Hart of Empire (25 page)

'You return to save
all
of them,
huzoor
?'

'Just one. Princess Yasmin, the amir's sister.'

'What business is she of yours?'

'None, I suppose, but I'm making her my business. I met her once during my time at the palace and if you'd been there you'd understand. She's magnificent. I don't mean in her person, though she is very beautiful, but in the way she holds herself, the way she thinks. If her brother had half her spirit and determination your country would not be in the chaos it is.'

'I'm confused,
huzoor
. You've spoken to her just once and yet you'd risk all to save her from . . . from what, exactly?'

'From the rebels. Once they realize the amir has absconded to the British they're bound to sack the palace, and any women they find will be fair game.'

'So you'd risk our lives for her honour?'

'Yes, indeed, but it's more than that. It's hard to explain, but since leaving the amir's camp I haven't stopped thinking about her - and, no, not in
that
way.'

'In what way, then,
huzoor
?'

'In the way she encapsulates - by her nobility, courage and fortitude - all that's good about Afghanistan, because there's so much that's bad, as well you know. When you meet her you'll understand. Ilderim, there's something about her that offers this country hope. If she dies, I fear it will too. I know it's not rational - call it instinct, if you like - but I have to save her.'

'So your mind is made up.'

'It is.'

'And the cloak? Have you forgotten why you came to this country?'

'I intend to make for Ghazni as soon as I know the princess is safe. But I can't succeed in either endeavour without you, my friend. So will you help me?'

Ilderim sighed. 'I must be mad but, yes, I'll help you,
huzoor
. I think you're a fool to return to Kabul, but I told you many weeks ago that I would stay with you until you had completed your task or were killed in the attempt, and I never break a pledge.'

'Thank you, Ilderim. Now I'm in
your
debt.'

For a mile or so they rode in silence until, at last, Ilderim felt compelled to speak. 'Truly,
huzoor
, a woman's ability to scramble a man's brain is something to behold.'

'Isn't it just, my friend?' said George. 'And you should know.'

Chapter 13

Near Kabul

George had never thought of himself as chivalrous. As a child who never quite fitted in - on account of his parentage and colour - he had concentrated on looking after number one, and the thought of others needing his assistance had never entered his head. Until, that was, he had met Jake Morgan at Sandhurst. Jake was also an outsider, the son of a Welsh colliery owner - and therefore 'trade' as far as his over-bred classmates were concerned - so the two of them had clung together like drowning swimmers in a sea of social prejudice. George would have done anything for Jake, but since his death at Isandlwana he had felt himself reverting back to his old selfish ways. Yet there were hopeful signs: he was proud of how he had treated Ishtar in letting her choose whether she wanted to spend the night with him, and now he was risking all for a woman he hardly knew. Was it chivalry? He couldn't decide. There was certainly an element of self-interest in that he knew himself to be highly attracted to both the princess's physical charms and her spirited nature. But he also sensed her importance to her dynasty and her country, and it was this motive for keeping her safe that George knew to be selfless.

Thoughts such as these had been swirling round his head since the crossing of the Logar river. Now that he and Ilderim could see the Bala Hissar looming ahead, the jagged shadow of its lofty walls dominating the skyline, he registered the sheer insanity of what he was trying to achieve. Already they had passed a number of drunken mutineers, carousing by the roadside, and it was likely there would be many more inside the fortress.

'The gatehouse is ahead,
huzoor
,' whispered Ilderim, as they climbed the last rise and the track began to level off. 'I'll explain to the guards that we own shops in the bazaar.'

But the ruse was unnecessary because the gatehouse was unmanned, its huge wooden doors open to the world. 'We may be too late,' muttered George, as they rode through the empty vaulted entrance and into the fortress. 'There's not a soul about.'

The lane beyond was strewn with clothes, possessions and broken furniture, still just visible in the evening twilight. 'The place has been ransacked,
huzoor
,' said Ilderim, scanning the scene. 'There will be scavengers about. We should leave.'

'Not until I've seen the amir's palace.'

'Why? Do you think these dogs will have left it untouched?'

'No. But we've come this far,' said George, kicking his horse forward. 'I have to be certain.'

As they picked their way through the destruction, the sickly sweet smell of death was heavy in the air, though few corpses were visible. George covered his nose with a piece of his turban, and was glad when they reached the lane that ran alongside the amir's garden, and the smell of corruption was replaced by that of scented flowers.

George knew that at the end of the lane, barely three hundred yards further on, stood the empty ruins of the Residency compound. He felt oddly drawn to the scene of the massacre. But a more pressing task was at hand, and this required him and Ilderim to take a right turn off the lane, away from the Residency, and on towards the huge palace gates. They, too, were unguarded, and George's heart quickened as he rode through the devastation of the once beautiful garden, its flowers and shrubs uprooted and scattered anyhow.

'Wait here with the horses,' he said, dismounting in front of steps that led up to the main entrance, its shattered door still attached by the lower hinge.

'Is that wise,
huzoor
? What if there are bandits inside?'

