He had meant to charge the gate. But the animal had shaken off its reins and was in no mood to take orders. It had sniffed the river and decided that was the safest place. It charged around the side of the house and across the lawn to the water. All Adam could do was cling on.

  The elephant trampled down the muddy bank into the river. The water calmed it. Adam felt its huge legs begin to slow, moving easily. He scrambled to his feet, balancing on the beast’s back, then dived into the water. He swam upstream, battling the current. It would not be long before Hugo came looking for him.

  Soon he saw the dome of the little shrine rising on the right bank. He swam to it and hid himself in the dark water under the arches that supported it out of the water, just as the first sepoys reached the river.

  He didn’t know how long he spent treading water there. The river poured through the hidden entrance into the channel behind him, but the grille was fixed tight and he could not get through. At nightfall, the sepoys gave up the search. Adam scrambled out into the shrine and let himself into the tunnel through the trapdoor. Without a light, he had to feel his way in darkness, listening all the while for any sign of pursuit. When he reached the waterwheel he barely had the strength to hold on as it lifted him back to the palace.

  He had escaped. But that was no consolation. He had had his chance to kill Hugo and he had thrown it away. Now Hugo was warned, Adam would not get another opportunity. How would he explain it to Rob? He had failed.

  The palace was dark; everyone was asleep. Adam replaced the flagstone and returned to his room. A light came from the crack under his door: one of the servants must have lit a lamp for when he returned. He went in, desperate to lose himself in the oblivion of sleep.

  But the day had one more surprise in store for him. The room was not empty. Panjit sat on the bed. He had the chessboard laid out and was studying it hard, halfway through a game he must have been playing against himself. He took in Adam’s appearance: half-naked, filthy with blood and mud from the river, every muscle sagging with exhaustion.

  ‘Each time I think I know what to expect from you, you manage to surprise me.’

  ‘Hugo has returned,’ said Adam.

  ‘I know. I heard your encounter from here.’ Panjit took a piece off the board and turned it between his knuckles. ‘Everything you have done has been against my purpose. I was not ready for you to kill Hugo Courtney. But having had the chance, I wish you had done it.’

  Again, Adam felt the bitter shame of failure. ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Hugo will come for an audience with the Maharani tomorrow. We will find out then what he wants.’ Panjit gazed at Adam with a weary look in his eyes. ‘I was keeping you back for my endgame. Now you have ruined my strategy.’

  ‘I am sorry for that.’

  ‘If I cannot use a piece to attack or defend, you know the only other use for it?’

  With a sudden jerk of his hand, Panjit swept the white knight off the board. The piece shattered on the stone floor.

  ‘Sacrifice it.’

  *

  Adam could not sleep. He tossed and turned on his bed, but every way he lay made his wounds throb. Worse was the pain of what he had done – and not done. He thought he might spend the rest of his life trapped in that moment, the gun pointed at Hugo and his finger on the trigger. If only Ralph had not appeared. Adam would have avenged his family, saved Clare, and delivered Holkar from Hugo’s threat.

  But if his aim had been true . . . He imagined Ralph’s face covered in his father’s blood, watching Hugo shot down in front of him. The games of cricket and hide-and-seek would have been forgotten. Ralph would have dedicated himself to revenge, just as Adam had, just as Hugo had. The wheel of violence that had crushed so many Courtneys would have turned again, into another generation. A kind and gentle child would have been turned into a monster.

  Would he change what had happened, if he could? He didn’t know.

  Guards were posted on Adam’s door. In the morning they brought him food, and fresh clothes, but they would not let him out. Even to relieve himself, he had to use a chamber pot in the corner. Through the high window, he watched the shadows inch around the courtyard. It was the hottest day he had known. Down in the cantonment, the sepoys were exercising their guns again. The noise rumbled across the mountain like thunder, promising relief that never came.

  Around five o’clock – as best he could tell – trumpets sounded. Down on the plain, he saw a knot of red-jacketed men ride through the outer gate into the city. Soon afterwards, a knock sounded on his door.

  ‘You are summoned.’

