Hart of Empire (2010) Page 17

  Ilderim sighed. 'I must be mad but, yes, I'll help you, huzoor. I think you're a fool to return to Kabul, but I told you many weeks ago that I would stay with you until you had completed your task or were killed in the attempt, and I never break a pledge.'

  'Thank you, Ilderim. Now I'm in your debt.'

  For a mile or so they rode in silence until, at last, Ilderim felt compelled to speak. 'Truly, huzoor, a woman's ability to scramble a man's brain is something to behold.'

  'Isn't it just, my friend?' said George. 'And you should know.'

  Chapter 13

  Near Kabul

  George had never thought of himself as chivalrous. As a child who never quite fitted in - on account of his parentage and colour - he had concentrated on looking after number one, and the thought of others needing his assistance had never entered his head. Until, that was, he had met Jake Morgan at Sandhurst. Jake was also an outsider, the son of a Welsh colliery owner - and therefore 'trade' as far as his over-bred classmates were concerned - so the two of them had clung together like drowning swimmers in a sea of social prejudice. George would have done anything for Jake, but since his death at Isandlwana he had felt himself reverting back to his old selfish ways. Yet there were hopeful signs: he was proud of how he had treated Ishtar in letting her choose whether she wanted to spend the night with him, and now he was risking all for a woman he hardly knew. Was it chivalry? He couldn't decide. There was certainly an element of self-interest in that he knew himself to be highly attracted to both the princess's physical charms and her spirited nature. But he also sensed her importance to her dynasty and her country, and it was this motive for keeping her safe that George knew to be selfless.

  Thoughts such as these had been swirling round his head since the crossing of the Logar river. Now that he and Ilderim could see the Bala Hissar looming ahead, the jagged shadow of its lofty walls dominating the skyline, he registered the sheer insanity of what he was trying to achieve. Already they had passed a number of drunken mutineers, carousing by the roadside, and it was likely there would be many more inside the fortress.

  'The gatehouse is ahead, huzoor,' whispered Ilderim, as they climbed the last rise and the track began to level off. 'I'll explain to the guards that we own shops in the bazaar.'

  But the ruse was unnecessary because the gatehouse was unmanned, its huge wooden doors open to the world. 'We may be too late,' muttered George, as they rode through the empty vaulted entrance and into the fortress. 'There's not a soul about.'

  The lane beyond was strewn with clothes, possessions and broken furniture, still just visible in the evening twilight. 'The place has been ransacked, huzoor,' said Ilderim, scanning the scene. 'There will be scavengers about. We should leave.'

  'Not until I've seen the amir's palace.'

  'Why? Do you think these dogs will have left it untouched?'

  'No. But we've come this far,' said George, kicking his horse forward. 'I have to be certain.'

  As they picked their way through the destruction, the sickly sweet smell of death was heavy in the air, though few corpses were visible. George covered his nose with a piece of his turban, and was glad when they reached the lane that ran alongside the amir's garden, and the smell of corruption was replaced by that of scented flowers.

  George knew that at the end of the lane, barely three hundred yards further on, stood the empty ruins of the Residency compound. He felt oddly drawn to the scene of the massacre. But a more pressing task was at hand, and this required him and Ilderim to take a right turn off the lane, away from the Residency, and on towards the huge palace gates. They, too, were unguarded, and George's heart quickened as he rode through the devastation of the once beautiful garden, its flowers and shrubs uprooted and scattered anyhow.

  'Wait here with the horses,' he said, dismounting in front of steps that led up to the main entrance, its shattered door still attached by the lower hinge.

  'Is that wise, huzoor? What if there are bandits inside?'

  'Then I'll deal with them. This was my foolish idea and I'll see it through. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on our mounts - we won't get to Ghazni without them. If I'm not back in ten minutes, you're absolved of your promise.'

  George entered the front door, cocked pistol at the ready. The only sound was the crunch of broken china and glass under his shoes. Otherwise the building was eerily silent and dark. George felt his way up the broad staircase to the first floor and listened. A clock was ticking in one of the durbar rooms, but there was still no sign of life. He had barely started up the next flight of stairs when his foot trod on a bulky obstacle. He knelt down to touch it and made contact with someone's face, the flesh cold and clammy. He quickly withdrew his hand and was about to step over the body when a blood-curdling scream pierced the night, then another. It was a woman's, and it was coming from the top floor of the palace where the princess had her apartments.

