“Ahmednuggur is not important,” Pohlmann agreed, ‘but Scindia hates losing any of his cities and he stuffed Ahmednuggur full of supplies and insisted I post one regiment inside the city.” He nodded towards the white-coated troops.
“That regiment, Major. It’s probably my best regiment, but I am forced to quarter it in Ahmednuggur.”
Dodd understood Pohlmann’s predicament.
“You can’t take them out of the city without upsetting Scindia,” he said, ‘but you don’t want to lose the regiment when the city falls.”
“I can’t lose it!” Pohlmann said indignantly.
“A good regiment like that? Mathers trained it well, very well. Now he’s gone to join our enemies, but I can’t lose his regiment as well, so whoever takes over from Mathers must know how to extricate his men from trouble.”
Dodd felt a surge of excitement. He liked to think that it was not just for the money that he had deserted the Company, nor because of his legal troubles, but for the long overdue chance of leading his own regiment. He could do it well, he knew that, and he knew what Pohlmann was leading up to.
Pohlmann smiled.
“Suppose I give you Mathers’s regiment, Major?
Can you pull it out of the fire for me?”
“Yes, sir,” Dodd said simply. Simone Joubert, for the first time since she had been introduced to Dodd, looked up at him, but without any friendliness.
“All of it?” Pohlmann asked.
“With its cannon?”
“All of it,” Dodd said firmly, ‘and with every damned gun.”
“Then from now it is Dodd’s regiment,” Pohlmann said, ‘and if you lead it well, Major, I shall make you a colonel and give you a second regiment to command.”
Dodd celebrated by draining his cup of wine. He was so overcome with emotion that he hardly dared speak, though the look on his face said it all. His own regiment at last! He had waited so long for this moment and now, by God, he would show the Company how well their despised officers could fight.
Pohlmann snapped his fingers so that a servant girl brought him more rum.
“How many men will Wellesley bring?” he asked Dodd.
“No more than fifteen thousand infantry,” the new commander of Dodd’s regiment answered confidently.
“Probably fewer, and they’ll be split into two armies. Boy Wellesley will command one, Colonel Stevenson the other.”
“Stevenson’s old, yes?”
“Ancient and cautious,” Dodd said dismissively.
“Cavalry?”
“Five or six thousand? Mostly Indians.”
“Guns?”
“Twenty-six at most. Nothing bigger than a twelve-pounder.”
“And Scindia can field eighty guns,” Pohlmann said, ‘some of them twenty-eight-pounders. And once the Rajah of Berar’s forces join us, we’ll have forty thousand infantry and at least fifty more guns.” The Hanoverian smiled.
“But battles aren’t just numbers. They’re also won by generals. Tell me about this Major General Sir Arthur Wellesley.”
“Boy Wellesley?” Dodd responded scathingly. The British General was younger than Dodd, but that was not the cause of the derisory nickname. Rather it was envy, for Wellesley had connections and wealth, while Dodd had neither.
“He’s young,” Dodd said, ‘only thirty four
“Youth is no barrier to good soldiering,” Pohlmann said chidingly, though he well understood Dodd’s resentment. For years Dodd had watched younger men rise up through the ranks of the King’s army while he had been stuck in the Company’s hidebound ranks. A man could not buy promotion in the Company, nor were promotions given by merit, but only by seniority, and so forty-year-old men like Dodd were still lieutenants while, in the King’s army, mere boys were captains or majors.
“Is Wellesley good?” Pohlmann asked.
“He’s never fought a battle,” Dodd said bitterly, ‘not unless you count Malavelly.”
“One volley?” Pohlmann asked, half recalling stories of the skirmish.
“One volley and a bayonet charge,” Dodd said, ‘not a proper battle.”
“He defeated Dhoondiah.”
“A cavalry charge against a bandit,” Dodd said scornfully.
“My point, sir, is that Boy Wellesley has never faced artillery and infantry on a real battlefield. He was jumped up to major general solely because his brother is Governor General. If his name had been Dodd instead of Wellesley he’d be lucky to command a company, let alone an army.”
“He’s an aristocrat?” Pohlmann enquired.