A Singular Hostage Part 10

Howitzers! Here was something Papa would enjoy: short-barreled cannon made especially for firing sh.e.l.ls at a high angle of elevation. He had never seen one close by....

Papa. If he were here, he would see that she was right about Fitzgerald, who loved her, who loved India as much as she did. This time he would not close the door and make her promise to give up her only friend, the only person she wanted. He would see that Fitzgerald must have left his bride-to-be for a reason.

Major Byrne was still talking. "-I have told you at least twice that you are to have them moved by coolies, and not by animals. The ground near the tent will have been swept, and I will not not allow pack animals to tear it up. And you must not forget that the ammunition is to be arranged allow pack animals to tear it up. And you must not forget that the ammunition is to be arranged close by close by for the Maharajah's inspection. I want two hundred sh.e.l.ls over there, and they for the Maharajah's inspection. I want two hundred sh.e.l.ls over there, and they must must be stacked properly. If I find they have been thrown carelessly onto the ground, you shall be called to account. Do you understand me?" The major pointed at Sotheby's chest. "And make sure the groom Yar Mohammad comes himself. He is not to send that fool Gulab Din with the horses. And mind that the grooms leading the animals for presentation are in be stacked properly. If I find they have been thrown carelessly onto the ground, you shall be called to account. Do you understand me?" The major pointed at Sotheby's chest. "And make sure the groom Yar Mohammad comes himself. He is not to send that fool Gulab Din with the horses. And mind that the grooms leading the animals for presentation are in clean clothes clean clothes. We made a poor showing last time. I should not have to remind you that it is not not the business of the British East India Company to be outdone on these occasions by native princes, whatever their pretensions may be. Remember that, my boy." the business of the British East India Company to be outdone on these occasions by native princes, whatever their pretensions may be. Remember that, my boy."

Smiling suddenly, he clapped Sotheby on the shoulder. "Cheer up, lad, we'll show Ranjit Singh a thing or two. You'll see!"

He turned on his heel and strode across the dusty avenue, a barely discernible honk hanging in the air behind him. A moment later the sentries at the entrance came to clanking, stamping attention.

FIVE miles away, two hors.e.m.e.n rode across the broad parade ground at the Maharajah's camp.

"Since I do not have a quarter of your eloquence," Yusuf Bhatti was saying, "I am glad we are doing this together."

"Eloquence?" Ha.s.san made an exasperated gesture. "In this case, eloquence has no value. There it is." He pointed to a tent made of yellow woolen shawls that had been set up near a spreading tree at the very edge of the ground.

"No one is here but the guards." Yusuf frowned as they approached the silent tent.

Ha.s.san shook his head. "A saddled horse is tethered outside. That means the Maharajah is here. Even when he is ill, his horse is kept ready for him. He is very weak, I am told. We need only wait there." He pointed to a group of reed stools outside the tent. "If Uncle Azizuddin is not with him now, he will be here soon. He rarely leaves the Maharajah's side."

A short while later a stooping, bearded figure emerged from the tent's doorway. Yusuf and Ha.s.san got to their feet.

"Ah, my dear boy," cried Faqeer Azizuddin, the Chief Minister, as he reached for Ha.s.san. "I am so sorry to have missed you at Lah.o.r.e. You had just left when I arrived there. I am heartbroken at the terrible news of your wife."

Ha.s.san accepted his patron's embrace, but did not reply.

"Please, let us sit." An arm around Ha.s.san's shoulders, Faqeer Azizuddin guided him toward the stools. "We do not wish to disturb the Maharajah."

Yusuf studied the Chief Minister as he lowered himself onto a stool. His long woolen coat was creased, his beard untrimmed. The man looked as if he had not slept for days. The Maharajah must indeed be ill, perhaps more than ill.

The Faqeer signaled to a servant to bring water. He turned to Ha.s.san. "You have come," he said, "to ask for Saboor's return."

Ha.s.san nodded. Beneath his elegant turban, his face was as still as stone.

