by Alan Gold
“He was promised rapid relief, and so thinking help was on its way, he kept his men on full daily ration. But within days, he was surrounded by ten thousand fresh Turkish fighting men. There were huge losses on both sides as the Turks tried to storm the town, and Townshend defended bravely. Now his men are starving, exhausted, sick and diseased and in a terrible state. They’ve been under siege now for a hundred days.”
“But didn’t we send men up north to relieve him?” asked Lawrence. “Why didn’t we just send the whole bloody army north and break through the Turkish lines?”
“Up till now, we’ve tried many times, by land and water, and we’ve even dropped supplies from an aircraft. But we can’t get through. There are virtually no roads, and we’re attacked every step of the way by masses of Turks who have flooded south from Baghdad, anticipating another Gallipoli. We’ve suffered hideous losses of life in trying.”
“How bad?” he asked.
“About twenty-three thousand men have died trying to save those poor boys,” she said softly.
“WHAT!” Lawrence shouted. “Twenty-three thousand . . . I don’t believe you!”
“It’s true, I’m afraid. Which is why we’re willing to pay the Turks to go away. We can’t afford any more losses.”
“Twenty-three thousand?” he said, shaking his head in horror.
“And that doesn’t include the men under Townshend’s command. We have to do something to prevent any more useless waste of life. Townshend managed to get word to the Turkish commander, Nur-Ud-Din, as well as the local German liaison and commander, Baron von der Goltz. He’s offered them a million gold sovereigns. He’s also agreed the troops will be sent home to England when they’re released and won’t be used to fight the Turks again.
“I’ve managed to persuade our generals here that you from the Intelligence Service, and Colonel Herbert and Colonel Beach of the Mesopotamian Command should negotiate the terms of the bribe and the surrender. They’ve fortunately agreed, and you can be on your way immediately . . . well, once this damn rain stops.”
~
It was two weeks before Gertrude heard the first rumours. They were whispered into her ear by Arab travelers. She knew Lawrence wouldn’t be able to get word back, but the desert had a thousand ears and long before he returned to Basrah, Gertrude knew precisely what had happened. At first, she refused to believe the news, but when it was confirmed by increasing numbers of caravans traveling to the southern port, she realized to her abject horror it must be true.
She immediately reported the appalling news to Sir Percy, who merely shook his head in sadness, and buried his face in his hands.
Major Lawrence’s sudden appearance out of the desert surprised her. She had come back to her home from the political residency, had already dined in the commissariat, and was taking an aperitif in her bedroom, when she heard a knocking on her front door. Listening carefully, she heard a servant downstairs speaking urgently to a man in Arabic. Then she heard steps on the stairs and by the time she’d turned, Thomas Lawrence was standing at the lintel of her boudoir.
“It’s a blunderland, this place,” he said, his calm exterior masking the fury in his voice. “A bloody blunderland. They’ll all be dead in a couple of weeks, you know. Thirteen thousand British and Indian troops, all taken prisoner and sent on a forced march out of Kut. They’re starving, sick, in dreadful shape, desperate, and the Turkish bastards have forced them to march God knows where. I saw them, Gertie. A column of them. They were struggling to stay on their feet, and the bloody Turks were beating them and shooting them through the head when they fell. Savages! I hate this bloody war and this killing, I really do!” he shouted, close to tears. “When my two brothers were killed in the fighting in France last year I thought I’d go mad, but now I see everybody dying around me and I wonder if anybody will be left alive. We’re nothing more than fodder for the cannons and the Gatling guns. That’s all . . . just fodder . . .”
“Oh my dear boy,” she said, rising to comfort him. She put her arms around him and felt how thin and slight his body was. He felt like little more than a schoolboy.
“Townshend begged for food for his men, but the Turks wouldn’t give any. Instead our lads are dying from starvation and typhus and malaria and God knows what else, and the Turks are just looking on. And smiling. The bastards!”
“But the million gold sovereigns . . . ?” She already knew, but realised he must take control of the telling.
