Sword of Empire Read online

  ‘Ah.’ He smiled. ‘I am glad this took place before I asked you, Laura. Shall we join our guests?’

  *

  There was champagne to be drunk, sweetmeats to be eaten, and speeches to be listened to. These went on until it was quite dark, at which time Marjorie, who was having the time of her life as the mother of a rani, found herself next to Laura.

  ‘It has all been so rushed,’ she whispered, ‘I have not even found out where you will spend the night, but I am sure you should withdraw to put on some decent clothing.’ Although the seamstresses had assured Marjorie and Laura that the sari was the most modest garment imaginable, Marjorie still felt it to be rather improper.

  ‘I will have to speak with His Highness,’ Laura said.

  Sitraj had, as usual, been keeping his eye on her even as they mingled with the guests, and immediately he saw her looking for him, disengaged himself from his conversation and came towards her.

  ‘My mother feels it is time I withdrew,’ she said.

  ‘I think that is an excellent idea. We will both do so.’

  ‘Ah...in all the excitement we quite forgot to establish where we will be spending the night.’

  ‘Why, on the road. I am leaving just as soon as you are ready, which you seem to be.’

  ‘But...do I not have to change?’

  ‘That will not be necessary, my dear Laura. Come, let us find His Excellency and thank him for this splendid party.’

  People quickly became aware that the Rajah and Rani were preparing to leave, but they were confused by the odd manner in which it was happening. So was Elphinstone. But he shook Sitraj’s hand for the tenth time, and kissed Laura for the third.

  ‘Safe journey,’ he said. ‘Oh, safe journey.’

  Marjorie was scandalised. ‘Going off, just like that!’

  Carmichael was very drunk. ‘There’s a whole lot of elephants at the door,’ he announced. ‘Ten of ‘em.’

  The guests ran outside to see. Laura and Sitraj went out among them. ‘There indeed were ten elephants, draped with flowers and fine stuffs, surrounded by attendants, each with a richly dressed mahout, standing patiently in the flickering light of the flaming torches.

  ‘You have ridden in a howdah before?’ Sitraj inquired.

  ‘Only once.’

  ‘Kara will carry us all the way back to Sittapore,’ Sitraj said. ‘It will not take longer than a fortnight.’

  A fortnight? On the back of an elephant? And when would they consummate the marriage? Perhaps he did not wish to until he was in his own house. Laura thought that might be rather a good idea; it would give them time to get to know each other.

  There was a hum of excitement as the ladder was brought. Sitraj’s men waited to assist Laura if she needed them. She looked for Mama and Papa, gave them each a kiss, and waved to all the guests. She caught sight of Guy Bartlett at the back of the throng. She climbed up, to find at the top less a howdah than a small room, with an ornate curved roof, and containing a divan. She sat down with a gasp, and a moment later Sitraj appeared, also waving to the crowd.

  ‘My clothes!’ she said, in sudden alarm.

  ‘Everything has been taken care of,’ he assured her. He sat down beside her, spoke to the mahout in Hindustani, and the elephant began to move. ‘I think we should wave,’ he told Laura.

  She sat up, and waved at the people below, indistinguishable in the darkness.

  ‘You will think me very remiss,’ she said. ‘But I know very little Hindustani.’

  ‘Then you will learn,’ he told her. ‘There are a great many things you will have to learn.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I do want to, really.’

  ‘Then you shall. I think we have amused them long enough.’

  The elephant was at the end of Government House drive. The howdah was equipped with curtains, and these Sitraj now drew, completely isolating them from the outside world.

  There was a small jewel-encrusted lantern hanging from the roof of the howdah, to give them light.

  Sitraj smiled at her. ‘Would you like something more to drink, or eat? There is a hamper there, with champagne, and food.’

  ‘I think I have had enough,’ she said.

  ‘Good. I also have had enough.’ He put his arm round her shoulders and brought her against him, kissing her mouth. She surrendered utterly, and felt his touch on her breast again. She made no protest as he unfastened the tunic and put his hand inside, warm and gentle, finding its way through the folds of her sari and the blouse beneath to cup the flesh and play with the nipple. She had dreamed of having this happen to her for so long; she had almost wanted Guy Bartlett to be more forceful that day on the beach, and again thanked her lucky stars that he had not been.

