“Exceedingly well done!” Pohlmann’s aides, half of them European and half Indian, joined their commander in applauding the returning hero, while the bodyguard made a double line through which Dodd could advance to meet the resplendent Colonel.
“Eighty thousand cartridges,” Pohlmann exulted, ‘snatched from our enemies!”
“Seventy-three thousand, sir,” Dodd said, beating dust off his breeches.
Pohlmann grinned.
“Seven thousand spoiled, eh? Nothing changes.”
“Not spoiled by me, sir,” Dodd growled.
“I never supposed so,” Pohlmann said.
“Did you have any difficulties?”
“None,” Dodd answered confidently.
“We lost no one, sir, not even a scratch, while not a single enemy soldier survived.” He smiled, cracking the dust on his cheeks.
“Not one.”
“A victory!” Pohlmann said, then gestured Dodd into the tent.
“We have wine, of sorts. There is rum, arrack, even water! Come, Major.”
Dodd did not move.
“My men are tired, sir,” he pointed out.
“Then dismiss them, Major. They can take refreshment at my cook tent.”
Dodd went to dismiss his men. He was a gangling Englishman with a long sallow face and a sullen expression. He was also that rarest of things, an officer who had deserted from the East India Company, and deserted moreover with one hundred and thirty of his own sepoy troops. He had come to Pohlmann just three weeks before and some of Pohlmann’s European officers had been convinced that Lieutenant Dodd was a spy sent by the British whose army was readying to attack the Mahratta Confederation, but Pohlmann had not been so sure. It was true that no other British officer had ever deserted like Dodd, but few had reasons like Dodd, and Pohlmann had also recognized Dodd’s hunger, his awkwardness, his anger and his ability. Lieutenant Dodd’s record showed he was no mean soldier, his sepoys liked him, and he had a raging ambition, and Pohlmann had believed the Lieutenant’s defection to be both wholehearted and real. He had made Dodd into a major, then given him a test. He had sent him to Chasalgaon. If Dodd proved capable of killing his old comrades then he was no spy, and Dodd had passed the test triumphantly and Scindia’s army was now better off by seventy-three thousand cartridges.
Dodd came back to the marquee and was given the chair of honour on the right side of Pohlmann’s divan. The chair on the left was occupied by a woman, a European, and Dodd could scarcely keep his eyes from her, and no wonder, for she was a rare-looking woman to discover in India. She was young, scarce more than eighteen or nineteen, with a pale face and very fair hair. Her lips were maybe a trifle too thin and her forehead perhaps a half inch too wide, yet there was something oddly attractive about her. She had a face, Dodd decided, in which the imperfections added up to attractiveness, and her appeal was augmented by a timid air of vulnerability. At first Dodd assumed the woman was Pohlmann’s mistress, but then he saw that her white linen dress was frayed at the hem and some of the lace at its modest collar was crudely darned, and he decided that Pohlmann would never allow his mistress to appear so shabbily.
“Let me introduce Madame Joubert to you,” Pohlmann said, who had noticed how hungrily Dodd had stared at the woman.
“This is Major William Dodd.”
“Madame Joubert?” Dodd stressed the “Madame’, half rising and bowing from his chair as he acknowledged her.
“Major,” she said in a low voice, then smiled nervously before looking down at the table that was spread with dishes of almonds.
Pohlmann snapped his fingers for a servant, then smiled at Major Dodd.
“Simone is married to Captain Joubert, and that is Captain Joubert.” He pointed into the sunlight where a short captain stood to attention in front of the paraded battalion that stood so stiff and still in the biting sun.
Joubert commands the battalion, sir?” Dodd asked.
“No one commands the battalion,” Pohlmann answered.
“But until three weeks ago it was led by Colonel Mathers. Back then it had five European officers; now it has Captain Joubert and Lieutenant Silliere.”
He pointed to a second European, a tall thin young man, and Dodd, who was observant, saw Simone Joubert blush at the mention of Silliere’s name. Dodd was amused. Joubert looked at least twenty years older than his wife, while Silliere was only a year or two her senior.