The Jezebel of India Ch. 12

Chapter Twelve.

With the 'traitor of Jhansi' in their pocket, and the information he had in the wall's construction; the attacks against both the fort and the palace move apace. The artillery had broken the walls of the old palace, and a column had been formed for the assault and the Rani had to look down at the massed red-coated ranks and felt a shiver. Her palace, her home would be under attack within hours. Gobinder had urged her to leave, but she stubbornly remained. She looked down from the wall, resembling a broken tooth, and fought back the sadness that the world had brought to her door.

"We must fight them at every door; every corridor, every step in my home. We must make the attackers lose heart for battle, and fall back. I will remain here until the last moment, Gobinder, announce this to the militia guard and the palace troops. They must resist. Are the columns formed against the fort?"

Gobinder sighed, "The English have knowledge of the walls, and have found where the walls were repaired and have concentrated their fire on the weaknesses. The ramp was repositioned. They have good intelligence on the wall and will eventually break through, but it will take time and might offer enough resistance to allow Tope to attack their rear, but it is the only chance," He looked at his beloved Rani, "Excellence, I have your horse ready and your son too!"

All she could do was nod in agreement and await the attack.

As usual, the columns advanced under the first hours before the dawn. The lack of light, designed to obscure the attackers, who only held enough torches to light their scrambling in the darkened gates of the palace would then give enough illumination after the sun rose to aid the rest of the attackers in maintaining the breach. IT would be a hard-fought dirty conflict, most of it would be hand-to-hand and not delicate work.

The attack would be brutal, merciless and bloody.

The defenders knew it to be an almost hopeless task, but there was a tiny hope that the lead sections in the attack could be repulsed.

The English would form three sections of volunteers, much akin to the Napoleonic 'forlorn hope' soldiers that would rush a breach in the walls of a fortress in the hope they survive and achieve rank and booty; if they survived. The attackers would be the first to fray and would go on a murderous rampage. The officers would simply allow the men a night of pillage and plunder, as compensation for their bloody losses and come the morning, sanity would be enforced with a flurry of hangings and floggings for men who stayed within the walls after the given hour. The civilian population would suffer greatly, there would be multiple abuses, including rapes and wholesale robbery and murder.

For men that survived the hail of musket fire, the grapeshot of the levelled cannon and the edge of sharp solders; they were untouchable for a few hours and men became beasts.

As the night wore on, the defenders, waited in pools of their own piss. They could not move, they had to keep their position. One man who moved away from his assigned position might start a rout. So they waited. Their stomachs empty, their musket pans full of black acrid powder. All the women that would leave, had been funnelled away to the fort or into the hillside villagers and would hopefully escape the revenge of the English soldiers.

The Rani waited sword in hand in her audience chamber, with her son and hr valued escort of men, The half dozen were the strongest and best. They would smite anyone who attempted to harm Lakshmi Bai. By the call of cockerel, torches were lit and a snake of flame advanced up the gravel and stone ramp towards the breach. Cannon fire and musket rained down upon the English and they still advanced. Men bearing steel met men with bayonets and the fighting continued. Officers shot and slashed with their pistols and sabres. Blades blunted and became bloody clubs as they funnelled through the corridors to be met by another wave of attackers and defenders clashed.

The bloody mess continued for hours, with every foot and yard of the palace, won only at the cost of human lives.

But the English were winning.

The English officers ordered more men forward and once the fight advanced down the hallways or up the steps into a new tower, the second line would flood into the empty rooms for whomever or whatever remained. Men were slaughtered, women too. None was allowed to live whilst the balance of the conflict hung in the balance.

As the red tide rose and overcame the defenders, the fight eventually found the Rani. As she abandoned her audience chambers, and finally accepted the situation was hopeless. She fought her way through the red throng, her arm rising and falling scything her way through the attackers. Once in the clear, with her guard, a shield wall against further attack, she set light to the oil barrels that were hidden from the English in the towers above and set her home to the torch, With her son at her side, they made their way to the stables and without turning back mounted their steeds and rode for the relative safety of the fort.

By the dawn, the resistance had been broken and with only a few pockets fighting on, the dreadful pillage began. Red-coated men tore through the palace and outlying buildings. Officers, who were supposed to restrain their animalistic subordinates, abandoned such duties; searching for gold, jewels, silver and women.

Screams were heard throughout the palace, soldiers found women hidden away and preyed upon them. The Grey brothers were separate for this moment, Harry succumbed to the desire for a naïve girl and had found a tear-streaked woman, holding a half-broken blade out to ward off any attack. He easily parried her clumsy attack and struck her hard. The woman was sent skidding across the floor, strewn with broken furniture and mess. He launched himself at her, grabbing at her saree, tearing it open revealing her coffee skin. He had no intention of abusing her here, that time would come later. He called for his loyal dog, Mulal and had him drag her away for his pleasure after the assault was complete. On the other side of the palace, now having hastily formed fire brigades, attempting to subdue the fire, hunted for wealth. He had heard of jewels and gold and wanted his share. He managed to reach the audience chamber of the Rani, too late to capture her but his eye fell upon the throne. He had heard the stories of Sultan Tipu's golden tiger throne and its jewels and fell upon the gilded wooden structure and began to prise small gems of red and green with the tip of his sword, filling his pockets as he did so.

