Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 .. (23 page)

When she entered, he was shocked by the change in her. Her cheeks were sunken and there were great dark rings around her eyes.

" 'Twas cruel to send for me when you're hale," she accused. "I'm risking much to come."

"I send for you? Ma'am, you jest."

"Did ye no' send this?" She held out a crumpled chit.

He took it under a lamp. "Annie, my heart, all through my sickness, I have thought but of you. Come and make me well. Most urgently. R. A."

"I didn't send this. It isn't even my hand."

" 'Tis one of his tricks!" Annie gasped. "I must go."

"But why would he do it? He knows we're nothing to each other."

"He's a fiend, a crazed fiend!" she cried wildly. "Who knows what passes in that mad brain of his? Oh, Ram, why didn't ye take me home when I asked you?"

Angry retorts trembled, but he glanced again at the note. "I know his hand, and this isn't his either." Bea's threat came back to him. "Is it your sister's writing?"

"Bea's?" She shook her head impatiently. "He's behind this. He hopes to trap me. He hates me—hates me to death!" She caught up her cloak and hurried toward the door—and came face to face with her husband, his small eyes blazing.

"So, slut, like a bitch in heat, you must run to this stinking Eng-Idnder!" He smashed her to the floor.

Memory of another girl being struck drove Ram across the room and at the heavier man, a red haze blurring his sight. "God rot you!"

A chair toppled. But Ritter, though taken by surprise, now reacted and his hamlike fists smashed at Ram's head, his face. Once Annie screamed as they trampled her where she lay. They struck the table and Ritter's fingers closed around the overset decanter. He raised it but Ram's fist drove into his stomach, doubling him up and bringing him retching to the floor.

Ram stood over him, gasping. As his brain cleared, he knew he was too fever-weakened to long withstand the other's strength. Besides ... He darted into his bedroom; flung open a chest and seized the twin rapiers.

As he returned, Ritter was rising, holding onto the table, spew dribbling from his lips. The scared face of a servant showed in the doorway and there was the scuffle of feet and muttering outside. From across the room Annie was sobbing hysterically.

"Here!" He tossed one scabbarded blade at the Austrian. *'Herr Oberleutnant, I have the honor to say I'll kill you." Icily calm now, he spoke in formal, precise German. "At your pleasure." He had no sense of fear, merely irritation at the room's poor light, at its obstructing furniture.

Ritter drew the weapon, flung the scabbard full at Ram and leaped at him, the rapier flashing. This was to be no measured affair of the salle d'armes, but deadly combat.

As the blades engaged. Ram felt the full strength of his enemy's wrist. The man was thrusting and slashing, his fouled lips spitting threats. Ram gave ground before him, leaping aside as the Austrian smashed down his guard. There came a splintering of wood; Ritter's point buried itself deep through a chair's back. Scorning to attack him thus. Ram shouted urgently: "Clear away the table, the chairs! Bring more light!"

He felt supremely confident now, as if he were doing something

long familiar. Waiting mid-room until Ritter was again attacking, he parried a powerful lunge and in the riposte ripped his foe's right sleeve. Ritter now used the rapier like a saber and tried to cleave him between neck and collarbone. He warded the blow just as a woman screamed from behind him.

His left hand was clutched and he heard: "Forgive! Forgive!" He half turned, freeing his hand, and in that second's unwatchfulness he felt a searing pain in his right arm, so sharp that his grip on his hilt loosened.

"So, bastard, you will kill me, eh?" Ritter jeered. "Now, die!"

But Ram sprang clear, almost tripping over the crouching woman, at the same time transferring the rapier to his left hand.

The change worried Ritter, who had now to watch for thrusts from an unaccustomed angle. His mouth closed and he breathed through his nostrils. He no longer had time for jeers.

Ram's right arm was growing numb, but his left wrist was like part of the sword itself, every resistance, every slackening of pressure, running up to his shoulder.

He was the aggressor now; his heavy-legged foe was becoming uncertain and tired. He pressed his advantage, choosing his ground, inexorably forcing his enemy back toward a wall. Aware that he was being trapped, Ritter slashed and thrust desperately. Ram gave ground in turn, knowing that the other was spending his strength like some raw cadet in the salle.

Once more he attacked. Ritter, breath gone, sprang back to avoid a feint and thudded against the wall. Simultaneously Ram's blade slid over his guard and passed through his chest, pinioning him to the wall. His jaw dropped as if he were about to scream. No sound came. His heart had been split.