"I cannot lie to you, my boy." Faqeer Azizuddin took a crumpled handkerchief from the folds of his coat and wiped his face. "The Maharajah needs your son. I know it does not seem reasonable, especially at this sad time, but he does." He glanced toward the yellow tent. "When Saboor is beside him, the Maharajah feels hope. He comes alive. He is able to rule. Without Saboor, he is weak. He falls victim to illness, to fits of paralysis and despair. Who can explain such things?"

He returned his handkerchief to its hiding place in his clothes. "As to your son's whereabouts, I can tell you this much-he left the Citadel yesterday. He will, G.o.d willing, arrive here tomorrow morning, in time for the beginning of the durbar. After he arrives, he will remain with the Maharajah until the close of the durbar."

Ha.s.san stiffened. Beside him, Yusuf fiexed his shoulders, his weapons clashing against one another.

The Faqeer looked briefiy at Yusuf. "Do not worry," he continued, turning back to Ha.s.san. "I have arranged for a reliable servant to look after Saboor. I promise you that after the state visit is concluded, you may take your son home to Qamar Haveli."

"Faqeer Sahib, I must must see Saboor before then." see Saboor before then."

"Of course you will, son." Faqeer waved an airy hand. "Of course you will. And now, Ha.s.san," he continued briskly, "we all know that the business of the Maharajah does not stop for durbars. The leaders of Kasur have again refused to pay the Maharajah's tribute money. You must go there and get it from them. It will take no more than a few days. After that, you will see Saboor." He nodded toward Yusuf.

"And take your friend with you. At this painful time, you should have your friends."

The Faqeer's voice softened to velvet as his eyes moved from Yusuf's weapons to his face. "I am sure," he added, "that there will be no attempt to take Saboor away before the close of the durbar in fifteen days' time. You should know that anyone who tries to do so will be risking his life."

Yusuf did not look in Ha.s.san's direction. Both men got to their feet as the Chief Minister stood and took his leave.

As they walked back to their horses, Yusuf spat onto the ground. "So even now you must wait fifteen days to embrace your son while the Faqeer caters to the Maharajah's whims!"

He tugged angrily at his horse's reins. "How can the Faqeer not take your side? Is it for the sake of the villages the Maharajah gives him? How can your father bear to be his friend? I myself would willingly kill him for his greed."

Ha.s.san sighed wearily. "As cruel as he seems, the Faqeer is not to be hated. My father and I know what you do not. The Maharajah is dying, and has not yet chosen his heir. Faqeer Azizuddin is only trying to keep him alive until he names his successor, for if he dies without choosing, who knows what evil will befall us all? The Faqeer humors the Maharajah for the sake of the Punjab, not for himself. How can I refuse him, when so many lives are at stake?"

He shook his head. "No, it is the Maharajah whom I cannot love. And now we must do his work, but we will be back soon. Here, at least, my son will be safe from the queens."

At all times of day," Mariana's munshi told her one afternoon as they stood outside her tent, "there are vultures overhead. They look like black spots circling in the sky." He waved a wiry arm. "Can you see them?"

Her hand over her eyes, Mariana peered upward.

"They are searching," the munshi explained, "for dead and dying creatures on the ground below. Some people believe that they have not always been here. They say that when the Moghul king Babur first entered India, he was shocked to find the carca.s.ses of animals lying where they had fallen, with only ants and crows to carry away their rotting fiesh. 'Has India no vultures?' King Babur asked. When he was told that it did not, he sent for several pairs to be snared and brought back to him from his homeland in Central Asia. According to the story, they have remained here ever since. Whenever you look up, you will see them, making their slow circles in the sky."

Vultures soaring on their appointed rounds high above the Sutlej River looked down on two camp cities that had arisen there in the s.p.a.ce of only a few days.

South of the river's east-west course stood a large, orderly camp divided into two parts. In one, soldiers in red coats and white crossbelts marched to shouted orders on a newly cleared parade ground, while rows of heavy wheeled guns waited, their barrels pointing to the north.

The other part boasted a grand avenue with a red-walled compound and s.p.a.cious tents. From the avenue, smaller streets spread in all directions. Thousands of tents cl.u.s.tered around fires whose smoke joined together to form a horizontal cloud over the camp. Men and boys tended long lines of horses, elephants, camels, and bullocks. At three separate bazaars, each a small city, men, women, and children busied themselves at various tasks-cooking, st.i.tching, throwing pottery, hammering bra.s.s, cleaning ears, shaving hair.

