‘I will bathe you myself, my Murdoch,’ she said, and knelt beside the tub. ‘I would prefer much more, but I know you would wish to strangle me.’
‘I am trying to save your life,’ he said. ‘All of your lives.’
She gave one of her low, throaty laughs as her fingers guided the soap over his chest and round his back, her thick black hair flopping against his face. ‘You are trying to save your own life, you mean, and the life of your wife.’
‘You promised that, if I surrendered.’
She turned her attention to his stomach and thighs. ‘What is a promise, to an infidel? No, no, I will execute her, just after you, I think. I will execute them all together. Until Thursday, they can be used to entertain Sergei. He is an insatiable satyr. He makes me quite tired.’
‘Are you really so evil, Chand Bibi?’
‘I am not evil, my Murdoch. It is you who are evil, with your dreams of conquest. I tried to explain this to you once. I hate. That is my reason for being. I hate you and all you stand for. And yet, I could love you. Do you know, when I cut away your manhood I will weep.’ She soaped his feet.
‘And then die? Will it be worth it?’
She gave another laugh. ‘I shall not die, my Murdoch. Some of my people, perhaps. But it is what they dream of, to die in battle against the British. But I, and Sergei, and Yasmin, and my guards, will simply flee before your soldiers, across the border. We have no battle honours to wave and forbid us to run away. Let your people burn my town. They have done so before. I will rebuild it. And from the safety of Afghanistan we will raid as often as we wish, and cause havoc from one end of the province to the other. But the havoc will already have commenced, when word is spread how the Mahsuds have executed the British general officer commanding when his troops moved against them. I will have your castrated body photographed, and prints circulated throughout the frontier. The khans will not be able to restrain their people after such a triumph.’
‘Afghanistan,’ Murdoch muttered.
‘You thought the border was closed to us, did you not, my Murdoch? For a while it was. A long while. But all things change. It is only necessary for one to be patient. So, have I answered all of your questions? I know, you see, that your men are under strict instructions not to cross the border. You might disobey those instructions, my Murdoch, because you are that kind of man. But with you dead, your people will not. Am I not right?’
He stared at her, because he could think of no reply. She knew too much.
She laughed, and clapped her hands. He was to be spared no humiliation. The women returned, and with them was Lee. Like him, she was naked, and her hands were bound behind her back. She did not look ill-treated in any way, although there were bruises on her thighs and stomach, no doubt caused by the horse’s back, and her face was drawn with tension and exhaustion. And now with horror, as she saw him as helpless as herself.
‘Oh, Murdoch,’ she said. ‘Oh, Murdoch.’
Chand Bibi laughed, and turned her attention to his genitals.
*
All she did was hate, she claimed. Well, then, he must cultivate hate himself. He would need it. Hating, he might even die well.
He had never hated before. He had been angry. He had killed in anger; Mulein. When he had killed male enemies, be they Boers or Somalis or Germans or Turks, it had been a dispassionate act of war. But now it was necessary to hate, and hate, and hate again.
Futilely. There was nothing he could do. And there was nothing Chand Bibi spared him, as on Tuesday and Wednesday she made him watch the three women being raped by her guards, one after the other. Veronica was on Tuesday morning, screaming and moaning. Linda was on Tuesday afternoon, silent and almost somnambulistic, her lips moving as she begged some disinterested deity for mercy. Lee was Wednesday afternoon, having been forced, like him, to watch the others. She kept her eyes on his face, throughout, and never uttered a word of protest.
‘And tomorrow,’ Chand Bibi said, smiling at them. ‘Tomorrow is the great day. Oh, by the way, my watchers tell me that your army is encamped on the banks of the Kurram. They have made good time. My people are looking forward to the fly-past of your planes tomorrow morning. As soon as they have left again, we shall begin our evacuation. I will leave just enough men to tease your people into continuing their advance. Tell me if I have forgotten anything, my Murdoch. You are a professional, and I am only an amateur.’
‘I am sure you have thought of everything, Chand Bibi,’ he said. He seemed to have known her all of his life.