“Ha!” he shouted. “The Turks made a fool of us. We had no idea our lads had already surrendered. Herbert and Beach were hiding with me in a trench, trying to work out how to convince the Turkish commander to speak with us. He flatly refused to meet with us, and threatened us with death, even though we’d come under a flag of truce. Anyway, we tried again, and got our white flag out, and climbed over the trench and walked as bravely as we could a couple of hundred yards to the Turkish side. We were blindfolded and then taken to their commander. It was he who told us Townshend had already surrendered. We tried to use the money to beg for an exchange of prisoners, but even that was too late, because some of the British sick had already been exchanged for some Turkish prisoners of war. We had a meal, and turned and came back. It was like bloody Wimbledon, Gertie. Advantage to the Turks. Game, set and match.”
She tried to let go of him, to lead him to a seat, but he just stood at the doorway in her arms, trembling.
“I tell you, Gertie, it was a fiasco. A blood nightmare fiasco, and while the Turks were joking about how we were too late, and everyone was laughing, our poor bastards were marching to their deaths.”
She continued to hug him, and as he became drained of the pent-up emotions, she felt his body loosen up somewhat. “You did your best, my love. You did your best.”
“Tell that to the mothers and fathers of boys who are nothing more than skeletons, and who face the rest of eternity in some sandy desert thousands of miles from hearth and home. Oh Christ, Gertie, I hate this bloody war. I hate the bloody generals. I hate everybody.”
She stroked his hair, and whispered in his ear. They lay on her bed together, and she stroked his face and neck and played with his yellow hair until he fell asleep in her arms.
NINE
Basrah, Mesopotamia, October 1916
“My God, woman, I had no idea you’d been so ill. I knew you had typhoid, but I never thought it would . . . I mean, I never thought you were . . .” He continued to stare at her as Gertrude walked unsteadily from the door to his desk. She looked emaciated, almost cadaverous, her cheeks sunken, her skin pallid and her hair unusually dull and lifeless, but despite her demeanour, her eyes had retained their gleam even though her hair had thinned dramatically and was streaked with gray.
Still mortified by her appearance, Percy continued, “I sent flowers and always sought after your health, but I never realized it was as bad as that. I’ve been traveling so much, or I would have visited you. Didn’t my wife . . . ? Gertrude, I’m so very sorry.”
“Wasn’t just typhoid, Percy, but I also had malaria and jaundice. Damn nearly carried me off to my maker. But I’m back on my feet, so please don’t concern yourself. You couldn’t have done anything even if you sat by my bedside for a month. And Lady Cox was absolutely marvellous. She visited me often and really bucked up my spirits, but I was bedridden for the whole time, which is why I’m so gaunt and tired now, and you have no idea how jaundice simply drains you. Lying in bed, I often felt fit as a fiddle, but the moment I got up, I felt as though I was drunk as a lord and I had to lie down again. All my life I’ve been right as rain, strappingly able-bodied, and just when I’m so badly needed here, I fall victim to these horrible diseases.”
She was dressed in a violet felt winter scarf, a black satin dress, on top of which she’d put on a blue silk shirt, and even a cardigan, yet it was mid-morning and still 90 degrees outside. Sir Percy knew she had to return to her sick bed, and told her so.
“I’m fine, Percy. Stop fussing. I’d muc
h rather be here than at home. At least here I can be of some use. But I must admit the last two or three months haven’t been fun. The weather has been so damnably hot, and I was quite out to the rest of the world. I was in such a fever all I could do was let the servants and the doctors look after me. I slept on the roof during July and August, because the cold night-time desert air was so refreshing.”
She seemed to fall into the armchair opposite him. The huge desk separated them. It was piled full of papers. He continued to look at her in consternation, not knowing how to convince her she was still sick. “You really shouldn’t be here, Gertrude. You should be at home, resting.”
“Another day at home, and I’ll start eating the wallpaper. I can’t stand not working, Percy. And there’s so much to do. Now that Sharif Hussein ibn Ali has begun his uprising in the Hejaz, I have to keep tabs on it and ensure the other Arabs follow his lead. I’ve read the reports about the battles against the Turks outside of Mecca, and now they’re pushing the enemy back up north to Medina. Lawrence is doing a wonderful job blowing up the trains and things like that.”
