Hart of Empire (2010) Page 16

  In a ravine to his left, he could just make out the village of Kushi, a veritable oasis of mud houses, abundant orchards and fertile land irrigated by the stream from the Dobundi defile. The camp, by contrast, was pitched on stony ground on the right bank of the ravine, which was three miles long and half a mile wide, each bank rising for more than a hundred feet.

  They had been riding for some hours when, as they approached a low range of hills, Ilderim drew George's attention to a large dustcloud ahead. 'Many riders, huzoor, we must take care.'

  'We'll hide in that building,' said George, pointing to a ruined fort on the side of the road, 'until we know who they are. If they are rebels, they're taking something of a chance in coming so close to Baker's camp.'

  They rode through the fort's ramshackle main entrance and dismounted. 'Wait here with the horses,' said George. 'We might need to leave in a hurry. I'll take a look from the ramparts.'

  He picked his way carefully up the crumbling steps to the parapet and, leaning his carbine against the wall, scanned the hills to the north. The dustcloud was still visible but nothing else. Then over the brow of the hill came a continuous stream of red-coated riders, their naked tulwars glinting in the early-morning sun. 'I think they're rebel horsemen,' he shouted down to Ilderim. 'Get ready to move.'

  Yet as George watched the cavalrymen were followed by other riders in a variety of rich clothes, a couple of horse-drawn carriages and, finally, a long baggage train of mules and more red-coated horsemen. It did not look to George like an army on the move; rather, an important retinue with its escort. But who would be foolish enough to venture so close to the British at a time like this? The answer came to him: Yakub Khan. Only the amir would risk such an association with an invading army. He was obviously about to place himself under the protection of the British. But why?

  Ignoring the dangerous masonry, George ran down the steps, took his bridle from Ilderim and mounted. 'Let's go. The riders approaching are Yakub Khan and his escort.'

  Ilderim's broad forehead creased in a frown. 'Has he come to negotiate with the British?'

  'Judging by the number of baggage animals he has with him, he's here to stay. Something must have happened in Kabul to drive him out. Whatever it was, he's crossed the Rubicon now and there's no going back.'

  'The Rubicon, huzoor?'

  'It's a river in Italy . . . never mind. Unless . . .'

  'What, huzoor?'

  'Unless I can talk him into returning to Kabul. Quick, Ilderim, we have little time.'

  Ilderim vaulted into his saddle and the pair cantered out of the fort and up the road towards the approaching calvacade. They were intercepted by the Kuzzelbash advance guard, which surrounded them with tulwars outstretched. Once George had explained to their officer that he was carrying an important message for the amir from the British general, he and Ilderim were led along the column to where Yakub was waiting, mounted on a fine grey Arab, with Shah Mohammed and his leading sirdars behind him. The amir's eyes were bloodshot and he looked exhausted, as if the strain of ruling such a turbulent country had finally proved too much to bear.

  'Your Highness,' said George, 'it is I, Captain Hart, the man who carried your last message to General Roberts. I was on my way back to you with his reply. Why have you left Kabul?'

  'I had to,' said Yakub. 'When word reached the city that Angrez troops had entered Afghanistan and occupied Kushi, my uncle, Nek Mahomed, and the other rebel leaders came to my palace and offered me a choice: join them against the Feringhees or die. I chose life, but I had no intention of leading the fools in a war they cannot win. So yesterday morning I sent servants to erect tents in my pleasure garden at Beni Hissar, as I often do at this time of year, and followed later with my retinue, including my son and heir, Musa Khan. In the evening I sent the tents back to the Bala Hissar, as if to show my intention of returning. But instead I rode south through the night to Zergan Shah, and on to here.'

  'You've ridden all night?'

  'I have.'

  'Then stop and rest while we talk.'

  Yakub hesitated, as if worried that at any moment the rebels, having worked out his intention, would overtake him and return him to Kabul in chains. But exhaustion got the better of him and he agreed to halt for refreshments. Orders were shouted and servants came scurrying from the baggage train with carpets and cushions for the amir and his sirdars to sit on. Fires were lit and soon tea was being served in pretty china cups from a fine silver teapot. George took a sip. It was far too sweet for his taste, and he preferred it with milk, but he drank it anyway. With the niceties observed, he put down his cup and turned to Yakub, who was sitting cross-legged to his right.

