by Saul David
Once through the gate, guarded by the familiar big-boned soldiers of the 5th Punjabis, they drew rein and dismounted. Though it was dark and hard to pick out detail, George could tell by the spread of camp-fires that the cantonment covered a huge area and would, as a result, be extremely difficult to defend.
'This way, if you please,' said Fanshawe, leading them towards a cluster of buildings close to the gate they had just passed through. He knocked on the door of a single-storey house.
'Who is it?' asked a familiar voice.
'It's Captain Fanshawe of the Ninth Lancers. I've just brought in a man called James Harper. He's here with his guide and, um, an Afghan princess. Harper says he knows you.'
Hurried footsteps, and the door swung open to reveal the handsome features of Major FitzGeorge. 'Harper! Is that you?' he said, catching sight of the heavily bearded George in his Afghan garb. 'My God, it is. It must be almost three months since I last saw you at Ali Khel. Yet here you are again, safe and sound, with your faithful guide. And this is?' he asked, inclining his head towards Yasmin.
'Yakub's sister, Her Highness Princess Yasmin.'
FitzGeorge gave her an admiring glance. She was still clad in her masculine riding garb, her face streaked with dust and grime, but there was no disguising her beauty.
'I'll be damned,' he said, shaking his head. 'So you're the cause of all that firing. I thought it was the sentries getting the jitters. But do come in, all of you. And thank you, Fanshawe, I'll take charge from here.'
They filed past FitzGeorge into a large, whitewashed room, part of which was wreathed in shadows. The rest was lit by a single oil lamp, and contained a table covered with papers, a few scattered chairs and, most welcome of all, a small wood-burning stove. 'Do sit down,' said FitzGeorge. 'Would any of you like a drink or something to eat?'
George repeated the question to Yasmin in Pashto.
'Yes, but no pork,' she said, placing a chair close to the stove and rubbing her arms for warmth.
'She'd like . . .'
'I know,' interrupted FitzGeorge. 'I speak Pashto. What about your guide?'
'He'll have what she has.'
'Fine. I'll get my servant to rustle something up. I won't be a moment,' said FitzGeorge, opening the door and disappearing into the night.
Minutes later he was back. 'Brrr. It's cold out there. The refreshments are on their way. In the meantime, Harper,' said FitzGeorge, lighting a second oil lamp, 'can I have a word with you in private?'
'Of course,' said George, turning to Yasmin. 'He wants to speak to me alone. I won't be long.'
Yasmin nodded her assent, though George could tell she was unhappy at being excluded. He followed FitzGeorge through to his bedroom, a Spartan affair with a camp-bed, a trunk and a mahogany chest of drawers.
'Where did you get that?' asked George, pointing at the chest.
'I liberated it from one of the palaces in the Bala Hissar before we abandoned the place. Handsome, isn't it?'
'Yes, it is, but I wouldn't let the princess see it if I were you. It's technically her property - or, at least, her brother's.'
'Don't be such a prig, Harper. It's a legitimate spoil of war. Do sit down while I get you a whisky.'
George sat on the camp-bed while FitzGeorge poured the drinks.
'I'm relieved to see you again, Harper,' said FitzGeorge, handing him a glass containing a more than generous dram. 'But I won't deny I'm surprised. When Yakub came into our camp shortly after you'd delivered the general's message, and there was no word from you, we all assumed you'd been killed. What happened to you? And how did you find the princess?'
George took a large gulp from his glass, letting the fiery liquid warm his throat. He knew he couldn't tell FitzGeorge everything so decided to stick as close to the truth as possible. 'My intention was to deliver the message to Yakub and then leave the country. But when Yakub told me he had left his family defenceless in the Bala Hissar at Kabul, I was so angered by his cowardly behaviour that I decided to return with Ilderim to see if we could help. I had met the princess while I was recovering from the wound I received during the attack on the Residency, and I was worried for her safety.'
