The Sabre's Edge Read online

  Emma Somervile greeted him with a kiss to the lips. ‘I never doubted you would be restored,' she said, smiling. 'But it has been many weeks, and you looked so fevered when last we visited.’

  Hervey took a glass of champagne from the khitmagar and sat, as she bade him, beside her.

  'Eyre will be here presently. There is an express boy come.’

  'He is much occupied, I think. It must be the hardest thing to be so at odds with the Governor-General.’

  Emma raised an eyebrow. 'It wears him more than I could have imagined. Oh, I do not mean the disagreements themselves, but the dismay at seeing so much going wrong when he had counselled against it from the start. And still Lord Amherst is not inclined to listen.’

  Hervey frowned. 'There's a certain sort of man who would rather exhaust all his stock than admit to a wrong course and take a new one at half the cost. I fear there's many a grave that will be testimony to our Governor-General's obduracy. I'm only glad there are men such as Eyre who will expose the folly of it.'

  Moments later Eyre Somervile entered the room with a look half triumphant and half exasperated. He dispensed with formal greetings. 'This is just as I had expected - worse.' He waved a letter at them. 'Maha Bundula is now in Ava. Bagyidaw's recalled Prince Tharrawaddy and Bundula is to have command of the army they've been assembling these past three months.'

  'Do you have any notion how large?' asked Hervey.

  'Thirty thousand - over and above the same number back from Arakan.' Somervile consulted the letter again. 'Also, three hundred jingals, the Cassay Horse from Manipur - about a thousand of them - artillery on elephant-back . . .'

  'What is a jingal?' asked Emma.

  'A gun,' replied Hervey, turning to her. 'Very light - the ball weighs less than a pound - but they tote them anywhere. And very destructive they are too.'

  'Campbell will be thrown out of Rangoon in very short order indeed,' added her husband.

  'How do you come by the intelligence, Eyre?'

  Somervile seemed rapt in thought.

  'Eyre?'

  'I'm sorry, my dear. I was thinking how much time we had, for the report says that Bundula boasted to Tharrawaddy he would feast in Rangoon in eight days. He could not, of course - not from the time of making the boast. The distance is too great in the best of weather. I suspect he meant eight days after once besieging the place.'

  Emma stayed her questions for the time being.

  Hervey looked uncertain. 'Unless, that is, Bundula were to engage Campbell piecemeal.'

  'That is against the best precepts, is it not?'

  'As a rule, but there would be advantage in bringing pressure to bear gently on Rangoon, for Campbell's so weakened that he might seek terms—'

  Emma looked shocked. 'Do you mean to say that General Campbell could surrender?'

  Hervey shook his head. 'I think it the last thing he would do. But Maha Bundula might not. The Burmans do not have a very high opinion of the Company.'

  'Well’ said Somervile, making to turn. 'I must send to the commander-in-chief and to Amherst. They will surely now wish to reinforce Campbell's garrison. That, or order its withdrawal. You will excuse me for the moment.'

  Hervey sat down again, taking a second glass of champagne.

  'Do you know the source of his intelligence, Matthew?' asked Emma. 'Is it the same as before?'

  'I imagine so,' he replied, cautiously. Somervile's best intelligence had come thence, and he knew of no other capable of yielding such precise and valuable information. Not the girl herself - she had merely been the cause for the boundless gratitude of a father whose abducted daughter had been returned unsullied, an unexpected prize from Hervey's action against the war boats on the Chittagong three years before. But Somervile had played up Hervey's chivalry in the jungled hill tracts to great purpose - like Rama and Sita, he had described her rescue. Indeed, he considered himself to be an intriguer of the first water on account of it. And so a favourite of King

  Bagyidaw's had become a most willing collaborator with the Company. 'And very good intelligence it is, too. Though I fear that neither Campbell nor the commander-in-chief can make the best of it.' 'How do you mean?'

