man who stood before him barefoot, grinning happily.
Well, enjoy your dreams, you poor miserable son-of-a- bitch. I'll not
be the one to tell you this life is all you get.
He took a slug of brandy and returned to his dung-flavored lentils.
Taken with some of the charcoal-flavored bread they were actually
better than he'd expected.
Vasant Rao had already summoned the Rajputs and made assignments for
the evening guard duty. Guards were to be doubled. Hawksworth remained
astounded by the Rajput concept of security. A large kettledrum was set
up at the head of the camp and continually beaten from dusk to dawn. A
detail of Rajputs would march around the perimeter of the camp
throughout the night, and on the quarter hour a shout of "khabardar,"
meaning "take heed," would circle the camp. The first night Hawksworth
had found it impossible to sleep for the noise, but the second night
and thereafter his weariness overtook him.
He poured himself another brandy and watched as Nayka scrubbed out the
cooking pans with ashes and sand. Then the driver rolled a betel leaf
for Hawksworth and another for himself and set to work erecting the
tent, which was nothing more than four poles with a canopy. After this
he unloaded Hawksworth's cot, a foot-high wooden frame strung with
hemp. None of the Rajputs used cots; they preferred a thin pallet on
the ground.
Nayka seemed to work more slowly as he started unrolling the bedding
onto the hemp strings of the cot, and he began to glance nervously at
the sky. Suddenly he stopped and slipped quietly to where the other
drivers were encamped, seated on their haunches around a fire, passing
the mouthpiece of a hookah. A long discussion followed, with much
pointing at the sky. Then Nayka returned and approached Hawksworth,
twisting his head in the deferential bow all Indians seemed to use to
superiors. He stood for a moment in hesitation, and then summoned the
courage to speak.
"It is not well tonight. Sahib. We have traveled this road many times."
He pointed east into the dark, where new lightning played across the
hovering bank of clouds. "There has been rain near Chopda, farther east
where the river forks. In two _pahars_ time, six of your hours, the
river will begin to rise here."
"How much will it rise?"
"Only the gods can tell. But the river will spread beyond its banks and
reach this camp. I have seen it. And it will remain impassable for
three days."
"How can you be sure?"
"I have seen it before, Sahib. The drivers all know and they are
becoming afraid. We know the treachery of this river very well. But the
other bank is near high ground. If we crossed tonight we would be
safe." Again he shifted his head deferentially. "Will you please tell
the raja?"
To the drivers, Vasant Rao could only be a raja, a hereditary prince.
All important Rajputs were automatically called rajas.
"Tell him yourself."
"We would rather you tell him, Captain Sahib. He is a high caste. It
would not be right for us to tell a raja what to do."
Hawksworth watched for a moment as the Rajput guards began taking their
place around the perimeter of the camp, and then he looked sadly at his
waiting cot.
Damn. Crossing in the dark could be a needless risk. Why didn't the
drivers say something while we still had light? God curse them and
their castes.
Then with a shrug of resignation he rose and made his way to Vasant
Rao's tent.
The Rajput leader had already removed his helmet, but after listening
to Hawksworth he reluctantly strapped it back on and called for his
second in command. Together they examined the clouds and then walked
down to the river.
In the dark no one could tell if it had begun to rise. Vasant Rao
ordered three Rajputs to ride across carrying torches, to test the
depth and mark out a path. The river was wide, but it still was no more
than a foot or two deep. When the third Rajput finally reached the far
shore, over a hundred yards away, Vasant Rao issued orders to assemble
the convoy.
The drivers moved quickly to harness their bullocks, which had been
tethered to stakes near bundles of hay. The weary cattle tossed their
heads and sniffed suspiciously at the moist air as they were whipped
into harness. Meanwhile the Rajput guards began saddling their horses.
Hawksworth saddled his own mare and watched as his cot and tent were
rolled and strapped into the cart alongside his chest. He stared again
into the darkness that enveloped the river. Nothing could be seen
except the three torches on the distant shore. Suddenly he seemed to
hear a warning bell in the back of his mind.
We're too exposed. Half the guard will be in the river while we cross.
And there'll be no way to group the carts if we need to.
He paused a moment, then retrieved his sword from the cart and buckled
it on. Next he checked the prime on the two matchlock pocket pistols he
carried, one in each boot.
Five mounted Rajputs holding torches led as the convoy started across
the sandy alluvium toward the river. Hawksworth's cart was the first to
move, and as he drew his mare alongside, Nayka threw him a grateful
smile through the flickering light of the torch strapped against one of
the cart's poles.
