The Lion's Den

by Philip McCutchan

  Ogilvie nodded. ‘Yes, that is so.’

  ‘Good, my memory plays me no tricks!’ Jarar gave a thick chuckle, a sound deep in a powerful throat. ‘Have that much in mind, gentlemen,’ he added, turning to Rigby-Smith and Gilmour. ‘My memory is long...as also is that of my people. Treachery, if such should be indulged in, will never be forgotten. For so long as the British Raj remains in being, the Ghilzais would spit upon the flag of England...should there be treachery!’

  ‘If there is treachery,’ Rigby-Smith observed stiffly, ‘it would not come from us, Jarar Mahommed.’

  ‘Then you accuse me of possible treachery?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ Gilmour hastened to say before Rigby-Smith, who was looking thoroughly angry, could get his word in. ‘The Colonel Sahib was merely stating what you must surely know to be no more than a fact — that the Raj deals in no lies and no treachery. In any case, the matter is pure hypothesis. There has been no treachery, and there will be no treachery.’

  ‘Rigby-Smith Sahib was not anxious to enter into any discussions in the first place, Gilmour Sahib, this you cannot deny?’

  ‘No, I don’t deny it, but he has explained that he was under orders to talk first with me, Highness — and British officers are inclined to obey their orders whatever happens! And now...’ Gilmour spread his hands, and smiled at the Ghilzai leader. ‘Now there has been discussion! I think all will be well now, Highness.’

  ‘So long as your government in Calcutta honours the agreed terms of settlement, Gilmour Sahib.’

  ‘Of course. Have no fear, Highness. Now, Captain Ogilvie, your Colonel wishes—’

  ‘Thank you, I am able to speak for myself, Major Gilmour.’ Rigby-Smith, Ogilvie thought, sounded upset about something or other, upset and bloody-minded too, as he sat on the silk cushions with two fingers tugging at the neckband of his winter uniform. ‘Captain Ogilvie...His Highness, Jarar Mahommed, has agreed to a safe conduct through the Khyber Pass for Major Gilmour and his family — Mrs. and Miss Gilmour. He will also permit one company of my regiment to be re-armed and to march as escort, as a protection against what he calls unruly bandits and elements not subject to his control, which I consider—’ He broke off as he met Gilmour’s warning glare. ‘However...what was I saying? Ah, yes. One company, Captain Ogilvie, will therefore accompany Major Gilmour and his — er — caravan. That company will be yours, and you will yourself command it, assisted by Subedar Gundar Singh. You will be answerable for the safety of your charges, Captain Ogilvie. I trust you understand?’

  ‘Perfectly, sir. I have one request to make.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I would like to take Mr. Taggart-Blane with me.’

  ‘Oh, really? Really?’ Rigby-Smith’s eyebrows lifted disdainfully. ‘Why — why, may I ask?’

  ‘Because, sir, he is a good company officer and a good soldier.’ Ogilvie was disinclined to give his real reason, which was, that he believed, if left alone with the officers of the 99th, Taggart-Blane might very well let the Royal Strathspeys down by giving way to his fears. ‘No other reason, sir.’

  ‘Well, he’s attached to E Company, certainly. Very well then, take him — take him! Now, Captain Ogilvie, Major Gilmour will be conveying a report of our discussion, and His Highness Jarar Mahommed’s agreement to the terms suggested, to General Fettleworth. It is vital that he reaches Peshawar — vital for the peace and stability of the Frontier, and vital to the rest of us who will remain here as hostages. Do your best!’

  ‘I shall do that, sir, of course. When do you wish me to leave?’

  Rigby-Smith said, ‘That’s a matter that must first be settled with Jarar Mahommed.’ He looked towards the Ghilzai leader, who was smiling slightly. ‘Well? When shall he leave?’

  Jarar waved a hand. ‘He may leave at once, and I shall give the orders for his men to be re-armed by my palace guards, also the orders for his safety on the march. This is a matter of urgency to me as well as to you, Rigby Sahib! I wish the soldiers well, in their long march.’

  Ogilvie addressed Rigby-Smith. ‘Then, sir, I had better start making my preparations. Have you any special orders, sir?’