At the midpoint of the camp's avenue, between the red wall and a grand tent with dancing pennants, a dozen decorated elephants knelt on the ground, their velvet housings trailing in the dust. At the avenue's far end, several troops of cavalry in dress uniforms waited on gleaming horses.

Across the river stood another camp city. This was similar to the first, but more fanciful in style, with an expanse of garden blooming at its center and a sea of silk, Kashmir shawl, and striped canvas tents stretching in gay profusion into the distance.

Here, a different body of infantry in native costume practiced intricate drills on their own new parade ground. Howitzers boomed practice shots into stands of distant trees. Brightly dressed cavalry charged imaginary enemies.

Making their way south from this camp toward a newly constructed bridge of boats across the Sutlej River, painted elephants marched behind a detachment of troops in yellow silk and chain mail along a newly cut road toward the river's bank. Beside and behind them, horses danced impatiently in the morning light, their riders aglitter. Bare-chested men in loincloths and loose, waist-length hair followed on foot. Drummers beat a steady tattoo as the procession prepared to cross the bridge on its way to the great camp on the other side.

As the first elephant stepped onto the bridge, running men carrying two palanquins approached the Maharajah's camp from the north. A dozen armed hors.e.m.e.n rode in their wake.

Groaning with fatigue, they made their way toward the camp's center, pa.s.sing at last under a carved wooden archway into a great crowded square where broad pathways led between ma.s.ses of potted chrysanthemums. The mounted guard shouted, pushing aside excited children and men carrying cloth-covered trays.

They deposited the palanquins by a silk tent, the largest of those fronting the square. The scents of musk and amber spilled from the tent, joining other smells-jasmine, orange blossoms, cooking spices, horse and elephant.

But there was only one elephant to be seen. It knelt twenty yards away, its gold-tipped tusks catching the light while courtiers climbed, one by one, up a ladder to its howdah. More men on elegantly caparisoned horses rode off toward an archway in the distance. Of a royal procession there was no sign.

With an echoing groan, the eunuch stretched his legs from the smaller palanquin and held out a hand until one of the guards pulled him to his feet. He peered about him. "Where is the Maharajah's procession? Where is it?"

Perspiration ran down his dismayed face. "We are too late!" His silks fiapping, he rushed toward the squatting bearers. "This is your doing, Neeloo. You insisted on feeding the child! It is you who are to blame!"

As he swung, openhanded, at the head bearer's face, a white-haired man with a full silver beard appeared in the entrance of the silk tent.

"Stop," he said.

Arrested in midair, the eunuch's hand fell to his side as Faqeer Nuruddin, manager of the Maharajah's vast household, strode toward the palanquins. "The Maharajah waited half the morning for you to bring the child," he snapped. "Did I not tell you to have Saboor here before noon?"

The eunuch gave a high squeak, but the silver-bearded man waved an unforgiving hand. "I have no time for your lies, Gurbashan. Where is the child?"

Neeloo pointed to the carved palanquin, where a small foot protruded from beneath a curtain.

Gurbashan the eunuch bent himself nearly double. "Most Respected-"

"The boy's servant is there," Nuruddin interrupted, pointing to a small man with a spa.r.s.e beard who squatted in the shade of a nearby tent. "His name is Ahmad. He is to dress the child and take him to the Maharajah."

He smiled grimly. "You are fortunate that one of the elephants was kept back."

His attention snagged by another problem, Nuruddin moved off, leaving the eunuch to dart away toward the waiting servant.

"-very important to the Maharajah." Gurbashan gestured grandly as he hurried back, followed by Ahmad, who walked with a long, rolling stride. "He is the son of Ha.s.san Ali Khan of the Maharajah's court, and the grandson of Shaikh Waliullah of Lah.o.r.e City."

At the sound of those names, the little servant's eyes widened briefiy.

They had reached the palanquin. Gurbashan fiung back the curtains, covered his nose, and bent down.

He pulled back, his face puckering in disgust as the sweetish smell of unwashed human skin rushed out of the palki. "I do not care what you do with him," he told Ahmad, "only do it quickly. I have had enough of this brat."

