The Command

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘And your soldiers only enlist for seven.’ She seemed to know a great deal about the British army. ‘But do they never re-enlist?’

  ‘Indeed they do. But I still doubt any of them were in India ten years ago.’ Save for Prendergast, of course. Ramage had been with him in Somaliland, as had Yeald, and all the other Indian officers were now dead or retired...except Morton! But he wasn’t going to introduce either Billy or Morton into this conversation.

  ‘Still,’ Chand Bibi remarked, ‘it is a famous regiment, in the valley of the Kurram. I think my father may once have fought against your father.’

  ‘A long time ago.’

  ‘And now the Mahsuds are at peace with the English,’ she agreed. ‘So you have no cause to arrest me.’

  ‘You were coming from Baghdad,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Baghdad has been my home,’ Chand Bibi said. ‘My father gave me in marriage to a Turkish emir. Six months ago I became a widow.’

  ‘You have my sympathy.’

  The shoulders beneath the haik gave a slight shrug. ‘It was a political marriage. The emir spoke of Turkish support for the Mahsuds.’ Once again the yashmak fluttered as she smiled. ‘Against the British. But he was overtaken by events. Now I seek to return home. I cannot cross the Hindu Kush. It is too arduous and my people have too many enemies. I wish to take ship from Basra to Bombay. My husband’s family said I could not do this. They said the British would arrest me and kill me. I laughed at them, because I know the British are honourable people, who do not wage war upon women. But it seems that they were right and I was wrong.’

  ‘Some more tea, Reynolds,’ Murdoch said. He could not remember having so consistently been kept on the wrong foot by anyone before. ‘If I have arrested you, madam,’ he said, ‘it was simply to find out what was your purpose. You must understand that in time of war civilians cannot travel as they please. Now that I understand your purpose, I will provide you with an escort. Indeed, I am withdrawing my regiment tomorrow. You may accompany us.’

  ‘You are very kind, Colonel Mackinder.’ This time he caught a glimpse of chin as she raised her yashmak to drink; he hadn’t been looking closely enough, before. ‘I apologize for my anger. But...you are withdrawing your army?’

  ‘I do not have an army. Just my regiment. We are carrying out a reconnaissance.’

  ‘I see. The Turks suppose you are the advance guard of the army marching to the relief of your people shut up in Kut-al-Amara.’

  ‘We will do so, eventually,’ Murdoch said. Tut we are not yet ready. As I have said, I am but a reconnaissance. This is where you can help me.’

  ‘I?’

  ‘You wish the British to help you return home. You would find us more helpful were you to give us whatever information you can about the Turks.’

  ‘You are asking me to betray my husband’s people.’ ‘You have just claimed that you did not love your husband. Do you, then, love his people?’

  The black eyes gazed at him. ‘You are a hard man, Colonel Mackinder,’ she said. ‘But I have heard this. And of your father. And his father before him. Your name is well known in northern India.’

  ‘Well hated, perhaps?’

  The yashmak fluttered. ‘You have said, it was all a long time ago. Now India is at peace. There are Mahsuds serving in the British army. Tell me what you wish to know.’

  ‘You must have come down the river by way of Kut.’

  ‘Indeed. I have property there.’

  ‘Did you enter the city?’

  ‘Alas, no. General von der Goltz did not think it wise. He tried to dissuade me from continuing my journey at all, but I was adamant.’

  ‘General von der Goltz is the German officer commanding the Turks?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘Tell me of him.’

  ‘I know nothing of him, save that he is very old, and that he is not very well.’

  ‘But he has many German officers under him?’

  ‘Not many that I saw.’

  ‘Are there any German troops?’

  ‘I did not see any.’

  ‘But there are a great many Turkish troops?’

  ‘A large number.’

  ‘How many?’

  Another dainty shrug. ‘Many thousands. But their men too are unwell. There is cholera in the Turkish army.’

  ‘Are you sure of this?’

  ‘My people had to take precautions.’

  ‘Hm. Will they attack Kut?’

  ‘I do not think they can do that. Kut is very well defended. And the Turks are afraid of General Townshend.’

