FOR Vijay, who guessed that the Maratha would be making for Nagaur too, time was of the essence. ‘Giddyup!’ he urged the oxen, ‘Giddyup!’, until the driver broke in. ‘Giddyup!’ he repeated testily. ‘Who are you to rush these poor oxen? They should be on the battlefield at Merta, drawing gun-carriages for Vijay Singh, not posting towards Nagaur. You aren’t the one with the Maratha at his heels!’ And they rumbled on towards Nagaur.

Hours later, dawn broke and the driver saw Vijay clearly for the first time. Recognition sprang into his eyes, and he tumbled off his seat, conscious of a gross breach of etiquette: he had been in sitting on the same level as his sovereign! ‘Under the circumstances’ said Vijay drily, ‘you are pardoned.’ The doubtful driver resumed his place; then ‘Giddyup!’ he cried, and he cried it until they reached the gates of Nagaur. That same day the Maratha came, and besieged the city and its prince for six long months.