The Sleeping Sands (38 page)

On Layard’s request, he was led by the Ghûlam to the room where the Khan was held. It was a long, narrow room, dimly lit by a series of Syrian glass lamps. In its centre was a stout wooden table, laden with several wooden dishes, piled with dates, flatbread and curds; a pitcher of water. Next to this was a marble washstand, with a rose-scented silver ewer and bowl and an ornate silver mirror. Beyond, sitting on a heavy oak chair, his head bowed, was Mehemet Taki Khan. His wrists and ankles were bound by an iron chain, which in turn was fastened to the wall. The chain was heavy, but apparently not so as to significantly impede movement around the room. By the standards of other places of imprisonment Layard had seen on his travels, the room might be considered a luxury.

‘Frank, is that really you?’ muttered the Khan as Layard approached. ‘It is good to hear your voice again my friend.’

‘Great Khan, it saddens me to see you a captive thus,’ said Layard. ‘How is it that you come to be here.’

‘I waited for you, my friend,’ said the Khan, in a cracked, heavy voice. ‘I waited for as long as I could bear. Every moment that I thought my son would be murdered by that dog was a lifetime of agony for me. In the end I could bear it no longer. I rode out to surrender so that my son and my people might be spared.’

‘Then did Hussein Kuli never make the safety of Fellahiyah?’ asked Layard.

‘Did you free him then?’ asked the Khan, raising his great hands to his still bowed head. ‘Ah, but I suspected as much. When the Matamet refused to bring him before me, I guessed my son was no longer in his power. Oh, but I should have known that he was a true Bakhtiari and would never be held by dogs such as these. I should have trusted you my friend – but my heart ached so.’

‘Yes, we freed him, Khan,’ said Layard. ‘We freed your brother Ali Naghi Khan and your vizier. When last I saw them, they were riding to you in Fellahiyah. They are safe, I am sure of it.’

‘It is too late,’ moaned the Khan. ‘What of my brother Kerim?’

‘Au Kerim fought more fiercely and more bravely than any other, oh Khan,’ replied Layard softly. ‘He was wounded by a treacherous shot from one of the Matamet’s men. He died, my friend. I am so sorry.’

The Khan moaned once more and buried his face in his hands.

‘Wai!’ he cried softly, ‘it is as the thing in the dark whispers to me, night after night.

‘I hear it, Frank, every night. The thing that came to us in Mullah Fezi’s castle. It creeps up to me in the darkness and whispers its hateful words. All is gone, Henry. All is doomed. Kerim is dead. My family will soon be beggars and slaves or else slaughtered by the Matamet. My people will be dispersed like wheat chaff to the winds. My beautiful son – I will never see any of them again.’

At this, the Khan began to sob, his powerful manacled body rocking to and fro piteously. Layard rushed forward and grasped the warlord by his broad shoulders.

‘Great Khan,’ he cried, ‘you shall see them again. Your son is safe now. Your people are free to ride against the Matamet, with the Ch’ab Arabs at their side. There are many here among the Matamet’s own forces that despise him for his treachery towards you. Between your forces in Fellahiyah and your sympathisers in Shuster, we can muster a strike force to rescue you and bring down punishment on the Matamet for his crimes. Only give me the word and I will call your forces together. You will be free Great Khan. You will see your family again.’

‘Alas, you do not understand, Henry,’ whispered the Khan. ‘No matter what forces you muster, I shall never see my family again.’

The Khan lifted his scarred face to Layard, leaning slightly forward so that the lamplight flickered across it. Where his eyes had been were now two blackened encrusted holes.

‘I will never see anyone again.’

C
HAPTER 21

L
AYARD REMEMBERED LITTLE OF HIS LAST FLIGHT FROM
S
HUSTER
. As he rode towards Fellahiyah, his mind was filled with the pitiful sight of the broken Khan; the great lion of a man bent and shackled in his chair, his ravaged face turned towards his friend. When he caught the eyes of passing travellers upon the road, Layard could see nothing but the dark, blood-stained twin void that had confronted him. With every hoof-beat Layard’s imagination wove new images of the Matamet’s men, with their knives and heated irons, working new and grizzly insults on Mehemet Taki Khan’s noble features.