  The fingers left her breast and slid down her ribs and stomach. Sitraj seemed to know a great deal about saris; the various folds just fell apart as he touched them, while all the while he was possessing her lips. Then she realised the hand was between her legs...

  ‘Oh!’ she gasped, jerking her head back.

  ‘Enjoy it, my Laura,’ he said. ‘Enjoy it.’

  She found herself panting; the sensation was irresistible.

  ‘Is the movement of the elephant disturbing you?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, it is lulling.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Disrobe. Everything.’

  She looked up at the light.

  ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘I wish to look at you.’

  He began to help her, taking off her tunic before unravelling the rest of the sari. She became filled with a tremendous tension, but it was the most delicious tension she had ever known.

  ‘It is like unwrapping a parcel,’ he smiled at her, as she sprawled naked on the divan. ‘A very beautiful parcel.’

  ‘Now your hair,’ he commanded.

  For this special occasion Mama had put the golden curls up in a vast chignon. Laura reached up and released the pins, and the hair tumbled around her shoulders.

  ‘I am told there are many women in England with hair like yours,’ he said. ‘But none so beautiful in other ways, I am sure. Or why would any Englishman ever leave his country?’

  She licked her lips, watching him, unable to guess what might be going to happen next.

  To her consternation, he began to undress himself. She had supposed it would all happen in the dark, at least the first time.

  Sitraj revealed a fine physique, well muscled and obviously very fit. But it was his lower half to which her gaze was irresistibly drawn. She had no brothers and though the Indian boys in Bombay were inclined to go about naked, it was the done thing always to avert one’s eyes. In any event, on no boy had she ever seen anything so huge and demanding — would Mr Bartlett ever have looked like this?

  Sitraj smiled at her. ‘You must not be afraid of him. He will become your friend, in some ways your mentor, but at the same time your servant. He will bring you much happiness, and if you learn to make him happy in turn, he will never wish to seek another mistress. Now take him in your hand.’

  Instinctively Laura half pushed herself away from him across the divan.

  Sitraj lay on his elbow beside her, revealing not a trace of disappointment or impatience. ‘You are still afraid,’ he said. ‘Your mother has been neglectful. Hindu girls are taught about such things from a very early age. But then, they are married at a far earlier age than the English. Do you know what they will say in Sittapore? That I have married an old maid.’ He smiled and took her hand. ‘But I have married a treasure. Come to me.’

  Laura took a deep breath, and moved back towards him. He held her face and kissed her mouth, and at the same time pulled her against him. She could feel him against her thigh. Oh, my God, she thought, I am going to scream!

  ‘In English,’ he said, ‘your words are harsh, unpleasant, distasteful. Penis, and vagina. Yours is a barbarous language. But then, I often think your attitude to sexual matters is the same. It is a mixture of fear and lust and prurience.
This is not so in India. A man should lust after a woman, certainly, but he must not take her unless he is sure that she in turn lusts after him. Oh, yes, my Laura, it is very possible for a woman to lust after a man. In fact, I sometimes think that women do more lusting than men. Now come. In my language, he is called a lingam. Say it.’

  Laura opened her mouth and then closed it again.

  ‘Say it,’ he insisted gently.

  ‘Lingam,’ she whispered.

  ‘And he wishes to embed himself in your yoni. Say it.’

  ‘Yoni.’ Her voice was stronger.

  ‘Now hold him.’

  She obeyed, tentatively, feeling the flesh swelling beneath her fingers.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘I am going to play with your yoni, to make you ready for me. Do not be afraid. Lie back and enjoy what I am doing to you. It will be the most beautiful sensation you have ever known, if you surrender to it. Then I will hurt you. I must. Has your mother told you of this, at least?’

  Laura nodded uncertainly. According to Mama it hurt every time; Mama had never spoken of any pleasure. As for beauty...but she still held him.

