Far Pavilions (169 page)

‘Bad as that, is it?’

‘You know it is. It's been weeks since any of the camp-followers would risk putting a nose outside the compound unless they went in a group, and preferably accompanied by one or two jawans – Mussulmans for choice. Even my Sikhs and Hindus haven't been going about much either. Do you mean to say you didn't know that?’

‘Of course I did, my wee laddie. What on earth do you take me for? I may be a few years older than you, but I'm not actually doddering yet; or deaf or short-sighted either. But I'd rather hoped that the situation would have eased a trifle after half those noisy bastards from Herat grabbed their pay and bolted.’

‘I daresay it has. But it's too soon for the effects to be felt, and I wouldn't dream of sending out a flock of grass-cutters without someone to play sheep-dog and keep an eye on them. In fact I shall probably go along myself at first, just to make sure that everything is all right. We don't want ‘em rushing back to barracks empty-handed and in a panic because some sturdy local patriot has called them naughty names and heaved a brick at them.’

‘We don't indeed,’ agreed William, and went away to discuss a number of questions that had been raised by the abrupt announcement that in future the Residency would be responsible for feeding its own horses.

The decision had come as a surprise, but apart from the lack of notice it was not one that could be cavilled at, because as William had pointed out, there was no earthly reason why the Afghan Government should supply fodder for the British Mission's horses – particularly when the Guides had their own grass-cutters, who were perfectly capable of getting it for them. Wally had not been blind to that, and his annoyance had been solely on account of the suddenness of the announcement, which struck him as unnecessarily discourteous.

He could see no reason why the Residency should not have been informed at the outset that this particular amenity was strictly temporary and would be withdrawn at the end of August; but apart from that, the change was not unwelcome. In fact the more he thought about it the better it pleased him, for it would give him an excuse to ride out to parts of the valley and the lower slopes of the hills that he had not yet visited, besides providing him with many more opportunities of meeting Ash.

He had been on his way back to the Mess House following his morning inspection of Stables and Lines when William met him with the news about the new arrangement for fodder, and now, turning back to pass it on to his cavalry officers, he recrossed the Residency courtyard and went out again past the sentry on the gate into the narrow lane that separated the Residency from the barrack block.

The door leading into the barracks stood open, but he did not walk through the jawans' courtyard, but turned right down the lane, and then left again to skirt the northern wall of the barracks and stroll out across the dusty sun-flooded compound towards the stables that stood at the far end under the shadow of the Arsenal. As he went he glanced up casually, eyes narrowed against the sun-glare, at the barred windows of the tall houses that stood on the higher ground beyond the compound wall: small, secretive windows like watchful eyes peering down from the high mud walls at the doings of the strangers in their midst.

No one seeing him glance up would have said that his gaze had rested on any particular window, or that he was in the least interested in the houses. But that brief survey had shown him that a blue and white pottery jar containing a spray of leaves stood on the sill of a certain window, and walking on he wondered if Ash already knew that in future the Guides would be sending out their own grass-cutters, or (which was more to the point) where they would be permitted to go; and if he too had seen this as an excellent opportunity for further meetings?

The final consignment of fodder sent by the Amir had been a generous one, and Jemadar Jiwand Singh, the senior Indian officer of the cavalry, was of the opinion that it would last for another two to three days and that the grass-cutters need not go out until the third. ‘But there is the winter to be thought of,’ said Jiwand Singh, ‘and if, as they say, the snow lies four feet deep in the valley, we shall need to lay in a great store of fodder. And for that we shall need more space.’

‘ “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof”, Jemadar-Sahib,’ quoted Wally lightly. ‘This is still only the first day of autumn and snow, will not fall until late in November. But I will speak to the Burra-Sahib tonight and tell him that we shall need another store house, and space on which to build one.’

