Veils of Silk(132)

Then the two men separated, the maharajah to his audience chamber and Ian to his rooms. To the end, there had been that intriguing mixture of affinity and challenge that made them not quite friends, though not yet enemies.

As he made his way through the labyrinthine palace, Ian's thoughts obsessively returned to the massacre in Afghanistan. He could not stop himself from trying to total up the number of men he knew who must have died during the retreat.

At one point, the road from Kabul to Jallalabad led through a gorge that was less than twenty feet wide. With snipers above, it would have become a slaughterhouse. How many had died? How many women and children had been taken into slavery?

His stomach knotted with misery and irrational guilt that he had been safe and comfortable while friends were dying only a few hundred miles away.

Ian wanted nothing more than to get back to Laura and her warm understanding. Yet as soon as he stepped into their drawing room and she looked up, he knew something had happened.

"I found it, Ian," she said in a hushed voice, speaking in English. "And it's worse—much worse—than we suspected."

He caught his breath. "Have you written out a translation?"

She shook her head. "I thought it better not to write it in a language that someone here might understand."

"Good thinking." Raising his voice, he said, "Shall we adjourn to the bedroom? After two hours away, I find that I'm missing you fearfully."

She smiled, but her eyes were still grave. They went into her bedroom, which maids had cleaned that morning. There was not single rose petal left, though the scent lingered wistfully.

Ian sat on the sofa and pulled his wife down beside him. "I really have missed you." He kissed her, and duty was almost forgotten. She was so warm, so soft, so giving.

He pulled away with great reluctance. Keeping one arm around her shoulders, he said, "What have you found?"

She opened a paper covered with chaotic Russian scribbles. "Essentially Pyotr was organizing a coalition of forces that would attack the Sirkar when conditions were ripe, which he defined as a combination of two things. First, it would have to be after Ranjit Singh died, because he held the Punjab together and was our best ally in the north. Second, the Sirkar would have to be weakened by something such as fighting in eastern or southern India, or a European war that would require troops to be withdrawn from India.''

Ian sucked in his breath. "The first condition was met when Ranjit Singh died two years ago, and the second happened two days ago." When Laura glanced at him inquiringly, he said, "I'll explain when you've finished. Continue."

"Pyotr spent months talking to chieftains in the Punjab and Afghanistan," she said. "He found many who would be happy to join in a jihad, a holy war, to push the British out. He also talked to princes in some of the central Indian states who would rise if there were a chance that the Sirkar could be overthrown."

Ian frowned. "If all those groups would fight together, they would be a formidable force."

"Exactly what Pyotr thought," she agreed. "And the key to the plan is Rajiv Singh—a natural leader, an experienced general who has expanded his own domains considerably, and a prince who resents British rule. He is the one man who might be able to hold the rebel forces together.''

"And in doing so, he would light a fire that would burn across India." Ian gazed sightlessly at the wall as the pieces fell into place. "This is what Pyotr tried to explain before he was executed. His plan was to create a situation where the right spark would set off a whole series of disturbances. The Sirkar could handle one or two, but not outbreaks on all sides."

"It gets worse," Laura said tersely. "He had some diabolical ideas for arousing people against the British, including ways to persuade our native troops to mutiny.''

Shocked, Ian said, "How the devil could that be done?"

"Rumor warfare, I suppose you'd call it." Laura consulted the list. "I don't quite understand this, but he said there was talk that a new rifle would soon be issued to the army. It would use a paper cartridge that contains both powder and a ball?"

"The cartridge is bitten to release the powder," Ian explained. "Then the powder is poured into the barrel and the ball rammed in on top of it."

Her eyes widened. "Now I understand. Pyotr said that the cartridge is covered with grease. His idea was to spread a rumor that the coating contained both beef and pig fat."

"Damnation!" More quietly, Ian said, "So when a soldier bit the cartridge, he would be defiled—by the beef fat if he was Hindu, the pig fat if he was Muslim."