  'Your Highness, I must ask you to reconsider your decision to meet with General Roberts. It will be seen by your people as an act of betrayal.'

  'What do you know of my people, Angrez? Nothing. Believe me when I tell you they will understand my reasons. It is the rebels I flee, not my people.'

  'Quite right, Highness,' said his wazir, Shah Mohammed, seated to his right. 'Once those dogs have been defeated, we can return to Kabul with honour.'

  George ignored the wazir. 'Do you really believe, Your Highness, that your people will forgive you for deserting to the British?'

  'I am not deserting them,' said Yakub. 'I am removing myself from Kabul for my own safety.'

  'But is that how they will see it?'

  'They might, if I can persuade your General Roberts not to enter Kabul. All I need is time to restore order among my troops and to punish those who attacked the Residency. What does he say in his letter? Does he hold out any hope of a delay?'

  'I'm afraid not,' said George, removing the message from inside his kurta and handing it over. 'He's determined to advance as quickly as possible to assist Your Highness in putting down the rebellion and carrying out the necessary punishments. He says that British public opinion won't accept any delay, and that other British columns are advancing on Kabul from the south and the east.'

  Yakub read the letter, then passed it to his wazir. 'I must do something before it's too late,' he said to George, almost in tears. 'I must speak to General Roberts, face to face, and persuade him to change his mind.'

  'He will not.'

  'He may if I explain to him that an Angrez army at Kabul will provoke a national uprising.'

  'I am not sure that will sway him.'

  'Why?'

  'Because,' said George, 'that's exactly what he and the hawks in the Indian government want. It will give them the excuse they need to depose you and annex the country. They're already blaming you for Cavagnari's death.'

  'But I had nothing to do with it. You were there. You saw my efforts to stop the fighting.'

  'Indeed I did,' said George, but did not add that the amir's efforts had been less than wholehearted. 'And I said as much to the general. But he seems only too happy to see the worst in you, and claims to have intelligence that you have been encouraging the hill tribes to oppose his advance.'

  Yakub seemed caught off guard by the accusation, his eyes darting sideways to his wazir for reassurance. 'Lies, all lies,' he said, without conviction. 'Why would I do that?'

  George raised his eyebrows, as if the answer was clear. 'To slow Roberts's advance, of course, and to give you a chance to shore up your authority and win kudos among your countrymen in the event of a British defeat. Who knows? But it's immaterial because Roberts has made up his mind that you're not to be trusted. Make no mistake, he'll welcome you with open arms and expressions of friendship but he'll watch you like a hawk and ignore any request you make to slow his advance. Kabul will be his in a matter of days.'

  'In that case,' said Yakub, 'my family are doomed.'

  'Is your family not with you?'

  'Only my son, Musa Khan. He's seven and is travelling in one of the covered carriages. But the rest of my household - my sister Yasmin, my wives and servants - are still in the Bala Hissar. I wanted to bring them with me, but Shah Mohammed advised against
it.'

  'And with good reason, Highness,' interjected the stern-faced wazir. 'It would have been impossible to move them all in carriages to Beni Hissar without arousing the suspicion of the mutinous soldiery.'

  'So instead you abandoned them to the depredations of those same soldiers.' George was appalled by Yakub's weak and unchivalrous behaviour, and no less furious with the wazir. 'How could you?'

  'Shah Mohammed said it was for the best,' said Yakub, defensively. 'And I didn't abandon them. They still have Walidad Khan and the palace guard to protect them.'

  'How strong is the guard?'

  'Two hundred picked men.'

  'And can they be trusted?'

  'Of course. They have all sworn a personal oath of allegiance to me. But already they are outnumbered by mutineers, and if Roberts continues his advance, as you say he will, other regiments at Sherpur may break out and attack the citadel. If that happens, my family will be in grave peril.'

  'All the more reason for you to return to Kabul, or at least send your escort back to collect them.'

