Desert Queen (67 page)

Wanting Philby to know how bad she felt, she paid a call on him at home. “Jack, I’m so sorry to hear this news,” she said. But instead of extending their hands in friendship, he and his wife practically slapped her face. “No you’re not,” Mrs. Philby snapped and burst into tears. Accusing Gertrude of having been the cause of her husband’s dismissal, the woman turned and ran out of the room. Philby glowered: “You’ve won this time,” he snarled, “but we shall still meet at Philippi.” She would not be at the battle scene, Gertrude retorted, adding curtly that it was not she “but His Majesty’s Government that had won and always would.” Reminding Philby of their long friendship, she told him she had done everything in her power to persuade him not to run counter to orders. “How he could embrace the cause of that rogue Talib passes all belief,” she wrote.

At lunch at the Coxes’ the following week, Gertrude found herself face to face with the Philbys once again. But by now their mood had changed. “The Philby business is clearing up,” she wrote home. “It has been horrid for me, for in their angry amazement at having to suffer for what was entirely his own fault they have accused me of being the cause of his dismissal—at least Mrs. Philby has. But I think she has thought the better of it.” Philby told her he was quitting politics, but Gertrude acknowledged sadly, “He’s not a man we can afford to lose.”

T
he large Jewish community also had to be won over to the Sharifian side. Reluctant to accept an Arab ruler (they had once petitioned that they be granted British citizenship if an Arab government was installed), Gertrude worked to convince them that Faisal had British support. Her spirits rose when they agreed to host a large reception for him. On Monday morning, July 18, Jewish, Christian and Arab notables gathered in the courtyard of the Grand Rabbi’s official house, where an awning covered the open square, and flags and streamers in Arab colors—green, red and black—hung from the second-story gallery. Children crammed the balcony and women peered out from the upper windows to watch the scene in the courtyard. Row upon row of chairs were filled with turbaned Jewish rabbis, prominent Christians, all the Arab Government Ministers, the leading Muslims and Shiite holy men.

The official party came in, took their seats and the crowd burst into applause. Gertrude was given the honored place to the right of Faisal. “You know the absurd fuss they make about me, bless them,” she wrote. The program began, and for two hours, in the sweltering heat, cool drinks and refreshments were passed while the audience listened to speeches and songs. The Rabbi, she thought, looked “straight out of a picture by Gentile Bellini”; the well-prepared oratory was “interesting” because of the underlying tensions—“the anxiety of the Jews lest an Arab government should mean chaos, and their gradual reassurance, by reason of Faisal’s obviously enlightened attitude.”

The heavy Torah, encased in gold cylinders, was removed from the Ark and carried first to the Grand Rabbi, who kissed it, and then to Faisal, who repeated the gesture. Next, the future Emir was presented with a gold copy of the Ten Commandments and a beautifully bound copy of the Talmud. Gertrude leaned over to Faisal and whispered that she hoped he would make a speech. He hadn’t meant to say much, he whispered back, but thought he must. “You know I don’t speak like they do,” he added. “I just say what is in my thoughts.”

At the end of the ceremonies Faisal stood up. “There is no meaning in the words Jews, Muslims and Christians in the terminology of patriotism,” he told the crowd; “there is simply a country called Iraq, and all are Iraqis. I ask my countrymen the Iraqis to be only Iraqis because we all belong to one stock, the stock of our ancestor Shem [Semites]; we all belong to that noble race, and there is no distinction between Muslim, Christian and Jew.”

“He spoke really beautifully; it was straight and good and eloquent,” Gertrude noted approvingly. “He made an immense impression. The Jews were delighted at his insistence on their being of one race with the Arabs, and all our friends … were equally delighted with his allusion to British support.”

A
s Gertrude celebrated in Baghdad, her father was suffering defeat. His attempts to boost the value of his business had failed, and now, after an exceedingly long coal miners’ strike, he was heavily in debt to the banks. At the end of July she received a despairing note and wrote hurriedly to comfort him: “Darling Father. I’m sending you a letter by aeroplane in the hope that it will reach you in seven or eight days—just to feel as if you were so near instead of so far. Your letter of June 28th was rather despondent about the fortunes of the family, and indeed it’s very hard that you should have fallen on such difficult times, but you will see it will work out all right,
inshallah
, just as I’m seeing our difficult task here work out in success. Anyway, dearest, don’t bother too much about it—what happens, happens and we adapt ourselves to it. The only thing that matters is that you should be well and happy.”

Sadly, the glory days of the Bell family were beginning to decline.

A
variety of groups was needed to form a consensus for Faisal. The Sunni townsmen, the Jews, the Christians and the Armenian orthodox were all important in Baghdad, the Kurds in Mosul and Kirkuk; but in the provinces it was the predominantly Shiite tribes that made up most of the population. Each tribal nation had to be approached and won over. Yet the very idea of a centralized state was anathema to them. Their major concern was the tribe. Their laws were the vengeful laws of the tribe, their leader the chosen head of the tribe, their immediate interest, grazing land for the herds of the tribe. They had no wish for borders, no respect for bureaucracy and no apparent need to be ruled by a king. Only a dynamic personality could convince them otherwise. Gertrude called on her friend Fahad Bey to organize an assemblage of two of the largest tribes, the Anazeh, who favored British authority, and the Dulaim, who preferred the Naqib.