  ‘He has also fought in India,’ Murdoch remarked.

  ‘I know this. He is a famous soldier. The Turks wait for him to run out of food.’

  ‘And will he do this?’

  ‘They do not think so. The town is well stocked with food.’

  ‘Well, that is very good news, madam. I thank you.’

  ‘Now tell me,’ she said. ‘When will you retake the town?’

  Murdoch frowned at her.

  ‘I have property there,’ she repeated. ‘I must know what will happen to it.’

  ‘We will assault the town as soon as General Maude is ready.’

  ‘You mean as soon as he has accumulated sufficient troops. But he has not yet done so.’

  ‘I mean, as soon as he is ready.’

  She gazed at him, then gave one of her quick smiles. ‘You do not trust me. That is entirely correct. But I am in your power now. Colonel Mackinder, I will return to my caravan. But I would be greatly honoured if you would dine with me tonight.’

  ‘Is the invitation extended to my officers?’

  She appeared to hesitate. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘How many will you bring?’

  ‘There will be six of us.’

  Chand Bibi inclined her head, then rose and extended her hand. ‘My people will be honoured to entertain your officers, Colonel. As I will be, to entertain yourself.’ She looked around, and her grooms hastily prepared her camel. With the greatest of ease she took her seat, and the animal was allowed to rise. Her ladies also seated themselves. She looked down at Murdoch. ‘Shall we say, eight o’clock, Colonel?’

  *

  ‘Now, that is a bit more of what war should be like,’ John Lowndes said.

  ‘You don’t suppose she’s another Mulein type, sir?’ Peter Ramage asked, remembering the Somali girl who had attempted to lead them into a trap ten years before.

  ‘No,’ Murdoch said. ‘She’s a Pathan, in broad terms, not an African. She and her people have Greek blood in their veins as well as Mughal. Anyway, she’s going our way; there’s no chance of a trap. She’s given me useful information, and all she wants is an escort to Basra and a ship from there to Bombay. But I’m afraid I want a captain left in charge of the camp, so you fellows will have to draw lots. I am also only taking one lieutenant, so they’ll have to draw lots as well. I want the dinner party assembled here at a quarter to eight. I know we don’t have any mess kit with us, but I want everyone as properly dressed as he can manage. Understood?’

  They saluted, and withdrew. Murdoch went into his tent to shave. He felt pleasantly exhilarated. It was a long time since he had dined with what he suspected might be an extraordinarily handsome woman — judging by her forehead and eyes, hands and feet — who was not also his wife. The last time indeed had been that terrible evening with Paul and Margriet von Reger in Dublin. But this would have none of the guilt of that occasion, or the embarrassment.

  He frowned at his chin, removed a fraction more stubble. She knew of Dad, and Dad’s exploits. And of Grandfather, as well. It was the oddest chance that of all the Mackinders, he alone had never served in India. When the regiment had last been stationed there, ten years ago, he and his squadron had been seconded to Somaliland, and he had been too badly wounded fighting against the Mad Mullah to con¬tinue to Peshawar. He did not know if he ever would now.

  She was also sufficiently educated to have recognized his m
edal ribbons. She was an altogether fascinating young lady.

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir.’ Reynolds hovered in the tent doorway. ‘Trooper Morton requests a word.’

  ‘Morton? Tell him to come in.’

  Morton entered the tent, stood to attention.

  ‘At ease.’ Murdoch wiped his chin. ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘Permission to speak in confidence, sir.’

  ‘All right, corporal, thank you.’ Murdoch waited until Reynolds had stepped outside. ‘I imagine you saw the princess.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Do you suppose she was telling the truth?’

  ‘I don’t know what she told you, sir. But I would say it was the truth, as far as it suited her to use it.’

  Murdoch frowned at him. ‘You have something on your mind, Johnnie.’

  ‘This so-called princess, sir. She is the daughter of Shere Khan.’

  ‘She told me that.’

  ‘Shere Khan is a Mahsud sheikh, sir.’

  ‘She has told me that also, Johnnie.’

  ‘He is an implacable enemy of the British. So are all of his family.’

