‘Salaam, sahib!’ A thin native in a loincloth scurried up and struck his forehead as he bowed to Arthur. Bright white teeth flashed in a smile. ‘I take your bags, sahib.’

‘I don’t have any,’ Arthur replied. ‘They’re on the ship.’

The porter glanced over the English officer for anything else that might need carrying, but Arthur waved him aside.

‘Out of my way, please.’

‘Acha, sahib!’ The porter bowed and hopped to one side as Arthur started along the quay towards the distant mass of Fort William. The squalor of the rapidly expanding town sprawled back from the banks of the river along filthy thoroughfares that Arthur glanced down as he made his way through the crowd of porters, beggars and merchants. The sounds of their cries, alien and shrill, the strangeness of their clothes and rags and the colour of their skins made Arthur keenly aware of how out of place he must seem. Indeed, as he glanced round, he realised that he was almost the only white man visible on the quay.

At length the quay gave way to a patch of mud at the river’s edge where children were playing in the water, splashing each other in silvery spray that reminded Arthur how hot he was. He wore the uniform in which he had set off from England, made from a heavy wool that might be sensible for this time of year back in Europe but was a positive torment here in Calcutta. He resolved to find himself a good local tailor as soon as possible to have some uniforms cut from a lighter material. It would be good if the men of the 33rd could be similarly dressed, or a hard march and a fight in this climate might well finish them.

Arthur entered Fort William and made his way to the elegant whitewashed headquarters, surrounded by a wide walkway which was raised above the ground and shaded by an overhanging roof. Several officers were sitting on cane chairs round a low table, talking quietly as they drank. Behind them squatted a small figure in a linen robe operating a large canvas screen that fanned the officers as they sat. They stood up as Arthur approached, one or two of them unsteadily, and exchanged a salute with him.

‘Good day, gentlemen. Colonel Arthur Wesley at your service. Is the Governor General at headquarters today?’

‘Yes, sir,’ the senior officer, an India Company major, replied. ‘Sir John is in his office. Do you wish me to show the way?’

Arthur nodded. ‘I’d be obliged. Might I know your name?’

‘Harry Ball, sir.’ He smiled readily.‘A regular, before I took the John Company bounty, and I ain’t looked back since. If you’d follow me?’

He led the way inside the headquarters and Arthur took the chance to examine the man. So this was one of the East India Company officers. At first glance there was only the uniform to distinguish Ball from the officers in His Majesty’s service. Ball seemed to be in his mid-forties, grey hair cropped short above a creased and tanned face. He looked competent enough, Arthur decided, hoping that he was typical of his kind. There were few enough King’s regiments in India as it was. Without the white-officered Company units the lands held by the three presidencies could be swallowed up by any maharaja, nawab or nizam whose greed and ambition got the better of him.

Major Ball led Arthur up a wide flight of steps to the offices on the second floor. The corridors and rooms of the building were airy and spacious and the Europeans who worked there were bent over their desks, cooled by one of the ubiquitous fans worked by the silent figures squatting discreetly at the side of each room. The Governor General’s office was on the corner of the building, looking out over the ramparts to the broad expanse of the river beyond where the Queen Charlotte lay peacefully at anchor amid the other shipping. A man dressed in a loose shirt was reading some papers that lay on top of an enormous desk of solid design. His plain coat rested on the back of his chair.

Ball tapped on the doorframe. ‘Sir?’

The Governor General looked up and Arthur saw that he was an older man, in his fifties with a kindly face and keen eyes. He smiled. ‘I assume you are off the ships that arrived this morning.’

‘Yes, sir. Colonel Arthur Wesley. Officer commanding the 33rd Foot.’

‘The 33rd?’ Sir John Shore leaned back and scratched his chin. ‘We were expecting you a bit earlier. By the new year at any rate. Your regiment set sail in June, did it not?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Slow going, Wesley,’ he said in a vaguely irritated tone.

Arthur felt unfairly slighted. It was hardly his fault if the vagaries of wind and sea had delayed the arrival of his regiment. But there was little point in making an issue about it the moment he met his new superior.

‘Yes, sir. I thought so. But I’m sure the captains of the Company ships were doing their best to make the swiftest possible passage.’

‘I suppose so.’ Sir John waved him towards one of the chairs arranged on the far side of his desk. ‘Thank you, Ball. You may go.’

Major Ball nodded and turned away, his footsteps echoing along the corridor as he strode off to rejoin his comrades on the veranda.

‘Good man, that.’ Sir John nodded after him. ‘Knows the country well, and his men even better. Wish there were more officers like him in the Company’s battalions. They have caused me quite a bit of trouble since I was appointed. Some of the blackguards even had the audacity to threaten mutiny last January. Threatened to take charge of India and run it for themselves unless I turned a blind eye to their peculations, and pressed the Company to increase their pay.’ Sir John shrugged the matter aside. ‘Anyway, Colonel Wesley, I expect you didn’t report to me just to hear about the grumbles of our discontented Company officers, eh?’

Arthur smiled. ‘No, sir. But it is as well to garner any information that may be of use later on.’

‘Yes, I believe so. Anyway, I imagine you would like to be briefed on the situation here, before we attend to the more mundane matters concerning the billeting of your men.’

‘I should be grateful for that, sir.’

Sir John nodded. ‘Very well, then. First, you will not be aware of it, but Spain has allied itself with France.We had the news from an overland dispatch that reached Calcutta last week.’

Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise. The odds against England winning the present war had lengthened considerably.

‘When was the alliance made?’

‘Back in October. And for all we know it has already crumbled. That is the burden of living so far from London, I’m afraid.We are never less than several months behind events taking place in Europe, but we must operate on the basis of the last official dispatch from England.To that end we now find ourselves at war with three out of the four major powers who have influence in the far east, France, Holland and Spain. We are not at war with Portugal. Not yet. Not as far as I am aware, at least. Of course, the biggest threat to English interests in India comes from the French.We saw off the Compagnie des Indes some years back, but since the revolution they have been doing their best to stir up discontent in the subcontinent. That’s one of the reasons for the 33rd’s being sent out here.’

‘Is there trouble brewing?’

‘There’s always trouble on one front or another,’ Sir John replied wearily. ‘The presidency of Calcutta is an area somewhat bigger than England, controlled by perhaps no more than two thousand of our people. If the natives ever took it into their heads to unite and crush us it could be done in an instant.’ He stared at the new arrival.‘I tell you,Wesley, our remit here is a very delicate affair. We rule because we have what the locals call iqbal.’

‘That’s their word for good luck, or good fortune, isn’t it?’

Sir John smiled with surprise and nodded. ‘I’m impressed. Where did you learn that?’