  George hurdled the body and tore up the remaining two flights of stairs, his shoes ringing on the polished hardwood floor. He turned right at the top and, using the wall as a guide, raced down the corridor that led to the princess's apartments. The door was open and light from a lamp was spilling on to the landing. He paused in the doorway, shocked by the spectacle before him. At the far end of the room a member of the palace guard, still fully clothed but with his trousers pulled down, was ravishing a naked girl with brutal thrusts and animal grunts. She was sobbing.

  As George ran towards them, the man swivelled his head in surprise and found himself staring down the barrel of an Adams .45. 'Please don't shoot!' begged the man in Pashto. 'You can have her after me.'

  George pulled the trigger, the shot sounding impossibly loud in the enclosed space. The heavy lead bullet entered the man's eye and blew off the back of his head in a red and grey shower of blood and brains. He slumped lifeless to the ground, pinning his victim beneath him. She screamed again and tried to push him off, but he was too heavy. George rolled him to one side and at last recognised the girl as the princess's maid, Sufi. Her eyes were wide with terror, her face spattered with her attacker's gore.

  'Where's your mistress?' asked George, covering her with her torn shalwar kameez.

  She lay in shock, unable to speak.

  'Where's your mistress?' demanded George, a second time.

  'She's in her bedchamber,' said Sufi, her voice barely audible, 'with that brute Walidad Khan.'

  George ran for the door to the next room and yanked it open. He had steeled himself for a sight similar to, or worse than, the one that had just greeted him. It was just as shocking, but for a different reason. The girl - Princess Yasmin - was astride her attacker on the bed, and in her hand she clutched a long, curved dagger, stained red with blood. Walidad Khan was still, and appeared to be dead, but that did not deter the princess from again plunging the dagger into his chest with such force that the blade snapped. 'You think you can betray your master and dishonour me with impunity, you dog?' she said venomously, spitting in the dead man's face. 'You are mistaken.'

  'Princess, are you hurt?' asked George, from the doorway.

  She swung round to face him, her eyes still blazing with murderous anger. 'Who are you and what do you want? Because if you're another who would do me harm--'

  'I'm not, Princess. My name is Captain George Hart. We spoke briefly after I escaped the attack on the Residency. Do you remember?'

  'The Angrez soldier?' she asked, as she clambered off Khan's corpse and straightened her dishevelled clothes. 'Is it really you in that tribesman's garb?'

  'It is, Princess.'

  'What are you doing here? I thought you'd escaped to your people.'

  'I had. But I was asked by my general to take a message to your brother, and when I met him near Kushi he told me that he had left you and the other women here with only the palace guard for protection.'

  'He might as well have left us naked for all the protection the traitorous worms afforded us. Most abandoned their posts the day after my brother fle
d to the Angrez, and those who did not, Walidad Khan among them, were only too happy to join the mutinous soldiery and bazaar rabble in plundering the Bala Hissar. The other women and servants fled to the city, but I chose to stay,' she said, her chin tilted in defiance. 'It takes more than a disorganized rabble to hound me from my home.'

  'I admire your spirit, Princess, but was it wise to remain here? If Walidad Khan and his accomplice hadn't come back, others would have.'

  'And they'd have met the same fate. I may have the body of a woman, Angrez, but I have the heart of a tiger,' she said, tapping her chest.

  'I know it, Princess, but your maid is not made of such stern stuff.'

  'Poor Sufi! Is she alive?'

  'Yes. I killed her attacker, but not before . . .'

  The implication was obvious. 'I must go to her,' said the princess, rushing past George and into the main room. On seeing the distraught Sufi, she let out a wail of sympathy and scooped her into her arms.

  George gave them a brief moment together, then said, 'We must go, Princess, before others come. They'll have heard my shot.'

  The princess turned to him, her cheeks wet with tears. 'Yes, of course. Where are you making for?'

