The Guns of El Kebir (Simon Fonthill Series)

by John Wilcox

  He selected a small roll of Egyptian notes from his valise and took the letter to the reception desk. He waited until the concierge was free and adopted his American accent. ‘May I request a favour of you, please?’

  The concierge, flattered at being addressed in such polite tones by an American, smiled and gave a half bow. ‘At your service, effendi.’

  ‘I would like this letter to be delivered today, by hand, to Stone Pasha, at the Egyptian Army Headquarters here in Cairo. Do you think you can arrange that?’

  ‘Of course, effendi.’

  ‘One more thing. For once I am not staying at Shepheards but with friends here in Cairo. As this is a personal matter, I do not wish to involve them and so I have asked for the reply to be delivered to me at the hotel. Now, would you be so kind as to hang on to that reply until I call in for it in, say, a coupla days’ time? Here’s my card.’ And Simon presented his card wrapped in the bundle of notes.

  Without looking at the notes, the concierge gave his half bow again. ‘Of course, effendi. It will be a pleasure . . .’ he looked at the card, ‘Captain Williams . . . er . . . the Second.’

  Chapter 5

  Stone’s reply came with pleasing celerity, if couched curtly: I can make no promises but call on me at 3 p.m. the day after tomorrow, Wednesday. I can give you five minutes.

  Simon and Jenkins used the intervening time to walk the streets of Cairo, absorbing the atmosphere in the alleys and bazaars. During their previous visit they had been aware of a certain underlying tension between Europeans and native Egyptians, caused, Simon had presumed, by the control over the state’s finances exercised by the French and British ‘commissioners’. That muted enmity had been expressed with surly glances and frowns. Now, however, the tension had heightened and was manifested, as in Alexandria, by muttered curses and the occasional jeer or expectoration. The most obvious change was the presence of so many Egyptian troops in the city. Colonel Arabi had moved at least a couple of his regiments into town, and the unaccustomed favoured status bestowed on them by their leader – the troops were almost all low-born fellaheen, like Arabi himself – had given them a self-confidence bordering on arrogance. When off duty, they now swaggered rather than walked through the crowded streets. Seeing a group of whitecottoned young men approaching, Simon and Jenkins would stand deferentially aside. The city, Simon was now sure, was on the verge of revolt. The pressure could almost be tasted in the air, along with the bad sewage and the dust.

  As the time came for his interview, Simon became increasingly uncomfortable. So much for his posturing to Wolseley about not acting as a spy! Here he was, adopting a false identity and wrapping himself in a festoon of lies, to extricate military information from a senior officer. How mendacious could one be! Even Jenkins was disapproving.

  ‘You’ll be found out, as sure as God made little apples,’ he warned. ‘If an American tried to pretend to me that he was Welsh, I’d know. An’ what if ’e’s from the same bleedin’ regiment, eh? Knows the Colonel an’ all that. Then where will you be?’

  Simon sighed. ‘It’s a risk I’ve just got to take. I think Stone has been here for some time, trying to build the Khedive’s army, so I must just hope that’s he’s out of touch with things back home. In any case, I can’t just walk up and ask him what I want to know. I must have some reason for quizzing him. I’ve got no choice.’

  He decided to forsake his white ducks and dressed for the interview in his travelling clothes of flannel shirt, khaki cotton trousers and wide-brimmed hat. It was, he felt, what an ex-American officer knocking about Africa would wear. He was proved right.

  Stone was a tall, bony man with a wide moustache. The glance he gave Simon as he stood behind his desk with outstretched hand seemed almost to be one of approval. ‘Envy you not having to wear damned uniform, collar and tie and all that, in this infernal heat,’ he said as they shook hands. Simon, who had decided to adopt a southern accent because it was the easiest to assume, was relieved that the General’s clipped tones were undoubtedly those of the northern states. It would have put him in double jeopardy to face a man who knew the south.

  ‘Sorry, General,’ said Simon. ‘I’ve bin travellin’ kinda light.’

