Bayonets Along the Border (20 page)

The meat was burnt, of course, but she wolfed it down. The fire had quickly burnt away but she cut another haunch from the goat, thrust it into the guttering ashes, and waited awhile until it had partly cooked. It could be some time before she ate again. Then she brushed away the ashes from the meat, tied the bone to her belt with the handkerchief, patted the carcase of the goat in a last gesture of thanks and began making her way towards the west again.

With every few yards, Alice kept looking around and behind her. The shot and the smoke could well have alerted anyone looking for
her, yet it became clear, as the day wore on, that she was alone in this wilderness. As she topped one rise, she thought she caught a glimpse of the road beneath her to the left. But it was difficult in this broken country to gain a feel for distance and it did not reappear again.

Eventually, as the sun rose to its midday height, Alice grew weary and realised that it was impossible to make much progress in the heat. She sought and eventually found a friendly rock with enough overhang to allow her to crawl beneath it, folded her
poshteen
to make a pillow and fell blessedly asleep.

It seemed that she had only closed her eyes for a moment when a strong, abrupt pain in her stomach awoke her. Her gaze met a bearded, grinning face bending down close to hers and she doubled up again in pain as a boot caught her again in the stomach and then in the ribs. She heard voices laughing and the kicking continued.

She raised a hand and weakly called, ‘Enough, you bastards.’

Immediately, a command rang out and the kicking ceased. A hand reached down and seized her rifle and she looked up into a ring of faces. They were all Pathans, darkly visaged and glaring at her with hatred in their eyes. A man with a grey beard, who seemed to be the leader, issued another order and she was dragged to her feet and pushed against the rock. Her arms were stretched out and rough hands searched her. They found the pistol in her cummerbund and it was tossed aside in contempt. The search was finished with a hand thrust between her legs and jerked upwards, so that she bent over with a howl.

Greybeard shouted what sounded like a reprimand, for the searcher growled, spat at her face but backed away.

Alice grimaced with pain and disgust at being defiled in this way,
but also in shame at allowing the Pathans to steal up on her so easily. Then she looked around. There were about six of them, all pointing their rifles at her now – all, that is, except the leader who turned to one of the younger tribesmen and muttered something to him.

The young man stepped forward and said, in halting English, ‘Who help you escape?’

Alice felt a sudden surge of anger. ‘Tell him,’ she said, nodding towards the grey-bearded one, ‘that I shall say nothing at all to you until that man who touched me is told never to lay a finger on me again. Go on. Tell him.’

With obvious reluctance, the man spoke to Greybeard, who remained expressionless but replied briefly in Pushtu.

‘He say,’ said the interpreter, ‘unless you answer questions you will be beaten and everyone here will have their way with you.’ The young man had the grace to drop his eyes as he spoke.

Alice’s eyes widened as she looked at Greybeard, who remained expressionless. She thought quickly. Would Ali have given instructions for her to be raped and beaten? Not if she remained valuable to him. She took a deep breath.

‘And you tell him,’ she replied, ‘that he and every one of you will be hanged if I am touched. I am the wife of the Viceroy’s ambassador to the Amir. A British army is on its way to attack you. I will not speak to anyone unless that man,’ she nodded, ‘is rebuked.’

As her words were translated she watched Greybeard’s face closely. She was taking a hell of a risk and she felt her legs begin to tremble at the thought of what would happen if the gamble failed. But as the translation was finished she saw the leader’s eyes flicker. Eventually he spoke.

‘He say, nobody touch you if you answer questions.’

Alice experienced an inward sigh of relief. At least she had set herself on some sort of moral high ground. ‘Very well. No one helped me to escape. The guard whom I killed with that handgun,’ she nodded to where her pistol had been thrown, ‘had tried to molest me, so I shot him and took his clothes and rifle. I simply walked through the village and have been walking for two nights.’

‘Hah! Where you go?’

‘I was walking towards the Afghan border. I intended to walk to Kabul to see the Amir.’

‘Why you go there?’

‘My husband was there.’

Silence fell. The old man studied her with what might be just a glint of admiration in his eyes. Then he spoke.

