Hart of Empire (2010) Page 18

  Yasmin snorted. 'A noble sentiment, Angrez, but do you know what actually became of them? In India they were quickly identified as the wrong ones - not from Somnath at all - and they lie to this day in Agra Fort, while Mahmud's tomb remains open to the elements. Would you like to see your countrymen's handiwork?'

  'Another time, princess. For now we have more important business to attend to, which I hope, if we're successful, will help to heal the rifts of the past.'

  They could hear a rider approaching and, moments later, Ilderim appeared over the brow of the hill ahead and cantered down to them. 'It seems quiet enough, huzoor. I rode as far as the second minaret from where I could see the Kabul Gate into the city. Traders and villagers are coming and going, and nowhere could I see armed bands. The royal standard is flying from the citadel so it seems the princess's cousin still has authority.'

  'That's a relief,' said George. 'We'd better make contact while the going's good. Does he live in the citadel, Princess?'

  'As far as I know.'

  They rode on, and from the second minaret that Ilderim had mentioned - a beautiful brick-built tower, 150 feet high, in the shape of an eight-pointed star - they could see the walled city laid out before them. It had been built on a plateau in the shadow of a ridge of hills, and consisted of a formidable outer fortification in the shape of an irregular pentagon, with sides varying from two hundred to four hundred yards in length, and an inner citadel sited on a rocky mound in the centre of the city. George noted approvingly that the outer walls were built on a scarped mound, at least thirty-five feet high, and were protected by a wide ditch and numerous towers giving an all-round field of fire. All in all it looked a hard nut to crack and he marvelled anew at General Keane's success in capturing the town in two hours during the first Afghan war.

  At the Kabul Gate - its masonry still scarred by the British gunpowder that had blown the gates in 1839 - Ilderim explained to one of the guards, a slovenly fellow in a filthy uniform, that they had business with the governor at the citadel. 'You had better hurry then,' said the guard, ominously. 'Rumour has it that Hamid Shah will soon be leaving the city to seek refuge with his cousin the amir and the Feringhees.'

  'Will it not be dangerous for you if he goes?' asked Ilderim.

  'No, sir, safer. At present the people jeer at us in the streets. There are many Ghazis in the city, drawn from the country around to hear the mullah preach, and it won't be long before they turn on us. I hope Hamid Shah leaves soon, and I can replace my uniform with the clothes I wear in my home village.'

  Ilderim gave George a pointed look - this was going to be harder than they had thought - and they rode on through the gate, heading south towards the citadel. The narrow streets were crowded with people out for an evening stroll, and at first they failed to notice that one of the three riders threading their way between them was a woman. But as they passed a fruit stall, the wizened trader called, 'Look, brothers, a woman sitting a horse like a man. It is not right.'

  Others joined in the chorus and one burly ruffian, wearing a sword and a black turban, tried to grab Yasmin's bridle. George and Ilderim were about to draw their weapons, but Yasmin sent her assailant reeling with a smartly placed riding boot to his chest. 'This way!' she shouted, jabbing spurs into her horse's flanks and scattering pedestrians as she veered down a side-street, closely followed by her two companions.

  Forced to avoid the main thoroughfares, it took them twenty minutes to find the paved road that led up to the citadel, a fort every bit as commanding as the Bala Hissar in Kabul. At the entrance gate the half-dressed guards hardly bothered to hear Ilderim's explanation before waving the trio through with bored complacency. After action in the Zulu war, George could recognise the signs of military indiscipline, and as they dismounted in the inner courtyard, he knew that time was of the essence.

  They were met on the steps to the living quarters by a slim, elegant man wearing red robes and a multi-coloured cummerbund. 'I'm Hamid Shah. Who are you?' he asked, his eyes flitting nervously from one new arrival to another. 'Do you have news from Kabul?'

  'We do, cousin,' said the princess, unwrapping the scarf from her face.

  His eyes widened in amazement. 'Yasmin! Can it really be you? What are you doing here? You must know it's not safe.'

  'Safer than Kabul, cousin. For the moment, anyway. Let us go inside and I will explain.'

