Barbara Cleverly - The Palace Tiger

‘“Grand vizier”, however?’ Zalim smiled. ‘Yes, I rather think I like that! I’m sure I’m no Thomas Wolsey, though I confess I am not conscious of the gentleman. Did he have a happy life?’ he enquired blandly. ‘Commander Sandilands?’ he added, picking out Joe. ‘A friend of Edgar’s, I understand?’

His handshake was firm and brief, his smile warm. Joe reminded himself that the Dewan was known to have taken an excellent degree in History at Oxford. Settling companionably into the empty chair next to Joe, Zalim poured himself a brandy and accepted a cigar from Colin O’Connor. Joe had met men like this before: men who could light up a room with their presence. It was not an attribute solely of the wealthy or high-ranking: Joe remembered a private who, quite unconsciously, had had the same effect on whatever dug-out or filthy dark hole in the trenches he fetched up in. The barmaid at the King’s Head in Cheapside could have written a treatise on it — if she had been able to write. Joe’s housemaster would have called it ‘leadership’ but it was more than that. It had elements of optimism and humour and an ability to enhance the morale of any group in which they found themselves.

Joe recalled Govind’s account of the lineage of the Rajput princes. They were of the Suryavansa, the Solar Race, he’d said. Everywhere on the palace walls Joe had noticed emblems of the sun: golden, smiling faces, beneficent and life-giving. He looked again at the broad cheerful face of Zalim Singh and saw a descendant of the sun god.

He remembered the plaque mounted on a shutter above the elephant gate in the courtyard. How much more convincingly the face of Zalim Singh would have shone forth from the window on an overcast day than the ascetic features of his younger brother.

Joe determined as soon as convenient to ask Edgar to fill in the background of the previous succession for him. How had it happened that such an obvious choice for leader as Zalim had been passed over for his younger brother? Did he resent it? And now that the present ruler was growing weak and his days were numbered, had Zalim decided to take a hand in deciding the next succession? With the raja’s two legitimate sons both now dead, surely it was a straight run through to the gaddi for him? Joe looked again at the powerful golden and white presence at his side and a chill shiver trickled down his back as he remembered there was a third possible impediment in Zalim’s path to the throne. Bahadur. His illegitimate nephew.

For a moment Joe’s head spun. He felt the dizzying disorientation of being thrust into an alien culture. This was not his world. Nothing here was truly familiar. Parisian chefs, Lalique crystal, Dow’s port, these were so much foam on the surface of deeply foreign waters.

His brief from Sir George had been short and unsatisfactory. ‘Remember at all times, Joe, the treaty we signed with the prince of Ranipur in 1818. . Here — I’ve had a copy made for you. . you’ll find it interesting. I’m looking at Clause 8. . got it? I quote, “The maharaja and his heirs and successors shall remain absolute rulers of their country, and their dependants, according to long-established usage; and the British civil and criminal jurisdiction shall not be introduced into that principality.” Criminal jurisdiction — that’s where you come in, Joe — or rather where you don’t come in.’

‘Thank you for pointing that out, sir. I’ll leave my fingerprint kit and handcuffs at home. So, I’m being sent in in an advisory capacity only?’

‘Um. . not even that, I’m afraid.’ Sir George had looked uncomfortable.

‘Does the absolute ruler have such a thing as a police force of his own?’ Joe enquired mildly.

‘Yes. But don’t count on any assistance from them,’ said George. ‘They wouldn’t recognize themselves as “policemen”. They are the Royal Guard. Bodyguards, henchmen, knives for hire, assassins on request. In fact, Joe, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if your target is actually among their ranks. But I mustn’t say more. . it’s all speculation at best at this distance. That’s why you’re going with Edgar, my boy — to keep a watching brief and report back. No need to. . er. . go sleuthing about the place in a visible way, you understand. Could get you into a lot of trouble.’

Joe had been running his eye down the treaty document with a good deal of interest. ‘I say, sir,’ he said, frowning, ‘have you seen this at the end of the treaty? It says, “Done at Dihlee this sixth day of January, AD 1815.” Signed and sealed by Mr Charles Theophilus Metcalfe, Resident. And the treaty is between the Honourable English East India Company and the Raja Maun Singh of Ranipur. The East India Company? Long defunct! Does this piece of paper still have relevance? Is it still legal?’

‘Oh, yes. Look at Clause 1. Good opening, I think you’ll agree. “There shall be perpetual friendship and alliance between the Honourable East India Company and the Raja of Ranipur. The friends and enemies of one party shall be friends and enemies of both. The British Government engages to protect the principality and territory of Ranipur in perpetuity.” Well, there you have it. The government of the day took over the rights and the responsibilities of John Company on his dissolution. We, that is HM Gov., gave its word. And you don’t welch on a Rajput! We’ve protected them and they’ve done much for us over the years. Did Edgar tell you how the prince of Ranipur came by his nineteen gun salute and his title of Maharaja?’

Joe shook his head.

‘It was well earned and springs from their respect for the female sex. In the darkest days of the Sepoy Revolt when the British were being slaughtered by elements of the Indian army a small contingent of women and children were shipped off in boats down the river by their menfolk who were making a last rearguard stand against the native forces. A desperate measure and the pursuing rebels soon caught up with them, riding along the bank and howling with glee when they saw that the boats were awash and beginning to sink. What they hadn’t realized was that they’d strayed into the territory of the prince of Ranipur. He remembered the treaty his great grandfather had signed and set about upholding his part of the bargain. He sent a rescue party out to pull the women and children to safety on the southern bank and loosed his crack troops against the rebels on the northern bank. Routed them and held the British civilians in safety until they were picked up many weeks later by a recovered British force. A very grateful British force. He was given his increased gun salute and the plain Raja became Maharaja — great ruler. And they acquired a good story to tell, one of bravery, chivalry and Rajput honour. I think that’s why we get on so well with the Rajputs — we admire the same qualities.’

Joe had fought back the temptation to add, ‘And Machiavellian deviousness? How about that quality, George?’ He thought he knew the answer.

His eyes rested again on what he suspected was the Machiavelli of Ranipur. Zalim was eagerly inviting the company to step outside and enjoy the night air, now cooling, he promised, as it wafted upwards from the lake behind the palace. An entertainment had been laid on for them in the courtyard.

They followed him, brandy glasses in hand, along a short corridor and down a flight of steps, emerging into the dark blue velvet of an Indian night. Music and chatter, laughter and short bursts of song greeted them and, unexpectedly, a crowd of courtiers, twinkling in jewels and satins, standing around a marble-paved sunken courtyard some thirty yards across and surrounded by a colonnaded piazza. Somewhere a fountain splashed and gushed, throwing up a fine cooling spray. The air was heavy with the scent from the orangeries which lined the courtyard and from the more distant blossom trees surrounding the lake. With a gesture, the Dewan invited the dinner guests to join him, seated cross-legged on the carpets which had been spread over the marble slabs. He indicated that Joe should sit at his left hand in the centre of the group and, at his nod, the music began in earnest as a small group of musicians gathered at the far end of the colonnade began to play.