Hart of Empire (19 page)

They drew rein. George could just make out a small group of armed men blocking the road and, though he had grown an impressive beard and was disguised in his Ghilzai border ruffian garb, he prayed they weren't mutineers. 'What ails you, brother?' responded Ilderim. 'Can a man no longer return to his home at night unmolested?'

'No, he may not. Where have you been these last few weeks since we butchered the Feringhees and their lapdog guards at the Residency? The country is crawling with spies, all seeking to pass information between that traitorous dog of an amir and the Angrez, and we've been ordered to question everyone who passes. So, I ask you again, what are you doing on the road at this time of night?'

With his worst fears confirmed, and fearing discovery, George moved his right hand closer to where his pistol was concealed. But Ilderim seemed unconcerned, and continued his comradely banter: 'Brothers, put aside your weapons! We're returning to our home village of Zahidabad in the Logar valley. We've been celebrating the marriage of my cousin in Kabul, and afterwards we spent a while in a bawdy house on Charahai Street. Aiee! If you could have seen the Tajik woman I enjoyed. What thighs! What . . .' Ilderim cupped his hands in front of his chest, an idiotic grin on his face.

'I have been there,' interjected one of the mutineers. 'The trollops are indeed magnificent, and from all corners of the country. Why, I once paid for two Hazaras who kept me--'

'Quiet, Anwar!' snapped the officer of the guard. 'Will you lower yourself to this debauched fool's level? Though it's plain he hasn't the sense to be a spy so we need detain him no longer. On your way, then, fellow! And next time you choose to visit the fleshpots of Kabul, take a room for the night.'

'I will, brother,' cackled Ilderim. 'And as I'm enjoying the pleasures therein, I'll be sure to think of you.'

George held his breath, convinced that Ilderim had gone too far. But the mutinous officer, no doubt yearning for the warmth of his bed, ignored the jibe and waved them on without comment.

Once safely out of earshot, George asked Ilderim if he'd ever visited the whorehouse in question. 'Sadly not,
huzoor
, but I hear it is the best in Kabul. When the country has quietened down, what say we visit it together?'

'You're incorrigible.' George shook his head. 'We've just cheated death again and all you can think about is chasing women!'

They pressed on and, having safely negotiated the Sang-i-Nawishta defile, through which the Logar river passes into the Kabul valley, they eventually came to Zahidabad where they stopped to water the ponies. They had covered twenty miles in two and a half hours. But with another sixty to go to reach Ali Khel, Roberts's headquarters in the Kurram valley, including a strength-sapping ascent up the ten-thousand-feet high Shutargardan Pass in the Sufaid Koh mountains, they did not delay long.

It was getting light as they neared the village of Kushi, the last settlement of any size before the climb to the Shutargardan, and George was able to observe the terrain that Roberts's army had crossed the previous year. The road passed over a stony plain, devoid of vegetation, that was flanked on either side by low slate-coloured hills. Directly ahead, no more than eight miles beyond the village, stood the towering, snow-capped peaks of the mountains.

The road continued along the same flat, barren terrain for a further five miles beyond Kushi until it reached the foot of the mountains where the Shinkai Kotal provided the first steep climb. Thereafter the track descended to a stony riverbed before rising sharply through a series of narrow gorges and rocky climbs to the Shutargardan. As their exhausted ponies plodded through yet another narrow defile, flanked on both sides by sheer rock faces that at one point closed to within a few feet of each other, George was forced to conclude that a tiny force of determined tribesmen could have prevented a far bigger army getting through any of these features.

'
Huzoor
,' said Ilderim, snapping George out of his reverie, 'there are soldiers ahead.'

George looked up the hillside to see, beyond the next hairpin, a group of khaki-clad men working on the road with picks and shovels. 'Are they Afghans?'

'Sikh pioneers, Indian troops. I can tell by the shape of the turbans.'

'At least we don't have to run the gauntlet of any more mutineers. But the presence of Indian troops here, on Afghan territory, means the preparations for the invasion are already well under way. We must hurry,' said George, urging his pony into a trot.

As they rounded the next bend, a voice shouted, 'Stop and identify yourselves!'

George could see Sikh riflemen concealed in rocks at either side of the road. The speaker was a young British officer, standing in the road, his palm outstretched.

'I'm James Harper, a British businessman,' called George. 'I've come from Kabul with a letter for General Roberts from the amir.'

'Have you now? You don't look very British to me.'

'Of course not. I'm in disguise.'

'And your companion? Is he in disguise too?'

'He's an Afghan in my employ.'

'And you've just come from Kabul, you say? How did you manage that? The last report we received was that the city was given over to mutineers and bandits.'

'We were stopped once, but my guide convinced them we were natives of the Logar valley. We were lucky.'

'I must ask you to hand over your weapons until we can verify your story.' The officer turned to a strapping Sikh who was wearing cross-belts over his dust-coloured tunic, puttees below his baggy trousers and native shoes. 'Havildar Singh, disarm these men, please, and escort them up to the general at the pass.'

'Is General Roberts already so far forward?' asked George.

'Of course not. He's at Ali Khel. I'm referring to Brigadier General Baker. He's in command of the advanced troops on the Shutargardan. We've been holding the pass since word reached us of the massacre at the Residency. Do you know of any survivors?'

'Yes. Ourselves.'

