“Sir!” The major wheeled and, while Mrs Featherstonehaugh struggled against him, he held her fast and urged his horse into a gallop away from temple, seeking safety.

Afterwards, even though she occupied a good vantage point on a nice sturdy branch, Rue could not remember who struck the first blow. All she knew was the twang of bow strings, and the air filled with arrows flying in one direction and bullets in the other. Soon after came the sound of clashing steel and wood, of sword and spear, as the cavalry closed in on the Vanaras. She smelled the sour salt of fear sweat, and the copper richness of fresh blood.

It was not a fair fight.

Without the werewolves and their supernatural strength, the abilities of the Vanara warriors would inevitably carry any conflict against mortals. Not knowing, or not believing, that they might be up against shape-shifting immortals, the brigadier and his men were not armed with silver, only steel sabres and leaded bullets. These the Vanaras could shrug off, hardly slowed by injuries that closed and healed even as they collected new ones. There were no licensed sundowners in this regiment, no specialised ammunition to take down supernatural creatures. The British army ordinarily made it a particular point not to fight the supernatural, certainly not on native soil. How could England be thought a civilising force if they disobeyed their own policies abroad?

So when the weremonkeys attacked, throwing their spears and shooting their arrows with deadly accuracy, they were attacking an army trained to work with them, not against them. Oh, the cavalry was efficient, although they could never hope to be so strong or so fast. The riders shot bullets and hurled knives in perfect formation, and for a short moment it looked as if they were driving the supernatural creatures back. But the Vanaras were stronger, more agile, and better trained. In a coordinated charge, half the weremonkeys leapt to the horses, swinging nimbly about from tree branch to saddle, lifting and throwing riders off bodily with long strong arms and prehensile tails until only a very few – the brigadier among them – were left seated. The horses, even the best-trained, were driven off into the jungle riderless and afraid.

The Vanaras closed in on what little cavalry remained.

That would have been the end of it except that the initial stalemate had lasted too long. It had given the infantry enough time to catch up. At a quick march they pushed through the forest and emerged to form ranks exactly when it looked as if all might be lost for the British.

Now the Vanaras, immortal though they may be, faced a solid line of a hundred harsh-faced soldiers ready to do battle. Even against monsters of legend.