"He is hungry," the head bearer offered, as the servant squatted down and looked inside. "We last fed him-"

"Quiet! What have you to do with this?" the eunuch snarled at Neeloo. "You will be punished for making us late. Do not think you will evade my wrath. And you, Ahmad," he said, turning to the servant, "dress him in his court clothes and be quick about it. And do not forget his necklace of emeralds and pearls, his gift from the Maharajah."

He glanced down briefiy as Ahmad the servant lifted the baby from the palki. "We are fortunate. He is most likely too ill to cry. Let us hope," he added briskly, "that he does not die before the end of the day. But if he does," he raised his hands, palms outward, "it will not be my work."

Neeloo and the other bearers did not speak as they trotted away to find water, food, and a place to rest.

"Do you think, as I do," asked the oldest bearer finally, "that the child in the palki is different from other children?"

Neeloo nodded. "Yes," he replied firmly, "he is different."

SABOOR sat unmoving on the ground while the bearded servant studied him carefully, examining bruised skin and frail limbs.

"Look at this small one, grandson of Shaikh Waliullah," Ahmad said aloud. "What does he need?" He poked through Saboor's things. "He needs his clothes and he needs his necklace. But as to his state, it is very bad."

He shook his head worriedly, looking about him at the people eddying to and fro on the paths of the Maharajah's potted garden. Among them, a water carrier swung his goatskin, spraying the path with droplets of water to keep down the dust. The little servant stood up and beckoned. "Oh, Bhisti, come this way!"

"What do you need?" the man asked with the good nature of all water carriers. The full goatskin on his back dragged one of his shoulders downward. The bhisti was small and wiry, but he walked with the characteristically wide, heavy gait of the water carrier. He looked down at the child. "Ah," he said, comprehending, "the boy needs a bath."

He readied his skin as Ahmad pulled off Saboor's unclean shirt and pajamas, then poured water over the child's head until his hair ceased to be matted and his skin no longer stank of neglect. Ahmad wiped the crust from Saboor's nose and the tear stains from his cheeks, then dried and dressed him in a pair of fine satin pajamas and an embroidered satin tunic with gold b.u.t.tons. While the bhisti looked on with interest, his now empty goatskin slung over his shoulder, Ahmad set Saboor's round embroidered cap on his wet curls and hung the rope of emeralds and pearls about his neck.

"What bruises he has," remarked the water carrier as they admired their work. "May whoever has hurt this beautiful child endure ten times his pain in retribution."

"G.o.d is Great," replied Ahmad sadly as he drew Saboor to him and got to his feet.

A man pa.s.sed carrying a heavy tray of sweetmeats. "Stop," Ahmad called, and ran after him, the child bouncing in his arms.

Moments later, holding Saboor against his shoulder with one hand and a milky sweet in the other, Ahmad the servant climbed up the elephant ladder and into the crowded howdah. There he broke the sugary square into small pieces and put them, one by one, into the baby's mouth.

Memsahib, Memsahib, you must hurry!" Dittoo cried, hoa.r.s.e from excitement. "Maharajah Ranjit Singh has come. He is at the end of the avenue with all his n.o.bles, readying himself for the procession!"

Mariana stabbed a last pin into her hair, s.n.a.t.c.hed up her bonnet, and rushed toward the main entrance.

Miss Emily and Miss f.a.n.n.y sat in front of the great tent, in the first of a double row of occupied chairs. As Mariana crossed the avenue past Major Byrne's new staircase, Miss f.a.n.n.y beckoned her to hurry, pointing to the lone empty seat beside her.

Behind the chairs, an expanse of white cloth covered the reception tent fioor. Someone had lined the walls with chests of drawers, tables, and chairs, in an effort to imitate an English drawing room. Beyond, in another, smaller tent, Miss Emily's sofa and the least travel damaged of the dining-room chairs had been arranged in a half circle.

Miss Emily turned and surveyed the arrangements. "I am sorry for poor George," she sighed. "I can see his bedside table by the doorway. They might at least have left him somewhere to put his book."