As the horse’s hoofs drummed on, Layard was filled with a swelling tide of disgust and rage. He no longer paid any attention to the world about him. Goats, farmers and travellers all had to scatter as the frenzied figure of the Englishman bore down the road; racing his own demons in a mad dash for Fellahiyah. He paid no attention to a funeral party on the road; to a group of chanting mullahs; nor to a family of scuttling francolins. He felt neither the changing cool air nor the winds howling down from the mountains. All the while, his shadow rode alongside him. It was a relentless and unforgiving spectre that haunted his every step and taunted him with its constant reminder of the absence of light; of the darkness that snaps at the heels of every man and threatens to engulf him when he can no longer outrun it.

*                      *                      *

The Khan’s people were no longer in Fellahiyah. When Ali Naghi Khan had returned to hear news of his brother’s capture, he had ordered his people to flee to safety in the mountains, fearing the hospitality of the Ch’ab Arabs would not long outlast the Khan’s authority. To protect the tribe as best he could, he divided the people into three groups and sent each to a different ally of the Khan, hoping that at least some of his erstwhile friends would hold true. Placing Hussein Kuli in command of one group, Au Khan Baba in command of the second and taking command of the third himself, he sent Sefi’a Khan to guide the Khan’s wife, sister in law and the now gravely ill Au Kelb Ali, along with his family retainers to the safety of the chief of the Boheramedi. The Boheramedi was a tribe who owed much to the patronage of Mehemet Taki Khan. Of all the Khan’s allies, their chief, Abd’ullah Khan, could most be counted on for his loyalty.

In all, some 30,000 of the Khan’s people set forth from Fellahiyah, seeking whatever fate the mountains might hold in store for them.

Layard arrived to find the marshes empty of the Bakhtiari. He rode to Fellahiyah to seek news of his friends. As he neared the town, a horseman rode out to meet him. It was Saleh the Lur.

‘Effendi!’ called Saleh as he drew near, ‘you are alive! Allah is merciful!’

Layard reined his horse.

‘What happened to you, Effendi?’ asked Saleh, struggling to catch his breath.

‘I was kidnapped – by my aunt,’ Layard smiled wryly at the Lur’s bemused expression.

‘It’s a long story, my friend,’ he said, ‘for which there is no time now. What is the news?’

‘I came back for you, Effendi,’ panted the Lur, ‘but only to find you gone and signs of a struggle – many footprints. I tracked them along the river bank but they disappeared. I feared you had been captured by the Persians, so I stole back into Shuster. I could find no word of you there but I soon discovered the Khan had been captured, so I rode at once to Fellahiyah to warn his people. When I arrived, Effendi, they had already departed.’

‘Where have they gone?’ asked Layard.

Saleh told him what he had gathered from the Ch’ab Arabs; of the tribe’s fragmentation and exodus.

‘Do you know where the Boharemadi are camped, Saleh?’ asked Layard.

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Well, are you ready for a ride, my friend?’

Pausing at Fellahiyah only to buy fresh horses, the two men set out immediately. Side by side, they galloped off towards the mountains of Khuzistan after the Khan’s family.

By the time they reached the foothills, the weather had turned for the worse. Bitter winds howled down from the shrouded peaks. Layard could not escape a sense that some terrible misfortune had followed the winds from the mountains and fallen upon the Khan’s family. He rode for mile after mile, without conversation; grim in his determination to reach the fugitives.

High above a mountain pass, in a ruined hill-fort, they found what was left of the Khan’s household. It was quite by chance. Deserted and torn apart by some unknown force, the little tower was exposed to the worst of the wintry weather. Its roof had tumbled and two of its walls were shattered. Still, it seemed to offer some semblance of shelter and so Layard and Saleh had climbed up to it as the night closed in. There, huddled against the elements, barefoot and wrapped in a meagre assortment of dirty rags was the Khan’s wife and her sister Khanumi.

Layard let out a cry and rushed over to the two figures. He ordered Saleh to start a fire and grabbed some blankets from his pack. Once the women had wrapped themselves in the blankets he passed over a flask of strong arak.

‘I don’t know if this is at all proper,’ smiled Khanumi bravely, shivering almost too much to speak. ‘A Bakhtiari princess should not accept food or drink from unclean hands – and strong liquor at that!’

‘Well if you won’t, I will,’ said Khatun-Jan and grabbed the flask, drinking deeply.

‘Thank you, Henry,’ she said, wiping her chin, ‘we did not start a fire for fear of giving away our location.’

Khanumi reached over and took the flask.

‘It seems we were discovered anyway,’ she laughed bitterly after drinking. ‘So you haven’t been gobbled up by wild beasts yet. I don’t suppose you have any unclean food that you also want to inflict upon us, Mr Layard?’