  'I was rather hoping you'd suggest somewhere. We need a safe place to sleep that's away from Kabul.'

  'We?'

  'My Afghan guide and I. His name is Ilderim Khan. He's waiting with the horses outside.'

  'How many horses?'

  'Two, but you can ride behind us.'

  'In that case we should go to my brother's pleasure garden at Beni Hissar. In it, well-hidden by a screen of trees, there is a small pavilion he had built for me. Only I have the key.'

  'We'll stay there tonight and decide tomorrow what to do with you both.'

  'First I must change into suitable clothes. Can you wait here? I'll be a couple of minutes.'

  'Princess, we don't have time.'

  'Please!'

  'Two minutes, then, and not a moment longer,' said George.

  'One more thing, Angrez.'

  'Yes?' said George.

  The princess came up to him, kissed both his cheeks and embraced him. He was anxious to be out of the palace, but the smell of her perfume and the feel of her supple body made him forget the danger. 'Thank you,' she whispered in his ear, 'with all my heart.'

  Two hours later, George and Ilderim were enjoying a much-needed brandy in the sitting room of the princess's pavilion at Beni Hissar as the lady herself, in a curious case of role reversal, put her maid to bed. With most of the rebels already asleep, the ride to Beni Hissar had been straightforward enough, and required only one minor detour to avoid a noisy picket of soldiers. Of more concern was the princess's inability to find the key to the pavilion, but a lengthy search had finally located it under a small statue, enabling the exhausted quartet to enter the pretty wooden chalet without having to break a window.

  George took a sip from his glass of brandy, the fiery liquid searing his throat and warming his chilled bones. 'Tomorrow,' he said to Ilderim, 'I want you to find a covered carriage and a driver to transport the princess and her maid to Baker's camp at Kushi. We'll escort them as far as Zahidabad and the road to Ghazni.'

  'As you wish, huzoor,' said the big Afghan, with a knowing grin, 'though it seems a shame to part from two beautiful women after such a brief acquaintance.'

  George snorted in disgust. 'Did I not tell you what both women have been through? The maid, in particular, could be forgiven for never wishing a man near her again. So keep your lascivious thoughts to yourself.'

  'What lascivious thoughts?'

  They turned to see the princess framed in the doorway, hands on hips. She looked particularly fetching in her riding habit of sleeveless sheepskin coat, or poshteen, jodhpurs and soft felt boots, her raven hair tied back from her face. But her stony expression was far from friendly, and George knew better than to elaborate. 'Just male banter, Princess. My guide can't take his drink.'

  'Then he should forgo alcohol, like a good Muslim. I have no such problem,' she said as she poured herself a brandy, 'and like to drink to forget. What else were you discussing?'

  'Our plan for tomorrow.'

  'Which is?'

  George explained.

  'And after you leave us at Zahidabad, where will you go?'

  George glanced at Ilderim for guidance. But the Afghan sat there expressionless, forcing George to make the decision. That he chose to tell her the truth was testament to the spell the princess, however inadvertently, had cast on him. 'To Ghazni. You remember our conversation about the Prophet's Cloak?'

  'Yes.'

  'We have good reason to believe it has been taken from its shrine in Kandahar and is either in Ghazni or on its way there, and will be used to rouse the faithful in a holy war.'

  'By whom?'

  'Mullah Mushk-i-Alam. Do you know him?'

  'Of course. Who in Afghanistan does not? He's a firebrand, a religious fanatic, who opposed my brother's rule from the start. Now it begins to make sense,' said the princess, slowly. 'The cloak will confer legitimacy on the mullah. Once he has it he will declare himself Amir al-Mu'minin, or "Leader of the Faithful", and the Ghazis and tribesmen will flock to him. With such a force he will hope to defeat your troops and turn our kingdom into a theocracy. It will be the end of my dynasty. I cannot let that happen.'

  'Neither can I,' said George. 'And not just because I was sent here to prevent such a war. I also want what is best for Afghanistan.'

  'And that is?'

  'A country ruled not by a religious fanatic but by a strong, forward-thinking ruler who is prepared to stand up to us and the Russians.'