Brief silence, then minor sounds obtruded: Ram's own jerky breathing, women's sobs, the shuffle of feet.

With difficulty he tugged the sword free and let Ritter fall. A movement behind him made him whirl warily. Feldwebel Czappan was there, wearing only breeches and shirt, a spluttering torch in one hand. With him were two European soldiers, some sepoys and several servants. Apart stood Annie and Bea.

Slowly he looked down at the welling hole through his right biceps.

"A beautiful thrust," Old Czappan was approving. "I could not have done so well myself. Donnerwetter, and with the left hand!"

"Pani lao!" Panting, Ram righted a chair and sank into it, "Surgeon sahib bring." He gulped the water the khansaman proffered, then leaned back weakly. Consequences began to fill his mind. He had killed his commander, unwitnessed save by subordinates, servants and a woman—no, two women!

He glared at Bea. "How came you here?"

She crept toward him, shuddering at the reddened sword he still gripped. "Forgive!" she moaned. "I've been crazed!"

He remembered his hand being clutched and that other Forgive! "Was it you who wrote that lying chit? Answer."

Not she, she swore, but refused to name who had. Weepingly, however, she admitted there were two identical chits! One delivered to Annie, its fellow dropped where Ritter would be bound to see it.

"The trick might have cost your sister's life too. Go and take her with you. This is no place for women now." He wondered irritably why the room and all within it was shding out of focus. Another bout of fever? Then a familiar face emerged from the growing darkness.

"Hen Doktor, you have no need to bleed me this time," he managed. Damme. Why can't they let me sleep. . . sleep?

Gradually he knew he was in bed, his right arm bandaged, a lamp shining from close by. A faint chinking of metal made him turn his head, to see anxious eyes looking down at him. Chanda.

"You are back," he murmured, pleased. "How long?"

"Since yesterday, lord." She put a goblet to his parched lips and smiled for him to drink. The brew was delightfully quenching.

"Yesterday? How long have I slept?"

"Two nights and days, lord."

Everything came rushing back. "Ritter Sahib?"

"Buried yesterday at dawn. Aie, lord, it was a burra junanza, with the soldiers and all others attending."

His lips tightened. Though it had been a fair fight, trouble must follow.

"Would my lord take food?" Chanda was smoothing his sheet. He watched her hands, darker than the golden ivory of her face. How perfect each finger, each nail! How perfect her entire body!

"Yes." He was suddenly and ravenously hungry, "Bring plenty."

Heavy, shod feet were moving on the veranda. Chanda nodded, relieved. "The Feringi soldier is safe in front. I go."

"What soldier?"

"He who guards thee, lord," she murmured and disappeared.

So, he was under arrest. Naturally there must be an inquiry and he would be charged with killing his commander. He wondered sardonically who would make the accusation, since he and Ritter had been the only regular officers. The governor? No, more likely a report would be sent to von Bruck, who would have to decide about a court-martial.

He listened for the sentry to move again. There came a creaking as the man eased himself into a chair; then silence, save for the inevitable dripping of rain from the eaves. He flexed his arm gingerly. It was stiff, but there was no pain. At least old Wiktorin was good with wounds.

"Sahib." The khidmatgar was beside him, with food and wine.

He ate avidly, the servant removing the dishes deftly. "See the Feringi soldier is fed also," he said at last, sipping Madeira. "Tomorrow I will get up. I am well again."

"Bahut achchha, sahib!' The man left. When alone. Ram lay back. This killing was devilish bad luck, yet there'd been no way out. He'd always known he'd have to fight Ritter some time. But it might cost him his commission; he might even be sent a prisoner to Austria. Suddenly he felt alone and friendless.

"Chanda!" he called hopefully.

He heard the clinking of her ornaments. "Lord?"

"I cannot sleep. I would be amused."

"Would my lord wish me to dance?"

"Dance," he nodded.

To some soundless music of her remembering, she began. Her posturings seemed barbaric, yet he groped for their meaning; the movements of her fingers forming beautifully expressive patterns, the tilting of her head, the arching of her lissome body. He found himself breathing faster.

When it was over, she stood panting a little and watching him shyly. "Would my lord wish to be anointed with ointments?"

He nodded, eager to feel the touch of her hands, to have her soft body close to his.

