by M. M. Kaye
‘Not particularly. He already knew half of it, and will hear the rest within a day or two. But we cannot talk here.’
‘No,’ agreed Zarin. He led the way through the unlighted streets, moving as swiftly and silently as a cat, and presently stopped beside a low, mud-brick building below the outer wall. Ash heard an iron key grate in a lock, and then he was being shown into a small room lit by a single chirag and the red glow from a charcoal brazier that filled the cramped space with a welcome warmth.
‘Your quarters?’ asked Ash, squatting on his heels and spreading out his hands to the glowing coals.
‘No. I have borrowed it from one of the nightwatchmen who is on duty at this time. He will not be back before dawn, so we shall be safe for some hours; and there is much that I wish to hear. Do you know that it is close on seven months since I last saw you? That is more than half a year – and in all that time I have heard nothing. Not one word: save only that Wigram-Sahib had seen and spoken to you on the crest of Sarkai Hill early in November, and that you had asked him to see that a letter went by a safe hand to Attock.’
Zarin had carried that letter himself, and was able to report that Anjuli was in good health and much beloved by all the household, and that she had been studying Pushtu with such diligence that she could already speak it fluently. Also that both she and his aunt prayed daily for Ash's safety and his early return – as did Gul Baz and all in the Begum's house. ‘There. Now that I have told you what you most wish to know, you can eat with a quieter mind. Here are chuppattis and jal frazi that I have kept hot for you. You do not look to me as though you have fed well of late; if at all – you are as lean as an alley-cat.’
‘So would you be if you had come on horseback and by camel, and on foot over the Lataband, from Charikar beyond Kabul in little more than five days,’ retorted Ash, falling upon the food. ‘It is not a journey to be undertaken in winter, and as it was necessary to come quickly, I have eaten and slept in the saddle so that I need not waste the nights.’
He reached for a tin mug filled with strong tea and liberally sweetened with gur, and drank thirstily, and Zarin, watching him, said: ‘Is it permitted to ask what news you carried?’
‘Why not? I came to tell Cavagnari-Sahib something that he already knew. That the Amir Shere Ali has left Kabul, intending to travel to Russia in order to lay his case before the Tsar. And also, which he did not know, that the Amir is now in Mazar-i-Sharif and will never live to cross the Oxus, let alone reach St Petersburg, for he is a dying man, and therefore his son, Yakoub Khan, is already Amir of Afghanistan in all but name.’
Zarin nodded assent. ‘Yes. The first part was already known; the news of Shere Ali's flight was brought to Jalalabad by one of our pensioners, Nakshband Khan, who was once a Risaldar of the Guides Cavalry and now lives in Kabul.’
‘I know. I too have been living in Kabul. I obtained work there as a scribe – in the Bala Hissar itself – and it was I who asked him to carry that news to Cavagnari-Sahib.’
‘ Wah-illah! I might have known. But if that is so, why come here yourself in such haste?’
‘I came because I hoped to make it clear that this flight of the Amir's means that he can no longer claim to rule Afghanistan, and that this is the end of the road for him, and therefore, if there is any justice, an end to the war also, which the Viceroy-Sahib insisted was against the Amir only. I hoped that this would mean that the fighting could now cease, but it seems not. The war will continue because the Lat-Sahib and the Jung-i-lat-Sahib and other like-minded men wish it to continue. As for me, I am a free man again. Cavagnari-Sahib having told me that he no longer needs my services.’
‘So? That is indeed good news!
‘Perhaps. I do not know, for there are two words about that. Zarin – is it possible for me to speak to Hamilton-Sahib without anyone knowing?’
‘Not unless you can arrange to stay in Jalalabad until he returns, and I do not know when that will be; he and some others of our rissala have accompanied an expedition against the Bazai clan of the Mohmands. They left only yesterday and may not be back for several days.’
‘And Battye-Sahib? Has he gone with them? Him I must see.’