  'I don't know what plans Paget has in hand to reinforce Rangoon, but if there are none it is almost certainly too late to do so. And what will Campbell do when he learns that an army twenty times his strength is bearing down on him? He has the flotilla's guns, of course, but they might not be in a position to intervene decisively. If he is so reduced in numbers through sickness as we hear, then he would be best advised to quit the place, to use the ships to take off his force before it is utterly destroyed.'

  'He is not likely to do that, surely? You yourself said as much.'

  'I said he would not surrender. But he was with Moore at Corunna. And so was Paget for that matter. He has seen good precedent, therefore.'

  Emma suddenly looked worried. 'Matthew, what if the intelligence is false?'

  Hervey raised his eyebrows, and nodded. 'Just so. It is highly favourable to the Burmans, that is for sure. And for that reason it must be regarded circumspectly. Campbell's quitting Rangoon on a false report would be a most sorry business indeed.'

  'You will warn Eyre of this, Matthew?'

  'He will not need my warning, but, yes, I will speak my mind.'

  Emma was relieved. She had felt the perturbation of the past year very keenly. Lord Amherst had set his face very decidedly against her husband's opinion. Somervile was a relatively junior member of the presidency council, although he was the acknowledged authority on the country powers and their neighbours. But he was an interventionist. Or rather, he advocated military action to obtain conditions favourable to the Company; the action itself - as in the case of Ava - did not have to take the form of an offensive. And so he found himself frequently in contention with the Governor-General, who thought him contrary, one minute seeming to urge boldness in meddling in native affairs, and in the next seeming to recoil from it. Somervile confided much in his wife, but she knew he did not tell all. That was too often apparent in his countenance and disposition.

  'What about the regiment, Matthew,' said Emma abruptly, if brightly. Tve not seen much of them since Sir Ivo left for England.'

  Hervey was pleased to oblige her, for although he could not give the best of reports, or the fullest, he would rather be speaking of the regiment now than contemplating the mournful situation in Rangoon. 'I think they are well. But there's little for them to do save guards and drill, says Serjeant-Major Armstrong. And I'm not sure Eustace Joynson is happy with the regiment's reins entirely in his hands.'

  'How long shall he have them?'

  'A full twelve months, less the two already gone.’

  'I do wish it were not so long. We are in need of society here, and Lady Lankester will be a welcome increase. Do you know anything of her?’

  'Her people are from Hertfordshire, Lankester’s seat. Her father is Sir Delaval Rumsey. I have not met her but it is said she is a very handsome woman.’

  'I knew Sir Delaval at one time,’ said Emma, just as brightly as before. 'Rather, I knew Lady Rumsey. She was a kindly woman, and herself quite a beauty, and a wit too.’

  'Then we should all be content. Did I say that poor Joynson is having trouble with his daughter again?’

  'Indeed?’

  'According to my lieutenant. Seems she's been a deal too wayward since first we arrived. The attentions of so many officers have sorely tested her senses, it would seem. I’m sure Joynson would wish you would take her in hand.’

  Emma raised her eyebrows. 'I should not say it, but I have observed many times how it is the plainer girls whose senses are the least apt for testing.’

  Hervey frowned again, but more playfully. 'Frances Joynson is not so very plain, Emma.’

  Emma frowned, but more determinedly. 'I rather fancy that that is an acclimated opinion, Matthew.’

  Hervey thought it indelicate, and unsafe, to proceed.

&nbs
p; 'In any case, her reputation has not been remarked on in the drawing rooms yet, so her behaviour cannot be so very bad.' Emma sipped at her champagne. 'Your name has been spoken of, however, Matthew.'

  'Oh yes?' He intended to sound only the merest degree interested . . . curious.

  'Lately, at the general's.'

  Hervey simply raised an eyebrow and took another sip at his champagne.

  'I fancy by the time Sir Ivo's bride is brought here it will be the talk of every drawing room.'