  ‘She told me that too. But now the North West Frontier is at peace. Even implacable enemies can learn to live together, surely.’

  ‘Not that lot, sir. They are only awaiting their opportunity to avenge themselves for past defeats. They are devils, Murdoch. And that woman is the worst of the lot.’

  Murdoch’s frown was back. ‘You know her?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘But...ten years ago?’

  ‘Ten years ago she was about sixteen. That’s full grown for an Indian woman.’

  ‘And you met her then?’

  ‘No. I saw her, Murdoch. I saw her assisting in the murder of some of our lads.’

  Murdoch sat down on his camp cot. ‘You saw Chand Bibi, murdering British soldiers?’

  ‘Yes. You know how they do it?’

  ‘I had some, in Somaliland. But I’m afraid I just cannot believe it, Johnnie. Not of that young woman. Tell me how it happened.’

  ‘I was leading a patrol, and we were surrounded. We tried to ride our way out of it, but they caught some of the lads. My horse was thrown, but I was dead lucky; I fell into a gully and they had no idea I was there. The rest of the party got away. But two of my men were taken. There was nothing I could do, save commit suicide myself. There must have been a hundred of the Mahsuds. And a dozen or so of their women. Shere Khan was there, and two of his daughters. Chand Bibi was one of them.’

  ‘How can you know that? You haven’t seen her face.’

  ‘I saw it then. It is the face of a devil. And I heard her name spoken. Her father addressed her by name, and she laughed. While castrating one of my men. Then she laughed again while her menfolk flayed him. He was still living, Murdoch. I shall carry his screams to my dying day. And her laugh. She is a cold-blooded murderess. She must be hanged.’

  Murdoch stared at him. He too would carry the screams of one of his men being mutilated to his dying day. The difference between him and Johnnie Morton, he realized, was that he had charged to kill the man himself, risking his life to do so, while Johnnie had lain concealed until he could get away. Which implied nothing, he supposed, save that Murdoch was a fool who had been born lucky.

  But what Johnnie had said about Chand Bibi...he still could hardly believe it. Because he did not want to believe it. And yet at the same time some perverse streak in his character did want to believe it, did want to feel that he was about to cross swords with a female devil.

  ‘Did you report the incident when you regained the regiment?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Billy Prendergast knows nothing of it.’

  ‘With respect, Murdoch, ten years ago Billy Prendergast was a green young second-lieutenant. It was Martin Walters’ decision to keep the report secret. He felt it might be bad for morale.’

  He wanted to see her face. If he arrested her, he would have that right. He would have more rights than that, perhaps. Christ, what was he thinking! He was the colonel of a regiment, and he had been nearly outwitted by a woman. Nearly?

  ‘Would she be working for the Turks, do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘Almost certainly,’ Morton said. ‘You didn’t give her any information, I hope?’

  ‘God, yes, I did. She told me the Turks were in some agitation because they presumed we were the advance guard of a relieving force. I told her we weren’t.’

  ‘Then, if I may suggest, sir, you should put a guard right round the lady’s caravan and forbid anyone to leave. She will certainly endeavour to get a message back to the Turks tonight.’

  ‘Yes. Thanks a lot, Johnnie.’

  ‘You are going to arrest her, Murdoch?’

  ‘Oh, indeed. But no lynchings, Johnnie, no matter how strongly you feel. We will take her back to Basra and hand her over to the military police there. You will have to give evidence against her, of course.’

  ‘It will be a pleasure.’

  ‘And even then, I’m not sure that she can be condemned. Presumably she will claim that what she did was during a war, which is now over.’

  ‘She is still a war criminal, and must be punished.’ Murdoch nodded. ‘Leave it with me. And thanks again. Oh, Johnnie, when you said she had the face of a devil...’ Morton smiled. ‘A very beautiful devil, Murdoch. Look out for it.’

  *

  His officers were disappointed that there was not to be, after all, a dinner party with female company. Instead he assembled a squad of eight men commanded by Sergeant Matheson, another of his Somaliland veterans, and gave orders that as soon as they left camp, three of the Lewis guns were to be turned on the caravan, while a troop was to circle round to the north and east of the Arabs to make sure no one left. Then he led his men across the sand, stones crunching beneath their boots.