'Having seen the princess, I can well understand your eagerness,' said FitzGeorge, with a lascivious wink. 'She's a fine piece. But I still can't believe you'd risk returning to a city teeming with armed rebels, any one of whom would have happily slit your throat, for the sake of a woman, however beautiful. There must be more to it than that.'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' said George, flustered. 'I went back to save the princess, that was all.'
'So you say - but let's not fall out over this. I didn't really care why you returned to Kabul. The fact is you did, and by doing so you may have come across vital intelligence. So, please, tell me everything.'
George sat there for a moment, mulling things over. He knew there was a strong chance that the prickly, self-serving individual before him was his half-brother. There were just too many coincidences for that not to be true. But that didn't mean he had to like him. Neither did he have to help him. But this wasn't about helping Harry FitzGeorge. It was about saving an army and, with a bit of luck, preventing the Indian government from absorbing yet another unwilling country into the British Raj. To do that he would have to tell FitzGeorge the truth, or most of it anyway.
So George related exactly what had happened in the Bala Hissar, only diverging from the truth when they had taken refuge in the pleasure garden at Beni Hissar. At that point, George claimed, the princess had persuaded him to escort her north to Kohistan where she had family and knew she would be safe.
'Safe? She'd have been a darned sight safer with us. Why didn't you bring her to join her brother?'
George had expected this question and had his answer ready. 'Because, Major, she didn't want to. She didn't agree with Yakub's decision to leave Kabul for our camp, and was furious that he did so without telling anyone, leaving her and his wives to the tender mercies of the mutineers and, as it turned out, his own guard. With her father dead, it was only natural that she would seek refuge with her mother's family in Kohistan.'
FitzGeorge nodded. 'Yes, I can see that. So what happened next?'
'On the way north we were waylaid by bandits and, in the scrimmage, I was shot in the calf.' George lifted his trouser leg to show the purple scar tissue. 'We got away, just, thanks to Ilderim, but it was many weeks before I could walk again. During that time the princess caught wind of the plan by the principal Kohistani chiefs, led by her cousin Mir Bacha, to join forces with the Ghazni rebels to attack you here at Sherpur.'
'Well, if that was the plan, the mullah's men have jumped the gun because they and other tribesmen from the Kabul area attacked us in force a week ago in the Chardeh valley.'
'Yes,' said George, 'we heard of the fighting on the way down here, and Lieutenant Fanshawe mentioned something about it. What went wrong?'
'Everything. We knew that trouble was afoot in late November when we started to receive reports that large bands of men were collecting in the Ghazni area at the instigation of the local mullah.'
'Do you mean Mullah Mushk-i-Alam?'
'That's the fellow. Anyway, apparently at his instigation, villagers in the area to the south-west of Kabul began to refuse to hand over supplies and forage. We sent Baker's brigade to knock a few heads together, take some headmen as hostages, that sort of thing, but it only made matters worse, and as the armed opposition grew we were forced to withdraw. A couple of days later our local appointee as governor was murdered.'
'I heard about that,' said George.
'Did you? Then you must also have known about the growing unrest in Kohistan. Naturally we feared a coalition between the two groups and tried to forestall it by sending columns out to intercept them. But we were the ones taken by surprise when the mullah's men appeared in force in the Chardeh valley, twelve thousand strong, and almost wiped out a brigade of cavalry under Massy.'
George was app
alled that a general as experienced as Roberts had made the same elementary mistakes - dividing his forces, inadequate intelligence - that had cost Lord Chelmsford a camp full of supplies and more than thirteen hundred lives in Zululand at the start of the year. But he made no mention of this, for fear of revealing his recent military past, and instead asked FitzGeorge how Roberts had managed to pull the chestnuts from the fire.
'With a lot of good fortune. We arrived on the scene as Massy began his retreat, and as soon as the chief saw the seriousness of the situation he ordered infantry from Sherpur to hold the two passes into the Chardeh valley. He also ordered a charge by some of Massy's cavalry so that four guns of horse artillery could be extricated. But the charge made little impact and we had difficulty rallying the Ninth Lancers who began to panic. In the confusion the guns were abandoned in a ditch near the Ghazni road and many of our men were killed. The chief was almost one of them. He was helping a dismounted trooper out of the ditch when he was attacked by a knife-wielding villager. Fortunately a sowar of the First Bengal Cavalry intervened and we got him safely away. What saved us from total disaster was the arrival in the enemy's rear of one of our columns under Brigadier Macpherson. It deflected the enemy from the Nanachi Pass, which leads directly here and was then unguarded, and gave our troops time to secure the southern pass, the Deh Mazang, through which we retired. But it was a close-run thing.'