‘Over there,’ said Jiwand Singh grimly, jerking his head towards an enclosed slope of waste ground, known as the Kulla-Fi-Arangi, that lay just beyond the perimeter of the compound and separated from it only by a low mud wall. ‘It would be no bad thing to gain permission to build on that ground, since by doing so we could close it against the many idlers and thieves and
budmarshes
who now use it as an approach to this compound, which they enter at will. Moreover if ever the need should arise to defend ourselves, we would find that of great service.’

Wally swung round to stare at the waste ground with an arrested look in his eyes. He had always been worried by the ease with which the compound could be entered, and now he muttered half under his breath, and in English: ‘By Jove, that's not a bad idea… Now why didn't I think of that before? Not walls: store houses. Good, strongly built sheds; and perhaps a few more servants' quarters. I wonder…’

He pondered the matter and at tea-time that day discussed it with Rosie, who agreed that it would certainly make the compound more secure if access to it could be reduced to a single entrance – preferably a narrow one that could be closed by a stout gate, instead of half-a-dozen alleyways and a slope of waste ground wide enough to drive a herd of cattle down.

‘And no one,’ said Wally slowly, ‘could accuse us of insulting our hosts by building defensive walls and barricades if we asked to put up a shed to store our fodder in for the winter, and perhaps a couple of extra servants' quarters to – to ease the overcrowding.’

‘Not servants' quarters,’ said Rosie thoughtfully. ‘A large dispensary. I could do with one. Yes, it's not a bad scheme, and provided the Chief approves –’

‘Of course he'll approve. Why shouldn't he? He can't feel any happier than we do about living in such a hopelessly vulnerable spot as this. He merely didn't want to upset the Amir by demanding defensive walls all round the shop, and I see his point. But this idea is quite different, and if anyone can bring the Amir round to it, he can. They get on together like a house on fire and hardly a day goes by without their having a long friendly blarney together – in fact they're having one now. So as we're obviously going to need extra storage space anyway, the whole thing should be plain sailing. I'll see if I can have a word with the Chief when he gets back from the palace. He's always in a good mood after a chat with the Amir.’

But as William's favourite poet and fellow-countryman had so truly said, ‘the best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft a-gley’. Sir Louis had returned unexpectedly late from the palace, and in such a noticeably bad temper that Wally had decided that this was definitely one of those times when junior officers should be seen and not heard.

Normally when Sir Louis paid a social call at the palace, he stayed for about an hour and returned in the best of spirits, particularly on those occasions when, as today, the subject under discussion was the projected tour of the northern provinces, which the Amir had been as enthusiastic about as he himself was. This evening they were to have settled the final details; yet now, with the date of their departure set and endless arrangements already in train, the Amir had suddenly chosen to announce that he could not possibly go –

It was, declared Yakoub Khan, out of the question that he should leave his capital at a time of grave unrest: how could he possibly do so when his regiments in Kabul could not be trusted to behave in an orderly manner? When a number of his provinces were in open revolt, his cousin Abdur Rahman (a protégé of the Russians and living under their protection) plotting to invade Kandahar and take his throne, and his brother, Ibrahim Khan, intriguing against him with the same object in view? He had no money and little authority, and were he to leave Kabul for so much as a week he was very certain that he would never be able to return again. In the circumstances he was sure that his good friend Sir Louis would fully appreciate the difficulties of his situation, and agree with him that any idea of a tour at this juncture must be abandoned.

One would have thought that Sir Louis (who was equally well aware of those difficulties and had himself reported on them in a number of official telegrams and dispatches during the past few weeks) would have been the first to agree that the tour must be called off: but this was not so. He was seriously upset, for he had visualized this tour as a combination of a Royal Progress under his personal aegis – a public demonstration of the friendship and trust that now existed between Great Britain and Afghanistan – and a subtle reminder that it was the British who had won the recent war. Also, having lavished a great deal of time and thought on plans and arrangements for it, his anger at the Amir's sudden
volte face
was aggravated by an uncomfortable suspicion that he would be made to look foolish when the various officials he had written to, or to whom William had written on his behalf, learned that the tour would not take place after all.