‘No, he is here. But it will not be easy for you to see him without anyone coming to hear of it, because he has recently been made a Major-Sahib and given command of the rissala; and that being so he has much work to do and is seldom alone – unlike Cavagnari-Sahib, who has many visitors who come to see him by stealth and at strange hours of the night. But I will see what can be arranged.’
The news of Wigram's promotion was a surprise to Ash, who did not know that Colonel Jenkins had been given command of a newly formed Brigade consisting of the 4th Mountain Battery, the Guides Infantry and the 1st Sikhs, and he said: ‘Tell me what has been happening here. I know almost nothing of what our armies have done, because where I have been the talk has always been of the other side, and I have heard only that the Amir's forces inflicted great casualties on the British before withdrawing from their positions, with small loss to themselves, in order to lure the invaders further from their base-camps and make it easier for small parties of raiders to cut their supply lines. They also speak of the Peiwar Kotal as though it was a great victory for the Afghans, and it was not until yesterday that I learned by chance that this was not so, and that it was stormed and held by our troops. Tell me what you yourself know or have heard at first hand.’
Zarin knew a good deal, and during the hour that followed Ash learned much that he had not known before; though some of it he had suspected. The Guides, being part of the Peshawar Valley Field Force, had not been involved in the battle for the Peiwar Kotal; but a kinsman of Zarin's had taken part in both attacks, and having been wounded and spent a week or two in hospital, was sent home on sick-leave. Zarin had bumped into him in Dakka and been given an account of the action, and according to the wounded man, General Roberts, commander of the Kurram Valley Field Force, had been deceived by the false reports of Turi spies, employed by the Afghans, into thinking that the enemy were retreating in disorder and the heights of the Peiwar Kotal could be taken without a fight. His troops set out in force from the Kurram Forts, only to find at the end of the long march, when all were tired and cold and hungry, that the Afghans were ready and waiting for them, strongly entrenched and in great numbers.
‘It was learned afterwards, so my cousin told me,’ said Zarin, ‘that the enemy's strength had been greatly increased by the arrival of four regiments and six guns from Kabul, so that they numbered close on five thousand men with seventeen guns. Moreover they fought, he said, with great valour and fury, repulsing us again and again and inflicting such heavy losses that it took our army close on two days to capture the Peiwar Kotal. Wherefore the victory when it came proved a most costly one, both in blood and the materials of war.’
Even making allowances for the boastful talk he had heard in Kabul and Charikar, Ash had suspected that all was not going too well for the forces of the Raj; and most of what Zarin told him confirmed this. The victorious advance upon Kabul appeared to have ground to a halt for lack of transport, while the troops encamped in Jalalabad and the Kurram were suffering from sicknesses brought on by the severe cold – the hardest hit being the British regiments and those from down-country, who were unaccustomed to such freezing temperatures. There was also a chronic shortage of pack-animals, and so little fodder in the Khyber that for weeks past the chief Commissariat Officer had been complaining that unless he could send his camels back to the plains for a fortnight's grazing, he would need new ones in the spring to replace the thousands that would be dead, and whose rotting carcasses were bound to breed a pestilence.
Similar complaints, said Zarin, had come from the Kurram front; and also from Kandahar, where that part of General Stewart's army that had occupied Khelat-i-Ghilzai had been forced to fall back and were now encamped. The other part, which had been advancing on Herat, had been brought to a stop on the Helmand – as had General Sam Bro
wne in Jalalabad. Zarin had been told by the men of a new draft that had arrived a few days ago that at Dadar, Jacobabad and Quetta there was the same crippling lack of transport, and that the desert and the passes were strewn with dead camels and abandoned stores…
‘Were I a superstitious man,’ said Zarin, ‘which, by the mercy of the All-Merciful, I am not, I would say that this year is an ill-omened one, and that we have entered it under an evil star, not only here in Afghanistan, but eastward also. For there is news that throughout Oudh and the Punjab and the North-West Provinces the winter rains have again failed, and thousands are dying of famine. Had you heard this?’