'It sounds it. What of the guns? Were they lost to the enemy? asked George, well aware that the loss of a single artillery piece was a professional disgrace from which few generals recovered.
'Only for a time, thanks to Colonel MacGregor. During the retreat, he managed to rally about fifty cavalrymen and with them joined Macpherson's column. Later that day, with the help of some of Macpherson's infantry, he recovered all four guns.'
'How fortunate for General Roberts,' said George, sarcastically. 'But it doesn't alter the fact that we came off worst.'
'No, it doesn't, but we got our own back a couple of days later when the Seventy-Eighth Highlanders drove the rebels from the Asmai Heights above the city.'
'Indeed?' said George, raising his eyebrows. 'And yet here you are, cooped up in a fort while the rebels rule the roost. Why is that?'
'Their numbers just kept growing. We'd drive them from one position only to find that more had appeared somewhere else. It became impossible to protect our outposts so the chief decided, after much soul-searching, to withdraw everyone into the cantonment.'
'But I thought you told me when we last met that our troops wouldn't have any problem defeating the Afghans.'
'Nor did they at Charasiab, on the march to Kabul, but these blighters don't know when they're beaten and the scale of the recent uprising has, er, rather taken us by surprise.'
'Has it now?' said George, enjoying the major's obvious discomfort. 'That's quite a confession for a chief of intelligence to make.'
'Yes, but there it is. Anyway, we're safe enough in here while we wait for reinforcements.'
'Are any on their way?'
'Yes. We can still get messages out by heliograph, and the last we had back was that Brigadier General Gough's brigade had got as far as Jagdalak, which is about twenty-five miles from here.'
'And you expect him when?'
'We don't know. The Ghilzais have risen in the eastern passes and Gough will have to fight every step of the way.'
'How many men have you here already?' asked George.
'About seven thousand.'
'And the rebel strength?'
'It's hard to say with any certainty, but at least thirty thousand.'
'You can double that number when the Kohistanis arrive.'
'How long have we got before they do?'
'Not long. According to the princess, a joint attack by the mullah and Mir Bacha's men is planned for the last day of Mohurram in three days' time.'
'That soon? Good God!' said FitzGeorge, shaking his head. 'I doubt Gough will be able to get here by then. Is she certain?'
'She's a cousin of Mir Bacha and heard about the attack from the horse's mouth. Ask her, if you don't believe me.'
'I will. I'm just curious as to why she would want to give us this information. I doubt she approves of our presence here.'
'No, she doesn't,' said George. 'But neither does she wish her country to be ruled by the mullahs or even by her cousin. What she hopes for, above all else, is the fighting to stop and us to leave. Her fear is that if we're defeated we will return in force and never leave.'
FitzGeorge cleared his throat. 'She's no fool, is she? And now, I think, it's time for her side of the story. But before we do I'll rouse the chief. He'll want to hear this in person.'
Ten minutes later, by which time George had rejoined Yasmin and Ilderim and was helping them to demolish the last of a heaped plate of mutton and rice, the door opened and in strode the diminutive General Roberts, with FitzGeorge close behind. The general was as dapper as ever, in a freshly pressed uniform with a silver-topped cane beneath his arm. But his eyes seemed to have lost some of their sparkle, and his bushy beard was greyer than George remembered. The strain of the previous two weeks had clearly taken its toll.
'Harper! This is a turn-up for the books,' said the general, without enthusiasm. 'And I see you still have your Pathan guide with you.'
'Yes, sir,' replied George, putting down his fork and gesturing towards Yasmin. 'And this is Her Highness Princess Yasmin, the sister of the former amir.'