  Hamid led them into the solid three-storey building and up two flights of stone steps to a large, airy room with beautiful views across the city to the mountains beyond. 'This is my private audience chamber. No one will disturb us. Rest yourselves,' said Hamid, indicating the bolsters and cushions on the floor. 'You must be tired after your long journey.'

  Once everyone was sitting cross-legged, he turned to Yasmin. 'First tell me about your brother. Is it true he's joined the Angrez?'

  'Yes,' she said bitterly. 'He skulked away from Kabul at dead of night with that snake Shah Mohammed and his other senior advisers, leaving me and the rest of his family to fend for ourselves.'

  'Was his life in danger?'

  'He thought so. A day earlier, on hearing that British troops were advancing from the Kurram valley, Nek Mahomed and the other rebel sirdars threatened him with death if he didn't join them. He said he would, but instead he fled.'

  Hamid sighed. 'Has our dynasty fallen so far that a grandson of the great Dost Mahomed would behave in this way? Yakub should never have become amir. He was proud and wilful as a boy, but without the judgement and courage that a ruler requires. You have those qualities, Yasmin. It's a shame you were born a woman.'

  'I don't think Walidad Khan would agree.'

  'Walidad Khan? The commander of Yakub's Guard?'

  'He was.' Yasmin related her killing of Walidad Khan and the timely arrival of her companions, who had finished off her maid's attacker.

  'What an ordeal, cousin,' said Hamid, his eyes moist with tears. 'That faithless swine deserved to die.' He turned to George and Ilderim. 'And I thank you for helping my cousin. But who are you and why have you come to Ghazni? It's quiet now but it won't be for long.'

  'That is why we're here,' said George, and explained his secret mission to stop the Mullah Mushk-i-Alam from using the Prophet's Cloak to launch a holy war against Yakub and the British.

  'So you're an Angrez spy,' concluded Hamid.

  'Yes, he is,' interrupted Yasmin. 'But his objective and ours are the same: to prevent Afghanistan from falling into the clutches of the extremist clerics and their Ghazi foot-soldiers who would impose a theocracy over us.'

  'But won't that give the Angrez reason to invade and never leave?'

  'Not all the Angrez,' said George. 'Only those members of the Indian government, including the viceroy, who would like to absorb Afghanistan as a bulwark against Russian encroachment. But their political masters in London - the people I work for - don't want that to happen because they fear a long, drawn-out war.'

  'And they're right to fear it. Look what happened in Kabul when the Angrez tried to install a resident to control the amir. Ghazni will be next, mark my words, and the other provinces will follow.'

  'Which is why we must find the cloak before the rebellion gets out of hand and the Indian government has its way.'

  'So what have you heard, cousin?' asked Yasmin. 'Are we too late?'

  'I fear so,' said Hamid. 'Earlier today one of my spies told me that the cloak is already in the mullah's possession. Now he waits only for a national rising to occur before he dons it in a formal ceremony outside the town.'

  'Do you have any idea when that will be?' asked George.

  'No. But I do know that the mullah is biding his time, sounding out the chiefs and sirdars, and identifying those who have the stomach for the fight. But soon he will act. Of that I'm certain.'

  'And yet you are the ultimate authority in the city?'

  'I am.'

  'Then why do you not simply arrest him and search for the cloak?'

  Hamid laughed. 'I am s
till governor, Angrez, but in name only. If I ordered my soldiers or police to arrest the mullah they would refuse, and some would turn on me. Even now I am planning to leave Ghazni. If I stay my enemies will kill me.'

  'I understand your quandary, cousin,' said Yasmin. 'But before you go is there anything you can do to help us find the cloak?'

  Hamid hesitated, as if weighing up the risk. 'There is one thing,' he said at last. 'I have an empty house in the old town that overlooks the mullah's compound. You can hide there and, if fortune smiles on you, you may discover where they keep the cloak. But you must be careful. That part of the city is swarming with the mullah's men.'

  'Thank you, cousin. You're a brave man to have stayed in Ghazni until now. You'd have made a better ruler than my brother.'

  'Perhaps - but I know who would have made the best ruler. Even as a child you had a commanding presence and the skill to make people do your bidding. You haven't lost it.'

