The Sabre's Edge

Sir David's mien changed at once. 'Rangoon? Tell me of it.'

It was like the stirring of a sleepy old lion - at first the mere twitch of an eyelid, a flick of the tail, until by degrees the huge beast was on all fours and circling with intermittent grunts and snarls. Hervey spared him nothing. At the end of his account the resident shook his head and sighed. 'That won't do; it won't do at all!'

'I wonder, sir, if I may have more sherbet?'

Sir David scolded the khitmagar for his inattention, as a lion might swipe at an errant cub. 'You will stay to dinner, Hervey, and lodge here. You will no doubt wish to see your troop properly billeted, but your lieutenant may easily exercise command.'

Sir David, for all his eccentric attire, had by now acquired a wholly commanding bearing. Hervey saw no point in protesting. It threw onto Perry an undue burden of society with Green, but that was the way of it: he was captain and he had other concerns. 'I am very obliged, Sir David. But I had better send for my small kit. I have nothing but . . .'

'Oh, we shall not dress,' said Sir David, airily. 'Not in this month. I'll have the khansamah bring you a robe.' He looked at him intently. 'And at dinner I shall tell you of where our troubles may lie in the months ahead.'

Hervey bathed and then lay down on the narrow divan in his otherwise ample quarters. All about was marble, like the palace at Chintalpore, but whereas at the Rajah of Chintal's seat the air was full of intrigue and menace, here it was peace, although in the resident's words there was a promise of action. He began looking forward to his commission once more. Dereliction there might be - in so many ways Dehli reminded him of Rome - but he sensed it could fascinate. In any case, it was good to be away from the Calcutta garrison, a station full of left-behinds while hounds were hard at work elsewhere.

Hervey closed his eyes. There was not a sound but for a hoopoe and its mate in the garden beyond his shuttered window. They brought to mind Chintalpore again. How long ago it seemed. Was it seven, eight years? He remembered telling the rajah how he wished one day to entertain him in England. Had he really imagined that he might? Or was it that everything was lived so intensely in India? Could he go back there? It would be easy enough - one of the Calcutta coasters down to the Godavari, thence by budgerow as far as he might up that disobliging river, and on to Chintalpore. Godaji Rao Sundur, Rajah of Chintalpore - Hervey was, after all, one of his jagirdars, and his jagir returned a respectable income each year, not all of which was covenanted to the widows of those desperate days' fighting the nizam's guns and the Pindarees. Would the raj kumari be purged of her crimes? Would her father have recalled her from deep in the forest of the Gonds? Or did she scheme and plot still - so reckless a daughter of so sensible a man? Did he really want to see her again? In one respect at least he had no doubt, for even as he lay, her allure had its effect.

At seven, the sun on the horizon and the heat of the afternoon given way to a balmy dusk, Hervey put on the green robe that the bearer had brought him and joined Sir David Ochterlony in his Mughal courtyard. With the resident was a tall, well-made native man, clean-shaven, with sleek hair drawn back and held with a clip. He wore a loose-fitting kurta, white trousers and embroidered slippers, and he spoke freely and easily.

'Hervey, this is Jaswant Sing, my master of horse. And this,' said Sir David, turning to the man, 'is Captain Hervey of His Majesty's Sixth Light Dragoons, who, as of this afternoon, is captain of my escort.'

They both bowed.

'What are your horses, Captain Hervey?' asked Jaswant Sing, with a warm aspect.

'Marwaris, for the most part.'

Jaswant Sing inclined his head in a way that signified approval. 'And you yourself ride the Marwari?'

'I have a charger brought with me from England, but my second is a Marwari, though she is not with me for the present, having been sick.'

'And the Marwari pleases you, Captain Hervey?'

'Oh yes. Yes indeed. I have never seen a better doer' (Hervey checked himself), 'that is, I have never seen a horse that subsisted on so little, and is yet so handy and obliging.' It was too early to volunteer information about the Marwari's endurance in his jungle raid, however.

'The Marwari is from Rajpootana, Captain Hervey, which is my home. If your duties are allowing, I should be very pleased to show you the breeding horses there.'

'If my duties were to allow it, Jaswant Sing-sahib, I should like that very much.' He would leave it at that, for he did not imagine Sir David would be inclined to spare him too soon, if at all.

Sir David was attentive, however. 'One of Rajpootana's neighbours gives me considerable cause for worry, Hervey. I am frankly fearful of a struggle over the succession in Bhurtpore.'

Hervey was surprised by such frankness in their present company.

'You will not know of it, I dare say?'

'I know but a very little, Sir David.'

'Nothing much troubles Fort William but the war with Ava, I suppose. Well, the Rajah of Bhurtpore, Baldeo Sing, has long honoured the treaty of friendship with the Company. He is now becoming frail, and his son Balwant is but a boy, and the rajah is fearful that his nephew Durjan Sal has designs on the succession. The old rajah asked that I invest the boy with a khelat - a sort of honorary dress - as a sign of our recognition of his rightful claim, and this I did in the early part of the year.'

Sir David beckoned his khansamah and told him that he wished to eat at once.

Hervey decided he would not wait on Sir David's pace. 'And I presume therefore, sir, that you have intelligence that this action has not entirely dissuaded Durjan Sal from his designs?'

'Just so, Hervey,' replied the resident, in an approving tone. 'And everything that we know of him says he is without scruple.'

'Jhauts,' said Jaswant Sing, shaking his head. 'They are stubborn beggars.'

Sir David nodded. 'But when they're not being stubborn, Hervey, they're the most courageous men. In our service they would make fine sipahis. I had a mind to visit the rajah now that the cooler season will soon be upon us, for I was not able to invest the khelat in person. I judged it appropriate to go with an escort of King's cavalry rather than native, for Durjan Sal would no doubt believe it possible to buy off any native troops, and it would be well to remind him that not all of the Company's forces are engaged with the King of Ava.'

'You mean as a portent, Sir David? I have but fifty dragoons.'

'Yes, just so. Now, let us eat.'

Two weeks passed, during which Hervey saw little of Sir David but much of Jaswant Sing. The resident was sick for several days - he ascribed it to the change of season - and then when he was recovered enough to attend to his papers, was much occupied with the estimates which were overdue for submission to Calcutta. So Hervey found time aplenty to learn the Rajpoot way of horsemanship, and his neglect of the troop - or rather his delegation of day-to-day command to his lieutenant - he was able to justify by these equestrian studies.

'That 'orse got ginger up its backside, sir?' called Private Johnson, standing at the edge of the maidan one morning.

Hervey sat astride a Marwari stallion which was pirouetting and leaping as if being backed for the first time. He managed to collect it, after a fashion, and walked him over to his groom. 'I'll have you know that this animal is trained for war, Johnson. For combat with war elephants indeed!' 'Oh ay, sir?'

'Yes. And very handy he is too, for all the fire you saw in him.' Hervey made to stretch his shoulder, to relieve the ache that had been growing since he took the reins, but he stopped short. He would give no sign, even to Johnson, that he could feel the musket ball's force still.