Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns by Malcolm Archibald

Author:Malcolm Archibald [Archibald, Malcolm]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Creativia
Published: 2018-05-21T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

While the Durbar room had been about opulence and luxury, only warriors occupied this room. The floor was stone-flagged and the walls bereft of any decoration except an array of spears and fearsome looking daggers. A rack of tulwars sat beneath unglazed windows while another of long jezzails stretched to a plain wooden table around which sat a group of men.

They watched Jack step in.

They were warriors with quick movements and smooth muscles, hard eyes and the direct stare of men who were not afraid to act. Three reached for swords, and another with a spiked helmet lifted a long pistol that he had been loading.

'Ram ram,' Jack said and waited for a response. Alone and unarmed, he knew he would not stand a chance if these men attacked him. He also knew that he would fight and neither run nor surrender.

The warriors spoke quietly as the man with the spiked helmet pointed his pistol at Jack. Suspecting that they were discussing his immediate death, Jack marched toward them.

One man stood up. In his early thirties, he was round-faced and black haired, slightly overweight with a small beard and sharp, round eyes. Shaking his head, he pushed the pistol back on the table and turned over a large hourglass. Sand began to trickle from the upper to the lower container. The man's smile was friendlier than Jack had expected as he spoke in perfect English.

'You are welcome, Captain Jack Baird Windrush of Her Majesty's 113th Foot.'

Jack nodded. 'Thank you. You have the advantage of me. I do not know to whom I am speaking.'

'I am Dhondu Pant, a Peshwa of the old Maratha Empire. You may know me better as Nana Sahib.'

'Dear God!' Jack reached for the sword he no longer had. 'Nana Sahib!'

Nana Sahib was the warrior and aristocrat who had fostered and led the rebellion in Cawnpore, the man ultimately responsible for the murder of hundreds of British men, women and children. This smiling, urbane man was the arch-enemy of British rule in India.

The others at the table jumped to their feet, most reaching for swords or pistols.

'Peace, bhaiyas, peace, brothers,' Nana Sahib calmed them down in Urdu and English. 'Captain Windrush is no threat to me or you. He has no weapons and has even adopted our way of dress.'

The warriors sat back down, with only the man in the spiked helmet continuing to glare at Jack. 'Barnshoot Firinghi' – “incestuous foreigner”, he said, until Nana Sahib waved him to silence.

'You seem surprised to see me, Captain Windrush, and I do not know why. After all, this is my land, and these are my people.'

'Gondabad is not part of the old Maratha Empire.' Jack forced aside his hatred.

'It was once,' Nana Sahib said.

'You are a traitor, a rebel and a murderer.' Jack wondered if he could jump across and strangle Nana Sahib before his followers chopped him to pieces. No, these warriors are alert and experienced. I would merely throw away my life.

Nana Sahib smiled. 'Insults from an enemy are as sweet as compliments from a friend.

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