  'But I'm a woman still. Why do you not try to dissuade me from this dangerous enterprise, cousin?'

  'Because, dear Yasmin, I know you too well. You wouldn't listen. You never did. Adieu, then, and may Allah be with all of you. You will need His blessing if you're to leave Ghazni alive.'

  Chapter 15

  Old Town, Ghazni

  'Huzoor! Wake up!'

  George opened his eyes to see Ilderim crouching beside him. 'What is it?'

  'I think I know where they're hiding the cloak.'

  'Where?'

  'Come up to the roof and I'll show you.'

  George threw off the warm Kashmir shawl he had slept under, rose to his feet and followed Ilderim out of the first-floor room and up the handsome wooden staircase to the top of the house. They had arrived in darkness the night before and, having left the horses in a stable off the inner courtyard, had quickly settled for the night, George and Ilderim on cushions in the main room on the first floor, and Yasmin in the more salubrious quarters reserved for women on the third.

  Now George climbed the last few steps to the zenana. Every piece of wood used as a support or in the partition walls had been carved and fretted with great skill, while the inner rooms were cut off from the glare outside by carved wooden screens in elaborate patterns. The walls were gay with frescos of every colour, the plaster covered with Afghan scrollwork, filled in with birds of startling plumage and flowers of many hues. The ceilings and cornices were similarly adorned, the latter set with mirrors in long, narrow strips that reflected the gorgeous artwork.

  As George gazed around in awe, Ilderim was already halfway up the staircase that led to the roof. 'Wait,' said George, stopping him in his tracks. 'We must first wake the princess. Which room is she in?'

  Ilderim groaned, muttered something about modern women not knowing their place, and pointed to the door at the far end of the hall. George walked over to it and knocked. There was silence. He slowly turned the handle and went in. The room was dark, but he could just make out the sleeping form of the princess on a pile of cushions. She looked so peaceful lying there - like a sleeping child - that he found it hard to wake her. A strand of hair had fallen over her face and, momentarily entranced by her beauty, he leant forward to move it away. But barely had his fingers touched it than his wrist was grabbed and Yasmin was sitting bolt upright. In her other hand she held a knife.

  'It's Captain Hart,' said George. 'I'm sorry if I startled you.'

  She let go of his wrist. 'Don't creep up on me like that, Angrez. What do you want?'

  George repeated what Ilderim had told him.

  'Give me a moment to dress and I will join you.'

  'Of course,' said George, thankful that the darkened room was hiding his embarrassment. But as he reached the doorway he could not resist a quick glance behind him. Yasmin had her back to him and was balancing on one shapely leg as she pulled on her jodhpurs. It was a sight more erotic than if she'd been naked.

  Minutes later, the three were lying flat on the roof and peering down from the parapet to the mullah's compound, which lay to the south of Hamid's house, on the far side of a narrow lane. It looked to George like the typical dwelling of a wealthy Afghan, with suites of rooms at either end of an inner courtyard, and an outer compound housing servants' quarters, storerooms, and stables. The one difference was pointed out by Ilderim. 'You see that building to the left of the entrance gate, the one guarded by two armed men? It's a mosque. I'm convinced that's where they're keeping the cloak.'

  George looked at the nondescript building, with its mud walls and simple roof, and found it hard to believe it was a place of worship. 'Are you certain it's a mosque?'

  'Yes, huzoor.'

  'What do you think, Princess? Could he be right?'

  'Yes. But we must know for sure. Perhaps you should send Ilderim to the bazaar to buy supplies and listen to the gossip. It's the surest way to find out what is going on in any city.'

  'Are you happy to do that, Ilderim?'

  'Of course, huzoor.'

  'Good. Meanwhile we'll keep a watch on who comes and goes.'

  Once Ilderim had gone, the princess put her hand on George's and gave it a little squeeze. 'Thank you, Angrez, for everything you're doing for my country.'

  George wanted to tell her the truth - that he was doing it as much for himself as for anyone else - but her touch had given him goose-pimples, and he was unwilling to destroy the intimacy of the moment. He felt a fleeting sense of guilt - as images of the two women he had left in South Africa, particularly Lucy, flashed before his eyes - but it did not last.