  ‘None — other than to reach Peshawar with all possible despatch, Captain Ogilvie! And to take good care of the ladies en route. The good wishes and the hopes of us all go with you. Look well to your commissariat, Captain Ogilvie. Jarar Mahommed has given his approval for a due percentage of the camp followers to accompany you — a mixed blessing, of course! There is just one other thing.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘It must be obvious to you that I could have chosen another of my officers for this mission. The fact that I have not done so, that I have preferred to entrust Major Gilmour and his family to you...I would like to say that this was done with my fullest intent and deliberation.’ Rigby-Smith gave an embarrassed cough, moved his long neck about within his uniform collar, and glanced briefly at the stony face of Major Fry; but then met Ogilvie’s eye squarely. ‘I have been impressed with your bearing on the march, Ogilvie—’

  ‘Thank you sir—’

  ‘— and I know that you will do well. That is all. Good-bye and, once again, good luck.’

  ‘And to. you, sir. Major Gilmour, are you to come with me now?’

  ‘No, I have a few words to exchange with Jarar Mahommed,’ the Resident said. ‘I’ll have my wife and daughter prepare for the march, and then I’ll meet you in the courtyard. I’ll not take long, I assure you.’

  Ogilvie turned away and walked from the chamber with Subedar Gundar Singh behind him. He found himself wondering about Colonel Rigby-Smith: that officer, so stiff-necked, so formal and previously so unfriendly, had very greatly surprised him by being so forthcoming in his praise. Making his way back to the room where he had been imprisoned, he reported formally to the adjutant, telling him of his orders. After giving the officers such information as he could, he left again with Taggart-Blane, who looked most remarkably relieved not to be left behind. They went out into the enclosed courtyard where, beneath a high moon that shed silver over the towering walls of the palace, the sepoys were clustered with the camp followers, shivering in the cold night air and huddled together for comfort.

  Ogilvie called for the havildar-major, who rose from the shadows in a corner of the courtyard and saluted.

  ‘Sahib!’

  ‘Havildar-Major, rouse out E Company if you please. They’ll be re-armed by the palace guard and they’re to prepare to march at once, with a proportion of the camp followers and the commissariat train, no more than sufficient to take us through the Khyber to Peshawar, you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Sahib.’

  ‘We’ll be escorting Major Gilmour and his family, with terms for discussion. I want you to impress on the sepoys that E Company has been chosen by the Colonel Sahib for a very special and important mission.’

  ‘Yes, Sahib.’ Eager eyes looked directly into Ogilvie’s. ‘I am to accompany this mission, Ogilvie Sahib?’

  Ogilvie shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Havildar-Major. You’ll be needed here — to keep the sepoys in good heart. I shall be taking Subedar Gundar Singh.’

  ‘Yes, Sahib. And also...’

  ‘What is it, Havildar-Major?’

  There was a very obvious embarrassment in the native N.C.O.’s voice and bearing as he said, ‘Sahib, I beg a word privately, a word for your ear alone.’

  Ogilvie frowned, glancing sideways at the subedar and Taggart-Blane, who were talking together and, apparently, not listening. ‘Very well, Havildar-Major,’ he said, feeling a strong sense of trouble on the way. He moved some paces clear of the other two, followed by the havildar-major. ‘Now, what’s troubling you, Ram Singh?’

  ‘You will take also Taggart-Blane Sahib to Peshawar, with E Company, Sahib?’

  ‘Yes, I shall. Why do you ask?’

  There was a silence, then the other man said heavily, ‘Sahib, it is not fitting for me to talk, yet...’

  ‘Well, come on,’ Ogilvie sa
id with sudden impatience. ‘Say what you have to say, for God’s sake, man!’ He stared hard at the havildar-major, whose bearded face was working with some strange emotion. ‘You have said — so much. Now you must finish. Come!’

  ‘It is an order, Ogilvie Sahib?’

  ‘It is an order, Havildar-Major.’

  ‘Then I must obey.’ There was still the terrible hesitancy, the obvious effort to break through a close inhibition. ‘Sahib, my life has been dedicated to my duty, my military duty to the Raj. I have a great respect for the regiment, for the officers, Sahib. I—’

  ‘Yes, yes! I would never presume to doubt your loyalty, Havildar-Major. Please hurry. I wish to be on the march as soon as possible.’

  ‘Yes, Sahib. Because I love the regiment and the Raj, I do not like to see things that could affect the discipline of the sepoys, Sahib. Favouritism, over-friendliness...this is not good, and can be misunderstood by the sepoys, the younger ones, and can be used against the officer who indulges in it.’