  They were greeted by bowing grooms, and then by bowing women, as they were escorted to the largest and most elaborate of the tents. The flap was opened, and Murdoch led his men inside. Here there waited another six women, in their midst the unmistakable figure of Chand Bibi. Tonight her haik was deep blue trimmed with gold, her yashmak a paler blue.

  She stepped forward. ‘Welcome to my tent, Colonel Mackinder.’ Then her eyes flickered to left and right. ‘These are your officers?’

  ‘No, madam,’ Murdoch said. ‘These are my troopers, who have come to place you under arrest.’

  Her head rose sharply, her chin pointing at him through the yashmak. ‘I had supposed you had already done so.’

  ‘There are varying forms of arrest. I have now to inform you that you have been accused of murdering British soldiers during the campaign against the Mahsuds in 1906. Murdering them in a peculiarly horrible manner. Have you anything to say against this charge?’

  Her eyes glowed at him. ‘Only that it is a pack of lies.’

  ‘I’m sorry, madam. But there was, after all, a member of my regiment who had served in India. He has recognized you.’

  ‘Indeed? How could he do this, if I made a habit of murdering British prisoners?’

  ‘He was one that got away. I am not a policeman, madam, and I do not know the correct legal procedures. But I strongly recommend that you say nothing more on the matter until we reach Basra. There you will be handed over to the proper authorities. Until then, I must warn you that your caravan is also under close arrest, and no one will be allowed to leave it.’

  The eyes glared, and she looked past him again. ‘You come here with less than a dozen men, to arrest me?’

  ‘If you would care to step outside, princess, you will observe that my entire command is ready to wipe this caravan from the face of the earth.’

  Chand Bibi continued to stare at him for several seconds, then the yashmak fluttered. ‘Why should we quarrel, Colonel Mackinder? One of your men has seen fit to accuse me of a crime. I know that I am innocent. You have your duty to perform. I must be patient and await my opportunity to defend myself in a
court of law. I am not afraid of that. I know my innocence, and I have the utmost faith in British justice. I also recall a British saying, the basis of that justice, that every man is innocent until he is proven guilty. Surely that applies to women as well?’

  Once again Murdoch realized that he was being verbally outflanked. And yet every word she was saying was absolutely true.

  ‘Therefore,’ Chandi Bibi went on, ‘cannot we be friends, or at least behave in a civilized manner to each other, until I am proven guilty?’ She gestured at the carpet behind her. ‘My servants have killed a kid and prepared a fine meal, for your officers and yourself. If they have not come, will you at least not eat with me?’

  Murdoch stared into her eyes. But he knew he was going to say yes. That devilish fascination with the mind, the whole personality, of a woman who could appear so refined and yet be a murdering savage, was irresistible. And as she had said, she had not yet been found guilty in a court of law. Johnnie Morton had had many strange adventures in India, culminating in that dose of syphilis. He could have been suffering from fever when he saw what he thought he had seen.

  And he wanted to see her face.

  ‘I should warn you, madam, that as I am not an Arab the fact that I have eaten with you will not prevent my treating you as an enemy, should the need arise.’

  Another fascinating flutter of the linen. ‘I should enjoy being treated as an enemy by you, Colonel. But I think I shall enjoy being treated as a friend more. Your men will be fed outside.’

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ Murdoch said.

  Matheson looked doubtful.

  ‘The lady is aware that if we do not return in one hour, Sergeant, Major Prendergast has orders to wipe this caravan from the face of the earth.’ Billy did not have any such orders, but there was no harm in letting Chand Bibi know his men were prepared.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Matheson said, and led his troopers outside.

  ‘Will you not sit down?’ Chand Bibi invited, and did so herself, crossing her legs beneath her haik. As it was not possible to sit cross-legged while wearing spurs, Murdoch stretched his legs out in front of him. He placed his topee on the carpet beside him, but left his belts in place, heavy as they were with revolver and sword.