  Hervey put his glass down, scarcely troubling now to hide his real sentiments. 'Emma, what is the matter with Calcutta? In Madras—'

  'She visits, Matthew. That is what is the matter. And do not be angry with me because I tell you.'

  He sighed. 'I am not angry with you, Emma. When I first came to India, almost ten years ago, things were ... I am just astonished at so much canting.'

  Emma would not be drawn. 'And another thing, Matthew. You have refused all society with Bishop Heber.'

  Hervey frowned impatiently and held out his glass to the khitmagar. 'Please do not think I include Heber in my strictures, Emma. He is a good man from all I hear. But I do not feel the need of a bishop's society.'

  'He only presses his claim on your acquaintance because your Mr Keble wrote to him.'

  'Mr Keble presumes a deal too much.' 'Oh, Matthew!'

  She touched a nerve, but he was not minded to give in. 'I sometimes think that Mr Keble believes the prospect from his parsonage window is the only one in the world.'

  She frowned again. 'And you have seen so much more of the world!'

  'Yes; I have.'

  Emma sighed deeply. Had she not known him better it might have been a sigh of despair. Instead it was the mildly rebuking but tolerant sigh that his sister might have breathed. 'Then I should be careful not to see excess of it, Matthew.'

  Eyre Somervile returned, to Hervey's relief. 'Well, it is done. I have sent my opinion to both Amherst and Paget. Doubtless they'll think it unreliable. But nothing I've sent them to date has been other than borne out by events. Paget's no fool. He may be a little too ready to defer to Amherst, but he's no fool.'

  'You are perfectly certain of your intelligence?' Hervey held his gaze until an answer came.

  Somervile inclined his head very slightly. 'There is, of course, the possibility that it was sent to me with but one object. In which case I might well precipitate an evacuation of Rangoon for no reason. That is what you allude to, I imagine? This I have laid out in my memoranda to Amherst and Paget. The veracity of the report is unknowable, unless some corroboration is received, but the possibility of it is certain, and in consequence the peril of Campbell's force. One way or another, it is imperative to act. That is the material point.'

  Hervey glanced at Emma, and smiled. 'Somervile, for once I do not fret at not marching towards the sound of the guns. I fear it will be a wretched business either way. Campbell is a brave man, but I give it as my opinion that he has no place in command of a campaign such as this. And I for one am done with such men.'

  Emma looked startled, but her husband had heard this opinion often enough these past two months. 'My dear,' he said, half smiling and taking a glass from the khitmagar. 'You must know that we have a dinner companion of very refractory military disposition. I do have a notion that he believes all between him and the Duke of Wellington to be but deadwood.'

  Hervey frowned. But as things stood, he felt little inclination to deny it.

  'Come, let us eat, then,' said Somervile, content in the knowledge that there was no more a man in his position could do for the moment. 'I would hear of how things are with the regiment.'

  Emma rose.

  Hervey followed, though not so nimbly as once he might. 'Does it matter very much how things are? Whatever course Campbell chooses, there's no place for cavalry in it.'

  'Hah!' Somervile stepped aside to let Emma lead them to the dining room. 'You make the same mistake as those in council who seem capable of looking in only one direction at a time. In India, Hervey, as you must surely know, one must be Janus-like with regard to whence the next blow shall come. Let me tell you what has been happening among the country powers while our eyes have been diverted eastwards . . .'

  Next morning, Hervey rode out for the first time since returning to Calcutta. Private Johnson had brought Gilbert to his bungalow just before dawn, as Hervey took his chota hazree - sweet tea and figs. He had never, as a rule, taken anything but tea before morning exercise, even in the cold season, but he had felt weaker than he supposed he would on rising. He cursed the time it was taking for him to regain his full strength. The shoulder had, to all appearances, knitted together well enough, but the fever had left him like a woman in the first gravid months - dizzy, puking, listless. It had come and gone, and each time seemed worse, but in the last weeks he had felt himself recovering his proper spirits with each day. It was just the mornings, now, that reminded him there was still a course to run.