She began to cough. Her frame, which now seemed too small for the clothes she was wearing, appeared to shake. Percy half stood from his chair, poured her a glass of water, and handed it over to her.
“Gertie, I really think—”
But she cut across him. “Isn’t it absolutely wonderful the Sharif has finally found the backbone to fight the Turks. I tell you, Percy, because he’s a descendant of the Prophet and the guardian of the holy cities, the moral and political imprimatur which this will give to the uprising of all Arabia is huge. It could be the turning point we’ve all been praying for in this damn war. Everyone in Arabia looks towards Mecca and Medina, and now that Sharif Hussein has vowed to overthrow the Sultan of Constantinople and kick the Ottomans out of Arabia, it’ll be much easier to persuade the other Arab leaders to follow suit. And thank heavens it was his son Faisal who’s taken the running on this. He’s a future king when these nations’ boundaries are redrawn, Percy, you mark my words.”
He tried to interrupt her again, but she seemed so keen to talk to somebody other than her servants or some kindly visitor, he found it difficult to cut into the conversation. Eventually, he had to speak over her.
“Gertie, you’re becoming quite a celebrity in Britain. London has written to say how marvellously pleased they are with your reports. The Foreign Office says they’re the most important documents coming out of Arabia, and that they’re absolutely vital to our war effort. They’ve asked me to tell you they’re recommending you for special commendation in the House of Commons, with votes of thanks from the Prime minister and the foreign secretary themselves.”
He was flushed with pride in her achievements, and waited for her response. But all she said was, “Oh good. That’s very nice. But right now, I have to concern myself with what’s going on here. What I really want is for Major Lawrence to be more involved in this Hejaz business than blowing up trains. I need him there to ensure things go Britain’s way, which means I have to give him more instructions about what to do, other targets, where to dispose of his troops, how to persuade smaller tribes to join him.
“And from what I’ve been told, ibn Rashid and ibn Sa’ud could be a problem, because they’re still playing their silly games, and not saying whether or not they’ll support us. If they side with the Turks, then our Arab uprising could come to a grinding half. We have to persuade ibn Sa’ud to back us. I’m not so worried about Rashid because he’s a spent force, but Sa’ud is crucial to our plans.” Again, she began to cough and looked as though she was about to faint. She sipped more of the water.
“Gertie . . .” Sir Percy began to say, looking at her in pity, as she seemed to be swallowed up by the large chair in which she sat, “Doesn’t it mean anything that you’ve been mentioned in dispatches? In the House of Commons? And with you not even holding any military rank. It’s an enormous honor. Nobody can remember when it’s happened before to a civilian. It brings credit to us all. But I fear you’re too unwell to realize. Look, my dear, there’s plenty of people who can look after things here while you regain your health.”
“Nonsense, Percy. You know that’s just not true. Nobody here knows the Arabs like I know them, and now more than ever you need my connections. If the High Command accepts my advice and Lawrence is supported in leading this revolt, he’ll need all the information at my disposal. Initially I want him to destroy the Turkish attempts of reinforcement by knocking off the trains carrying their troops. But what I really want is for him to conquer Aqaba. That’ll really put the wind up them, once we control the gulf.”
Percy tried to interrupt when she began to cough, but she took a sip of rose water, and continued, “You see, despite the sharif joining us, there’s every chance things could go wrong. All we need is for even a minor reversal of fortunes against the Turks, and then the rest of the Arabs will be in a quandary. Right now many of them will be inclined to join Prince Faisal and attack the Turks, but in almost every tent or town or city, there are voices whispering into ears that they should play it safe and do nothing, and there are also voices which think Britain is going to lose this war, and they should side with the Turks to ensure the loss. That’s why taking Aqaba is so important.