  ‘Take a seat, son. Tell me what you want of me.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Well, as I explained in my note, I resigned my commission ’bout six months ago because I wanted to see the world, you know? Thought that South Africa might offer a bit of excitement – Zulus an’ all that. But I got there too late for the Zulu campaign, an’ what I saw of the British Army I didn’t like too much – all that brass-polishin’ an’ salutin’ – even if they’d have accepted me for somethin’ like a bit o’ scoutin’, which they wouldn’t anyways. So after doin’ a bit of huntin’ an’ . . .’ he attempted a wan smile, ‘spendin’ all my money, you know . . . I knew back in the States that you’d bin setting up the Khedive’s army for him, an’ recruitin’ ex-officers from home, so I thought I’d try my luck up here. I’d like to know if it’s possible to take somethin’ like a short-service commission, maybe. What d’you think, General?’

  Stone looked at him coolly. ‘Can I see your passport, son?’

  Simon’s heart dropped for a second, but he had anticipated this. ‘Now damme, sir. Sorry. I’ve left it back in Shepheards with my discharge papers an’ all. Precious stuff. Didn’t wanna walk through the streets with all that documentation with the city in the state it’s in just now. But I can drop ’em in here later today if you like.’

  ‘We can see about that later. You say you were in the 7th Cavalry. Where are you from originally?’

  ‘Texas, sir. Sam Houston’s town. My folks had a bit of a ranch just outside town. Flat country. My daddy raised longhorns, sir. I was born in the saddle’ (Oh the lies, the lies!) ‘so I wanted to join the cavalry. Missed the Little Bighorn, o’course, because I was still at West Point, but got in later, when they was recruitin’ after the massacre when we lost the General an’ mostly five companies. P’raps I wouldn’t have gotten into the 7th if’ en it hadn’t been for the Sioux an’ Cheyenne an’ what they did on that day in ’76. No, sir.’

  Simon shifted in his chair and wondered if he was overdoing it. But Stone seemed convinced – or almost.

  ‘Who was your commanding officer when you got into the 7th?’

  ‘Well, sir.’ Simon took a deep breath. This was the kind of questioning on detail he had dreaded. As a young subaltern he had studied Custer’s tragic campaign against the Indians and before the interview he had dredged his memory for fragments to give his story verisimilitude. ‘After we lost General Custer there was a great inquest, you’ll remember, sir. Major Reno got most o’ the blame for the massacre, but I can’t help feelin’ that was a touch unfair. Anyways, when I got in, Mr Reno was commandin’ us, on a kind o’ temporary basis. After that we had a succession o’ gentlemen in command. Back in the hotel I’ve got a reference from my last commandin’ officer, Colonel, er, Bennet, which I can show you, sir.’

  Stone wrinkled his brow. ‘Bennet, Bennet. Don’t recall the name. Where’s he from?’

  Simon plunged on. ‘He was a southerner too, sir, so maybe you wouldn’t have known him. Joined the army just after the war and did real well, sir.’

  ‘Hmmm. So you’re a Johnny Reb, eh?’ But the tone was not unfriendly.

  ‘Guess so, General. Though, o’ course, I was far too young to have fought. Just as well, I guess. But we’re one country now, sir, ain’t that so?’

  ‘I guess so, son.’

  Simon decided to take the initiative before he plunged into any deeper quagmires. ‘Mind if I ask you a coupla questions, sir?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  Simon breathed an inward sigh of relief.

  ‘If I could get into this here army, I would wish to be a cavalryman. But I guess these Egyptians don’t have no cavalry much, do they, General?’

  Stone frowned and looked almost offended. ‘That’s not so, Williams. I’ve worked hard on
building a fine body of cavalry for the Khedive. There are more than twelve regiments of cavalry now and I reckon they’re as fine as any set of men on horseback anywhere in Europe. They can ride horses or camels, depending upon the terrain, and they’re damned good at what they do, particularly in terms of reconnaissance.’ His face relaxed into a smile. ‘Although perhaps not quite as good as your 7th.’

  Good! He was accepted! ‘Is that so, sir? Gee! Would I fit in? Any Americans servin’ as officers, or are they all Turks?’