"I am pleased they have not taken my bed," returned Miss f.a.n.n.y in a stage whisper.

A large crowd had gathered along the avenue. Mariana stirred in her seat. Where was he he? The red coats across the avenue belonged to the infantry. The blue-coated artillery, Fitzgerald among them, must be somewhere else.

Miss f.a.n.n.y leaned confidentially toward her. "Poor Emily has had dreadful stomach spasms all morning. I do not know whether she will be able to last out the durbar."

On Miss f.a.n.n.y's other side, Miss Emily sniffed. "I most a.s.suredly will will last out this durbar. If necessary, I shall have my bed carried to every review and every dinner. I have not come all this way to-" last out this durbar. If necessary, I shall have my bed carried to every review and every dinner. I have not come all this way to-"

The crowd's voices rose with excitement. Children ran out of sight around the side of the tent, then reappeared, dancing excitedly, as Lord Auckland rounded the corner on a large elephant, alone save for his mahout.

"Ah," breathed Miss f.a.n.n.y, "have you ever seen the like of George's elephant? What artists these natives are!"

The elephant's state housings of ruby red velvet, heavily worked in gold, fell below its knees. Its ma.s.sive face, above gold-painted tusks, was a mask of indigo and carnelian. A fringed canopy of gold brocade on four gold posts shaded the curved, golden howdah.

Miss Emily pursed her lips. "A charming effect, like that of a fairy tale. I have never seen George dressed entirely in gold tissue and brocade. What a pity," she added as her brother looked down and offered her a private, lopsided smile. "I don't think he likes likes being a fairy prince." being a fairy prince."

European and native soldiers now lined the avenue, craning their heads expectantly in both directions. Children of shopkeepers and camp servants ran, shouting with excitement, among the crowd. Behind the troops, servants stood on boxes, grinning and pushing one another.

Where was was Fitzgerald? Mariana peered up and down for several breathless minutes, until a British officer galloped past at full tilt, waving his hat over his head, signaling that the Maharajah's party had begun its advance. Orders echoed up and down the avenue. The rows of troops jerked to attention and presented arms. Fitzgerald? Mariana peered up and down for several breathless minutes, until a British officer galloped past at full tilt, waving his hat over his head, signaling that the Maharajah's party had begun its advance. Orders echoed up and down the avenue. The rows of troops jerked to attention and presented arms.

THEMaharajah rode alone in his gem-encrusted howdah, his tall elephant dwarfing the horses of his mounted guard. Behind him, among a group of dignitaries, the king's only legitimate adult son, Kharrak Singh, gnawed his fingernails and stared vacantly down at the pageantry while, in one corner of the howdah, a little servant gripped a frail baby with one hand and the railing with the other.

The Maharajah's most senior ministers and advisors followed on other elephants, also surrounded by a swirling throng of men and horses. Riders danced their horses in the Maharajah's train, while behind each horse, grasping its tail as he ran, fiew a half-naked man, his long hair streaming out behind him. Village children darted in and out of the line of elephants, risking death for the sake of the coins the Maharajah showered onto the crowd from a basket at his feet.

At a command, the Maharajah's wiry little mahout leaned over and spoke to his charge. As the elephant, responding, began to trot, the Maharajah tossed the last of his coins over the side of the howdah and reached, smiling, for a handhold. Little boys broke from the fighting crowd and raced beside the lumbering procession, coughing at the clouds of dust that rose from under the elephants' feet.

On the second speeding elephant, the servant Ahmad began to pray soundlessly, his eyes closed, while the baby drooped in his arms.

AS the Maharajah's train came swaying into view, Lord Auckland's mahout urged his own elephant to a lumbering trot. Behind him, the decorated elephants of the other officials followed suit. Peac.o.c.k feather fans, ta.s.seled standards, and crook-shaped silver sticks bobbed beside the lead animal, their bearers sprinting now to stay abreast of the elephants.

Alone in front, Lord Auckland jounced on his fiimsy golden seat, his face pale with nerves. "Slow down down, slow down down, I say!" he shouted, one hand holding down his golden tricorn.

The mahout, who understood no English, took Lord Auckland's shouts for cries of encouragement, and urged his elephant to run faster.