The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [180]
‘But that's impossible.’
‘You are right,’ agreed Mulraj grimly, ‘it is not possible. Yet it happened. And there can be only two explanations: either that it was not the same girth, but an old and rotten one that had been substituted for the other, or – which I myself think more likely – that while we ate and rested, someone had worked on it with a sharp knife, scraping it almost through, and so cunningly that it could be fastened without breaking or attracting notice, yet must part if too much strain were placed upon it… the strain, let us say, that would be occasioned by a bolting horse.’
Ash stared at him under frowning brows, and observed with some tartness that if it had broken while the boy was in the company of half-a-dozen others there wouldn't have been very much danger, and no one was to know that he would go off alone like that. Only Biju Ram, who for once was on the side of the angels and tried to stop him.
Mulraj shrugged in agreement, but added that there were certain things that the Sahib was not aware of: among them, that it was Jhoti's habit to gallop after his hawk, and that when he did so he hated to have someone riding at his heels. Therefore it would not have mattered how many people were out with him, because as soon as his hawk was away he would have spurred after it while everyone else would have waited and watched, and when his horse bolted, the extra strain on the girth would have made it part quickly; and as the speed of a run-away horse carrying little weight was likely to be greater, for a time, than one still under control and bearing a full-grown man, the chances were that the boy would have fallen before anyone could reach him. ‘And to be thrown from a bolting horse in such country as this can kill a man, let alone a child. But those who planned it failed to make allowance for the boy's courage and quick thinking, nor did they foresee that his very size would enable him to cling on where a grown man could not.’
Ash made an impatient noise and inquired irritably how Mulraj imagined that ‘they’, whoever ‘they’ were, could possibly have foreseen that the horse would bolt? The whole thing hinged on that, and it was impossible.
Mulraj sighed and rising to his feet, stood looking down at Ash, his hands thrust through his belt and his face suddenly grim. He said very softly: ‘You are wrong; that too was arranged. I could not understand why the horse should have bolted in that fashion, for Jhoti has always risen in his stirrups and cried aloud as he throws his hawk into the air, and Bulbul was as accustomed to that action as the child himself. Yet on this occasion we both saw the horse leap forward as though it had been shot. You recall?’
Ash nodded, and the pain of that incautious movement made him reply with more asperity than he had intended: ‘Yes I do. And I also happen to remember that there was no one else within sight of us and no sound of a shot either. If you ask me, you've got a bee in your –’
He stopped suddenly, checked by a memory: the same that had sent him in search of his horse after seeing Jhoti ride off alone. Mahdoo's story of how the old Rajah had met his death while out hawking, and the old man's sly, sideways glance as he said: ‘They think that perchance it may have been stung by a bee?’
Mulraj appeared to have followed this train of thought, for he said dryly: ‘I see that you too have heard that tale. Well, it may even be true – who knows? But this time I meant to make sure, and therefore when I had dragged you from under your horse and found that you were not dead, I did not go to fetch help myself, but sent Jhoti instead. A risk, I own; though only a small one, for he would be riding Dulhan, who as you know is a horse in ten thousand and even a babe would be safe with her. When he was gone I went in search of his fallen saddle –’
‘Go on,’ said Ash tersely, for Mulraj had paused to look over his shoulder and appeared to be listening. ‘It's only Mahdoo who is not near enough to hear and will cough if anyone