'I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Your Highness,' said Roberts, doffing his blue and gold cap.
Yasmin barely nodded in response.
Roberts turned back to George. 'Major FitzGeorge tells me the princess has news of an impending attack. Can you ask her to elaborate?'
George repeated the question to Yasmin in Pashto, and she responded in more detail than he had expected. When she had finished, he turned back to Roberts. 'It seems, General, that a day or two before the attack the rebels will occupy several forts to the east of the cantonment from which they will launch their assault. It will take place during the early hours of the twenty-third, the signal being the lighting of a bonfire on the Asmai Heights by the Mullah Mushk-i-Alam himself. The first effort will be directed against the western end of the southern wall with scaling ladders, but this is only a feint. Once you've shifted the bulk of your forces there the rebels will make their main attack against Bimaru village and the east wall, which they've identified as your weak spot. If that attack is successful they will resume the pressure on the south wall in the hope of crushing us by sheer weight of numbers.'
Roberts's eyes widened. 'She's certain of this.'
'Yes, General,' replied George. 'She heard it from her cousin Mir Bacha, leader of the Kohistani rebels, who has long been in communication with the mullah and his military commander, Mohammed Jan.'
Roberts snorted. 'Well, they may have agreed on a military course of action, but politically they're poles apart. Yesterday we received two separate offers of peace: one from Mohammed Jan, offering us safe passage to Peshawar if we agreed to support the amirship of Yakub's son, Musa Khan, the other from Mir Bacha who says he will accept Yakub's uncle, Wali Mahomed, as amir if we march away without concerning ourselves further with Afghan matters.'
'Is Yakub Khan's son still at large?' asked George.
'Unfortunately he is. When his father went into exile earlier this month, the son was spirited to Ghazni and is now a puppet in the hands of the mullah and Mohammed Jan. They need him, no doubt, to give the new regime a whiff of legitimacy. But their day will never come, and neither will the Kohistanis'. Of course I sent both messengers back with a flea in their ear. Do they take me for a fool? The last British general at Kabul to do a deal with besieging Afghans was Elphinstone in forty-two, and look what happened to him.'
George was only too aware that Elphinstone's army of sixteen thousand soldiers and civilians had been cut to pieces in the eastern passes as it tried to withdraw to India, while the genera
l himself had died in captivity. 'What of the rebels' battle plan, General?' he asked. 'Does it make sense?'
'Yes,' replied Roberts. 'It's a good plan, and it might succeed because our position here is not uniformly strong. Major FitzGeorge will explain.'
'What the general means is this,' said FitzGeorge. 'The cantonment was designed as a huge defensive square that should have taken in the Bimaru Heights to our north. But when we arrived in early November, only the south wall and part of the west wall had reached the required height of sixteen feet with bastions to provide flanking fire. The east wall was just seven feet high and finished well short of the heights, while the northern wall hadn't even been started. Since then we've tried to plug the gaps by constructing earthworks along the crest line of the Bimaru Heights and connecting them to the ends of the eastern and western walls with ditches, wagon laagers and wire entanglements. We've also loopholed Bimaru village and built a wooden stockade in front of the lower east wall. But it's far from impregnable, and the rebels are right to identify the east wall as our weak point.'
'Is there anything we can do to make it stronger?' asked George.
'Not in the time available,' said Roberts. 'I've already assigned the bulk of my best troops to the east wall, including the Guides and the Twenty-Eighth Punjab Infantry. I can move a couple more regiments there tomorrow, and strengthen the reserve, which I've placed in the depression at the centre of the Bimaru Heights so that it can move rapidly to either one of the most vulnerable sectors. But I have to be careful. I've only got seven thousand men to guard a perimeter of eight thousand yards, and that's not enough. What I wouldn't give for the arrival of Gough's brigade before the battle. But that doesn't seem likely, though we're daily urging him on.'
'What about artillery pieces, General?' asked George.
'Twenty-six field guns, most of them nine-pounders, and two Gatlings. They're spread around the perimeter with four in reserve.'