  ‘I will hurt you as little as possible,’ Sitraj promised. ‘And after the first couple of times, there will be no pain at all. Only pleasure. A great deal of pleasure. Will you believe me?’

  ‘I will believe you,’ she whispered.

  *

  Laura awoke with a start. Never had she slept so deeply. As she had told Sitraj, the movement of the elephant was like a ship in a gentle sea, rocking her to and fro.

  Never had she felt so languorously content, so aware of herself. Every inch of her body, from her toes to her hair, had been caressed at some stage during the night. Most of it had been kissed as well.

  He had entered her three times. The first time they had lain facing each other, and he had taken her leg across his thighs; the second time she had been on her knees, and the third time they had again both been lying down, but she had had her back pressed against him. That way he had been able to hold her breasts as he had surged into her.

  There had been very little pain. Now she was only deliciously sore.

  Could Mr Barlett have been as gentle, and yet as magnificent? But why did she keep thinking about Mr Bartlett? The sooner he was entirely forgotten the better.

  The elephant had stopped. That was what had awakened her. She could smell spiced food being prepared. She was very hungry.

  But where was Sitraj? The divan was empty but for herself. Laura sat up in alarm, and found herself looking at an Indian woman, quite old, dark and wrinkled, but smiling.

  Hastily she reached for the covers. But there were no covers.

  ‘His Highness is bathing,’ the woman said in broken English. ‘He awaits you.’

  Laura looked around her, abandoning any attempt to cover herself. ‘My clothes?’

  ‘They are used clothes, Highness. You will wear new clothes, after your bath. This is what you must wear to the bath.’

  She held up a dhoti.

  ‘Just that?’ Laura was aghast. ‘I could not possibly.’

  The woman smiled. ‘His Highness understands your modesty. You will wear this blouse as well.’

  It was of the thinnest cotton, and would conceal nothing. But it was better than nothing at all.

  ‘Let me see to your hair,’ the woman said. She knelt on the divan, behind Laura, and began plaiting the thick golden tresses, quickly and expertly.

  Laura had not had her hair plaited since she was twelve years old.

  ‘What is your name?’ she asked.

  ‘Miljah, Highness.’

  ‘And you’re a member of the Rajah’s household?’

  ‘I am his slave, Highness. I am your slave, now.’

  ‘Oh.’ There were no slaves in Bombay. It was forbidden by law.

  ‘Tomorrow I will wash your hair,’ Miljah said. ‘But today it is still clean and sweet-smelling. It is your hair that first attracted His Highness. He has told me this. He said your hair had the quality of finespun gold. It is wealth I must possess, Miljah, he told me.’

  ‘And now he does,’ Laura said happily, as the plaits were gathered and secured on top of her head.

  *

  Climbing down from the howdah was an ordeal, because Laura knew she was as exposed as if she were naked, and while the men and women of the Prince’s entourage pretended not to look, she was sure they did.

  She had to wait for Miljah to follow her, and she gazed around, at the people, the encampment, and the jungle which surrounded them.

  She had never been deep in the jungle before.

  They were undoubtedly following a fairly well-worn trail, yet to either side the great trees clustered, rising out of the matted undergrowth, reaching for the sky and the sun. As it was quite early in the morning, the sun was not yet to be seen.

  Miljah led the way along a narrow path towards the river, where Sitraj was already in the water, swimming lazily to and fro.

  ‘It is quite cool,’ he told her.

  Laura allowed Miljah to undress her, and stood on the bank, feeling almost as foolishly anxious as she had the night before, and only just repressing a scream as she saw a man in the trees, hardly twenty feet to her right.

  ‘He is guarding us against crocodiles,’ Sitraj explained. ‘He will never look at us.’

  ‘Crocodiles?’ Laura gasped, peering at the dark water. ‘There are none in this stretch of the river,’ Sitraj assured her, and held up his arms.

  She slid down the bank and found herself being towed into the centre of the stream.

  His hands slid over her shoulders and he turned her on her back and cupped her breasts, her head resting on his shoulders.

