by Alan Gold
Sexual frustration also, at times, overwhelmed her, and when it did, when she was alone at night and her mind sank into its usual melee of loneliness and abandonment she found herself in a state of despair, the relief for which was a drugged sleep. She was desperate for somebody with whom she could share her concerns. Yet for reasons she could barely fathom, her emotions annoyed her. She felt that she should be above them at her age.
But now that she had forced the government to allow her to go to Egypt, and the armchair generals were thousands of miles away drinking brandy and smoking cigars in their clubs in the Strand or Piccadilly, she had hoped her advice would not be discounted because she was a woman. Frustration, though, was her constant companion, and while she knew she must control these emotions, she swore one more time for good luck and decided to dress for dinner with her fellow intelligence officers.
As she sank into the warm bath, she wondered how England would cope in the future now that so many wonderful young men were lying on the shores of Gallipoli. Killed. Murdered by the bloody Turks. When she learned of the landing at Gallipoli, she implored her friend, Lord Curzon, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs to allow her to go to the Middle East. She adored George Curzon and with him had instigated the Anti-Suffragette League, and because of their closeness, he was particularly sympathetic to her needs at this most pivotal of times. He realized that, despite the dangers, Gertrude had to be out of England and working hard for the good of the country.
Within a matter of weeks, she found herself in Egypt, beavering away for Military Intelligence in their Arab Office, and being accorded far more respect than she’d ever enjoyed in England. But even though she saw things with greater clarity and knew far more than her male colleagues, somehow, the generals seemed to prefer their assessments to hers. She always had an uphill battle getting her assessments accepted.
It was nearly 8:00 and she and her colleagues dined at 9:00, so she’d have to get out of her bath and get ready, and stop indulging her silliness. As she wrapped herself in a dressing gown and walked back into the lounge-room of her suite in the hotel, she lit another cigarette. They were such a consolation to her frustrations. And then came a knock on the front door. Surprised, and assuming it was Thomas Lawrence who had appointed himself as her fashion advisor and never allowed her to dress without his approval, she walked in bare feet across the carpet.
Her servant, Farouk, was downstairs ironing her dress, and so she checked her face in the mirror, walked to the front door, and opened it. Gertrude was surprised to see a tall and magnificently-dressed Arab. By his clothes and the red and white shemagh on his head she realized he wasn’t Egyptian, but from somewhere in Arabia.
He stood straight, eyebrows arched at having to address a woman without a veil and asked in guttural English, “You are Chatrude Pell?”
To save him further pain, she replied in faultless Arabic. “Yes, I am Miss Gertrude Bell,” she said, stressing the way in which her name was pronounced in English. “And who are you?”
“You will come with me,” he said. He turned and began to walk away from the door.
She closed the door, and returned to her bedroom to continue getting ready. Egypt wasn’t a safe place at the best of times, certainly not with an imminent Turkish invasion and going somewhere with a complete stranger was the last thing she would do. A moment later, there was again a knock at the door.
When she re-opened it, the tall Arab was looking bemused. “You did not follow me.”
“Of course I didn’t. I am not in the habit of following strange men.”
“But you must do as I command,” he told her.
“I do not follow the Arabic custom of obeying a man unquestioningly, unlike your wives and your daughters. If you want me to follow you, you had better tell me why and where.”
He looked at her in astonishment. “I cannot disclose these things.”
She began to shut the door, saying “Then I will not go with you.”
He immediately said, “Wait. Do not close the door. I am the servant of His Highness, Prince Faisal of Hejaz. I am commanded by His Highness to bring you to his presence. You will follow me immediately. His Highness is waiting.”
“The prince is here?” she exclaimed loudly. “In Egypt?”
The tall Arab put his finger to his mouth. “Silence. It is a secret. He has come to see Chatrude Pell. Only his father, His Highness the King knows of this visit. Come immediately.”
The man turned and began to walk away. This time, Gertrude decided to follow, even though she was in a bathrobe. “Where are we going?” she asked. But before he could answer, the servant had already stopped at the suite two doors down the corridor from hers, and was gently knocking on the door.