‘He say you kill one of us, brother of man who touched you. You deserve to die.’

Alice tossed her head. ‘We all deserve to die – you all deserve to die because of the way you killed and mutilated the wounded men at Landi Kotal, many of them your brother Afridis. So kill me, if you wish. It is of no concern of mine. But I am certain that Ali would punish you if I was killed.’

The old man looked puzzled.

‘Ali? Who is he?’

‘He is the man in fine robes who kept me a prisoner. Your general.’

‘Ah. We take you to him now. Turn. Put hands behind back.’

Alice sighed with relief, turned and offered her hands for binding. At least there would be no summary execution. She was sorry that she had slandered the man she had killed, but he was a soldier who had
deserted his post and had been quite prepared to possess her. And, for goodness’ sake – this was war!

There now began the march back to the encampment that brought new agonies to Alice. The Pathans were all agile and used to climbing among the rocks quickly and with purpose. After the first hour, she began to stagger in trying to match their pace, with her hands bound behind her adversely affecting her balance and her whole body aching after walking and sleeping rough with so little nourishment.

She attempted to establish some sort of bond with the young interpreter, who marched beside her.

‘Your English is very good,’ she said. ‘Where did you learn it?’

The young man looked around nervously before answering. ‘In British army,’ he said. ‘I was sepoy for three years.’

‘I see.’ Alice found talking and trying to climb up through the scree added to her breathing problems but she persevered. ‘Why, then, do you fight the English now, your former brothers?’

‘My family not like me being sepoy … So I run away. I fight now because Mullah tells us time has come to fight for sake of Allah.’

‘And you agree with him?’

‘Of course. Mullah speak word of Allah. I talk no more to you now.’

‘One last word. How far away is the camp? I am very tired.’

‘We reach when sun goes. I say you are tired but we talk no more.’

He lifted his voice and spoke to Greybeard, who was climbing up ahead. The man replied angrily and waved his hand. Nevertheless, in ten minutes he called a halt and Alice slumped to the ground gratefully. ‘Is there water?’ she called. A gourd was lifted to her mouth and she drank greedily, but no food was offered – and none, it seemed, was
taken by the rest of the party. After what could only have been three minutes she was prodded to her feet and the climb began again.

Alice realised that these Pathans climbed like mountain goats and that led her to wondering how they had found her. She tried to discover how from the young ex-sepoy.

‘How did you find me?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘No talk.’

‘Oh, come along. I shall keep asking you until you answer. Then, I promise, I will be quiet. How did you find me?’

‘We have good tracker. Man brother of man you killed. We see where you sleep two nights before. And then, in distance, we heard shot and see small smoke. It take us to you.’

Alice cursed inwardly. She was foolish to have shot that damned goat. And yet she could have not walked much farther without food and that tracker was presumably taking them nearer to her all the time. They would have come upon her surely by the time she reached the Afghan border. She sighed. Ah, Simon! Where, oh where was he?

Would she ever see him again?

The light was fading when they reached the camp. By this time, Alice was exhausted and walking so badly that the ex-sepoy had been forced to help her for the last hour. Her head pounding, she screwed up her eyes and looked at her surroundings as she was led through the camp. There were far fewer tribesmen about than the last time she had arrived, on the stretcher. Nevertheless, there were enough Pathans about to jeer her as she was led through the camp.

Eventually, she reached the tent she recognised so well. This time, she realised that it was more impressive than those around it, being
bigger than them all – apart, that is, from one that was even larger, made of black fabric and had some kind of banner stuck into the earth outside its entrance. Was it Ali’s? – or even the mullah’s? She also noticed that her tent was pitched on what seemed to be the edge of the encampment near a clump of trees, and that some twenty horses were housed in a rough paddock nearby, their heads down and eating hay. Ah, she needn’t have taken the risk of walking throughout the encampment two nights ago – perhaps she could have made her way through the wood and even stolen a horse! Too late now.

Then her head was forced down and she was pushed roughly inside the tent. She sighed with relief as the cord binding her wrists together was untied and she rubbed the red wheals as she was pushed down onto the divan. From somewhere a manacle was produced. It was attached to her ankle and the other end secured by a padlock to the centre pole of the tent.