As the palace fell, men swarmed across the palace like ants tearing at a rotten carcass. After two days of looting and plunder, the order was finally restored and the shell of the palace was reduced to a perimeter wall, and some outbuildings, except for eyries that marksmen could use to fire across to the fort. Governor Rose was almost giddy with happiness, having taken the palace and could not focus his attention on the fort. His good humour was further bolstered by the news that his army had repulsed the attack led by Tope, and his mutineer army had been forced to retreat. His final good news was the death of Carstairs, the junior officer to whom he owed money.

In the Mess, the mood was ecstatic. Men drank and sang and counted their newly found wealth. The Greys were now richer than they ever believed possible and plotted their next moves. Of course, Harry had been able to secret his new plaything into a tent, within the confines of the palace's outer courtyard, with two of Mulal's men on guard. They would be visiting the poor wretch soon and take their pleasure. The Grey toasted their good fortune,

"No more the purveyors of whores! The native woman will be entertainment enough until the fort is taken and who knows if more treasures might be discovered!" Harry smiled, " I want to play first, you can follow in an hour or two. I want to break in the little bitch myself,"

"Good, break her in well. I want her in her knees and willing to please my prick tonight, " Charle hissed drunkenly, still effusive with his new riches.

Harry left the Mess quietly, carrying a bottle of good strong liquor and made his way to the ruined palace. He passed sentries, but they allowed him to pass and eventually, he saw the lit tent, and Mulal, who had expected his arrival and a weasel-faced corporal.

"You can go, Corporal but stay within earshot of my call. Mulal, I think this little bitch will not understand my words, you may need to translate," Harry beckoned, and they both entered and saw the young woman tied tightly, her saree, now mere tatters, her shapely right breast hung for all to see. Her face was still wet from her tears but unmarked, " she looks darker than the usual native, her eyes bear makeup!"

"She is Persian, probably a serving girl from the palace women's quarters, I speak Pashtu," Mulal nodded,

"Tell her that if she gives me what I want, I will try not to hurt her. Tell her, that I will have her, and if she resists, I will still take what I want but her blood will be spilt!" Harry swigged from the bottle and then spied a shallow drink dish slopped some of the liquid into it and offered it to her. She looked wary and then looked for Mulal to speak to her.

"Jara tumhī adhikāṟyālā tumacyākaḍē ṭhēvū dilē tara tō tumhālā trāsa dēṇāra nāhī- paṇa jara tumhī laḍhalāta tara tō kasāhī ghē'īla." Mulal translated first to Pashtu and then Marathan, the girl then nodded.

"I see some grasp of the situation in her eyes," Harry smiled, as he looked at her. She was more than just pretty and even in his mildly inebriated state, she looked defiantly handsome,

"She speaks Maratahan, and I have translated exactly," Mulal looked at the girl once again, and she nodded meekly, " She is called Nisha, and I will instruct her to please you,"

"Very good, and then leave us. I think she will cooperate," Harry set down the bottle and perched himself on the bed. He smiled and watched the girl.

"Jara tumhī iṅgrajānnā nirāśa kēlē tara tumhī mājhā sāmanā karāla," The warning was clear and the girl nodded once again. Mulal turned back to Harry, " She will be no blushing virgin, she will do as you tell her,"

"Good, I have no use for virgins, you can go. When I leave the tent, replace the guard and I will settle the gold upon you both," Mulal gave a curt bow and then left the tent. Standing over her, Harry pulled at the rope tied around her wrists as it fell to the floor, took her by the shoulders, lifting he to her feet. Harry pulled her close, despite her salty tears and the odour of sweat, he could still make out a faint perfume and then held her tenderly but firmly by her neck,

"You will do all that I ask, this night and if you do well, " His voice was soft and heavy, and though his words were unknown to her the sentiment and desires were obvious. Nisha knew the of meaning his tone, she had been in the women's quarters since she had been brought to the palace. As a serving girl, at merely 14, she had been immersed into servitude and soon, as her little budding breasts blossomed and her pubic hair became thick, she was noticed by the men of the court. As part of her training, she was instructed in bathing the women of the court, the wives and the courtesans, who were fetched from the corners of the lands to entertain the noblemen, and their lesser cousins.