As Saleh prepared a meal, the Khanum and Khanumi related their story. Just a day’s ride from the marshes, Au Kelb Ali had become seriously ill. Fearing that the end was near for him, Shefi’a Khan led the party to a nearby encampment belonging to the Kuhghelu tribe, hoping to find shelter. Although no friends to Mehemet Taki Khan, the Kuhghelu nomads welcomed the Bakhtiari at first, giving them a rude meal and shelter. In the night, Au Kelb Ali’s strength had finally failed. The Khan’s brother was dead by morning. As the Khan’s family made the body ready for burial, without warning the Kuhghelu horsemen fell upon the group, hacking at the funeral party and cutting down both men and women. Only Shefi’a Khan, the Khanum and her sister had managed to draw weapons to defend themselves before the treacherous attack – which Khanumi pointed out vehemently was against all the rules of hospitality and sanctity; emphasising her point with a string of graphic imprecations against the Kuhghelu.

Fighting back to back, the two women and Shefi’a Khan had managed to fight their way from the worst of the massacre and made a break for their horses. Before they could reach the horses, however, a second group of enemy horsemen appeared from among the tents and bore down upon them, cutting off their escape. In an attempt to buy the women a chance to get to the horses, Shefi’a Khan made a heroic charge against the Kughelu – ‘One Bakhtiari, on foot, charging twenty Kughelu horsemen!’ said Khatun-Jan proudly.

Shefi’a’s long pistols felled two of the horsemen and the surprise and savagery of his sudden charge accounted for two more as he rushed, slashing left and right with his sword and long knife into the fray. For all his courage, he was still one man against a score of horses. A Kughelu sword bit into his shoulder, the momentum of its mounted wielder knocking the vizier to the ground. In a moment he was trampled under the horses’ thundering hoofs. Trampling across his lifeless body, the Kughelu horsemen surrounded the two surviving women and raised their swords.

The women stood defiantly together, their own bloodied knives extended. The Khanum had cried out that they were prepared to die like Bakhtiari. She had proclaimed their names and swore that the vengeance of Mehemet Taki Khan would fall upon the Kuhghelu without mercy.

Whether daunted by the two tigresses that they held at bay or by the mention of the Khan, the Kuhghelu let fall their swords. Rather than kill the women, they dismounted and fell upon them as a man, grabbing their arms and legs and taking their long knives from them. After conferring among themselves, the nomads announced to the Bakhtiari that they were free to go.

‘But only after taking our horses, our jewellery and our clothes,’ spat Khanumi.

‘Not to mention our shoes and all our food,’ added her sister. ‘All they left us were these dirty old rags.’

‘It was not quite all,’ said Khanumi, shyly.

She fished around in her rags and withdrew a tattered flat bundle of cloth.

‘You left this with your equipment when you departed the marshes for Shuster. When we left, I saw to it that your things left with us. I couldn’t stop those filthy thieves from getting your equipment, Mr Layard, but I did manage to hide this.’

She handed the dirty, sodden bundle to Layard. He took it wordlessly and unwrapped it carefully in the firelight. Inside was a slim leather wallet containing tattered papers and a worn, battle-scarred notebook.

‘My journal,’ whispered Layard with a hoarse, choking voice. ‘You kept it; carried it with you for God knows how many miles barefoot across the mountains.’

‘I thought it might be important to you,’ Khanumi said simply.

‘Thank you,’ said Layard. Unable to manage more, he sat in silence, leafing through his journal.

Saleh served the meal and the party ate hungrily. At length, Layard sighed deeply. He turned to the Khanum.

‘Now, I have to tell you of your husband, My Lady.’

Khatun-Jan was devastated by Layard’s news. She sat quietly weeping long into the night, Khanumi cradling her like a child. Then, the remarkable Bakhtiari resilience that Layard had observed time after time took its hold and she straightened.

‘It was his greatest fear,’ she said, drying her eyes. ‘To be blinded as his own father had been before him. Tell me everything Henry. I beg you not to spare me a single detail’

Slowly and carefully, Layard related everything that had happened since he had left the marshes. He spoke of the failed rescue attempt, of his return with the dervishes and how the second rescue had succeeded. He recounted how he had been abducted by British soldiers and had escaped them only to find that the Khan had been captured. He described how he had found the Khan; the condition of the Khan and his prison; every word spoken between them.