The Ravi Lancers by John Masters Read Free Book Online

little groups or sprawled back in the chairs, glasses in hand.
    Corelli of the Brahmins came up alongside him and muttered, ‘Good God, how on earth did they bring all this stuff out here?’
    ‘You saw the elephants and the bullock carts,’ Warren said. ‘Are you a guest, too?’
    ‘Yes, Colonel Hanbury invited me. He’s a friend of my father’s.’ They went forward together. As they came out into the light the Yuvraj stepped forward, hand outstretched, followed by Colonel Hanbury. Warren briefly stood at attention and said, ‘Good evening, sir.’ He relaxed. ‘Evening, Yuvraj. You fellows know how to make yourselves comfortable, don’t you?’
    ‘What will you have?’ the prince asked.
    ‘Oh, a chota peg, please.’
    The prince passed on the order in Hindi to a waiting orderly, ordering a lemon and soda for himself. They stood a moment, talking to Colonel Hanbury and Corelli. The drinks came and Warren sipped his as he glanced about him. Everyone except the band and the sentries was wearing blue patrols, the simple high-button tunic and tight trousers strapped over mess Wellingtons that were worn in the evenings in camp. All but Corelli, the infantryman, wore on each shoulder a large patch of chain mail, with coloured cloth backing--yellow for Ravi Lancers, scarlet in his own case. The Yuvraj wore heavy gold aiguillettes on the right shoulder and a miniature gold sunburst medal hanging from a yellow and white ribbon. Noticing Warren looking at them, he murmured apologetically, ‘I’m ADC to my grandfather. And this is the Royal Order of the Sun of Ravi. We’re supposed to be descended from the sun, you know. My grandfather insisted on giving it to me when I came of age ... I’d like you to meet some of our officers. Major Bholanath you know from the exercise.’
    ‘Yes,’ Warren said, with a smile, ‘and, to my cost, on the polo field.’
    He shook hand after hand. The names were a blur to him. A few had characteristics already distinguishable to him. This one was Sher Singh, the pansy. This spectacled one, Himat Singh, let his VCOs argue over the allotment of tents. This fat one, looking more like a babu than an officer, was the quartermaster. They all spoke English, some not too well--notably old Bholanath, who mangled it terribly and interspersed it with Hindi and Pahari words. Then the band struck up a new tune and Colonel Hanbury guided Corelli into dinner, followed by the Yuvraj and Warren, the rest of the officers strolling behind, talking animatedly.
    As he entered the marquee Warren suppressed another whistle. The mess table was polished mahogany, thirty feet long and groaning under such an array of silver and gold as he had never seen except once when dining in the mess of a very old and rich British battalion. He saw at first glance that the plate was not the accrual of decades and centuries, as in that case, but all given at once, probably by the Rajah, in order that his Lancers should not feel like poor relations. Down the centre of the table there were peacocks in silver, elephants in gold, several statuettes of lancers in full dress, a silver gun, goblets, chalices, bowls and vases. Corelli, sitting opposite, caught his eye and almost imperceptibly winked. They sat down.
    While Colonel Hanbury and his guest ate through six European courses--soup, fish, entree, roast, sweet, and savoury--the rest were served with spicy tidbits of meat, egg, mountains of savoury rice, vegetables, curried chicken, and sweetmeats done up in silver foil. Sherry, white wine, red wine, champagne, port, madeira, and brandy followed each other in ritual procession. Some of the Ravi officers drank a great deal, some none at all. All ate with the fingers of their right hands, some gracefully and some coarsely. The band played European music on the grass outside. At one end of the marquee, behind the president’s chair, a pair of lances were crossed over a large photograph of the Rajah of Ravi, garishly