“Good God,” was all Gertrude could say, as the door quickly opened, and standing in the doorway, she saw Prince Faisal, third son of the King of the Hejaz.
She entered the room quickly, not knowing whether to bow or to shake his hand. He was a tall if slight man, effeminate looking, despite his glistening and pomaded black beard and Savile Row clothes.
He held out his hand, and said, “Thank you for coming, Miss Bell. I appreciate you giving me your time.”
“The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty, and I apologize for the state of my undress, but your servant said it was urgent. Why are you in Ismailia?” she asked.
“Before I tell you, let me say what a pleasure it is to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you and your travels through our lands. When you were last in Hejaz, in the land of the Prophet, peace and blessings be upon Him, I was in Europe, and the time before that, I believe I was in Constantinople. But at last we’re meeting, although I apologize if the circumstances are, shall we say, unusual.”
Was he trying to charm her? She had to be careful in her dealings with Arabic ruling classes, because she was here to protect British interests in wartime. She was no longer the free spirit, able to wander where she wanted or meet with whomsoever she decided seemed interesting.
“Majesty, when I was traveling in Arabia and Mesopotamia, I was an independent woman. I visited your domain, though as a Christian, I was unable to see for myself the glories of the main cities of the Kingdom of the Hejaz, the wondrous Mecca and Medina, the centers of the life and death of the Prophet, peace and blessings be His. But that was then, sir. Today, I am a mere servant of the British government, undertaking work for our war effort. With respect, I feel I ought to know why you wanted a private meeting with me . . . and why your presence in Egypt has been kept secret.”
The Prince smiled. He’d been told she had a fearsome intellect, and that she was very direct and to the point, but he was unused to the ways of Western people, and especially of Western women, and hadn’t anticipated she would come to the matter in hand as directly.
“Business . . . always business. Why can’t we sit down and enjoy a coffee together, and some pastries, and then, when the circumstances are appropriate, we’ll talk about why I’m here?”
“Sir, I feel constrained at meeting alone with someone of your august standing. I fear I must advise General Gilbert Clayton of my presence in your company. You must understand that I will be compromised if I don’t.”
The Prince sat down on his sofa, and invited her to sit opposite. She did so, waiting on his response, but thinking to herself how odd it was that she was naked save for a bath robe, and he was dressed for a night at the opera.
The Prince considered his next words very carefully because he knew time spent alone with Gertrude Bell was the equivalent of sitting at the feet of somebody of great knowledge and wisdom. The last thing he wanted was to dilute his future relationship with her by filtering her through some senior army man. “It would be a great pity if you were to involve General Clayton in this matter, because even before he arrived, I would disappear into the desert like a spirit in the night and deny that we had met.”
She looked at him strangely. What was all this about?
“You look disconce
rted, Miss Bell. Surely you, who have traveled so often in our lands, are familiar with the Arabic way of doing things. We are a people without trees, yet despite this arboreal disadvantage, we have learned over the millennia of the advantages of beating around the bush.”
She burst out laughing. She was beginning to feel more comfortable in his presence and starting to enjoy the way in which things were going.
“And we, sir, are a people whose land contains many forests, yet somehow our history has taught us to walk in a straight line. Why do you believe that you can’t talk with the more important people here? I’m merely a person who is assisting with the work of intelligence gathering and recording. Why is it you wish to see me, and not the commanders of the British forces?”
“There are many commanders, but only one Gertrude Bell. Your knowledge of our people, our history, and our language sets you apart from all others. Your commanders come and speak with us as though we are children. Yet people in my country, and in Syria and Palestine and the land of the Druze and in Mesopotamia still speak of Gertrude Bell as the Daughter of the Desert, as a woman who understands the way in which we think, and the needs we have, caught up in a world not of our making.”
