"My informant is very reliable." A hint of contempt entered Rajiv Singh's voice. "The details speak for themselves. Your British commander, General Elphinstone, was utterly incompetent and made mistakes that would shame a schoolboy. Once your forces left Kabul to retreat to Jallalabad, their fate was sealed. You know what that countryside is like."
Ian stared blindly at the dispatch and tried to control his expression. Though the message was couched in flat, unemotional language, his mind supplied vivid details of the carnage that had taken place.
The withdrawing troops, some British, more of them native, would have been accompanied by thousands of camp followers. Many were women and children, and the column would have moved with hideous slowness. It was full winter on the high plateau of Afghanistan, and bitter winds and snow would have lashed at the struggling multitude.
The Afghans were some of the finest riders and marksmen in the world. They would have harried the column every step of the way, darting in to slash and kill, then racing away before the British troops could retaliate.
Ian had traveled through those mountains and knew exactly how treacherous they were. Once the demoralized column reached the mountain passes, they were doomed. The Afghans would have held the heights, and the soldiers and camp followers below would have been easy prey.
According to the dispatch, a single officer, a surgeon called Brydon, had reached the British fort at Jallalabad to tell of the massacre. Ian glanced at the date and saw that the sole survivor had stumbled into sanctuary only two days before.
The maharajah's source was excellent. Ian had the dubious privilege of being the first Briton in India to hear the news.
"I'm sorry, Falkirk," Rajiv Singh said. "Did you have friends among the Kabul garrison?" Though the sympathy was real, the maharajah had an air of suppressed excitement about him.
Tersely, trying to keep the pain from his voice, Ian said, "Yes, I had friends there. I wish to God that one of them had had the sense to shoot Elphinstone. This never should have happened. Never!"
"Though only one man reached Jallalabad, it's likely that other survivors will eventually turn up," the Rajput said. "Some of the Indian soldiers will have gone to ground among the hill people, and the Afghans might have taken prisoners."
"I hope so. But a few more survivors won't alter the fact that this is one of the greatest disasters ever to befall a British army, and it's one that shouldn't have happened."
Ian's lips twisted bitterly. "Perhaps this is a judgment on my countrymen for their arrogance. It was the height of stupidity to remove a capable ruler like Dost Mohammad from the throne simply because he had received Russians at his court. I see that it was his son Akbar who led the forces that drove the British out. There's justice in that."
"You're admirably objective about your nation's failings." The Rajput looked down at the rhinos. One heaved itself from the wallow and began scratching against a tree trunk with a force that made the tree quiver. "The British went into Afghanistan like that rhino, heavy and stupid. They were able to shake the country briefly, but they forgot that even a rhinoceros can be brought down by an angry tiger."
Ian handed the dispatch back to the other man. "You don't regret this, do you?"
"It's a pity when brave men die because of inept leadership, but apart from that, I'm not sorry." The Rajput began walking along the path with a gesture for Ian to accompany him. "I have been an ally to the British because it is good policy, and there are individuals such as yourself and your lovely wife whom I like and respect. But I do not love the conquerors of my country, nor do I weep when they reap the rewards of their arrogance."
Obviously the time had come for honesty. They walked in silence for several minutes. Abruptly the maharajah said, "There is talk that in the future, the Sirkar will annex any independent state whose ruler dies without leaving an heir of his body." Rajiv Singh gave his companion a fierce glance. "I have no such heir. If I adopt one, according to the custom of my people, will the Sirkar take Dharjistan from him when I die? And if that happens, is that your British justice?"
Ian was rocked by the other man's intensity. "I didn't know that such a policy is being considered." He grimaced. "But if it is enacted, I would not call that justice."
"Nor would I."
They rounded a bend and came upon a huge enclosure containing several white tigers. The area included trees, grass, and a waterhole. A ditch surrounded it, with a high, pointed fence on the outside edge to keep the beasts from escaping.
Ian had heard of white tigers, but never seen any. They were magnificent and a little unreal, like powerful ghosts of their golden cousins. Wanting to ease the tension, he remarked, "Splendid creatures. They appear comfortable with their lot in life."