The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [630]
The closed door had kept out the heat that filled the courtyard and beat down upon the whole compound, but it could not keep out the flies that circled and settled in buzzing droves, or the sounds of battle. And here too there was the same choking smell of blood and black powder.
The man on the bed still lay in the same position and, incredibly, he was still alive. He did not move his head, but Rosie, following Wally into the room and shutting the door behind him, saw his eyes turn slowly towards them and thought, ‘He won't know us. He's too far gone: and too drugged.’
The dying man's gaze was blank and it seemed that the movement of those clouded eyes was no more than a reflex action. Then of a sudden intelligence returned to them as with a gigantic effort of will, Louis Cavagnari forced his conscious mind to drag itself back from the darkness that was closing in on it, and summoning the last shred of his strength, spoke in a harsh croak:
‘Hullo, Walter. Are we…?’
His breath failed him, but Wally answered the unspoken question:
‘Fine, sir. I came to tell you that the Amir has sent two Kazilbashi regiments to our assistance, and the mob are already on the run. I'm thinking it won't be any time now before the place is cleared of them, so you don't have to worry, sir. You can have a rest now, for we've got them licked.’
‘Good boy,’ said Sir Louis in a clear, strong voice. A trace of colour returned to his ash-white face and he tried to smile, but a sharp spasm of pain caught him unaware and turned it to a grimace. Once again he fought for breath, and Wally leaned down to catch the words he was struggling to say:
‘The… Amir,’ whispered Sir Louis: ‘… glad to know… not wrong about him… after all. We shall be… all right now. Tell William… send thanks and… telegraph Viceroy. Tell… tell my – wife -’
The hunched figure jerked convulsively and was still.
After a moment or two Wally straightened up slowly and became aware once more of the maddening drone of flies and the ceaseless surf-like roar of the mob, which together formed a background for the sharp crackle of musketry and rifle fire and the thwack of bullets striking the walls outside.
‘He was a great man,’ said Rosie quietly.
‘A wonderful one. That's why I – we couldn't let him die thinking that he…’
‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘Be easy, Wally, the Lord will forgive you the lie.’
‘Yes. But he'll know by now that it was a lie.’
‘Where he is, that won't matter.’
‘No, that's true. I wish -’
A musket ball smashed into one of the shutters and sent a shower of splinters across the floor, and Wally turned and walked quickly out of the room, not seeing where he was going because his eyes were full of tears.
Rosie paused for a moment to cover the quiet face, and following more slowly, found him already at work arranging to block the way to the roof with the only material available: the bodies and the broken weapons – tulwars, muskets and jezails – of the Afghans who had been killed on the stairs.
‘We may as well make them useful,’ said Wally grimly as he helped to pile the corpses one upon the other, wedging them into place with cross-bars made from the long-barrelled jezails, and constructing an effective chevaux-de-frise from the razor-sharp blades of tulwars and Afghan knives from which the hilts had first been removed. ‘I don't suppose it will hold them up for long, but it's the best we can do; there isn't anything else. I must see William and find out how many of our fellows are over in the other house. Now suno (listen), Khairulla' – he turned to one of the sowars – ‘do you and one other remain here and prevent the enemy from removing those bodies. But do not expend more ammunition than you need. A shot or two should be enough.’
He left them and went down the stairs to run the gauntlet of the open courtyard and break the news