"Bollinger, the 1913 vintage," Prince Ravi boasted. "I hope you ladies appreciate it. You certainly should since I had to have a private box car entirely filled with ice at a freezing works in Calcutta in order to have some small portion of it still intact by the time it got here.
I wish I could share some of the champagne with you but unfortunately my religion forbids it."
He smiled again and pointed at the rocking horse: "Champagne and a jolly fine wooden horse, hey? No doubt you are wondering what old Ravi is playing at. I already have you at my mercy, isn't it, so why the French champagne and the toy? Well, ladies, these props are for a little game we are going to be playing. The Kultooni Irregulars are inviting you all to take part in a Saumur steeplechase. Perhaps many of you know that Saumur is the town in France where French cavalry officers are trained, and I'm sure that some of you know the traditional test undertaken by an officer graduating from Samaur to prove he is a worthy successor to Marshal Ney."
The Prince smiled, held up one of the glasses above his eyes and watched the tiny streams of bubbles in it rising to the top of the champagne: "This is part of the test, proving that the aspiring candidate can hold his drink. Champagne of course, since it is in France. Each officer is given three hours to complete the test. During that time he must drink three bottles of champagne, ride thirty miles across open country and seduce three women. The order in which he carries out these tasks is left to his own judgement."
Ravi carefully put down the glass and folded his arms: "Ladies, today we are privileged to offer you the chance to show your mettle in a Saumur steeplechase. Five of you and fifteen bottles of champagne to be consumed in the next three hours. Unfortunately we can't let you go riding out into the country so we've bought you a horse in here. It may only be a rocking horse but whilst each one of you is on it I think I can guarantee there'll be some very fast galloping, my word, yes. But to make up for the lack of outdoor exercise we've increased your indoor exercise – three bottles each and four men each in three hours. Not very difficult, hey!"
He slapped his palms together and one of the ayahs came scuttling forward, to pick up the tray. "Please accept a glass each as the tray is taken around. The first lady to refuse will immediately be placed on the horse's back in exactly the same condition as Lady Godiva was when she made her famous ride through Coventry."
The woman in the pool gaped at him, except for Amanda, her eyes being fastened on the tray as the ayah knelt down to present it to her. She was totally confused as to what to do, until the Prince took a step towards her. Without any more delay she immediately decided that he was perfectly capable of making good his threat and picked up one of the cold glasses and sipped from it – the iced Bollinger as delicious a drink as anything she could ever remember tasting in her entire life.
"No heeltaps, young Amanda," the Prince said genially. "All down the hatch, chin, chin. There's a lot to drink yet."
She obeyed and swallowed the rest of the glass in one gulp, and went to put it back on the tray, only to find it already carried away.
"Keep the glass, Amanda, a refill is already coming."
Three of the native officers, slim and smiling, came towards her. One of them was carrying an ice bucket with the long neck of a champagne bottle protruding from the top. More officers were breaking up into small groups, each group with a bucket and a bottle, and each group walking around the pool and stopping at the back of one of the women.
It was as if each of the wives had been assigned her own escorts.
Amanda realized with a shock that was probably the truth, the selection already made of which man – which men – would have each woman. She looked around and saw the same knowledge dawning on her friends' faces. Amanda also noticed that none of the women were refusing to drink. Jean Ellington had been the most obviously reluctant to pick up a glass but Carol Carnac-Smyth had snapped something to her which had made Jean comply. And that was no surprise, what with those damned snakes hanging overhead.
"Now, who's the senior lady present today?" The Prince demanded.
He was smiling, rubbing his extended thumbs against the silk sleeves of his jacket as he grinned at his prisoners. It was a joke, a sly joke about the Indian caste system as adapted and practiced by the British. Every civil servant's desk had a warrant of precedence on it, a book which showed the relative status of every servant of the King-Emperor. Without the warrant nobody would have known how to arrange the seating at a dinner party, and whether an Inspector of Smoke Nuisances and his wife should be further up the table than a Junior Settlement Officer and his spouse. But in the Army the whole system was much clear cut. The Colonel of the 17th was a bachelor, so the senior major's wife was the senior lady. Which meant, amongst other things, that she was the wife who gave the signal for the women to withdraw after a meal and leave the men to drink their port in peace. But not today: no segregation of the sexes today.
"I'm the senior lady," Carol Carnac-Smyth admitted.
The Prince nodded: "Oh yes, so you are, Carol. Now, will you come out here or shall I try my marksmanship again? And I should warn you that I'm a very poor shot. The bullet may go anywhere."
Carol didn't exactly stand up, for she didn't get the chance, not with eager brown hands at each elbow to help her up, then to take her wrists and arms. The Kultooni men standing behind her almost lifted her out of the pool and then provided a close quarter escort as she was walked around the pool towards the Prince. All the eyes in the room were fastened on the sight of Carol's lean and shapely figure clearly displayed under the thin wet sari. Especially where the fabric clung to the slowly swinging shapes of her breasts. One of the officers spun the rocking horse around on its rockers so that the big simpering blue eyes were looking directly towards the pool. Carol was made to stand behind the wooden model, each of her arms still being lightly held.
"Well, Carol, you seem to have plenty of prisoner's friends eager to help you along" Ravi chuckled. "Let's get her ready for mounting."
There were answering laughter from the men around Carol as two of them kept their hands on her wrists while Ravi stood closer behind her. He reached around her body with one hand and used it to gently cup her left breast, then to tweak the fold in her cleavage which kept the sides of the sari together. The women in the pool and the men standing around it all saw the spasm of anger which showed in Carol's face, though she made no effort to break away from the men holding her,
"This weather is getting unbearable. Are we never to go up to the hills?" Carol Carnac-Smyth drawled.
The other five women lying in the shallow pool of water were all of the same opinion. The searing Punjabi sun beating down on the wooden roof above their heads was far too hot for comfort, especially when the baking summer winds blew in from the arid plains which surrounded Gazepore. There were many delightful places in colonial India in which wives of British officers might live their lives. Gazepore was not one of them. A small and isolated garrison town, its only amenities for Europeans were a social club and a cinema with walls and roof of corrugated iron. And, perhaps best of all, the railhead station, which at least promised some chance of eventually leaving the dismal place.