It had been Tara, herself, that had instructed her on how she would apply the heavy dark makeup to her eyes. It had been her who showed her how to apply the rouge pot to her nipples, to make them luminescent. Nisha had taken to the dance training very quickly and soon was added to the older girls to dance for visitors and visiting notables.

One such night, she had been summoned to the older women's veranda, overlooking the setting sun and they asked her pointed questions,

"Has your flood come, little girl?" One woman asked, her days as a lithe dancer had long since passed, but in her youth, she was a noted beauty. Nisha nodded,

"Yes Matron," The title was honorific if a little displaced. The older woman was working a deal for her own advantage, and not her Nisha's.

"Good, is your cunny hair combed and oiled, as I told you?" She continued.

"Yes, mem. I have done everything that you said, why am I here?" Nisha asked though she had not been completely naive in the woman's house. She knew how the women would be escorted through the dark hallways, under the light of an oil lamp by a courtier, and then some hours later be returned. She knew that they visited the men and that they danced for them. Being a curious girl, on the verge of her womanhood, she had secreted herself one night, in one of the dark rooms, as a visiting noble came to rest overnight and there she waited. Nisha waited and watched until the single flame came dancing down the darkness and the door opened and a girl was let into the chamber.

Nisha watched in rapt attention, as the man in oiled black curls and loose sarong lay on a couch and the girl danced for him. As she danced, the man watched and smiled. As her dance finished, she knelt before the man, her bosom heaving and breath strained; the man smiled still further and stood and allowed his sarong to fall and the girl saw his stiff prick, proud and full in the candles that lit the room.

Nisha watched as the girl, her hand across her mouth stifling any noise, as the courtesan licked and suckled on the swollen member and still the man smiled. Soon, as his ardour peaked, he pulled at the girl's saree and soon she stood, her breasts hung, demanding attention, her golden charmed chain hung loose across her hips and dangled upon the thick dark curls of her cunny. Soon, she was laid upon her back, and the visiting noble then slipped his fingers into the tightness of her body and the girl shuddered, cooed and encouraged him further. Before long, his stiff prick was inside her, and she on her back writhed as he was soon brought to a groaning climax and his seed streamed from her cunny.

Throughout the whole scene, Nisha watched with rapt attention; she watched the girl coo and smile. She watched her open her legs and helped his prick into her body and sat upon him. The girl rode her lover, as a horse and then let him hold her hips and feed himself from behind. All these things she saw and learned.

All too soon, Nisha's red moon came and no she stood before the Matron. Her old hands folded with the purse of the Captain, whom she had worked this deal for her satisfaction,

"I have made your first match, and you will be visiting the Captain of the Guard this night," The Matron scorned to smile usually to anyone but now grinned with her old teeth.

"Am I too going to the Captain tonight?" She asked coyly, knowing that such bargains were made all the time. Only then did a sudden thought strike her, "And the gold he spends comes to you, Matron?" The accusation was clear, the other women chortled and laughed, as the Matron scowled.

"No such cheek from you! I am the Matron of the woman's house and you will go to the Captain and please him greatly," She stopped and then quietened, "Then we shall add a charm to your hips," A low concession but as Nisha was sent to bathe, massaged and perfumed before her night, the other matrons laughed gain,

"You were scolded there!" One old crone remarked, looking at her friend for a reaction and chuckling again.

"Such cheek! It is my right to strike the bargains, and why should I not> Did I have gold upon my hips, when I taken first? I did as I was told, and I had my matron to please; so why shouldn't she make me a little gold for me?"

Now, three years later, she knelt before the white officer with his stiff prick tenting his breeches, but no bargains were made now. She was alone now, her rifleman was probably dead now, on the floor of the palace and she had little choice but to work on this Englishman and like she had done before, make this man want her and only her. Her chances were slim, as in all times of conflict the world teetered and shifted like sand, but she could see this man and perhaps she could work a bargain for her survival. The old world had fallen to tatters but in this new one, she must survive and perhaps find a way from this camp and from this war. Being a clever girl, and being as beautiful as was, she knew the value of her own body. Time in the women's house had taught her many things about men, and now she must draw upon all her powers to ensnare this man.

Harry watching the girl, strip the remains of her saree from her sweat stained skin, felt him stir off his prick. She was quite lovely, and unlike the whores and wives of the camp followers possessed an innate loveliness and as she knelt before him, taking off his breeches, she looked up at him with large dark eyes. Her skills were never in doubt, Nisha pushed the tumult of her emotions to the back of her mind and thought of the task before her. Harry could feel how his stiffness growing and the action of Nisha's tongue caught his breath,

"Oh slowly, don't rush this..." He moaned, and despite his words not being recognised, Nisha could feel him getting more aroused and pulled him from her mouth and then licked at it; prolonging his erection.

At that moment, Harry had decided that Charles wouldn't be enjoying her now. She would be his and his alone. The seeds of their discord were sown between the brothers.