"You've saved us all. Captain Sahib. When the river grows angry,
nothing can appease her."
The bullocks nosed warily at the water, but Nayka gave them the lash
and they waded in without protest. The bed was gravel, smoothed by the
long action of the stream, and the water was still shallow, allowing
the large wheels of the carts to roll easily. Hawksworth pulled his
mount close to the cart and let its enormous wheel splash coolness
against his horse's flank.
The current grew swifter as they reached the center of the stream, but
the bullocks plodded along evenly, almost as though they were on dry
ground. Then the current eased again, and Hawksworth noticed that the
Rajputs riding ahead had already reined in their mounts, signifying
they had gained the far shore. Their five torches merged with the three
of the Rajputs already waiting, and together they lined the water's
edge.
Hawksworth twisted in the saddle and looked back at the line of carts.
They traveled abreast in pairs, a torchman riding between, and the
caravan had become an eerie procession of waving lights and shadows
against the dark water. The last carts were in the river now, and
Vasant Rao was riding rapidly toward him, carrying a torch.
Looks like I was wrong again, Hawksworth thought, and he turned to rein
his horse as it stumbled against a submerged rock.
The torches along the shore were gone.
He stared in disbelief for a moment, and then he saw them sputtering in
the water's edge. Lightning flashed in the east, revealing the
silhouettes of the Rajputs' mounts, stumbling along the shore, their
saddles empty. He whirled to check the caravan behind him, and at that
moment an arrow ricocheted off the pole of the cart and ripped cleanly
through the side of his jerkin. He suddenly realized the torch lashed
to the side of the cart illuminated him brilliantly, and he drew his
sword and swung at its base, slicing it in half. As it fell,
sputtering, he saw a second arrow catch Nayka squarely in the throat
and he watched the driver spin and slump wordlessly into the water.
Godforsaken luckless Hindu. Now you can be reborn a Brahmin. Only
sooner than you thought.
A shout of alarm erupted from behind, and he looked to see the
remaining Rajputs charging in formation, bows already drawn. The water
churned around him as they dashed by, advancing on the shore. The
Rajputs' horn bows hissed in rapid succession as they sent volleys of
bamboo arrows into the darkness. But the returning rain of arrows was
dense and deadly. He saw the Rajput nearest him suddenly pivot backward
in the saddle, an arrow lodged in his groin, below his leather chest
guard. Hawksworth watched incredulously as the man clung to his saddle
horn for a long last moment, pulling himself erect and releasing a
final arrow before tumbling into the water.
Again lightning flared across the sky, and in the sudden illumination
Hawksworth could see shapes along the shore, an army of mounted
horsemen, well over a hundred. They
were drawn in tight formation, calmly firing into the approaching
Rajputs. The lightning flashed once more, a broad sheet of fire across
the sky, and at that moment Hawksworth saw Vasant Rao gain the shore,
where he was instantly surrounded by a menacing wall of shields and
pikes.
Then more of the Rajputs gained the shore, and he could hear their
chant of "Ram Ram," their famous battle cry. The horsemen were moving
on the caravan now, and when the lightning blazed again Hawksworth
realized he had been surrounded.
The dark figure in the lead seized Hawksworth's right arm from behind
and began to grapple for his sword. As he struggled to draw it away,
the butt end of a pike came down hard on his forearm. A shot of pain
pierced through to his mind, clearing away the last haze of the brandy.
"You bastard." Hawksworth realized he was shouting in English. "Get
ready to die."
He twisted forward and with his free hand stretched for the pistol in
his boot. Slowly his grip closed about the cool horn of the handle, and
with a single motion he drew it upward, still grasping the sword.
As he raised himself erect he caught the outline of a dark object
swinging above him in the air. Then the lightning flashed again,
glinting off the three large silver knobs. They were being swung by the
man who held his sword arm.
My God, it's a _gurz_, the three-headed club some of the Rajputs carry
on their saddle. It's a killer.
He heard it arc above him, singing through the dark. Unlike the
Rajputs, he had no leather helmet, no padded armor. There was no time
to avoid the blow, but he had the pistol now, and he shoved it into the
man's gut and squeezed.
There was a sudden blinding flash of light. It started at his hand, but
then it seemed to explode inside his skull. The world had grown white,
like the marble walls of Mukarrab Khan's music room, and for a moment
he thought he heard again the echo of drumbeats. The cycle swelled
sensuously, then suddenly reached its culmination, when all pent-up
emotion dissolved. In the silence that followed, there was only the
face of Mukarrab Khan, surrounded by his eunuchs, his smile slowly
fading into black.