She felt overwhelmed by the praise. “I’m not used to flattery, Highness,” she said, “and my advice is not listened to with the same favor as is that of my male colleagues, so this interview might not work to your advantage. I hate to have to admit it, but you might be better off with a man present. However, if you feel a private conversation might assist to clarify matters in your mind, then I give you my assurance that it will remain private until such time as you give me permission to discuss it with others. But having said that, I must also let you know that I will not and cannot compromise Great Britain’s interests.”
He nodded and smiled. “You see, Miss Bell, as soon as I explain why my presence has to be kept secret, you will understand why I wish to sound you out for advice, rather than your commanders. We both know that Britain and Turkey will each require Arab armies to fight on their sides. The British want the oil which we are informed is underneath our deserts in order to ensure a continuous flow to British ships and motor cars, while the Turks want our strength to maintain what he has, and hopefully to reclaim what he has lost.
“In the end, however, it is we of the Hejaz who will make the decision as to the side on which we fight. It is a decision for my father the king. Last year, my father, Sharif Hussein bin-Ali, was visited by General Sir Alistair Booth, and we gave him the assurance that the fighting men of the Hejaz, six hundred thousand men in total, would side with the British. He seemed very pleased. But on a later visit to the lands to our north and east, the lands of Sheik ibn Rashid and Sheik Ibn Sa’ud, he received a very different reception. These men will lead their people to the side of the Turks,” he said.
Gertrude shuddered when the Prince mentioned the name Rashid. Faisal saw her react. He was aware of her imprisonment and the danger she’d faced. The story was becoming legend in the desert.
“I am aware, Prince Faisal, of the temperaments and the dispositions of these two desert leaders, though I have not met either in person,” she told him. “Many years ago, I met ibn Sa’ud’s father in the Balkans, but I doubt he would have told his son of my existence.”
“Then you will know that ibn Rashid and ibn Sa’ud are only interested in how much the Turks will pay them, and ultimately in independence for our nation from all overlords, Turks and British and French alike.”
His servant poured a glass of rose water, and gave it to the Prince. At a nod from his master, the servant poured a second glass for Gertrude and handed it to her. She took it without acknowledgment, as was her right for a woman who sat in the presence of the prince.
“Sir, while this is very important, I’m afraid I still don’t think I’m the right person for you to be discussing this with. You need a commander who can transmit your enquiry to higher levels. Visiting from England is Mr. Mark Sykes, who is a diplomat of considerable experience. He’ll . . .”
“On the contrary, Miss Bell. For me to discuss such a delicate matter with your Mr. Sykes or with General Clayton will make it official. My purpose in secretly visiting Ismailia is to sound you out as a friend of Arabia, as one who has intimate knowledge of both ourselves and those who wish us to join them. I seek your assistance in formulating a convincing argument which I can use when my father is on the point of making his decision. At the moment, he is being mercilessly pressured by ibn Sa’ud . . .”
“But I thought your father had already given his decision,” she said urgently.
“In times of war, Miss Bell, decisions are made today and changed tomorrow. The pressure to join the Turks is very great. My father is in a cleft stick, thanks to other desert leaders.”
Her next words, she knew, could affect the conduct of the war. “Sir, you would know that ibn Rashid is a blood-thirsty youth who will sell his mother for a gold piece,” she said, surprised by her own vehemence. Her imprisonment and closeness to death in the lands of ibn Rashid impelled her to continue, even against her own better judgement. “And from what I understand, ibn Sa’ud is little better. You know what he did when he took back Riyadh from ibn Rashid. It was a bloodbath. Ibn Sa’ud’s intention is the control of all of the lands of the Arabian people, and I fear he also looks towards your lands. He’s—”
“We know he’s a man who undoubtedly has his eyes firmly focussed on the Kingdom of the Hejaz, and on ownership of Mecca and Medina and Jeddah. Now that he has retaken those of his former lands from which his family was exiled, and beaten back ibn Rashid, I’m sure he’s intent on spreading westwards and making the whole of the peninsula into the Sa’ud’s Arabia. Because he wants to become the pan Arabic leader, he needs the legitimacy of controlling the holy places of Islam. Both my father and I are well aware of this, and despite the fact that my father is the guardian of the Holy Cities, as well as a descendant of the Prophet, that will count as nothing to the ambitions of ibn Sa’ud.