“Without the Arabs, we’re in trouble, and you know it. I need to continue to negotiate with the leaders of the tribes. And I also have to communicate with Lawrence before he goes and does something silly and somehow manages to insult and alienate important people. Now, more than ever, he has to remember he’s not marching to his own tune, but is responsible to others. He’s so impetuous, that boy, wonderful but impetuous. I’m terrified of what he’ll do if he suddenly finds himself at the head of an army of a million men at arms.”
Sir Percy looked at her in astonishment. “You don’t think he’d . . . you’re not saying he’d—”
“Of course not! He’s an Englishman, through and through. But give a child a gun, and more than likely, he’ll shoot somebody—give Lawrence unconstrained access to an army and God help the world. He’s got the capacity to act like a warlord, even though he doesn’t think like one.”
Sir Percy said, “But from the reports I’m getting, Major Lawrence seems to be behaving very responsibly. He’s commissioned and designed some stamps for the Hejaz postal system which make the country feel more independent. He’s even helped them design their own Arab revolt flag—horizontal stripes of black, green and white with a red triangle in the hoist. Marvellous, it looks, too. And it appears Lawrence anointed Prince Faisal as the man to lead the Arab revolt. That was against my better judgement, because I thought it should be the older son, Abdullah. But Lawrence was insistent that it should be Faisal.”
“Good. The right man for the job provided the other tribal leaders know it’s Lawrence pulling Faisal’s strings. I need them to see Lawrence as the brains and the brawn of this attack against the Turks.”
“You don’t think . . . what you said about Lawrence being the man to lead the Arab nation into some sort of renaissance . . . a renaissance which would give rise to another Saladin . . . but surely you’re not thinking Faisal . . .”
“More so than ever, dear,” she said, again breaking down in a fit of coughing
He waited for her to recover, and said softly, “Quite a dark horse, that Faisal. Right from the very beginning, Lawrence backed him to mount the Arab revolt against the Turks. I’d have put my money on the older brother, but it appears both you and Lawrence have better judgement. So hopefully, they’re going to give the Turks a merry dance.”
She stood, and straightened her back, massaging her hips. “Sorry, but all those weeks in bed have given me lumbago or arthritis or something. Would it disturb you greatly if I walked around while we talked?”
“Of course not. Perhaps a stroll in the garden?”
She followed him outside into the fresh air. The headquarters was surrounded by a high sandstone wall with facings of white
marble, within which was what Gertrude had often described as a perfume factory of fruits and flowers.
She grasped Percy’s arm, and they ambled around the stone pathways.
Softly, she said, “I’m so pleased the revolt in the Hejaz is starting off well. But how do you feel about what our own troops are doing? The news from Palestine isn’t all that good, I hear, and our lads are still trying to break through the Turkish lines and reach Baghdad.”
“I’m afraid it gets worse. Between you and me, not everybody is overjoyed the sharif has begun his revolt.”
“Hardinge, our noble viceroy in India?”
Sir Percy nodded.
“I hope he’s not going to use any influence with London to put an end to it. This has nothing to do with the sub-continent. He should keep his nose out of it. This uprising is courtesy of Cairo and our boys in the Egyptian Intelligence Service.”
“That’s as might be, Gertie, but Hardinge is terrified of tens of millions of fanatical Indian Muslims rising up in revolt because a Christian army has tried to overthrow the Muslim Sultan of Turkey whom they seem to revere.”
She huffed, and said, “But that’s so short-sighted. Doesn’t he realize if Britain works with the Arabs and has influence in this part of the world, he’ll always be able to use the Suez Canal as his supply route, whereas if the Turks are victorious, they’ll block the Canal to British shipping for certain. We’ll have to go round South Africa, and that’ll add six weeks and God knows how much to the cost of supplying India and vice versa. And if we play our cards right against the French, we might even have control of Palestine, and as we’ve already got Egypt that means the eastern Mediterranean will be friendly and always available to the Empire. Can’t he understand that?”
“All he can understand is an uprising on his own doorstep, when he’s already sent God-knows how many divisions to the Middle East. His strength is down, and he’s scared we could lose India.”