A Kind of Courage

by John Harris

  ‘How about her belongings?’

  ‘Not much, sir. The sort of stuff we all cart all over the world. They had an auction. Everybody was pretty noble. It raised quite a bit.’

  ‘How about Charlotte Pentecost? How’s she taking it?’

  ‘Haven’t seen her lately, sir. I thought you—’

  Cozzens shook his head. ‘I know her too well,’ he said. ‘And she blames me for Hahdhdhah. I don’t think she’d welcome a visit from me.’

  ‘I’ll get my missus to call on her, sir.’

  ‘Tell her to make it as accidental as she can. I don’t think she’s the sort to welcome an official visit – even by your wife.’

  ‘I’ll do that, sir.’ Steyne hesitated. ‘You’ll have heard, sir, about the Khaliti chopper pilot?’

  Cozzens looked up, aware that something unpleasant was coming. ‘Go on,’ he said.

  ‘His body’s been returned, sir.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘The Palace, sir. It was found in the road outside. Nobody knows how it got there.’

  Cozzens felt his heart sink. ‘Go on, Steyne,’ he said. ‘I’m sure there’s more.’

  ‘Yes, sir. He’d been beheaded.’

  Cozzens was silent for a moment. ‘Seems to show that the Hejris are in touch with our terrorists, doesn’t it?’ he said after a while. ‘But it makes sense, because it was the Nationalists who pulled the Dharwa tribes over and closed the passes. Things aren’t getting better, Steyne, despite what they try to say in London. They’re getting worse.’ He sighed and reached for his spectacles. ‘Let’s get down to that bloody report. Let’s see if we can’t concoct something that’ll let ’em know quite firmly what sort of political stew Tafas has stirred up without sounding as though we’re whining.’

  2

  Staring over his suffering capital, Sultan Tafas tried not to think of the young Khaliti he’d forced Yani to send north.

  They had been kind to him when they told him but he knew what the boy would look like. What the northern tribes did to their enemies was common knowledge, and explained why the Toweidas were always unwilling to exchange blows with them.

  As he thought about the incident, it occurred to him – as it had occurred to Cozzens that, to get the body down to the Palace in a matter of four days, there had been liaison between the terrorists in Khaswe and their traditional enemies, the Khusar tribes. There was a saying that when the Khaliti and the Hejri slept in the same bed it was time for the Sultan to watch out, and he began suddenly to see what it meant.

  He stared again from the window, noticing that there was a new pillar of smoke hanging over the city near the sea. He was still angry after his last interview with Cozzens. Cozzens had clearly not been enjoying his job and both of them had become blazingly angry.

  ‘How did this man Gloag get up to Dhafran?’ the Sultan had demanded. He was a keen televiewer and knew all about Gloag and was particularly sensitive to the pictures Gloag had drawn of him. ‘I gave instructions that newsmen were not to be allowed on the frontier.’

  ‘There are always ways and means in Khalit,’ Cozzens had said coldly. ‘Men take bribes.’

  ‘He is insisting that we mount a rescue attempt. I’m told he has a lot of influence in England.’

  ‘Not with the Government, sir.’

  ‘The people are the Government,’ Tafas said, and Cozzens’ expression had indicated that he was about to laugh in the Sultan’s face. But Tafas had not equated his comment with his own actions and had gone on angrily. ‘And he is persuading them that you should mount a relief column.’

  ‘My instructions, sir,’ Cozzens had said quite firmly – and Tafas had known he was squirming under the stupidity of the whole thing ‘—are that within the terms of the treaty, the word “Khalit” does not mean the disputed frontier.’

  The argument had seemed to go on for hours. Tafas was still boiling with rage. With both himself and the British holding off, the Hejris had gained control of the Toweida Plain as far south as the Dharwa Passes and only Pentecost stood between them and consolidation. And any moment now he expected to hear that the Muleimat had rejected the yearly subsidy he sent them to guard the Tasha Pass.

  If only Cozzens would accept that what Gloag said was correct! Even though Gloag’s reasons for wanting troops on the Toweida Plain were different from the Sultan’s the end would have been the same. If only his officers were more experienced, he thought heavily. But warfare had never been a profession among the Khaliti and they would have been no match for the tribes from the north. The relief column Gloag was demanding, though it was demanded only for the rescue of Pentecost, could be enough to frighten off the northern tribes long enough for the elusive oil, which would solve so many of his problems, to be found. But it required a force stronger than Tafas could manage with his commitments in Khaswe, and he turned away from the window to stare gloomily at a map on the desk. Then, unexpectedly, unbelievably, he felt he saw the solution. If the British wouldn’t take care of the frontier, he would do it, and the British could look alter Khaswe. That was the treaty and they’d promised they would abide by it.