*
That night he was not returned to his cell. Instead he was tied to one of the beds in the harem, and Chand Bibi spent most of the night with him. ‘I wish you to die at least sated, my Murdoch,’ she said, lying on his stomach and kissing his face. ‘Oh, what beautiful lovers we could have made. And who knows, with you as my consort, I could perhaps have recreated the Mughal empire, here in the mountains.’
He strained at his bonds. To get one arm loose would be to strangle her, and at least avenge Lee. But he could not get free, and she gave her throaty laugh as she satisfied herself.
She left him just after midnight, exhausted. He was hardly less so, as he remembered the scent of her perfume, the feel of her body on his, of her fingers. The last night of my life, he thought. The last night of all of their lives. What a waste. What criminal negligence.
He knew he would not sleep, and yet did doze, to awake to a droning sound. His head jerked as he identified it. Planes, flying low over Mahrain. In the middle of Wednesday night? He had ordered no such demonstration. He listened, to shouts from above him. But no explosions. What on earth was Eccles playing at, he wondered?
The noise grew louder and louder, until the aircraft were clearly immediately over the palace, then it started to fade again. But now there were other sounds. The shouts became screams, someone was blowing a bugle, and the night was punctuated with the reports of rifles.
Once again Murdoch strained at his bonds, heart pounding, not daring to hope, not understanding what could possibly be happening. But the noise was growing all the time, and suddenly it was in the corridor outside his room. He watched the door collapse, kicked in by booted feet, gazed at one of Chand Bibi’s women, her face a mixture of terror and pain, because someone was holding her arm twisted behind her back...someone? RSM Yeald. And by his side, Ralph Manly-Smith. And behind Manly-Smith, three other men, but not dragoons. Two were Gurkhas and one was a British private of the Cheshires.
‘Murdoch!’ Ralph gasped. It was the first time he had ever used his Christian name. ‘Thank God!’
Murdoch couldn’t speak for a moment.
‘Come on, sir, let’s get you up?’ Yeald said, cutting the ropes holding him to the bed.
‘The women...’ Murdoch felt he had to be dreaming. ‘We have them safe,’ Ralph said. ‘You stay here, bint.’
He thrust the girl into the room, removing her sari as he did so, and handed it to his general. ‘You’ll feel happier in this, sir.’
Murdoch wrapped it round his waist. ‘I’d feel happier with a weapon.’
A revolver was pressed into his hand, the door was shut on the unfortunate girl, and they ran outside. ‘That was a remarkable march,’ Murdoch gasped. ‘Two days, from Tochi? And yesterday afternoon Chand Bibi said the brigade was on the other side of the Kurram.’
‘I think they still are, sir,’ Ralph said. ‘The brigade.’
‘But...’
There was a burst of firing from outside, and they ran into the main room of the harem. Here Murdoch found another eight men. There were two dragoons, two more Gurkhas, two sepoys from the Guides, another English infantryman, and Harry Caspar — armed to the teeth: he had two revolvers as well as his rifle. They were divided into two groups, one at the doorway facing the corridor to the throne room, and the other at the doorway opening into the courtyard, and had apparently just driven off a counter-attack by the Mahsuds; several bodies were heaped in the arched doorway leading to the co
urtyard, and the scented atmosphere was heavy with cordite.
‘Where is your main force?’ Murdoch snapped.
‘This is it, sir,’ Ralph said. ‘Do you wish to see the women?’
Explanations would have to wait. Murdoch was already running across the floor, bursting open the door to the inner apartments and finding Lee, crouching on the floor beside the bed as she had been told to do by Manly-Smith, but scrambling to her feet at the sight of him.
‘Murdoch!’ she screamed. ‘Oh, Murdoch.’
He held her close, looked past her at Veronica and Linda. Veronica had already been reunited with her husband, but tears continued to roll down her face and every so often she sobbed.
Linda stared at Murdoch, then at Ralph Manly-Smith. ‘Is Peter here?’ she asked, her voice a quiet murmur of despair.
‘He wanted to come, but there wasn’t room, and he has to command the regiment. He’ll be here this afternoon.’ Ralph looked at Murdoch. ‘They’re forced marching, all night. All we have to do is hold until then.’
