Gawilghur’s Delhi Gate. The men on the ramparts that edged the paved
entranceway cheered him home.
He did not pause to speak to Manu Bappoo, but instead rode through the
Outer Fortress and out of its southern gate, then led his captured
horse down the steep path which slanted across the face of the ravine.
At the bottom the path turned sharply to the left before climbing to
the Inner Fort’s massive gateway. The four heavy gates that barred the
entranceway were all opened for him, and the hooves of his two horses
echoed from the high walls as he clattered up the winding passage. One
by one the gates crashed shut behind and the thick locking bars were
dropped into their brackets.
His groom waited beyond the last gate. Dodd swung down from his horse
and gave both reins to the man, ordering him to water the captured
horse before he rubbed it down. He handed his sword to his servant and
told him to clean the blood from the blade and only then did he turn to
face Beny Singh who had come waddling from the palace garden. The
Killadar was dressed in a green silk robe and was attended by two
servants, one to hold a parasol above Beny Singh’s perfumed head and
the other clasping the Killadar’s small white lap dog.
“The cheering,” Beny Singh asked anxiously, ‘what was it? The guns
were firing?” He stared in horror at the blood soaked into Dodd’s
coat.
“You’re wounded, Colonel?”
“There was a fight,” Dodd said, and waited while one of the servants
translated for the Killadar. Dodd spoke a crude Marathi, but it was
easier to use interpreters.
“The djinns are here!” Beny Singh wailed. The dog whimpered and the
two servants looked nervous.
“I killed a djinn,” Dodd snarled. He reached out and took hold of Beny
Singh’s plump hand and forced it against his wet coat.
“It isn’t my blood.
But it is fresh.” He rubbed the Killadar’s hand into the gory patch,
then raised the plump fingers to his mouth. Keeping his eyes on Beny
Singh’s eyes, he licked the blood from the Killadar’s hand.
“I am a djinn, Killadar,” Dodd said, letting go of the hand, ‘and I lap
the blood of my enemies.”
Beny Singh recoiled from the clammy touch of the blood. He shuddered,
then wiped his hand on his silk robe.
“When will they assault?”
“A week?” Dodd guessed.
“And then they will be defeated.”
“But what if they get in?” Beny Singh asked anxiously.
“Then they will kill you,” Dodd said, ‘and afterwards rape your wife,
your concubines and your daughters. They’ll line up for the pleasure,
Killadar. They’ll rut like hogs,” and Dodd grunted like a pig and
jerked his groin forward, driving Beny Singh back.
“They won’t!” the Killadar declared.
“Because they won’t get in,” Dodd said, ‘because some of us are men,
and we will fight.”
“I have poison!” Beny Singh said, not comprehending Dodd’s last
words.
“If they look like winning, Colonel, you’ll send me word?”
Dodd smiled.
“You have my promise, sahib,” he said with a pretended humility.
“Better my women should die,” Beny Singh insisted.
“Better that you should die,” Dodd said, ‘unless you want to be forced
to watch the white djinns take their pleasure on your dying women.”
“They wouldn’t!”
“What else do they want in here?” Dodd asked.
“Have they not heard of the beauty of your women? Each night they talk
of them around their fires, and every day they dream of their thighs
and their breasts. They can’t wait, Killadar. The pleasures of your
women pull the redcoats towards us.”
Beny Singh fled from the horrid words and Dodd smiled. He had come to
realize that only one man could command here. Beny Singh was the
fortress commander and though he was a despicable coward he was also a
friend of the Rajah’s, and that friendship ensured the loyalty of much
of Gawilghur’s standing garrison. The rest of the fortress defenders
were divided into two camps. There were Manu Bappoo’s soldiers, led by
the remnants of the Lions of Allah and loyal to the Prince, and Dodd’s
Cobras. But if only one of the three leaders was left, then that man