  As a solution it seemed incredibly simple. He would withdraw every single Khaliti soldier from Khaswe and send them up to reinforce Wintle at Dhafran. It would mean an unholy row with Cozzens and there’d be a great deal of radio activity between Khaswe and London. But he could always answer that, since within the treaty the British wouldn’t take care of his frontier, he would have to do it himself and leave Khaswe – still within the treaty – to the British. That would set them scraping the barrel in London and there’d be fresh British troops in Khaswe within forty-eight hours. They’d been telling him for ages now that Hahdhdhah was his affair. Very well, he would make it his affair, and let the British have red faces over the possibility of losing Khaswe. It was a calculated risk because the British, in their present mood of disillusionment, might just refuse and then the trouble might prove too big for all of them put together. But it was worth the risk, and would keep the Toweida Plain – and its oil – for Tafas.

  He picked up the telephone and asked for Yani.

  3

  The news of the Sultan’s decision was given out on Radio Khaswe that evening. Charley Pentecost heard it with a mixture of disbelief and delight. She was so sceptical about it she rang Steyne’s wife to make sure it was correct.

  Mrs Steyne was an inveterate gossip and was only too willing to discuss it.

  ‘I’ve hardly had time to talk to Frank about it yet,’ she said. ‘I’ve been getting Estelle Griffiths and her family off, and you know what it’s like when you have to get an escort to the airport. One grows so sick of seeing a Saladin just behind you if you want to go anywhere.’

  ‘Penny—’ Charlotte brought her back to the point firmly ‘—Tafas says he’s sending the whole Khaliti army. All of it! What happens in Khaswe if he does?’

  ‘Frank says some of those people at home who thought this lot up’ll have to pull their fingers out pretty smartly. He seems to think that old villain in the Palace’s been a bit cute. He expects a couple of companies of Marines in on the very next plane.’

  ‘Penny—’ Charlotte could hardly speak for her delight ‘—I can’t believe it!’

  ‘I can.’ Mrs Steyne chuckled. ‘Frank came home still shuddering after getting it straight in the face from Teeth and Trousers. Tafas has thrown the ball right back into his court.’

  4

  Whatever Cozzens thought of the Sultan’s decision to send a relief force to Hahdhdhah, Wintle at least was delighted at the news.

  He had been in a grim mood, occupied with trying to find sufficient serviceable lorries to pass his men through the Tasha when the time came. It wasn’t easy, because the country was so bare they would have to carry all food, water and ammunition, as well as their own petrol. And it was pointless mounting a small column that would only be driven back. If the Tasha Pass changed hands, as it was rumoured it might, a halted vehicle would onl
y ask for trouble. A column stopped in the Dharwas was a column in grave danger.

  The news from Khaswe had changed all that, however, and gave him hope. He sent for Gloag at once.

  ‘Mr Gloag,’ he said, and Gloag could see he was fairly dancing with excitement, ‘we’re going in to fetch Pentecost out. I take it you want to come with us?’

  Gloag grinned. ‘My God, I do!’ he said.

  ‘Right.’ Wintle rubbed his hands together. ‘You’d better get yourself ready then. How about equipment? Is there much?’

  Gloag grinned. ‘Not more than we can carry.’

  ‘Keep it as small as you can. We’re short of lorries. I’m scraping the barrel all the way from Afarja to Khowiba and south to Haraa.’

  ‘Who gave the OK?’

  ‘Tafas.’

  ‘He did?’

  ‘He’s decided that Whitehall can look after Khaswe and he’ll look after the frontier. And he’s got London by the short and curlies again because they’ve stated quite categorically that that’s their policy. He’s given ’em forty-eight hours. They’ll do it.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘As soon as the first Khaliti units arrive we can start assembling our column and head north.’

  Ten

  1

  For some time now, they had been kept awake at night by drumming from the direction of the stables, by shouting, and by serenades on a particularly lacerating instrument that sounded like an out-of-tune horn.