  The court was packed into the durbar chamber. The Maharani sat on the huge tiger throne in a shimmering dress of azure silk. An enormous diamond pendant hung between her eyes, with more diamonds dangling from her ears, draped around her neck and studded in the rings and bangles she wore. It was almost as if she wanted to flaunt the wealth of her kingdom to the man who wanted to take it. The tiger cub lay curled on a cushion at her feet.

  ‘Stand here.’

  The guards manoeuvred Adam through the crowd, to a place between two pillars. Dressed in his Indian clothes, complete with turban, he would hardly be visible in the crowd.

  Trumpets and drums announced Hugo into the room. He had scratches across his face, and a black eye that spread almost to the scar on his cheek. He stalked across the audience chamber, shoulders hunched, brushing off the courtiers who tried to halt him in the middle of the room. He carried on until he was towering over the throne. The little Maharani had to crane her head back to look at him.

  He did not bow or offer any courtesy.

  ‘I have come from Calcutta with a message from the East India Company. We demand certain changes to the treaty between Holkar and the Company.’

  ‘What terms do you offer?’ said Panjit.

  ‘First, that you increase the subsidy you pay the Company by ten lakhs of rupees.’

  There was an intake of breath from the assembled courtiers. It was an astronomical sum. To pay it would mean vast taxes on them.

  ‘Second,’ Hugo continued, ‘that the new regiment I have brought from Calcutta be garrisoned here in the citadel. For the Maharani’s protection,’ he added.

  Adam knew what that meant. Accepting a garrison within the palace would be tantamount to surrendering the city. The Maharani would be Hugo’s prisoner.

  Panjit showed no emotion.

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘One other demand. That you surrender any subjects of His Majesty King George who have sought refuge in Holkar.’

  Panjit’s face was a model of innocence.

  ‘The Maharani does not permit the hat-wearers to enter her city.’

  ‘Are you so certain?’

  Hugo’s gaze swept across the room. Adam knew he should duck behind the pillar, but he stood his ground. He would not retreat from Hugo ever again.

  He did not have to. Adam stood taller than almost any man in the room, but Hugo saw only a turban and tanned skin, half-hidden by a helmeted guard in front. His eyes missed Adam and moved on. He grunted.

  ‘Those are my terms. Any failure to comply with them will be counted as an act of war. What is your answer?’

  The room went quiet. There were hundreds of people, but the only sound was the low murmur of Hugo’s translator speaking to the Maharani. She sat stiff-backed and proud under her canopy – a girl who held the lives of thousands in her hands.

  She spoke.

  ‘Her Highness the Maharani has considered the proposal of the East India Company,’ Panjit translated. ‘For the well-being of her subjects, and for the sake of amity with the Honourable Company, she accepts your terms.’

  Adam saw disappointment flicker across Hugo’s face: a hunter robbed of his sport. He had wanted the Indians to defy him, so he could make an example of them.

  ‘All the terms?’

  ‘All the terms,’ Panjit confirmed. ‘The subsidy will be increased. Your soldiers will be welcomed into the citadel tomorrow morning.’

  ‘And the fugitives?’

  ‘We will search the city tonight. If we find anyone, they will be waiting for you when you arrive tomorrow. Then you may do with them as you wish.’

  Silence fell. Hugo’s face writhed with emotions: suspicion, triumph, greed. He twitched and snorted.

  He had won. But even in victory, he could not resist one last act of cruelty. As he turned to go, he saw the tiger cub snoozing at the foot of the throne. A smile twisted his lips. With the hard toe of his boot, he kicked it in the ribs.

  The cub yowled and leaped to its feet, fur bristling. It saw its attacker and did the only thing it knew. It sprang at Hugo’s leg.

  The Maharani might have tamed it, but she had not defanged it. Its claws were pointed, its teeth sharp, and its young jaws were strong enough to break bone.

  It never touched Hugo. Adam did not see Hugo draw his sword, but in a blur of movement, the blade cut through the air and struck the leaping cub on the side of its neck. The cub was knocked to one side. It flew across the floor and landed in a heap of fur, blood gushing from the deep gash in its throat. The blade was so sharp, it had cut clean through the artery.