'Then I'll deal with them. This was my foolish idea and I'll see it through. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on our mounts - we won't get to Ghazni without them. If I'm not back in ten minutes, you're absolved of your promise.'

George entered the front door, cocked pistol at the ready. The only sound was the crunch of broken china and glass under his shoes. Otherwise the building was eerily silent and dark. George felt his way up the broad staircase to the first floor and listened. A clock was ticking in one of the durbar rooms, but there was still no sign of life. He had barely started up the next flight of stairs when his foot trod on a bulky obstacle. He knelt down to touch it and made contact with someone's face, the flesh cold and clammy. He quickly withdrew his hand and was about to step over the body when a blood-curdling scream pierced the night, then another. It was a woman's, and it was coming from the top floor of the palace where the princess had her apartments.

George hurdled the body and tore up the remaining two flights of stairs, his shoes ringing on the polished hardwood floor. He turned right at the top and, using the wall as a guide, raced down the corridor that led to the princess's apartments. The door was open and light from a lamp was spilling on to the landing. He paused in the doorway, shocked by the spectacle before him. At the far end of the room a member of the palace guard, still fully clothed but with his trousers pulled down, was ravishing a naked girl with brutal thrusts and animal grunts. She was sobbing.

As George ran towards them, the man swivelled his head in surprise and found himself staring down the barrel of an Adams .45. 'Please don't shoot!' begged the man in Pashto. 'You can have her after me.'

George pulled the trigger, the shot sounding impossibly loud in the enclosed space. The heavy lead bullet entered the man's eye and blew off the back of his head in a red and grey shower of blood and brains. He slumped lifeless to the ground, pinning his victim beneath him. She screamed again and tried to push him off, but he was too heavy. George rolled him to one side and at last recognised the girl as the princess's maid, Sufi. Her eyes were wide with terror, her face spattered with her attacker's gore.

'Where's your mistress?' asked George, covering her with her torn
shalwar kameez
.

She lay in shock, unable to speak.

'Where's your mistress?' demanded George, a second time.

'She's in her bedchamber,' said Sufi, her voice barely audible, 'with that brute Walidad Khan.'

George ran for the door to the next room and yanked it open. He had steeled himself for a sight similar to, or worse than, the one that had just greeted him. It was just as shocking, but for a different reason. The girl - Princess Yasmin - was astride her attacker on the bed, and in her hand she clutched a long, curved dagger, stained red with blood. Walidad Khan was still, and appeared to be dead, but that did not deter the princess from again plunging the dagger into his chest with such force that the blade snapped. 'You think you can betray your master and dishonour me with impunity, you dog?' she said venomously, spitting in the dead man's face. 'You are mistaken.'

'Princess, are you hurt?' asked George, from the doorway.

She swung round to face him, her eyes still blazing with murderous anger. 'Who are you and what do you want? Because if you're another who would do me harm--'

'I'm not, Princess. My name is Captain George Hart. We spoke briefly after I escaped the attack on the Residency. Do you remember?'

'The Angrez soldier?' she asked, as she clambered off Khan's corpse and straightened her dishevelled clothes. 'Is it really you in that tribesman's garb?'

'It is, Princess.'

'What are you doing here? I thought you'd escaped to your people.'

'I had. But I was asked by my general to take a message to your brother, and when I met him near Kushi he told me that he had left you and the other women here with only the palace guard for protection.'

'He might as well have left us naked for all the protection the traitorous worms afforded us. Most abandoned their posts the day after my brother fled to the Angrez, and those who did not, Walidad Khan among them, were only too happy to join the mutinous soldiery and bazaar rabble in plundering the Bala Hissar. The other women and servants fled to the city, but I chose to stay,' she said, her chin tilted in defiance. 'It takes more than a disorganized rabble to hound me from my home.'

'I admire your spirit, Princess, but was it wise to remain here? If Walidad Khan and his accomplice hadn't come back, others would have.'

'And they'd have met the same fate. I may have the body of a woman, Angrez, but I have the heart of a tiger,' she said, tapping her chest.

'I know it, Princess, but your maid is not made of such stern stuff.'

'Poor Sufi! Is she alive?'

'Yes. I killed her attacker, but not before . . .'

The implication was obvious. 'I must go to her,' said the princess, rushing past George and into the main room. On seeing the distraught Sufi, she let out a wail of sympathy and scooped her into her arms.

George gave them a brief moment together, then said, 'We must go, Princess, before others come. They'll have heard my shot.'

The princess turned to him, her cheeks wet with tears. 'Yes, of course. Where are you making for?'

'I was rather hoping you'd suggest somewhere. We need a safe place to sleep that's away from Kabul.'

'We?'

'My Afghan guide and I. His name is Ilderim Khan. He's waiting with the horses outside.'

'How many horses?'

'Two, but you can ride behind us.'

'In that case we should go to my brother's pleasure garden at Beni Hissar. In it, well-hidden by a screen of trees, there is a small pavilion he had built for me. Only I have the key.'

'We'll stay there tonight and decide tomorrow what to do with you both.'

'First I must change into suitable clothes. Can you wait here? I'll be a couple of minutes.'