  'I . . . don't know,' said Yakub, hesitating. 'Shah Moham-

  med?'

  'Ignore the Feringhee, Highness,' growled his wazir. 'The rebels will arrest you if you return, and if you don't they will never allow your family to join you. It's hard, I know, but the women must fend for themselves. You must put your throne before your family.'

  Yakub nodded his assent. 'You see, Captain Hart? I have no choice. I must go on, and hope that General Roberts takes pity on my poor womenfolk.'

  Fat chance of that, thought George. He looked from Yakub to his wazir - they were as bad as each other, with their weasel words and cowardly actions. Yakub in particular was beneath contempt and Afghanistan, he decided, would be better off without him. 'I can see that your mind is made up, and that any further discussion is pointless,' he said coldly. 'With your permission, therefore, I will take my leave.'

  'What?' exclaimed Yakub. 'Will you not escort me as far as the British camp?'

  'I promised General Roberts that I would see for myself the lie of the land as far as Kabul, and that is what I mean to do.'

  'Goodbye, then, Captain Hart. And have a care. The country will be crawling with rebels anxious to oppose the Angrez invasion.'

  'Or patriots, Your Highness,' was George's parting shot. 'They could be either.'

  George cursed. He knew from the position of the sun, low to the west, that it would soon be dark and too dangerous to travel. Yet he also knew that the bridge over the river Logar at Zahidabad was barely a mile distant, and that it was the last major hazard he and Ilderim had to negotiate before the road divided: left, through the hills to Ghazni, a distance of fifty miles, and right along the familiar, shorter route to Kabul. Ilderim was expecting him to take the road to Ghazni, but George was seriously considering the alternative. It made little sense, he knew, but a voice inside his head kept telling him that Princess Yasmin was the last hope for Afghanistan.

  Ilderim turned in his saddle. 'Is something wrong, huzoor?'

  'It's nothing. I'm just anxious to get across the river this evening.'

  'Never fear. There are two shallow fords nearby that we can use if we have to.'

  It was dusk as they approached the stone bridge up a narrow road flanked with high banks and much cut up by dry canals and small water-channels. They could just distinguish the large village of Zahidabad to their left, between the road and a bend of the river, but there was little sign of life. The bridge, too, appeared to be deserted. But as they closed to within three hundred yards of the river Ilderim laid a hand on George's arm. 'I can see someone, huzoor.'

  'Where?' whispered George, squinting into the darkness.

  'Just beyond the bridge, to the left, a sentry with his rifle slung.'

  George could see a shape that he would never have identified as a soldier, and marvelled again at Ilderim's eagle eyesight. 'Is he a rebel, do you think?'

  'Almost certainly, huzoor. He's wearing uniform.'

  'Are there others?'

  'I can't see any, but their camp might be in the dead ground beyond.'

  'In that case we'd better use the fords and hope they aren't guarded. Do you know exactly where they are?'

  'No, huzoor, only that they lie to the right of the bridge.'

  'We'll head in that direction, then,' said George, dismounting and leading his horse over the high bank and into the cultivated field beyond. Though harvested of standing crops, the land was still criss-crossed with irrigation channels, and it took them a good ten minutes to reach the willows at the edge of the river, and another five to locate the cut in the embankment that marked the ford, by which time they were thankful for the inky blackness. Before attempting to cross, they listened hard for any sounds that would indicate the ford was guarded. There were none, though they could hear voices and see the twinkle of fires closer to the bridge, confirming Ilderim's suspicion of a rebel camp.

  'Let me go ahead, huzoor,' said Ilderim. 'If it's clear I'll hoot like an owl.'

  George waited nervously as Ilderim led his horse into the river, the slap of hoofs against water sounding impossibly loud. At every moment he expected a challenge, or a gunshot, but the far bank was quiet and, after what seemed an age, Ilderim's comical hoot signalled the all-clear. With his carbine slung on his back, pistol in one hand and reins in the other, George edged forward into the river, the icy-cold river soaking his shoes and trousers, and causing goose-bumps to rise on his thighs. By mid-stream, with the water waist-high, he was shivering. But the snap of a twig from the bank to his left banished all thoughts of discomfort and he paused, ears alert to further sounds. He heard a soft footfall. Someone was approaching. He raised his pistol, ready to fire. The footsteps were closer. Then a loud groan, and they stopped.