Flanked by Havildar Singh and four of his men on foot, George and Ilderim rode the last couple of miles to the summit of the pass, a desolate, snowy, rock-strewn clearing where Baker's men had established their entrenched camp on the recently established frontier between British India and Afghanistan. As they approached, George could see the strength of the huge rectangular position, defended by an outer trench and a four-foot mound of earth, topped with rocks and stones, that was bristling with riflemen and cannon. Once past the outer picket of 72nd Highlanders - big men with bronzed, bearded faces, white sun helmets, scarlet tunics and green and blue tartan trews - Singh led them through the main gate and along row after row of white bell tents to the centre of the camp where Baker had sited his headquarters' marquee. The sun was shining brightly, but the air was cold. Singh and his men were breathing hard after the exertion of the climb.

'Dismount and wait here,' said Singh, before announcing his business to the sentries and disappearing through the tent flap. Seconds later he reappeared. 'The general sahib will see you now, Mr Harper. Your guide can wait outside.'

George entered the tent and it took a second or two for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Three officers were poring over maps on a trestle table in the centre. The oldest of the three, a tall, bulky man with steel grey hair and a neat moustache, looked up. 'I'm Brigadier General Baker. Who might you be and what are you doing here?'

George explained that he had been visiting the Residency in Kabul to talk to Cavagnari about business opportunities when the attack had begun on 3 September. Thereafter his account of the battle - Cavagnari's wounding, the sorties against their guns, his and Ilderim's eventual escape to the royal palace - was exactly as it had happened. 'Once I'd recovered from my wound,' added George, 'I told the amir I was anxious to reach the safety of British lines in the Kurram valley, and that I'd be happy to carry a message from him to General Roberts.'

'May I see the message?'

'Of course,' said George. 'Have you a knife handy? It's sewn into my tunic.' One of Baker's staff officers handed him a pen-knife, which he used to unpick the lining of his
kurta
and recover the letter. He gave it to Baker, who inspected the writing and seal, before passing it to the officer on his right.

'What do you think, Innes? I'm damned if I know. The bloody thing could have been written by anyone.'

Innes inspected the letter. 'I agree with you, sir. The whole story sounds a little unlikely.' He turned to George. 'You say you're a British merchant? Have you proof of this? A passport, for example?'

'I left all my papers in my hotel room.'

'Very convenient, Mr Harper. You sound British, all right, but you look as if . . . you come from foreign parts.'

'My mother's part Maltese.'

'Is she? Well, I'm not entirely convinced.'

'Neither am I,' said Baker. 'But I'll pass you up the line and Major FitzGeorge, General Roberts's chief of intelligence, can make up his own mind.'

'Do you mean Major
Harry
FitzGeorge?' asked George.

'I believe that's his name. Why? Are you claiming an acquaintance?'

'We have mutual friends in England.'

Baker looked doubtful. 'I see. Well, we'll keep you here overnight and tomorrow you'll be escorted as far as Karatiga with some mules we're sending back for telegraph wire. That's about ten miles from here. Ali Khel is a further twenty, but you'll have to wait until another supply column is ready to leave because it's too dangerous to travel without an escort. Only today I received a warning from the local Mangal tribesmen that our columns would be attacked if we didn't pay protection money. I fancy it's bravado, but you can never tell. And if you do get through safely, I hope, for your sake, you can persuade Major FitzGeorge that your story is true. If not, you may end up swinging from a rope.'

George dozed in his saddle as the column of eighty unladen mules, accompanied by their Indian muleteers and a modest escort of one
naik
and nine sepoys of the 5th Punjab Infantry, plodded up the slope of a feature known as the Soorkai Kotul, roughly halfway to Karatiga. In places the track was little more than stones and boulders, and it had taken them two hours to cover just five miles, with the muleteers regularly resorting to curses and blows to keep their animals moving.

Ilderim leant across and shook George by the arm. '
Huzoor
, wake up.'

George blinked open his eyes. 'What is it?'

'I've just seen movement in the trees ahead, near the summit. It might be an ambush.'

George peered up at the fir-covered slopes on either side of the track. 'I can't see anything, but those trees would offer splendid cover. I'll have a word with the
naik
.'

He nudged his pony forward to the head of the column where the
naik
and four of his men were marching with rifles slung; the remaining five infantrymen were acting as rearguard. 'My man thinks he saw someone in the trees,' said George to the
naik
, a jolly-looking man with an impossibly large turban. 'Shouldn't we stop the column while you send forward a couple of your men to investigate?'

'No need, sahib. One of our own posts is barely half a mile from here. The Afghans wouldn't risk an attack with troops so near. Now, please go back to your place in the column. There's nothing to fear.'

George rejoined Ilderim. 'The damned fool won't listen, and here we are stuck in the centre of the column without even a weapon to defend ourselves.'

'I have weapons,
huzoor
,' said Ilderim, with a grin. 'A pistol and a knife. I keep them under my saddle for times like this.'

'Good - we might need them.'

Barely had George spoken than a single shot echoed from the woods to the flank, followed by a fusillade. Muleteers screamed as they were hit and their animals stampeded in panic. 'Dismount and take cover,
huzoor
,' shouted Ilderim, as he swung himself off his mount and felt under the saddle for his weapons.

George rolled to the ground and sprinted behind a large boulder, on the edge of the riverbed, where he was joined by Ilderim, who handed him his six-shot Adams revolver and a small pouch of ammunition. 'How did you get this back?'