  Two hours later, with Ilderim back from the bazaar, they retired to the main room on the first floor to eat and discuss their next move.

  'Did you hear anything about the cloak?' asked George, between mouthfuls of pilau rice and boiled chicken, which Ilderim had bought from street vendors.

  'The word is that the mullah is indeed keeping the cloak in his private mosque and will soon display it in public. This I was told by the shopkeepers, but also by many black-clad Ghazis who invoked Allah that it might be so. One told me that his only wish was to die a martyr and enter Paradise. Such fanatics feel they have nothing to lose and everything to gain by jihad.'

  'Which is why,' said the princess, picking at her food with distaste, 'we must take possession of the cloak tonight. If we wait we may be too late.'

  George shook his head. 'Tonight is far too soon. There are only three of us. We need to plan this properly. My suggestion is that we continue to observe the compound for another day or so, making a note of when the guards go off duty and when the cloak is easiest to steal.'

  'I cannot agree, huzoor,' said Ilderim, licking his greasy fingers. 'The princess is right. Time slips away. We should act tonight.'

  'But we don't even know how many men will be guarding the cloak. Surely it's better to wait a day if it increases our chances of success.'

  'I know about the guards, huzoor. I climbed on to the roof last night and could see only one on the main gate and one at the mosque. The rest were sleeping in their barracks close to the inner courtyard. At first light the guards were doubled. So we must make our move while it's dark.'

  George looked from Ilderim to Yasmin. Their expressions were fixed, their minds made up. 'All right,' he said, hands raised in surrender. 'I can see I'm outnumbered. But how do we deal with the guards? If we shoot them we'll wake the others, not to mention the hundreds of Ghazis camping on the wasteground beside the mullah's compound.'

  'True, huzoor, which is why we use this,' said Ilderim, drawing his long Khyber knife from the scabbard on his belt.

  George smiled. 'Is it my imagination, or do most Afghans actually enjoy killing?'

  'It is not your imagination, huzoor.'

  'So, we kill the guards with knives. But how do we get close enough without being seen?'

  Ilderim shrugged his shoulders. 'I can kill a man at ten paces with a knife.'

  'I'm sure you can. But what if you miss? We can't take that chance. We have to get close. Th
e question is, how?' George mused. Suddenly the solution came to him. 'What if I stagger up the lane, pretending to be intoxicated, and distract the guard long enough for you to stab him in the back? Then you can dress in his clothes and call the second guard over. Once you've dealt with him you can get the cloak from the mosque while I cover the guardhouse with my carbine. How does that sound?'

  'Risky, huzoor - but it might work.'

  'Indeed,' said Yasmin, 'and what role, pray tell me, have you reserved for me?'

  'I didn't . . . er . . . think you . . .' George coloured slightly.

  'What? That I'd want to take part? Don't you know me by now, Angrez?'

  'You're the sister of the amir, for Heaven's sake, and it wouldn't do to put you in harm's way.'

  'Then don't,' said Yasmin. 'But I insist on taking part. I will hold the horses a short way up the lane while you two heroes recover the cloak. Then we'll leave by the Kabul Gate. Agreed?' she asked, one shapely eyebrow raised.

  'Agreed.'

  George peered round the edge of the wall and could just see by moonlight, barely fifty yards away, the lone guard on duty at the mullah's front gate. He had sent Ilderim to work his way round to the lane beyond the gate, and knew that by now he must be in position, lurking in the shadows. He turned to Yasmin, who was standing behind him, holding the reins of their three mounts. 'Don't forget,' he whispered, 'that if we are separated, we'll meet at Mahmud's tomb on the Kabul road. Wait there until daybreak, but no longer. If we haven't appeared by then, we'll either be dead or captured, so you must save yourself. Understand?'

  She nodded, then leant forward to kiss him on the cheek. 'Be careful, Angrez. Your life is very precious. My country's future depends on your success.'

  'What about you, Princess?' asked George, staring into Yasmin's large brown eyes. 'Is my life precious to you, too?'

  'Of course. I am my country.'