As a result, he had argued with the Amir and done his best to make him change his mind. But nothing he could say had served to make Yakoub Khan budge an inch, and eventually, realizing that if he were not very careful he would lose his temper, he had brought the interview to a close and returned to the Residency in anything but a good mood.

Wally took note of the fact, and wisely recognizing that this was not the moment to start any new hares, decided to say nothing about the possibility of improving the defences of the compound by building storage sheds or a dispensary, and confined himself instead to asking William if he had found out where they could go for fodder.

William had: they could take all that was needed from the
charman
, the uncultivated grazing land that formed a large part of the plain of Kabul, and it had been suggested that a start could be made in the vicinity of the village of Ben-i-Hissar, which was no great distance from the citadel.

‘I said we'd be sending our grass-cutters out on the morning of the third. That's the day after tomorrow,’ said William. ‘They wanted to know because of sending a guard with them, though they must know we'll be sending one of our own. However, just as well to have them around. We don't want any trouble from villagers claiming afterwards that our chaps trespassed on their fields and damaged their crops, and as long as a squad of Afghan cavalry are keeping an eye on proceedings, that isn't likely to happen.’

Wally was in agreement with him, for much as he disliked being followed around by Afghan troopers, their presence on this sort of occasion would ensure that even the most truculent villagers would think twice before flinging a stone at the strangers. All the same he intended to accompany the grass-cutters himself to make certain that they kept well away from any cultivated land; and also to spy out the surrounding country and study the behaviour of the Afghan guard with a view to seeing how easy – or how difficult – it would be to meet and talk to Ash in the course of these forays.

He was inclined to think that it would prove a simple matter once the novelty had worn off and foraging on the
charman
became a routine affair. ‘No point in his coming out the first day though,’ decided Wally. ‘But as our grass-cutters will be out every alternate day the Afghans are going to get bored in next to no time, and after that it will be as easy as falling off a log.’

It was only on the following day that it occurred to Wally that there could be no harm if Ash happened to ride past Ben-i-Hissar, say on the morning of the fifth, just to get some idea of the situation and assess the possibilities it offered.

A brief glance at the Munshi's house had already shown him that Ash was at work there, so he strolled across to an itinerant fruit-seller who had set up a stall on the edge of the compound, and bought half-a-dozen oranges, five of which he later placed in a neat row on the window-ledge of his dressing-room before carefully closing the shutters behind them. The room looked out across the roof of the Sikh quarters in the barrack-block towards the stables and the far end of the compound, and the oranges, standing out vividly against the white-painted shutters, could be clearly seen from a considerable distance away.

There was no need to give Ash any directions, for if he did not know already, he would have no difficulty in finding out where Hamilton-Sahib was bound; and if he could manage to get away he would be there. If not, he would certainly come the next time – and as that would be the seventh, there was a reasonable chance that the Afghan guard would not be in attendance. The seventh being a Friday and the Moslem sabbath, with any luck they might be at their devotions in one of the city mosques.

Sir Louis had still been noticeably short-tempered at breakfast, and as the usual succession of callers hoping for preferment or bringing complaints against the Amir or one or other of the ministers had kept him fully occupied until late in the day (after which he had gone off to shoot partridges with one of the local landowners), Wally had no opportunity of bringing up the subject of the sheds: for which he was not altogether sorry. He still considered it a capital scheme, but instinct warned him that his brain-child was likely to receive short shrift from Sir Louis in his present mood, so instead he mentioned it to William, who being a civilian, and at present an exceedingly busy one, was not all that interested in matters that from the viewpoint of a professional soldier appeared vitally important.

William was well aware of the precarious position of the British Mission, and recognized as clearly as Wally did the alarming insecurity of the accommodation provided for them by the Amir. But then he, like Cavagnari, was convinced that, situated as they were, any defence from a military standpoint was out of the question, and that they must therefore trust to other methods. To diplomacy and the careful and cautious building up of good-will. To the patient breaking-down of suspicion and hostility, and the fostering of friendly relations. Above all, to the preservation of a bold front and a show of complete confidence.