  The General shook his head. His face had become animated now, and it was clear that talking of the army he had virtually created appealed to his vanity. Simon knew that the Egyptians had performed badly in their recent war in Abyssinia. This was a rare chance for Stone to extol his troops’ virtues. ‘The Yankees I enrolled after the war were mainly for training purposes and they’ve virtually all gone back to the States now. But we’ve trained up the Turks to become first-class squadron and troop leaders – probably the best in this part of the world. They would fight for Egypt because it’s part of the Turkish empire. If you’ve served in the 7th, that means you can ride and shoot, and there could be a place for you if you could pick up the lingo.’ His face wrinkled again into a frown. ‘But there’s one problem I ought to put to you before we go any further.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I don’t know how long you have been in Cairo, but you will know that the political situation here is unsettled, to say the least.’

  Simon nodded, putting his face into earnest mode.

  ‘These are difficult times.’ Stone pulled at his moustache. It was obvious that he was unsure how much to tell this young man. ‘There is a growing movement throughout the country against Turkish occupation and, with it, the support that the French and the British give to Constantinople. The fact that the British now control the majority shareholding in the Suez Canal is a particular cause of unrest here. There have been demonstrations against the Europeans and they may get worse – particularly in Alexandria. It just could be that the French and the British will invade.’

  ‘Gee! How would they come in, sir?’

  ‘Almost certainly from Alexandria and then down the railway line to Cairo. But if they do,’ Stone Pasha allowed his features to relax into a grim smile, ‘they will get a bloody nose. Colonel Arabi is erecting some damned good defensive positions on that route and even the mighty British Army could get a shock.’ The smile gradually faded away. ‘But the point is that, if you joined the Khedive’s army, you could end up fighting against the British and the French. How would you feel about that, son?’

  Simon shrugged. ‘Well, sir, it’s only just over a hundred years since we were fighting the Brits. It wouldn’t worry me too much if I had to ride at ’em – particularly if your cavalrymen are as good as you say they are. But General: wouldn’t the Brits come up the Canal way, from the south?’

  Stone shook his head. ‘Doubt it very much. They’d never get down the Canal from the north before we blocked it. One dredger sunk in the right place would do the trick. And if they invaded from the south, they’d have to bring troops from India and we would have plenty of advance warning to do the same down there.’

  ‘But General, this wouldn’t be like fightin’ tribes of Indians out on our western frontier. The Brits have good artillery. You would need some pretty damned good ordance to match ’em, wouldn’t you?’

  The General held up a dismissive hand. ‘We’ve been buying from Krupp for months now, ain’t no secret really. The Germans have been delivering with great speed and we are well equipped with the latest and best cannon.’ He smiled. ‘As you can imagine, old Bismarck is only too delighted to do anything to embarrass the great British Empire.’

  ‘Ah can see that, sir. But tell me. What sort of man is this Colonel Arabi? I guess he’s in charge now and not you?’

  Stone’s eyes veiled for a moment, and Simon sensed that perhaps all was not well between the new head of the Egyptian army and the experienced mercenary who had built it. But he smiled again. ‘Interesting fellow. He’s a fellaheen himself, from peasant stock in the south. And he looks it. Big man. Not exactly elegant. Got promoted to colonel quickly by Said, the old viceroy, who was well intentioned towards the fellaheen, but his successor, Khedive Ismail, was not, so Arabi got stuck as colonel for sixteen years.’

  The General waved his hand. ‘Then it all got terribly complicated. With the abdication of Ismail, Arabi’s stock rose and fell with the appointments of various ministers of war. But he’s a good orator and he began to gather the support of the fellaheen. I guess he wants the Turks out, a lessening of foreign influence and a new constitution. Anyway,’ the hand waved again, ‘he’s now Minister of War and virtually controls the country.’

  Stone’s smile held for a moment and then slowly faded as he realised that perhaps he had been indiscreet. ‘Very well, son,’ he said. ‘I reckon that’s enough. You get yourself off to your hotel and let me have something that backs up what you’ve told me, and I’ll consider what I can do to help. Now you’d best be on your way, because I have much to do.’