  ‘You refer to Taggart Sahib?’

  The havildar-major inclined his head. ‘Even so, Sahib. Taggart Sahib is young and inexperienced in Indian ways.’

  Ogilvie felt a shiver of real apprehension run through his body, but he knew he had a duty to perform now. He said harshly, ‘You must speak, Havildar-Major. Have you anything precise to say?’

  ‘There is a young sepoy, Sahib — Mulata Din, fresh from his father’s fields. There is too great a degree of friendliness from Taggart Sahib, and it is not good. I have observed many things, Sahib, in cantonments at Peshawar and whilst on the march through the Khyber, at bivouacs in the dark hours. Mulata Din—’

  ‘You speak of friendliness, Ram Singh. What friendliness? What things have you observed? You must say. It is important that I know.’

  ‘Sahib, there have been things that would be grievous hearing for a British officer. It is not seemly for me to speak of detail. There have been occasions when the familiarity has been too great, and too great the bodily proximity. I can report no more than that.’

  ‘But there has not been...Taggart Sahib has not—’

  ‘No, Sahib. This thing has not progressed to such an extreme as that of which you hesitate to speak. I will say only this: Sahib, amongst my people there is a saying...there is a boy across the river with a bottom like a peach, but alas, I cannot swim. What I am saying, Sahib, is this. When the river is no longer there, the proximity may become greater with the removal of the hindrance.’ The havildar-major paused, his face grave and sad. ‘Sahib, I am the Havildar-Major of the 99th Light Infantry, and I must do my duty.’

  ‘How do you see that duty now, Ram Singh?’

  ‘Sahib, I have made my report. That is all I have to do.’

  ‘You feel no need to report further — to the Colonel Sahib, for instance?’

  ‘I do not, Sahib.’

  Ogilvie nodded; his mind was racing. What had been suggested was extremely distasteful and serious. Possibly it had been a mistake for Taggart-Blane to be seconded to a native regiment; to some extent it had made things easy for him, the opportunity for sin had been handed to him on a plate — out here in the sub-continent, the natives took a different view from a Briton’s of such deviations. From now on, a constant vigilance would be necessary. Ogilvie wondered if he should take this man Mulata Din out of the line, leave him behind in Kunarja, but after only a moment’s reflection decided against this; such action would lend too much point to the affair, which could in Ram Singh’s mind have become greater than it was in fact. No, the vigilance must be his own...he let out a long breath and said crisply, ‘Thank you, Havildar-Major. I shall do what is necessary now. You have done your duty, as was only proper. Now, let us not waste time. Have my company fallen in and mustered. We move out the moment the Major Sahib is ready.’

  SEVEN

  ‘Captain Ogilvie of the 114th Highlanders...my wife.’

  ‘How d’you do, ma’am—’

  ‘And my daughter Katharine.’

  Katharine Gilmour offered her hand; Ogilvie took it, found it warm and soft. The girl was young and fresh, no more than eighteen years of age he guessed, and she seemed unafraid though she must surely have an awareness of the rigours of a winter march through the Khyber Pass—a march that could prove extremely dangerous even with Jarar Mahommed’s promise of a safe conduct. There was a smile on her lips, and a kind of mischief in her eyes — she had guts, Ogilvie saw, and saw with immense relief. He wasn’t so sure about the mother, who was pale and weepy. He glanced round at his re-armed sepoys and said, ‘We’ll not delay then, Major Gilmour, if you’re all ready.’

  ‘Whenever you say, Ogilvie. We’re in your hands now.’ His tone was easy and confident; Ogilvie had already taken a liking to this quiet and unassuming man who had been carrying out for so long a difficult and lonely task, isolated in the Afghan mountains from his own kind, Physically a small man, there was something in the steadfast eyes that increased his stature immeasurably. ‘I’ll not interfere — I’d just like to make that plain from the start.’

  ‘Thank you, Major. I appreciate that — though I’ve no doubt at all I’ll be much in need of your help and advice.’

  The British Resident laid a hand on Ogilvie’s arm. ‘When and if asked for, and only then, it’ll be forthcoming. Ready, my dear?’ he asked, turning to his wife.