Ash shook his head and said that he had not; but that what he did know was that here in Afghanistan the entire population were confident of victory, and that Shere Ali had issued a Royal Firman in which he spoke of the defeats and casualties suffered by the invaders and the victories gained by his own ‘lion-devouring warriors’, who in fighting the armies of the Raj displayed such bravery that of those who died, not one of them went to Paradise until he had slain at least three of the enemy. Both sides always spoke like that in time of war: it was only to be expected. Yet because of the nature of the country and the lack of communication between tribes – and because they had not yet suffered a major defeat – there was no Afghan who was not convinced that their forces could easily prevent an advance on Kabul…
‘They must know well that we have captured Ali Masjid and the Peiwar Kotal,’ put in Zarin grimly.
‘True. But the men who fought against us there have given such a one-sided account of the fighting, boasting of the losses they inflicted upon us and minimizing their own, that it is not surprising that those who hear their talk still look for another Afghan victory such as their fathers won close on fifty years ago, when they destroyed an entire British Army in the space of a few days. They have never forgotten that tale – as your father himself warned me – and today it is repeated everywhere: even the youngest children know it. Yet I have found no one who remembers or has even heard of General Sale-Sahib's successful defence of this town of Jalalabad; or of Pollack-Sahib's victorious march through the Khyber Pass and his destruction of the Great Bazaar in Kabul. Those are matters that they choose to forget or have never been told of; and in this I think lies our greatest danger, for as long as they remain confident that they can defeat us with ease they will make no terms with us – because they think they have us trapped and can destroy us whenever they choose.’
Zarin gave a short laugh and said: ‘Let them try it! They will soon find out that they are mistaken.’
Ash did not reply, for after some of the things that Zarin had told him that night he was not so sure that he was right about this, since how could an invading army move without transport? or hold a captured fortress unless it could keep a garrison armed and fed? Carts had to be drawn and such things as food, ammunition, tents and medical supplies had to be carried by pack animals – who must also be fed. Nor did men who were cold and sick and hungry win battles, and in Ash's opinion Lord Lytton would be well advised to seize the chance that Shere Ali's flight had provided, and call a halt now. To do so would not only prove that he had spoken the truth when he said that this war was against Shere Ali alone, and not against the people of Afghanistan, but if he did it at once, while the British still held Ali Masjid and the Peiwar Kotal and such cities as this one (and could be seen to control the Khyber and the Kurram), it should be possible to come to some equitable agreement with Yakoub Khan when his father died – which would be any day now. This could well lead to a just and lasting peace between the Raj and Afghanistan. But if the war continued, Ash could see only one end to it: another massacre.
Zarin, who had been watching him, may have read his thoughts, for he said philosophically: ‘What will be, will be. The matter is not in our hands. Now tell me of your own doings –’
Ash told him, and Zarin brewed more tea and sat sipping it as he listened; and when the tale was ended he said: ‘You have more than earned your freedom from Cavagnari-Sahib's service. What do you mean to do now? Shall you join the Rissala here, or set out for Attock in the morning? After this, they will surely give you leave.’
‘That will be for the Commandant-Sahib to decide. See if you can arrange for me to see him tomorrow: not in the camp, for that would be unwise. The river bank will be best; I could walk there in the evening. Can I spend the night here?’
‘Assuredly. I will tell the nightwatchman, who is a friend of mine. And as regarding the Commandant-Sahib, I will do what I can.’
Zarin gathered up the dishes and withdrew, and Ash settled down contentedly to sleep, warmed not only by the fire but by the comfortable conviction that all his troubles were over, and that tomorrow or the next day he would be given permission to return to Attock to see Juli and enjoy a few days of well-earned leave, before arriving in Mardan as though he was returning from this mythical course in Poona.
There is little doubt that had he been able to see Wigram that night, or even very early next morning, Ash would have carried out this programme. But here Fate in the form of Major General Sir Sam Browne, V.C., stepped in. The General had invited Cavagnari to take chota hazri with him that morning in order that they might discuss a few matters in private, prior to an official conference that would be taking place in the afternoon. And it was in the final moments of this informal talk that Cavagnari, recalling that the General had once been Commandant of the Guides and might therefore be interested, spoke of Ashton Pelham-Martyn and his recent role as an intelligence agent operating from inside Afghanistan.