At four o’clock in the morning of July 30, having already breakfasted and dressed, Gertrude quickly pinned on her hat, gathered her parasol and camera and, climbing into the large black Ford, gave crisp orders to the driver to speed toward the Euphrates: Faisal and his entourage had already left. Halfway to the river, her car caught up with his motorcade. As the driver pulled alongside Faisal’s automobile, Gertrude shouted to him, asking permission to go ahead. She wanted to be in front so that when they arrived at the town of Fallujah, she could take their photograph. Faisal nodded, granting her request.

Crowds of howling horsemen lined the road for several miles. Fallujah itself was ablaze with flags, packed with people. She drove past the village and the shrieking mobs, continuing on toward the river. Scores of tribal horsemen encircled the motorcade, bellowing cheers, wheeling around the cars, kicking up clouds of dust. More tribesmen crammed their route as the cars wobbled along to the ferry, where they were greeted by the son of Fahad Bey.

A big black tent had been installed for Faisal to hold a
majlis
, a court to hear petitions, and after the Dulaim tribesmen came before him, a meal of chicken and rice was served. Then, while the cars were driven over a flying bridge, Gertrude and Faisal crossed the river by boat. Fahad Bey was waiting on the other side. “It was a great moment,” Gertrude exulted. The Paramount Chief of the Anazeh had been “bitterly opposed to an Arab government” and was wary of giving his allegiance to the son of the Sharif Hussein; a man who had no desire to lose Britain’s financial support, he had bowed to the Khatun’s urging and was there to greet them.

As the motorcade drove away from the river and toward the desert, the fighting men of the Anazeh loomed in the sands in front: a phalanx of warriors on camels and horses, their flag held high, their rifles slung across their hips. The cars stopped, and Faisal saluted the forces, Gertrude doing the same. The Chief of the Dulaim, Ali Suleiman, came out to meet them and led them to another huge ceremonial tent, its walls covered with great boughs of fresh greens. Outside the two-hundred-foot-long black tent stood the Dulaim—hundreds of riders on horses and camels—and a single black-skinned man on a tall white horse, holding the standard of the tribe. Inside the tent were crammed four or five hundred more tribesmen. Faisal, in white robes and long black cloak, his flowing white headdress heavily braided with silver, was led to the front, where a dais had been installed. With Fahad Bey on his right and Gertrude on his left, he took his seat.

“I never saw him look so splendid,” Gertrude exclaimed. “Then he began to speak, leaning forward over the small table in front of him, sitting with his hand raised and bringing it down on the table to emphasize his sentences.… He spoke in the great tongue of the desert, sonorous, magnificent—[there is] no language like it. He spoke as a tribal chief to his feudatories.”

“Brothers!” Faisal’s voice rang out in Arabic, “my word is yours and I deal with you as brother towards his brother, and as a friend towards his friend and not as a ruler towards his subjects. I am not a foreigner to you. You may accept my word in all confidence. I came to you knowing you to be Arabs and Bedouin, and for four years I have not found myself in a place like this or in such company.” Iraq, he told them confidently, as though he had already been elected, was to rise to their endeavors with himself as their head. He slammed his hand on the table. “O Arabs, are you at peace with another?” he asked.

“Yes, yes,” they shouted; “we are at peace. The truth, by God, the truth.”

“From this day—what is the date?” he asked, “and what is the hour?” They told him, and he continued: “From this day and this hour of the morning any tribesman who lifts his hand against a tribesman is responsible to me—I will judge between you, calling your sheikhs in council. I have my rights over you as your lord.”

“Yes, yes,” they acknowledged, repeating the phrase. “The truth, by God, the truth.” A gray-bearded man interrupted. “And our rights?” he called out.

“And you have your rights as subjects which it is my business to guard.”

“Yes, yes!” the crowd shouted. “We agree. The truth, by God, the truth.”

When he was finished, Fahad Bey, the Paramount Chief of the Anazeh, and Ali Suleiman, the Chief of the Dulaim, stood up. “We swear allegiance to you because you are acceptable to the British Government,” they declared.

The words struck Faisal by surprise. Turning to Gertrude, he smiled and stated firmly, “No one can doubt what my relations are to the British, but we must settle our affairs ourselves.” He looked at Gertrude again, and she held out both her hands, clasping them together as a symbol of the union of the Arab and British Governments.

“It was a tremendous moment,” she recounted, “those two really big men who have played their part in the history of their time, and Faisal between them the finest living representative of his race—and the link ourselves.” It was indeed a tremendous victory for Faisal and for Gertrude.