The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [159]
A soaked and screaming woman, lifted by a pair of firm, capable hands, seemed to leap at him from the darkness, and he snatched her out just as the off-side wheel broke and the ruth fell on its side and began to fill with water.
‘ Quick, Juli! Come on, get out!’ Ash was unaware that he had called to the remaining occupant by name as he shouted to make himself heard above the tumult of yelling voices and the ominous sound of water rushing through the half-submerged ruth, but in fact his words had been lost in the din, for the small figure in his arms was clinging to him in a frenzy of terror and still shrieking at the top of her voice. He beat down the clutching hands and thrust her at the nearest person, who happened by good fortune to be her uncle, though it might just as easily have been a sowar or a bullock driver. The next second he was off his horse and in the river, with the water swirling above his waist.
‘Get out, girl!’
There was a choking, spluttering sound from the darkness and a hand reached out between the torn curtains. Ash gripped it and dragged its owner up and out, and lifting her off her feet, carried her to the bank.
She was no light and fragile creature like the little sister whom she had thrust out of the ruth into his arms, nor did she scream or cling to him as the younger girl had done. But though she made no sound he could feel the quick rise and fall of her breast against his own, while the weight of her warm, wet body, and every slender curve and line of it, spoke eloquently of a woman and not of a child.
He was breathing a little unevenly himself by the time he reached dry land, though his reasons for doing so were not emotional but physical, and few men, called upon to carry approximately a hundred and twelve pounds across a river, with the current tugging at their knees and a crowd of excited spectators splashing and jostling alongside, would not have done the same. It seemed a long way to the shallows, and when he reached the bank there was no one to whom he could hand over his burden. He called for torches and the Rajkumaries' women and waited in the dusk, holding Anjuli's dripping figure in his arms while his syce set off to retrieve his horse, and far too many helpers struggled to free the bullocks and drag the broken ruth out of the way, so that the cart with the princesses' waiting-women could cross in safety.
Above him the stars came out one by one, and as the night wind arose and blew strongly off the river, the girl in his arms began to shiver in the cold air and Ash called for a blanket and wrapped it about her, drawing one end over her head to shield her from the gaze of the crowd as torches began to flower in the darkness and the women's cart creaked into view at last.
Judging from the noise, the younger bride was already inside it, though her shrieks had now given place to hysterical sobbing. But Ash did not pause to inquire after her. His muscles were beginning to ache, and he bundled Anjuli in without ceremony and stood back as the cart jolted on its way to the camp, aware for the first time that his clothes were soaking wet and that there was a distinct nip in the night air.
‘Mubarik ho, that was well done, Sahib,’ approved Mulraj, materializing out of the darkness. ‘I owe you my life, I think. I and many others, for had you not been here the Rajkumaries might both have drowned, and then who knows what vengeance His Highness their brother would have taken on us his servants?’
‘Be-wakufi,’* retorted Ash impatiently. ‘They were never in the least danger of drowning. Only of getting wet. The river is not nearly deep enough there.’
‘The driver of the ruth was drowned,’ observed Mulraj dryly. ‘The current took him into deep water and it seems that he could