The General had been more than interested, and having asked a great many questions, remarked that he remembered the boy's arrival in Mardan very well, and that, by Jove, that had been a rum affair… curious to think that a lot of fellows who had been there, like Jenkins and Campbell and Battye for instance, had only been junior lieutenants at the time…
He relapsed into silence, and Major Cavagnari, taking this to be a hint, made his escape – he had a busy morning ahead of him and must find time to write to Major Campbell (who was officiating as Commandant of the Corps of Guides in the temporary absence of Colonel Jenkins), informing him that he had dispensed with Lieutenant Pelham-Martyn's services, and that as far as he was concerned, the Lieutenant was now free to return to his regimental duties. But even as he was writing this, Colonel Jenkins's replacement was reading another note: one that had been scribbled by Sam Browne and sent off by a galloper within a few minutes of Cavagnari's departure, requesting Major Campbell's presence at the General's quarters at the earliest possible moment.
Campbell had ridden over immediately, wondering what fateful plans were in the wind, and been startled to discover that the General wanted to talk to him about Ash. ‘I gather he's here in Jalalabad, and that Cavagnari has given him the sack and seems to think that he will now report at once for duty with the Regiment. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint him, but I have other ideas –’
The General's ideas would probably not have pleased Major Cavagnari had he heard them, for they ran counter to his own views on the reliability of Lieutenant Pelham-Martyn's information. But then, as Sam Browne pointed out, he himself was not interested in the purely political angle but only in the military one – in which sphere he considered that someone like young Pelham-Martyn would be invaluable.
‘ Cavagnari considers him to have become so pro-Afghan that his bias in their favour made his information suspect, if not actually unreliable. Well, I have my doubts about that. But the point is that the kind of information that we of the Peshawar Valley Field Force require has nothing whatever to do with politics, and provided you can assure me that Pelham-Martyn has not turned traitor, then he is precisely what I have been looking for – someone who can send us early and accurate information as to the existence and whereabouts of hostile bands of tribesmen; their numbers and movements and how well or poorly they are armed, and so on. In a country like this that kind of knowledge is worth more t
han an extra army corps, and the long and the short of it is that I'm asking you to see to it that this fellow carries on in his present role: only on our behalf instead of for the political Johnnies.’
Chips Campbell, who until now had known nothing whatever about Ashton's work or whereabouts and supposed him to be in Poona, had agreed to the General's request, though expressing the opinion that it ‘seemed rather hard luck on the poor chap’.
‘You can put the blame on me,’ said General Sam. ‘Tell him that you are acting on my orders: which is perfectly true. Anyway, until Jenkins returns you are his Commanding Officer, and I'm yours; and there's a war on. Now listen…’
Ash had taken the news stoically. It had been a bitter blow, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was a serving officer and he had volunteered for this work, so he listened impassively while Wigram, who had been deputed by Campbell to meet him as though by chance on the river bank in the course of an evening ride, gave him a number of detailed instructions as to the type of information that the General required, the best methods of relaying it, and various other relevant matters…
‘I can't tell you how sorry I am about this,’ said Wigram in conclusion. ‘I tried to talk Chips into standing up to General Sam, but he says it would be a waste of time, and I suppose he's right. Oh, and by the way, the General thinks you should leave Jalalabad as soon as possible, and he suggests you continue to use Kabul as your base because sooner or later we shall have to take the place – unless the Afghans call “Pax!” before then of course.’
Ash nodded, and that night Zarin, who had arranged the meeting, met him at the same spot outside the walls where they had met on the previous night, and after a brief talk, watched him walk away into the darkness with the slouching, loose-limbed stride of the hillman. And on the following day Wally and his handful of sowars had returned to Jalalabad. But by then Ash was almost twenty miles away among the hills beyond Gandamak.