A renewed flurry of shots came from the other side of the apartment, and they made the women lie down again, while they hastened to the scene of action. There were Mahsud riflemen in the throne room, firing along the corridors, but doing little damage.
‘Chand Bibi,’ Murdoch said.
‘She must have got out when we broke in,’ Ralph told him. ‘It was a marvellous bit of work by Eccles. We actually landed in the courtyard.’
‘He put a plane down in the courtyard?’
‘Oh, no, sir. We parachuted.’
Murdoch was speechless.
‘All volunteers, of course,’ Ralph told him. ‘In fact, I had enough volunteers to fill a hundred planes. Brigadier Evan-Jones suggested I split the company up as much as possible. Do you know, sir, I was the only one ever to have done it before?’
‘You mean you parachuted into an enemy fortress? And Evan-Jones gave you the go-ahead? Good God!’
‘Well, sir, we felt that things might go wrong. But we couldn’t come any earlier, because we have to hold until the brigade gets here.’
‘Things went wrong, all right,’ Murdoch said. ‘I owe you my life, Ralph. And so do the girls. But...parachuting into an enemy position...’
‘It was a piece of cake, sir,’ Ralph told him. ‘The real work will start when they get their courage back. If only we’d got Chand Bibi.’
‘Yes,’ Murdoch agreed. ‘But we will.’
*
Ralph was right about the real work. With the coming of daylight the Mahsuds guards made a concerted effort to rush the harem. But they were driven back from both doors by the accurate fire of the defenders. Each man of the volunteers was carrying two hundred cartridges, and they made every one tell. The once-elegant apartments were torn and riddled by bullets, and the women had to remain crouched by the floor, but Lee refused to stay hidden, and crawled about to pass water to the defenders, searching out what food there was to be had — there was no lack of water because of the pool, but the only food was sweetmeats and biscuits. They did, however, find Murdoch’s uniform, laid out on a bed in a spare room. When he was dressed he felt a much happier man.
‘Now we’re commanded by a general,’ Lee said, and looked into Murdoch’s eyes.
He squeezed her hand. ‘Nothing matters, save you and me.’
‘And winning,’ she said fiercely. ‘Oh, I want to win now, Murdoch. I want to win, at your side. I have never wanted anything so badly in my life before.’
‘You are going to win,’ he promised her. ‘At my side.’ And at the side of men he had trained and who would follow him anywhere. As they had.
Veronica and Linda did not ride their hellish experience so easily. Veronica kept saying, ‘I want to go home,’ over and over again. She was at least speaking. Linda never said a word after asking about Peter.
*
The sniping continued for some hours, until the middle of the morning. Then there was a rush at the courtyard door. Murdoch left three men to hold the inner door, and the remaining ten of them manned the barricades and sent volley after volley into their assailants. By now several of the defenders had been hit, but none seriously. Lee tore drapes of splendid silk and brocade into strips to make bandages. And while the battle was at its height, the drone of the planes was heard again, followed soon after by the crump of bombs. Eccles’ men were flying low over the town, and dropping their deadly cargoes with total precision, carefully avoiding the palace, but utterly demolishing the fort.
The bombing was too much for the Mahsuds, and the firing died down and then ceased altogether. One of the Gurkhas crawled outside, and reported that the enemy had withdrawn. But Murdoch, taking no chances, used the opportunity to strengthen their defences, gather up discarded rifles and bandoliers from the dead men scattered about the courtyard, and bring in some food. He had to assume Chand Bibi would send her people back to the assault the moment the planes were gone, because unless she could murder him and prove her leadership to the khans, her hopes of a general rising were finished. He did not in any event know how much longer they could hold out, as the sun rose and the flies came to attack the corpses; the stench inside the harem would soon become unbearable.
But the attack was not resumed, and soon they knew why, as they heard the drums and fifes of the brigade approaching, and before them, the jingle of harness as the dragoons rode up the slope. At last the defenders could leave their shot-scored harem and go out to meet Evan-Jones, and Peter, and the other battalion commanders.