  The Maharani screamed. She jumped down from her throne and ran to the cub, cradling it in her arms as its lifeblood pumped out and ruined her silk dress.

  The crowd shuddered and drew back. The guards tightened their grips on their weapons and looked uncertainly at Panjit. Hugo was unconcerned. He wiped his bloody blade on the throne’s cushions, then turned to look around the room. He brandished the sword, challenging anyone to defy him.

  Panjit stayed still. The crowd was silent. The only noise was the soft sound of the Maharani, weeping.

  Hugo tossed his head disdainfully.

  ‘The little tiger may pounce,’ he said, ‘but if she bares her claws she will feel the taste of my steel.’

  With a glance at Panjit, he strode to the door.

  ‘I will return tomorrow.’

  NATIVITY BAY, 1803

  ‘W

  here were you last night?’ Sana demanded.

  Paul rolled over. His head was clouded; his eyes refused to open. All he wanted was to lie in bed and nurse his memories of the night before.

  ‘I woke and you were gone.’ Sana jabbed him in the ribs. ‘You did not come back for hours.’

  I went for a walk.

  ‘Alone?’

  Paul didn’t answer. Sana drew back, her mouth tight with anger.

  ‘Be careful. These are not good people. If they think you have betrayed them, they will hurt you.’

  At breakfast, Paul did not dare look at Mary for fear of giving himself away. He felt sure Gert and Susan must see the guilt written across his face. Sana banged about like a cannon that had broken loose from its moorings. She bashed her cutlery, spilled the milk and broke her plate.

  ‘Something in the air,’ said Susan. She was staring at Mary, who would not return her gaze. ‘Your Papa thinks you should ride out to the village at Ekuseni today. The chieftain has two fine bulls he is willing to sell. It would do you good to be away from here for a little while.’

  ‘I do not care about cattle,’ said Mary.

  ‘Then you should learn,’ snapped George. ‘It is your inheritance.’

  ‘More like my cross to bear.’

  ‘Mary,’ her mother reproved her.

  ‘You cannot treat me like a child. I am a grown woman now. Do I not get any say in my life?’

  Mother and daughter glared at each other. But before they could say any worse, the door slammed open and Marcus burst in.

  ‘There is a ship!’ he cried. ‘Tacking towards the headland, making straight for us.’

  Gert rose. ‘Is it the Frenchman we saw?’

  ‘An East Indiaman.’

  As ever, Paul did not understand the words. But he could see Marcus was pointing out to sea, and that Gert snatched up a spyglass from a stand on the wall. He guessed what it meant: a ship to take him away. He looked down the table and met Mary’s eyes. The emotion that passed between them would have been obvious to anyone, but the others were seized with the news of the ship and did not notice.

  Or maybe Susan did. She cleared her throat to get Paul’s attention.

  ‘I’m sure you will look forward to being on your journey again.’

  *

  They went out to the headland to watch the ship approaching. She was a stoutly built ship, broad-beamed for carrying cargo but well armed, if the row of gunports down her side was any guide. A figurehead of a buxom woman leaned out under her bow, exposing the tops of her breasts to the waves, and the red-striped ensign of the East India Company streamed from her stern.

  Paul could not watch her without dread in his heart. But it seemed from their reactions that the others recognised her.

  ‘The Seven Sisters,’ Gert said. ‘Captain Talbot. He was here two years ago.’

  ‘He will want some ivory, and fresh beef, I warrant,’ said Gert. ‘Best get the slaughtermen to kill some cattle. And the tusks from that great bull elephant we brought down in July – that will fetch a good price in Cape Town. I will be able to buy that new plough we need.’

  ‘And the captain will want feeding,’ said Susan.

  The family scattered to prepare for their guests. By the time Paul got back to the house, Sana had already packed a bag with her belongings – a few hand-me-down dresses of Mary’s she had been given – and was sitting on the bed ready to go.

  Paul rolled his eyes.

  The ship is not even here yet.