  He rose and Simon took his hand. ‘Sure am obliged for your time, sir,’ he said. And he meant it.

  Back at the hotel, Simon told Jenkins what he had heard and then began drafting a second cable to Wolseley. It read:

  AUNT ADA DEFINITELY PLANNING TO MEET YOU ALEX STOP SUEZ PROVING BEST FOR HOLIDAY IF YOU AVOID HORRIBLE FAMILY STOP ADA’S CHILDREN HAVE TWELVE HORSES CAMELS AS WELL AS GERMAN TOYS SO HOLIDAY SHOULD BE FUN STOP AM TRAVELLING ALEX STOP COUSIN SIMON

  Jenkins read it over. ‘So we’re goin’ back to Alexander, then. Why?’

  ‘First, I don’t want to be around when Stone finds out there isn’t really an Ethan Williams II. But the main reason is that I have a feeling Alexandria is where trouble could break out and I want to be around when it does. Also, if Wolseley is given the job of invading, and if he decides to take my advice – though I am sure he has many other sources of information – he will land a force at Alexandria and pretend to advance from there, thus tying down a large section of Arabi’s forces. Then, if he handles it smoothly and quickly, he could send a second force to take the Canal and advance on Cairo the easiest way, from Ismailia. I want to be in Alex when he arrives. And, anyway,’ he shrugged his shoulders, ‘there’s very little we can do by staying on in Cairo, other than keeping our heads down to avoid Stone.’

  The cable duly delivered to the ubiquitous Mr George, Simon returned to the hotel to find Jenkins deep in conversation with Ahmed, over a large whisky and an orange juice respectively.

  ‘’Ere, bach sir,’ called Jenkins. ‘Old Amen ’ere ’as a sort of proposition.’

  Simon’s heart sank. Had Jenkins been indiscreet?

  ‘Perhaps, effendi,’ said Ahmed, ‘we could go to your room to discuss? I get another whisky first, this very, very minute.’

  ‘No whisky, thank you – oh well, perhaps just a small one. Bring it along and we will talk.’

  As soon as the two of them were alone in Simon’s room, the latter whirled on Jenkins. ‘What have you been saying to him about why we’re here?’

  Jenkins held up a hand. ‘Nothin’, bach sir, I promise. But whatever ’e thinks we’re up to, ’e wants to be part of it. ’E wants to come with us, wherever we go, see.’

  ‘Oh lord! We can’t have—’ Further discussion was ended by the arrival of Ahmed carrying probably the largest small whisky ever seen in Cairo. He was a diminutive man, even shorter than Jenkins, and much slimmer. His hands were finely shaped and his fingernails delicately manicured. That element of fastidiousness was present in his narrow, high-cheekboned face, for his small moustache was always well trimmed. He wore the anonymous dress of most Arabs, a loose white cotton garment, the glabya, gathered at the waist by a cord and worn outdoors under a voluminous burnous or hooded cloak. He had been of service to Simon and Jenkins on their last visit, and his brown eyes now glowed with excitement as he set Simon’s drink before
him.

  ‘That’s a bit big for you, bach sir,’ murmured Jenkins. ‘P’raps I can ’elp you with it, like?’

  ‘I can manage, thank you, 352. Now, Ahmed. What can we do for you?’

  Ahmed ignored the chair Simon offered him and instead sat cross-legged on the floor. ‘Well, effendi,’ he said, leaning forward, ‘I understand that you engage yourself again in highly important, very special, confidential work for government, et cetera, et cetera. Yes?’

  ‘Why do you ask, Ahmed?’

  ‘When you last graced my very fine but really very humble hotel, you wished me to find you Arab clothing and camel train to take you across desert to Suez. And I did that, with my brother Mahmud, did I not?’

  ‘You certainly did, and we were very grateful.’

  ‘Thank you. It was pleasure. In the desert you fought the robbing Bedawis and, as result, Mahmud has no more trouble with them. Wonderful!’

  ‘Well, we were glad to help.’

  ‘Now, I want help you.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Ahmed, but I’m afraid—’