  Wordlessly, her face tight with strain, Mrs. Gilmour nodded. Gilmour gave her a hand to mount one of the horses provided from another company. Katharine Gilmour swung herself up easily enough, though both ladies looked incongruous riding astride with their long dresses rucked up around their waists; Mrs. Gilmour at least was very obviously embarrassed — this showed through even her apprehension for the future. Taggart-Blane came up to report E Company ready to march, and Ogilvie saw him run a lingering eye over Gilmour’s daughter. There was something vaguely salacious in that look, and Ogilvie hoped there would be no trouble in that direction whilst on the march — though in all conscience it might be less unpalatable than what the havildar-major had seemed to suggest. Meanwhile, it was time to march out.

  Ogilvie nodded at Taggart-Blane, who saluted, turned about smartly and ordered the sepoys to move out through the gates that now stood open. Moving his horse ahead to ride with Major Gilmour and a turbaned officer of Jarar Mahommed’s staff, the Pathan who would when necessary show himself as the physical embodiment of his master’s safe conduct, Ogilvie rode beneath the arch and out of the courtyard. With their ragged camp followers and the mule-train and the ammunition carts following on behind, the sepoys marched in silence through the narrow streets of the old town, streets that were still alive with natives, watching with glittering, moon-silvered eyes, and with brown hands itching at the hafts of the long knives. There was immense hostility in the very air of Kunarja, almost a physical smell of threat and menace. The British, even those known via the bush telegraph to be going back with their master’s terms, were far from popular in Kunarja. Looking in fascination at the lean, hard faces, at the scanty clothing, the dirt, the stinking hovels spilling their refuse along the way, Ogilvie could scarcely wonder at the hatred, if the withdrawing of Fettleworth’s ‘subsidy’ had added to this terrible oppressive poverty — which was on a scale that no-one at home in England could even begin to understand, to realise. These poor ruffians made the slum-dwellers of the Gorbals, of the poorer quarters of Edinburgh, of Liverpool, of Cardiff and London look like princes of the blood!

  ‘A penny for your thoughts, Ogilvie,’ Gilmour said by his side.

  Ogilvie gave a hard laugh. ‘Pretty nasty ones, I’m afraid, Major! Life for these people...why, it isn’t life at all!’

  ‘Yes...I know. I’ve tried to do what I could, you know, to alleviate some of this. Not that that was really what I was sent here for, but a man can’t just stand by...I suppose you know the truth, don’t you?’

  ‘What truth?’

  ‘Why, that the subsidy didn’t reach this far — it seldom reached the
streets of Kunarja. Like most native rulers, Jarar waxed nice and fat, but not these people!’

  ‘Quite. The wonder is, Major, that it’s us they seem to hate! ‘

  Gilmour shrugged. ‘Oh, that’s a simple case of loyalty to their own kind — also a full awareness of the fact that even if the subsidy wasn’t largessed around the hovels and the open sewers, a damn sight less would have come their way when it was cut! Jarar’s economies certainly wouldn’t have begun in the palace, my dear fellow!’

  Leaving the town behind, they marched on, in silence mainly, plodding along through the bitter cold for the entry to the Khyber, their breath steaming out into the hard moonlight like so many boiling kettles. They marched until the dawn, when Ogilvie ordered the column to halt for a make-shift breakfast. The sepoys fell out; some lay down on the hard ground, others remained standing, throwing their arms around their bodies. The havildars began shouting for the commissariat to come up, moving busily along the resting column. The camp followers, men and women and even children, mingled with the native soldiers. Fires were lit, and soon there was a welcome smell of cooking.

  Taggart-Blane wandered off along the column, but was called back sharply by Ogilvie. ‘I’d like your help,’ he said. ‘Where were you off to, Alan?’

  ‘Just to chase up the commissariat, James, that’s all.’

  ‘Leave that to the N.C.O.s, it doesn’t call for your personal attention. I’d like you to see that the ladies are comfortable.’

  ‘Oh, all right, James. What the devil can I do for them, though?’

  ‘Use your head,’ Ogilvie said with a touch of impatience. ‘Just some little attentiveness...make them feel like women, even if it’s only by guarding their privacy!’

  ‘All right, whatever you say.’

  Taggart-Blane went off, looking uncertain of his duties. Gilmour was standing a little way apart, looking up at the sky, looking towards the towering mountains that enclosed the pass into British India, sniffing the keen bite of the wind off Himalaya. He looked round as Ogilvie approached. ‘I think we’re in for it,’ he said.