula. The Begum was there and rose to receive him.

Having made her a deep bow, he asked with breathless anxiety, ‘My wife, your Highness? Is she safe! Is she well?'

The Begum nodded. ‘Yes, she is safe.' Then, after a second's hesitation, she added, ‘She is still in the harem, and being well cared for.'

‘God be thanked!' he exclaimed. ‘And your Highness's son, the Wazier? I heard that yesterday he had been deprived of his office. A letter was sent to him which may have caused the trouble, but that was no fault of mine. I hope … I trust … I should be terribly distressed if anything serious…'

She shook her head. ‘No; my son has many powerful friends. If Jawahir-ul-daula decreed his death without sufficient cause,
from fear for their own lives they would band together and revolt. The young Prince knows that would be the end of himself. He had dared do no more than confine my son to his own house and put guards upon it.'

‘He is here, then?'

‘No; this is my house. His palace is two streets away. For the present he is safe there among his own people. But for how long, who can say? It is certain that the Venetian will devise some plot to make a pretext for his execution.'

‘Your Highness, I am here tonight in an attempt to rescue my wife,' Roger said quickly. ‘I have brave men outside who can be brought in to aid me. I owe my life to your son. If it be possible, we will rescue him too.'

‘You are a young man of generous heart; also of great courage,' the old lady murmured. ‘To penetrate the city is to ask for an evil death. Your wife is at least fortunate to be the object of such love. Tell me, now, how you hope to recover her?'

Roger gave a brief outline of what he proposed to do. Having heard him out she heaved a sigh. ‘You may succeed in reaching her, but you will never get her away. Your men may hold the gate for a while; but you will be overwhelmed by numbers before you can get back with her to it.'

‘I can only pray that your Highness will prove wrong in that,' he replied gravely. ‘Nothing will deter me from making the attempt. But perhaps you can suggest a better way for me to set about it?'

Her still fine eyes searched his face for a moment, striving to assess what other qualities he possessed besides courage. Then she said, ‘Show me the palms of your hands.'

Obediently, he held them out to her. For a good two minutes she studied them carefully. When she looked up it was with a faint smile. ‘I do not see death in them, yet; and you have audacity without rashness. If left to his own devices my son may overcome his enemies; but at any time he might be murdered. What neither of you could do alone, the two of you may do together. Putting my trust in your stars, I will gamble with his life tonight. By morning he, you, your wife, myself, all of us, will be either dead or safe.'

She paused for a moment, pulled at the dark hair on her upper lip, and went on, ‘I have ways of sending messages to him in secret, and he to others. But that will take time.'

‘You have ample,' Roger reassured her. ‘My troops are not
to attack until half-an-hour before dawn. I did not dare to risk an earlier hour from fear we would lose our way through the streets owing to darkness.'

‘That was sensible. Even so, there will be great confusion. To distinguish friend from foe, there must be a password—a battle cry that my son's men will shout so that your soldiers do not attack them. What shall it be?'

‘Clarissa,' replied Roger, without a second's hesitation.

‘Cla-rissa; Cla-rissa,' the old lady repeated. ‘That is the name of the wife of your great love. Yes, it is suitable. I will write now a letter for my son, and my clever Damaji, who brought you here from prison, will get it in to him. Mahmud Ali Kajar shall go up with you now to get your men in before the moon rises.'