“Yet even with this knowledge, bearing in mind the overall weakness of the Turks, but also taking into account his sudden encouragement at the British disaster in the landing at Gallipoli, my father has just begun thinking that if he was to join with ibn Sa’ud in a confederation against the British, this act of camaraderie might sway ibn Sa’ud from attacking us.”
Gertrude looked at him in grave concern, for this was seriously dangerous information for Britain and could alter the entire course of the war. Neither she, nor anybody else in the Arab Office had any inkling that Hussein was considering joining ibn Sa’ud or ibn Rashid in fighting on the side of the Turks. Yes, this was very serious news indeed.
Noting her surprise, the prince continued, “My question is, if we side with the British, will the British protect us after the war, not from the Turks, but from our Arabic brothers?”
He sipped the rose water and looked at her. Gertrude realized immediately the overwhelming gravity of the next few moments and of the consequences for Great Britain in her answer.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock on a door farther down the corridor. They remained silent, listening. Then they heard a voice calling, “Gertrude? Gertie, are you there? Are you alright?”
The prince looked at her questioningly.
“It’s a certain Mr. Lawrence. He’s a colleague. He’s come to my suite to advise me on my dress . . . it’s a long story. But I have to go out and see him, or he’ll send for the manager to open my door, thinking I’m in distress.”
She cursed Lawrence’s timing. This was an utterly crucial moment, and she couldn’t afford for him to endanger it. The prince nodded, and Gertrude stood to leave the room. The moment she appeared in the corridor, she saw Lawrence, looking anxiously at her door. He turned when he heard the nearby door opening, and was surprised when Gertrude emerged, dressed in a bath robe. Without her knowledge, the prince’s servant followed her out of the suite, and stood guard, arms crossed, in the doorway to prevent La
wrence’s entry.
“Dear boy,” she said, “I’m not coming to dinner tonight. I’ll have something in my room. You go down and enjoy yourself. Give my apologies to the others.”
Lawrence frowned. “What’s going on, Gertie? Why are you dressed like that? And who’s this?”
She turned, and to her annoyance saw that the prince’s servant was standing behind her guarding the door. She snapped at him, “Go inside. Nobody told you to follow me.”
“I remain,” he said laconically.
Lawrence walked towards her, but instead of addressing her, he looked up to the huge servant and said in fluent Arabic, “Who are you? Whom do you guard?”
“Thomas,” she said in irritation, reverting to English, “I’m meeting somebody in this suite, and we’re going to be dining together. Now be a good dear, and go away. This doesn’t concern you.”
“Good God, Gertie, you’re in a bathrobe and having an assignation? My dear girl, that’s marvellous. Very Bohemian. And I’m not in the least bit jealous. You need somebody to cater to the personal side of your life.”
She began to protest, but garrulous as ever, Lawrence continued, “So there’s life in the old dog yet. I think you’re absolutely right to do so, just so long as you don’t exclude me from your life. Tell me, is he rich and handsome? I assume he’s an Arabic gentleman from the manner of his rather hefty and terrifying servant here. Egyptian? Syrian? Or an Arabian like his servant?”
“Stop being so silly, Lawrence. It’s nothing like that. He’s merely a gentleman I met and we’re sharing a few moments together before he returns home to his wife and children. Now don’t be tiresome. Go downstairs and let me get on with things.”
“Dressed in a bath robe. You’ve been doing dirty business, haven’t you? Oh well.”
Lawrence shrugged, and winked. He walked away to the stairs, and Gertrude and the prince’s servant returned to the suite. But before she had even sat down, there was a sharp rap on the door. The servant sprang to attention, and opened it. Lawrence was standing there on tiptoes to see above the servant’s shoulders and to look deep within the room.