  ‘Now my hair is wet,’ she said happily. ‘After all Miljah’s work.’

  ‘It will dry.’

  Sitraj took Laura into his arms and kissed her.

  ‘Put your legs round me,’ he said.

  Everything that had gone before was as nothing to this.

  Surely no woman could ever have been so abandoned — no English woman, anyway.

  She felt him enter her. She wanted to scream, but it would have been a scream of sheer pleasure. She had never known, never dreamed, of such sexual freedom.

  ‘I love you,’ Laura told him, as he helped her up the bank.

  ‘As I love you,’ he replied, and kissed her.

  *

  Once Laura had been dried and dressed in a brand new sari —she discovered that Sitraj had had several made for her, and that her European clothes had simply been abandoned — they breakfasted with the rest of the party. Sitraj was on delightfully informal terms with his people, who treated him with the greatest respect, but were clearly his friends.

  Then they climbed back on to the elephant for a long, delightful day’s ramble. Several times Sitraj drew the curtains and made love to her.

  ‘Surely everyone will know what we are doing?’ she asked in some embarrassment.

  ‘Of course. Is that something to be ashamed of?’

  ‘The thought of Mama and Papa, or herself and Mr Bartlett for that matter, announcing to the world that they were making love, was impossible to envisage.

  Oh, damn Mr Bartlett, she thought.

  *

  That night, instead of continuing on their way, they camped in an elaborate tent. Its goatskin walls provided three rooms, an antechamber where their guards slept, a larger inner chamber in which they took their meals, and a yet larger chamber in which they slept. Carpets covered the ground, piled high with cushions.

  ‘I will have to rock you to sleep tonight,’ Sitraj said with a smile.

  There was something utterly wanton about rolling naked on silken cushions with a man in her arms. She wondered how many women in Bombay had ever known such sensations as she was experiencing, or ever would.

  ‘Do you not fear Thugs?’ she asked lazily, in between coupling.

  ‘Thugs? Ah. I was told of your unfortunate uncle. It was very-unwise of h
im to take a rich caravan on a long journey, without proper protection.’

  ‘He did so because Thuggism was unknown in southern India, until last April.’

  ‘Thugs are bandits. And bandits are everywhere,’ Sitraj said seriously. ‘If they are now spreading into southern India, then your Company will have a serious problem on its hands. The only answer is strength, and protection.’ He smiled, and kissed her. ‘We are well protected, my dear Laura.’

  *

  The journey was a delight, as was Sitraj’s company. They passed by villages whose inhabitants came out to cheer the Rajah, where they bought provisions, but deliberately avoided larger towns. This was because Sitraj did not wish to have to take part in any elaborate ceremonial greeting. There was certainly no danger involved, as more than half the territory between Bombay and Sittapore was under Company control, while the Company boundary abutted that of Scindhia, and even though the old principality had been divided up, it was entirely ruled by Sitraj’s various cousins and uncles.

  They neither saw, nor heard of, any Thugs.

  Once across the border, indeed, Sitraj’s precautions not-withstanding, their journey became a kind of triumphal march, with people turning out to line their route and clap and cheer. Now it was necessary to keep the curtains open all the time so that Sitraj and Laura could smile and wave at the crowds.

  ‘I feel like a queen,’ Laura confessed.

  ‘You are a queen,’ Sitraj reminded her.

  *

  The realisation made Laura think about the future. ‘Tell me about Sittapore,’ she begged. ‘My duties.’

  Sitraj smiled at her.

  ‘You will be seeing Sittapore in two days. That will be better than attempting to tell you of it. As for your duties, they will be the same as that of any wife: to love me and bear me strong children.’

  She could think of nothing she would rather do.

  *

  As Sitraj had promised, they entered the jaghir, or principality, of Sittapore two days later. Messengers had been sent ahead, and at the border they were greeted by a regiment of cavalry, four hundred strong, resplendent in yellow tunics and dark blue breeches, with dark blue turbans, and armed with lances as well as swords.

  ‘Your household troops,’ Sitraj told her.