  The Indiaman anchored in the bay and dropped a boat. The family gathered on the foreshore to welcome them. Talbot was first out of the boat even before it had touched the beach, splashing through the surf. He was a large man, with a full face made red by sun and many bottles of wine over the years. He wore his sandy hair long, tied back in a queue. Everything about him was large: the fists which shook hands with his hosts; his smiling mouth and sagging jowls; the belly which bulged over his belt. The only exception was his eyes, which were small and pig-like.

  He had arrived from India and had brought gifts for all the family. There were bolts of silk cloth for Susan and Mary, an elephant carved of ivory for Marcus, and a doll for Rachel. Gert received a new saddle. George was given the princeliest gift of all: a gold-hilted knife, its handle carved in the shape of a tiger with ruby-red eyes. Talbot tousled Marcus’s hair – ‘You have become such a big lad since I saw you last’ – and bowed to Mary. ‘You are quite grown-up. It is as well your father keeps the location of your home a secret, or you would have suitors dashing themselves on the rocks to get here.’

  Mary blushed and made a sort of curtsey.

  Talbot turned to Paul and Sana.

  ‘And who are these two?’

  ‘Wayfarers,’ said Gert. ‘They were shipwrecked up the coast. We took them in, of course.’

  ‘We hoped to prevail on you to take them on to Cape Town,’ said Susan.

  ‘Of course.’ Talbot took a pinch of snuff from his snuffbox and gave an almighty sneeze. ‘My ship is full, but we can make space.’

  He gave them a smile through watery eyes. Paul and Sana did not return it.

  ‘Now, let us see if there is anything we can trade to our mutual profit.’

  He turned. Another man had got out of the boat and was striding up the beach. He was the biggest man Paul had ever seen – well over six feet tall and broad in proportion. He wore a striped coat of some brightly dyed Indian fabric,

  ‘Hugo . . . ah . . . Constable. The supercargo.’ Talbot introduced him. ‘You know John Company do not like to see any of their precious trade lost through wastage or neglect.’

  Hugo shook hands. Even Gert, with his strong farmer’s grip, winced. Hugo stared into each of the family’s eyes, like an astronomer searching for a distant star.

  ‘So these are the famous Courtneys,’ he said. ‘I have heard of you.’

  Gert frowned. ‘Not much, I hope. We keep ourselves to ourselves, here.’

  ‘Of course.’ Hugo sniffed the air, breathing in the warmth of Nativity Bay as if it was a long-lost home. ‘If I had such a paradise to call my home, I would not want to share it.’

  ‘You will not find our hospitality lacking,’ said George sharply.

  ‘No indeed,’ said Talbot. He was sweating; all his bluff good cheer had evaporated in the presence of the supercargo. ‘The table at Fort Auspice is the finest you will find between Cape Town and Muscat. I can vouch for that.’

  ‘Then I will relish it,’ said Hugo, licking his lips.

  *

  Two more places were laid at dinner that night for Talbot and his supercargo. It should have been a gay evening, with fresh company and news of the outside world to celebrate. Instead, it reminded Paul of the banquets at the king’s palace in Gondar. The food was lavish, the wine flowed freely, and everyone was as comfortable as if they were sitting on knives.

  The reason was Hugo. He was never less than polite, but he exuded malevolent energy like a prowling wolf. When he cut apart his food, there was something terrifying in the action. The candles in front of him seemed to burn brighter than the others. Somehow, all conversation started and ended with him.

  He showed particular interest in his hosts.

  ‘Your son is Sir Robert Courtney, the famous fighting admiral?’ he asked George.

  George scowled. ‘A better admiral than a son.’

  ‘Yet I owe him a great debt.’ Hugo shovelled another forkful of meat into his mouth. ‘He roams the seas like a tomcat in the farmyard, keeping them free of vermin and making it safe to trade.’

  ‘His place was here,’ said George. It sounded feeble, an old man’s lament.

  ‘He has a son, too, I believe.’ Hugo continued as if George hadn’t spoken. ‘Lieutenant Adam Courtney?’

  ‘Cousin Adam,’ said Mary. ‘He came here years ago. He must be grown-up now.’

  ‘You have not seen him recently?’