‘That was a brilliant operation, Gwyn.’ Murdoch shook hands.
‘Thanks to Ralph Manly-Smith.’
‘I haven’t forgotten that,’ Murdoch said.
‘And nobody else is gonna, either,’ Harry Caspar promised. Ian and Fergus were embracing their mother. ‘Are you all right, Mom? Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ Lee said; she was wearing a sari and actually looked as if she had just stepped out of her own bedroom in the Bala Hissar.
‘You mean they didn’t harm you.’
‘No,’ she said. And looked at Murdoch. ‘They didn’t harm me.’
‘Linda?’ Peter Ramage held her in his arms. ‘Linda?’ She wouldn’t look at him, buried her face in his tunic and wept.
There was so much to be said, and understood. But now was not the time.
‘The Mahsuds have regrouped across the border, sir,’ RSM Yeald reported. He had ridden out to scout on his own.
‘Well, that’s that,’ Evan-Jones said despondently. ‘We’ll have to wait for a change of government in Kabul.’
‘Which may never happen,’ Murdoch said. ‘I intend to get Chand Bibi, now.’
‘Delhi won’t like it, sir.’
‘Delhi can do what it damn well likes,’ Murdoch told him. ‘Very well, gentlemen, we’ll have to snare her. If the whole brigade crosses she’ll just keep on withdrawing. It has to be a force small enough so that she’ll reckon she can beat it. I’ll take the two squadrons of dragoons, and two squadrons of Guide cavalry, as we have to travel fast. I’ll also take one field battery. You’ll clean this place up, bury the dead, and hold it until we return, with the main body. Then we’ll burn it.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Evan-Jones said doubtfully. ‘Do you really reckon four hundred men will be sufficient? My reports indicate she may have as many as two thousand fighting men.’
Murdoch grinned at him. ‘Four hundred was all my ancestor had in Baluchistan. It’s going to be enough for me to sort out that bitch. Will you fall the men in, Colonel Ramage?’
‘Yes, sir. Are you coming yourself?
‘Yes. Do you mind?’
‘I’d be delighted.’ He looked at his wife.
‘The ladies will remain with brigade,’ Murdoch said.
‘I hope you’re not figuring on leaving me behind,’ Harry said.
‘No. I want you, Harry. We’re going to need all the good press coverage we can get.’
‘He’ll be killed,’ Vero
nica wailed.
‘I’ve never been killed yet,’ Harry reminded her.
‘I wish I could come with you,’ Lee said.
‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, my dearest girl.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘But...you will get that woman, Murdoch. Promise me.’
‘We will get her,’ he promised.
*
The regiment had brought Brutus along with their remounts, and Murdoch could settle into his saddle again. Peter fell the men in, the two squadrons in column. The Guides followed and the artillery brought up the rear. Cheered by the rest of the brigade, the small force walked their horses down to the river and forded it, then made their way into the pass. They were in Afghanistan.
*
An advance guard of Guides was sent up, and flankers thrown out to either side as they proceeded through a succession of ravines, watching the hilltops to either side. The Mahsuds were up there, and as soon as they saw the British emerging from the pass they opened a desultory fire at long range. But one or two men were hit, and Murdoch called a halt and unlimbered his artillery. Half a dozen shells bursting on the hills drove the tribesmen to take shelter, and the small force proceeded, until they debouched on to a level plateau about four miles inside the border. Here they were met by enemy artillery fire.
Murdoch commanded his men to dismount and seek shelter, while he, Peter and Colonel Briggs of the Guides surveyed the Mahsud position through their glasses.
‘They’re well dug in.’ Peter observed. ‘How many guns, would you say, sir?’
‘They had three,’ Murdoch said. ‘And they’re old pieces. But they want to stand and fight, which is what we hoped Chand Bibi would do, now I’ve been identified as leading the brigade myself. Very good, gentlemen, we are going to winkle them out.’ He looked at the sun. It was about to disappear behind the western hills. ‘Colonel Briggs, feed your men now, and then dismount them, and climb that hill to the left. Can you do that in the dark?’
The Command Page 29