Greybeard spoke to the translator and the young man said, ‘He say you move from here and you will be shot. Men all around tent. Food will be brought soon.’

With that, her captors ducked through the entry, the flap was laced up again and she was back where she started. Alice lay on her back, her whole body aching, and continued to massage where her bonds had rubbed the skin raw. For the second time since she had stolen away through the encampment, depression set in. As the tears trickled down her cheeks she bit her lip. What more could she do? Who could help her? She seemed destined to stay in this filthy tent that now smelt of something foul – oh God! Was it the body of the dead man? She looked around her in terror, but she was alone.

Within minutes, the interpreter had brought her bread and what
looked like goat’s cheese, two peaches and a gourd of milk. She realised that she was starving and began devouring the bread and cheese. The boy was retreating when she called, ‘Thank you. What is your name?’

Looking over his shoulder, the young man shook his head. ‘I don’t say,’ he muttered.

‘Well, Mr Don’t Say, as you can see I am covered in blood. Can you bring me water, soap and a towel please?’

‘I try.’

He returned within minutes with a wooden pail containing water, soap and a rag. He also pointed to the corner of the tent where the potty remained. He turned swiftly to go but Alice held up a peach.

‘Won’t you eat with me?’ she asked.

He shook his head, but his eyes stayed fixed on the peach. He was obviously as hungry as she.

‘Do stay for a minute and eat the peach,’ said Alice, trying to sound beguiling. The thought occurred to her that she might be able to befriend him. God knew she needed a friend in this place. ‘They are delicious.’ And she sank her teeth into her own fruit to entice him. ‘Come on. I am not going to shoot you.’

Cautiously, he approached and took the peach from her. He bit into it and the juice ran down his chin.

‘Where does this fruit come from?’

‘I think Afghanistan.’

‘Ah yes, probably near Kabul. Yes?’

‘I think.’

‘Look,’ Alice smiled up at him. ‘I know that the British army is on its way to fight the mullah’s army and it will certainly be here soon. When it arrives, I can help you. As you know, desertion from the
British army is punishable by death, but if you help me a little I can stop them shooting you.’

He stood looking at her with wide eyes, the peach juice still dribbling down his chin.

Alice continued: ‘I know I can’t escape from here now, particularly with this thing chained to my ankle. So I will not expect you to help me escape. But I need to talk to someone occasionally. Will you do that …?’

He remained silent.

‘Just talk to me, now and then. Otherwise I shall go crazy.’

He stood with his mouth open for some moments and then said, ‘What you want talk about?’

‘Oh, nothing important. Are you an Afridi?’

‘Yes, lady.’

‘From nearby here?’

‘No. In Zakka Khel. Mountains. Small village.’

‘Ah yes.’ Alice thought hard, trying desperately to remember the map that Simon had shown her. ‘The other side of the Khyber, I think to the south?’

‘Yes lady.’

‘Are you married?’

‘No.’

‘Too young, perhaps?’

‘Yes, lady.’

‘But you have a mother?’

‘Ah, yes. And two sisters.’

‘You are lucky. I have no brothers or sisters and my only child died when I was trying to give him birth.’

He stood silently for a moment, then, ‘Ah. Sorry, lady.’

‘It was a long time ago. Now, tell me. This man Ali – that is what he told me to call him, the man who had me brought here – who exactly is he? It seems he was educated in my country, in England. Do you know his full name?’

At this, the boy’s eyes looked away. ‘No, lady. I go now.’ And he turned and scuttled through the tent opening.

Alice called after him, ‘Well, goodbye and thank you.’ She lay back on the bed exhausted with the cerebral effort of trying to draw information from the young Pathan. What had she learnt that was of use? Nothing really, but it was a start. Maybe next time …

She stirred and began to wash. She could feel that the goat’s blood remained caked on her cheeks and chin and it had also dried and stiffened on the Pathan’s shirt that she still wore. She scrubbed away. Was she doing this because Ali might come to see her? She snorted at the thought. To hell with him! She must maintain standards and keep her self-respect. She was no Pathan!