  'Is tha sure tha's all right, sir?’ enquired Johnson, watching him, curious.

  Gilbert's manners were not as he would have wanted, and Hervey seemed unable to stop the jogging.

  'To tell the truth, Johnson, I'd as soon be listening to one of the chaplain's sermons.'

  'That bad, sir.'

  'Perhaps not. But it can't go on.' He tried once more to sit easy, to persuade the gelding to get off its toes, but it made no difference. 'What have you been doing with him all these months?'

  'Swap 'orses, sir?'

  'Don't be impertinent.'

  Johnson smiled. Ten years they had been together now - more, almost eleven - longer than any officer and groom in the Sixth, or in memory indeed. He had no pleasure in his captain's infirmity, but he could at least take satisfaction in the tables being turned just a little. "As tha 'eard t'RSM's to be wed?'

  The dodge worked. Hervey looked astonished. 'You would as well persuade me that the sar'nt-major is to take the cloth.' He flicked his long schooling whip at Gilbert's quarters in mounting exasperation.

  There was little reason why he should believe it. Mr Lincoln had been regimental serjeant-major for fifteen years. It was generally imagined that he was the senior in the whole of the cavalry. Why should he suddenly feel the need of a wife? Except that Johnson's canteen intelligence was almost invariably accurate . . .

  'I'd put any money on it, sir.'

  'Who is she?' demanded Hervey, sounding almost vexed.

  'Widder o' one o' t'Footy's quartermasters.'

  Hervey, for all his nausea and discomposure, managed an approving smile. ‘She must be a redoubtable woman. How is it known? Has there been any announcement?'

  Johnson became circumspect; there were canteen confidences to safeguard. ‘Mr Lincoln saw Major Joynson yesterday an' asked 'is leave to marry.'

  Hervey smiled again. A clerk with an ear to the door, and a thirst to be quenched by selling tattle in the wet canteen. Things hadn't changed. Not that Johnson would have paid for his information. Hervey had learned long ago that Johnson received word from many a source because the canteen attributed to him considerable powers of prophecy and intercession. 'What a tamasha that will be, then. And colonel and RSM wed in the same year.' Then he frowned. 'Oh, I do hope this doesn't mean Mr Lincoln intends his discharge.'

  It was a curious thing, and Hervey knew as well as the next man, and better than most, that 'new blood' was as necessary in the officers and senior ranks of a cavalry regiment as it was in its horses. And yet with Mr Lincoln it was different. It was scarcely conceivable that there could be any want in the performance of his duties, and his grey hairs served only to add distinction to his appearance. In any case, the RSM would yield to no one in the jumping lane at the end of a field day. To many, indeed, Mr Lincoln was the regiment. No one in the Sixth had served longer, though his actual record of service, with its attestation date, had been conveniently lost years ago.

  CI bet that's not what Serjeant-Major Deedes thinks,' said Johnson, scr
ewing up his face.

  That was the problem. There could only be the one crown, and for as long as the admirable Lincoln wore it above his stripes no other could. Deedes was next in seniority, and had been for five years or more, and behind him were others wondering if the crown would ever be theirs to wear before they were obliged to leave the colours. One of those, indeed, was Armstrong. Hervey had never given it much thought before. Could he imagine Geordie Armstrong filling Lincoln's boots? It was pointless his making any comparison, for so different were the two men. Except, perhaps, that Armstrong's formation had been at Lincoln's hands as much as anyone's.

  There was, of course, one man who would by now have been the acknowledged heir. Serjeant Strange could have worn the crown, a worthy successor in every respect, except that by now another regiment might have made a claim on him, or even a field commission might have come his way. It was nigh on ten years ago, in a corner of the battlefield at Waterloo, that Strange had demonstrated his singular worth - and had lost his life doing so. Hervey still thought about that day, and his own part in Strange's fall. He asked himself the same questions, and the answers were always as uncertain.