She brought exotically odored unguents and, as intently as a surgeon performing an operation, began gently to massage his whole body with them. Once she gave a little cry as her fingers passed along his sides.

"What is it?" His voice was hoarse, his temples throbbing.

"Aie, lord, it is you who should be named Chanda; you are as fair as the Moon," she whispered.

"Yet not bloodless?"

She hid her face, coloring. "Chanda!" He caught her sari and began to pull at it. Momentarily she hesitated, then twirled gracefully until it unwound and dropped free.

"Chanda! Chanda!" His good arm enclosed her fiercely. But then he fought back his impatience, remembering the delights of their first union and that she knew so much more than he. He lay back, deliberately relaxing.

She watched him, until, sensing his mood, she pressed her nails gently near his left nipple, making half-moons in the skin. He laughed at the faint sting as she made the same marks on the other side to complete the pattern. Soon she was caressing his eyes, his throat, with tiny nuzzling bites, until he could stand no more and drew her to him.

"Ah, my lord!" she breathed dreamily as his lips crushed upon hers.

Morning, and he was alone. Copal Das came with tea and to report the rain had stopped for a little. A glorious lassitude held him and only self-discipline forced him to bathe and dress. He wondered who would now command the troops and when, if ever, he would return to duty.

Morgan came in hesitantly, his cheeks hollow, his eyes feverish.

"Well met!" Ram welcomed. "What passes, Fred? I've heard naught."

"I've come seeking pardon," the other said miserably. " 'Twas I who wrote those chits. 'Fore God, I didn't know! She told me 'twas to play a joke on her sister. Lord, man, I wouldn't cause you trouble!"

"You have!"

"But I didn't sign your initials! She did that, though I didn't know it then. God, she's got me half mad! I worshiping the ground she treads and she scoffing and saying I'm only a scrivener's son, with

no standing at home worthy of interesting a lady of wealth—I, who descend from Cymric kings and she but a randy half-caste!" Sobs racking him, Morgan sank into a chair. "I'm crazed. This thrice-damned land's driving me mad!"

"I see you're wearing regimentals again." Ram wanted to forget Bea. As for Fred, what was done was done.

"The feldwebel's commanding the whites and I the sepoys, but I command the fort too." Fred looked up. "I fear they won't handle ye gentle. Old Rooses wants ye should be tried for murder, but saner heads prevail. They'll send a report to Coblom."

Ram nodded. "Then I'm safe for a month or more. But why the sentinel? I'm not likely to run, with a hole in my arm."

"Governor's orders." Morgan got up, pleading: "Ye won't hold it against me about the chits?"

"No. But Annie should have known I didn't write 'em. I've no such clerkly hand as yours. I can hardly read my own scrawl myself."

"That's because I'm learning the quill-driver's trade. Sit at a tall desk and ye'll sail home a nabob! But what use is a fortune if Bea won't treat me kindly?" Fred shambled out forlornly.

Poor sod! Ram mused. Even if she were kind to him, she'd soon drive him witless. I'm lucky to be free of her, and Annie too!

Bolal Sen hurried in. "Sahib, His Excellency!"

Hume's leathery face wore a nervous frown. "I'm glad tae see ye about, lad. Send away your servants, and wi' my compliments order yon soldier to walk his beat off the veranda."

After Ram had complied, the Scot bemoaned, " 'Tis a sore thing's happened to us all. And without good luck it may go ill with you. Why couldn't ye just ha' wounded him?"

"He meant to kill me, and Annie too."

"Aye, I ken," the factor groaned. "Lad, I like ye fine, but I'm governor. If now you were an Ostender or an Austrian, and Ritter the Englishman, the others wouldna care. But they don't love us, so I'll have to send a report censuring ye strongly. Now, I doubt von Bruck's enough authority to try ye himself, so likely he'll send ye back to Vienna as a prisoner."

Ram's stomach knotted. Months as a prisoner aboard ship, perhaps in irons, would be far worse than a quick death out here.

"Och, I well ken ma girls and their ways,'.' Hume said bitterly.

"Perhaps it's my fault for wedding a Goan and fathering half-castes; likely they've inherited the worst o' both races. I came here because the H.E.I.C. women looked down on 'em, which no females can tolerate. . . Um, would ye now think to wed Annie, after all? If ye would, I'd double her dowry."