  Yasmin looked grave. 'You have a wise head on young shoulders, Angrez. Only such a ruler as you describe can hope to unite the different peoples of this country. And that ruler is not my brother. He calls himself a man but his actions are those of a coward, leaving women and children to fend for themselves while he flees to the British. He's a disgrace to his dynasty and to Afghanistan. But I will atone for his shame.'

  'How?'

  'By accompanying you to Ghazni.'

  'What?' George was so shocked he had forgotten to whom he was speaking. He recovered himself. 'Forgive me, Princess,' he said, frowning, 'but that won't be possible.'

  'Let me finish. My cousin Hamid Shah is governor of Ghazni. He will provide us with shelter and, with luck, information about the cloak. He has spies all over the city. If anyone can find the cloak, he can.'

  'And his assistance will be very welcome, but there is no need for you to come with us if you would write us a letter of introduction.'

  'That will not do. He will only help if I'm there to ask in person.'

  George turned to Ilderim. 'What do you think? Should we take her?'

  'No, huzoor. Ghazni is no place for a woman. If she comes we'll have to look after her as well as ourselves.'

  'You insolent dog!' said the princess, narrowing her eyes. 'Did I need a man to save me from Walidad Khan? No, I took care of myself, and will do so again. As a child I was never content with a girl's lot and used to sneak off with my brothers to train as a warrior. I was the best rider, fencer and shot among them, and I'm a match for any man.'

  George was loath to let a woman accompany them on such a dangerous mission - particularly a princess of royal blood - yet he accepted that her presence might be extremely useful and had seen at first hand her ability to look after herself. He knew he was falling for her, and tried not to let it influence him unduly. He pondered for a moment, then made his decision. 'You may come with us. Tomorrow Ilderim will find you a horse and arrange a carriage to take your maid to her family. But no more royal airs and graces. We're all equals now.'

  Yasmin nodded, a smile playing on her rosebud lips as the old saying came back to her: We are equals, but one must always come first.

  Chapter 14

  Near Ghazni, eastern Afghanistan, mid-autumn 1879

  George buttoned his poshteen against the
late-afternoon chill. Most of the two-day ride from Kabul had been in warm sunshine across a flat, dusty terrain, bounded by yet more barren mountains, with only the occasional patch of green produced by irrigation from a village stream. But as the track climbed towards the city of Ghazni, set on a high plateau at seven thousand feet, the temperature plummeted and the scenery brightened. The greys and browns gave way to lush pastures and the brilliant green foliage of fruit trees; and from the banks of streams wafted the beguiling perfume of the sunjyt tree, which grew among the willows.

  With the stone marker by the side of the road showing just four miles to the city of Ghazni, Ilderim had volunteered to scout ahead for armed rebels, leaving George and Yasmin to enjoy the view. 'Not far now, Angrez,' said the princess, smiling, as she turned in her saddle, 'but first a reminder of the rapacity of your people. You see that village ahead, to the right of the track?'

  George's eyes settled on a typical mud-built settlement, protected by a rude fort. 'What of it?'

  'At its heart stands the tomb of Sultan Mahmud. Have you heard of him?'

  The name sounded familiar to George from his background reading, but he couldn't place him. 'Remind me.'

  Yasmin raised her eyebrows, seemingly in amusement, though it was hard for George to be sure because her mouth and nose were covered with a silk scarf. 'Mahmud,' she explained, 'was the founder of the Turkish Ghaznavid dynasty. He brought Islam to this country and, from the tenth to the twelfth centuries, ruled a huge empire from Ghazni that stretched from Persia to northern India. He was a fierce warrior who led many raids into India to destroy Hindu temples and bring back booty, and his most infamous items of loot were said to be the carved sandalwood doors from the temple of Somnath in Gujarat. For eight centuries these doors guarded the entrance to his tomb. Until your governor-general ordered them to be torn from their hinges and taken back to India.'

  George smiled. 'Now I understand your reference to British rapacity, Princess. But were we any worse than this Mahmud fellow? After all, it sounds as though we were trying to return the gates to their rightful owners.'