The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [611]
Ash had turned and gone back to his office in the Munshi's house, and looking down from his window, had witnessed the looting of the stables, the theft of the horses from the cavalry pickets and the subsequent rush to the Residency. He had seen, too, the tall, frock-coated figure in the white helmet come out upon the roof of the Envoy's house and walk calmly to the edge to quell the vociferous crowd below, and had thought, like William, ‘By God, he's a wonder.’
He had never had any great liking for Louis Cavagnari, and had come to detest his policy. But seeing him now he was filled with admiration for the coolness and courage of a man who could walk out, unarmed and alone except for a solitary Afghan orderly, and stand calmly looking down on that threatening, stone-throwing mob without showing the least sign of alarm.
‘I'm damned if I could have done that,’ thought Ash. ‘Wally is right: he's a great man and he'll get them all out of this jam. He'll pull them through… it's going to be all right. It's going to be all right…’
The acoustics of that part of the Bala Hissar were peculiar (a fact not fully realized by the dwellers in the Residency compound, though Ash had once warned Wally about it), the reason for this being that the site of the compound made it a natural theatre, in the manner of ancient Greece where the stone seats swept upward in a semi-circle of steeply rising tiers from the stage below, to form a sounding-board that enabled even those in the top-most tiers to hear every word spoken by the actors.
Here, in place of seats there were the solid walls of houses built on rising ground, and therefore producing much the same effect. And though it would be an exaggeration to say that every word spoken in the compound could be heard by the occupants of those houses, shouted orders, raised voices, laughter and snatches of conversation were clearly audible to anyone in the nearer buildings who cared to stand at a window, as Ash was doing, and listen. Particularly when the breeze was blowing from the south, as it was today.
Ash caught every word that the spokesman for the mutineers shouted up to Sir Louis, and every syllable of Sir Louis' reply. And for a full half minute he could not believe that he had heard aright. There must be some mistake… he must have heard wrong. Cavagnari could not possibly…
But there was no mistaking the full-throated howl of rage that burst from the mob when the Envoy ceased speaking. Or the cries of ‘Kill the Kafirs!’ ‘Kill! Kill!’ that succeeded it. His ears had not deceived him. Cavagnari had gone mad and now there was no knowing what the mob would do.
He saw the Envoy turn and leave the roof, but his view of the Residency courtyard was restricted by the west wall of the three-storeyed Mess House in which Wally, Jenkyns and Kelly had their quarters, and he could only see the further half by the Envoy's House, and the turbaned heads of the escort who waited there; indistinguishable at that range from the servants, as they were still in undress, having not yet changed into uniform when the compound was invaded. But he could pick out Wally easily enough, for he was hatless.
Ash saw him moving among the Guides and realized from his gestures that he was urging them to remain calm and not on any account to fire. Then suddenly his attention was drawn from the courtyard to the stables by frantic shouts from the sepoys who were stationed on the roof of the barracks…
The sepoys were yelling and pointing, and looking in the direction of the outflung arms Ash saw a single man – presumably a sowar, for he was wielding a cavalry sabre – standing astride the huddled body of a syce and surrounded by a ring of Afghans who were attacking him from every side, slashing at him with knives and tulwars and leaping back as he whirled his sabre about him, fighting like a cornered leopard. He had already brought down two of his assailants and wounded others, but he himself had taken terrible punishment: his clothing was ripped