Chapter 3

A servant conducted him along wide corridors until he reached a door and beckoned David to enter. Candles lit the interior of the spacious room and a large divan bed lay invitingly by the arched windows. There were few items of furniture in the room except for a small table and chair and a cupboard, but numerous large cushions were on display.

The servant, dressed in a Mundu, the white sarong favoured for servants and common people, bowed to him, “Sahib, a bath has been prepared for you. Your clothes will be taken away and cleaned if you leave them on the bed. Other clothes have been provided. We will serve you your meal after you have refreshed yourself, if that is to your satisfaction”

David nodded his assent and the servant led the way through another door where girls wearing saris were carrying steaming copper pots and filling a sunken bath. They returned to the bedroom where he thanked the servant, and was then left to undress. He removed his trousers and shirt from his Gladstone bag and, along with his shoes, left them on the bed along with the clothes he had worn on the ride to the city.

A Mundu had been left on the bed for him. He wound it around him and went through to the bathroom. The girls had gone so he removed the Mundu and gingerly felt the water with his toes before lowering himself into the sunken bath. His body throbbed from the long ride and for a long time he lay with his head just above the water, feeling the heat soak away the aches, before using the soap that lay in a bowl along with a flannel to wash himself.

On entering the bedroom he found all his clothes had been removed and a Sherwani coat now lay on the bed along with soft leather slippers. He had no sooner put them on than the door opened and the girls appeared carrying trays of food and fruit, followed by another carrying a low table, which she placed by the cushions.

Until the food had been served, he hadn’t realised how hungry he felt after not having eaten all day. The stew was he thought was goat’s meat with beans and chilies in a thick gravy that he mopped up with bhatura, fried unleavened bread. Afterwards he had peaches and oranges for dessert. He had no sooner finished eating than the door flew open again and the girls appeared to remove his plates. He began to suspect that he was under observation so fast had been their appearance. After they left, the servant appeared carrying a tray with a cut glass decanter and a glass.

“His highness thought you might appreciate this Sahib,” he murmured, bowing as he left.

David smelt the decanter after removing the stopper. It was whiskey and the taste confirmed it as a malt whiskey of a superior brand. After a small drink he reluctantly put it on the table and blew out the candles before climbing into bed. He was asleep in seconds.

He awoke the next morning feeling refreshed. Looking at his watch, he saw it was almost seven as he automatically wound it up. He sat up in bed as the door opened and the servant appeared. He gave David the traditional greeting, placing his hands together as if in prayer, “Good morning Sahib. I trust you slept well,” he murmured.

“Yes, thank you, very well,” he replied returning the greeting.

“I have taken the liberty of having hot water provided for you in the bathroom. His Majesty wonders if you would have breakfast with him when you are ready.”

As he spoke, two girls came in carrying his clothes which they laid on the bed. Another came in carrying his shoes and the riding boots. All had been washed and ironed and the shoes and boots gleamed. When they had left, he hopped out of bed, wound the Mundu around him, and then collected his cutthroat razor and shaving brush from the Gladstone bag on his way into the bathroom.

The servant, who he finally discovered was called Peshawar, collected him at his room and conducted him along the corridors, coming to a halt by a wide terrace where a table and chairs had been placed by the ornate railings. A tall man dressed in a linen suit not unlike his own, had his back to him as he stood at the railing looking out over the city.

“Mr. Ramage, your Majesty,” announced Peshawar.

The man spun around, a wide smile on his face. David stopped and bowed his head. “You’re Majesty,” he murmured.

The Prince extended his hand and David shook it surprised at the firmness of his grip, “Mr. Ramage it’s so good of you to undertake the journey to be here. Peshawar you may now serve breakfast,” he said, indicating that David should take a seat.

“I hope you like scrambled eggs Mr. Ramage,” the Prince said as he seated himself.

David studied him as he sat down. He judged the Prince to be in his early forties, roughly six feet tall, with a lean body clad in a linen suit beautifully tailored to fit his body. He noticed the Prince, like himself, wore a soft turned down collar rather than the more formal, stiff bat-winged collar favoured by most of the senior politicians and men of means he had met in India.

He smiled to himself seeing the Oxford tie. However, the most striking feature of the man was his face and eyes. He wore a short pointed beard and a thin moustache with a lean hawkish nose and his eyes were almost black below thick eyebrows. It was, David concluded, a face of intelligence and power. A trained and experienced observer, David, took this all in in a glance.

“So Mr. Ramage, I see you batted for the other team,” he chuckled, indicating David’s Cambridge tie.

“I’m afraid so, sir,” he replied adjusting his serviette.

They talked about their respective universities during breakfast. Afterwards, the Prince led him into a small room that held two large cane chairs with a low coffee table between them. The Prince offered David a cheroot from a case he had in his inside pocket. After lighting it he sat back, “You must be wondering why you are here David. I hope you don’t mind me addressing you as David?” he asked.

David shook his head, “Of course not, sir.”

The Prince smiled, “I know quite a lot about you, and what I have learnt makes me think you are the ideal man for the task I have in mind.”

David frowned, still mystified as to why he was there.

“I know why you resigned your commission and the circumstances that led up to that. You deliberately ignored an order to retreat - a retreat which would have meant the certain death of the men trapped in that ambush - in order to redeem the withdrawal of your commanding officer, who panicked. I understand from my sources that the officer concerned has a history of such...” he hesitated, “ ... nervousness.”

“Instead, you led your platoon in a flanking attack that took the enemy by surprise allowing the trapped men to escape, bringing their dead and wounded out with them. I also know that the charge brought against you was structured to prevent the full facts from being brought out into the open at trial.

“Further, I know that you were a career soldier who has not had any outside advantage to help further your career. Your promotions have all come about from your personal ability to lead men in battle. The men in your command idolised you and would have followed you into hell if you led them.” The Prince looked at David and shook his head, “How the British Raj has managed to be so successful when such incompetents such as General Fitzroy lead its army, is a constant mystery to me.”

“If I may ask Sir, how is it you’re are so well informed about me? It’s only just over a week ago I resigned.”

The Prince chuckled, “I knew within three days of your resignation David. I make it a point to know what is going on in the corridors of power and the British army. It was a foregone conclusion that you would be treated as you were, my agents informed me. They also informed me of your unique ability to inspire loyalty in the troops in your command. I have need of a man of your ability.”

“I don’t follow you, sir,” he replied.

The Prince’s face became serious, “This room is one of only a few in my palace in which I can be sure of that I cannot be observed or overheard. There are those in my Kingdom who would be well rewarded by John Company or the Afghans for any information they can pass to them leading up to an overthrow of myself, if they have their way.