  'Huzoor, hurry!' hissed Ilderim, from the bank.

  George splashed through the shallows, pulling hard on his uncooperative mount, as a voice called, from the direction of the camp, 'Have you been at the arrack, Hazrat Khan? I've heard less noise from a buffalo in a thicket.'

  George was nearing the bank when the same voice cried, more urgent this time, 'Hazrat Khan? Have you fallen into the river?'

  'Quick, huzoor,' whispered Ilderim, out of the darkness. 'It won't be long before they investigate.'

  'What did you do with the body?'

  'I left it in the shallows.'

  A shout came from their left. George could see men running towards them with flaming torches. He swung into the saddle and dug in his heels, his horse following Ilderim's up the cut. As they reached level ground a soldier with a torch appeared to their left, dropped to his knee and fired, the bullet pinging uncomfortably close to George's ear. He fired back and instantly regretted it as the flash from his muzzle gave away his position. The response was a volley of shots, but all were fired in haste and passed harmlessly overhead.

  'This way, huzoor,' shouted Ilderim. 'The road can't be far.'

  George urged his horse on, praying it wouldn't stumble in a ditch, or a lucky bullet find its mark. Having reached the road unscathed, they turned away from the rebel camp and towards Kabul.

  'Fear not, huzoor,' said Ilderim, once they had left the shouts and gunshots far behind, 'we can work our way back to the Ghazni road later. There's a turning up ahead.'

  'We won't need it. I've decided to make for Kabul first,' replied George, surprising even himself with the suddenness of his decision.

  'I don't understand,' said Ilderim, drawing rein. 'When we left the amir you said our destination was Ghazni. That is where we will find the cloak, not in Kabul. Why not proceed by the quickest route?'

  'Because there's something I must do in Kabul. I would have mentioned it before, but I've only just convinced myself it's the right thing.'

  'What must you do, huzoor?' asked an exasperated Ilderim. 'What could be worth the risk of returning to that rebel-infested slum? Jewels? Bullion? And if it's not money there's only one thing I know that can cause a m
an to lose his senses, and that's a woman. But it can't be a woman because . . . because . . .'

  Ilderim took George's silence as a bad sign. 'Please, huzoor, tell me it's not a woman.'

  'I'm sorry but it is. That spineless amir has left the women of his household in the Bala Hissar with barely two hundred soldiers to protect them. They're at the mercy of the rebels and I must help them.'

  'You return to save all of them, huzoor?'

  'Just one. Princess Yasmin, the amir's sister.'

  'What business is she of yours?'

  'None, I suppose, but I'm making her my business. I met her once during my time at the palace and if you'd been there you'd understand. She's magnificent. I don't mean in her person, though she is very beautiful, but in the way she holds herself, the way she thinks. If her brother had half her spirit and determination your country would not be in the chaos it is.'

  'I'm confused, huzoor. You've spoken to her just once and yet you'd risk all to save her from . . . from what, exactly?'

  'From the rebels. Once they realize the amir has absconded to the British they're bound to sack the palace, and any women they find will be fair game.'

  'So you'd risk our lives for her honour?'

  'Yes, indeed, but it's more than that. It's hard to explain, but since leaving the amir's camp I haven't stopped thinking about her - and, no, not in that way.'

  'In what way, then, huzoor?'

  'In the way she encapsulates - by her nobility, courage and fortitude - all that's good about Afghanistan, because there's so much that's bad, as well you know. When you meet her you'll understand. Ilderim, there's something about her that offers this country hope. If she dies, I fear it will too. I know it's not rational - call it instinct, if you like - but I have to save her.'

  'So your mind is made up.'

  'It is.'

  'And the cloak? Have you forgotten why you came to this country?'

  'I intend to make for Ghazni as soon as I know the princess is safe. But I can't succeed in either endeavour without you, my friend. So will you help me?'