  Since Minto’s injury and Lack’s death, Pentecost had begun to rely a great deal on Beebe, Zaid Fauzan and the sergeants, and as they listened to the racket going on from the direction of the stables, they discussed the reason for it in his office.

  ‘Think it means an attack, sir?’ Fox asked.

  ‘Maybe it’s because some of ’em have left for the passes and it’s to make us think there are more of the bastards still here than there are,’ Beebe offered.

  ‘Could be.’ Pentecost looked worried. ‘Could be something else, too.’

  It was hard to tell what the tribesmen were up to, and Pentecost was unwilling, without Minto or Lack, to take too many risks to find out. But, two nights later, when the racket from the stables had stopped, they heard a keening song in the darkness from the rocks near the side gate, as though one of the Hejris were bewailing the death of a friend. At first the Dharwas jeered, then Fauzan cuffed them to silence and sent for Pentecost.

  ‘Listen, Abassi,’ he said. ‘It’s a message. It sounds like a warning.’

  Cocking his head, Pentecost was able to pick out the Toweida words of the song clearly.

  ‘Oh, my brother, Talal,

  Leave before it is too late.

  Bring your wife, Talal.

  It will soon be too late.’

  Pentecost glanced at Fauzan and then at Fox alongside him. ‘Who’s Talal?’ he demanded.

  ‘Half the Toweida Levies are called Talal,’ Fox said bitterly, as though he’d often found it a problem.

  Pentecost turned to the grim old zaid. ‘Fauzan, find out if any of our Talals has a brother with the Hejri – or a cousin or a nephew.’

  Half an hour later a diminutive Toweida appeared before Pentecost.

  ‘Talal Jad, Abassi,’ Fauzan said. ‘He has a brother-in-law outside.’

  Pentecost eyed the Toweida. ‘Is his wife here?’ he asked. Fauzan nodded and Pentecost stared towards the rocks where the keening had now stopped. ‘They’re obviously going to try something,’ he said. ‘And they’re trying to hide the noise. Pass the word there’s to be no talking on duty. We want to hear what they’re up to.’

  ‘What might they be up to, Abassi?’ Fauzan asked.

  ‘Mining,’ Pentecost said laconically. ‘Under the wall.’

  2

  In the woollen tents in the hills, the feeling of victory grew more marked. Remarkably little success had attended their assaults on the fortress, but the arrival of the Khadari miners had begun to give them all increased confidence, and Thawab stared at Aziz triumphantly.

  ‘Three days, Aziz,’ he said. ‘We blow the mine three days from now. I hope the Hejri men are ready.’

  ‘We are ready,’ Aziz growled. ‘Make sure your Deleimi are taking care of the Khadari miners.’

  ‘My Deleimi have guarded the stables well,’ Thawab said. ‘There’s nothing to fear. The fortress will be ours.’

  He indicated the men behind him and Aziz noticed a small mean-looking man standing among them.

  Thawab caught his eye. ‘This is Rhamin Sulk,’ he said.

  ‘And who in the name of Allah is Rhamin Sulk?’ Aziz snorted. ‘He looks the size of a mongrel and has the face of a rat.’

  The little man with Thawab frowned and his eyes glowed dangerously. Thawab grinned. Aziz’s hasty tongue was always a good ally.

  ‘That is dangerous talk, Aziz,’ he reminded him placidly. ‘Rhamin Sulk comes from Khaswe. He is fighting the battle against Tafas.’

  ‘I have heard of his men. They fight round corners. They are good at shooting men in the back.’

  Thawab grinned again. ‘They will remove Tafas before long. Aziz should remember this. Rhamin Sulk could be a dangerous enemy in the future.’

  Aziz sneered. ‘I am not afraid of Thawab’s assassins,’ he said.

  ‘Rhamin Sulk has come to bring us news. The Muleimat have closed the Pass of Tasha. It is being kept secret. If Owinda-El can be caught in the gorges, they will never recover from it in Khaswe.’

  Aziz was not displeased. With no relief force, there would be no artillery. He had Thawab’s promise. He could still feel he controlled events and, God willing, Pentecost would be in another part of the fort when the mine went up.

  A thought occurred to him and he stared sharply at Rhamin Sulk. ‘If his business is with the Muleimat and the Khaswe assassins,’ he demanded, ‘why is he here?’

  Thawab gestured. ‘He brings greetings from the fighters in Khaswe. They wish us to work for the freedom of Khalit.’

  Aziz glowered. ‘Khalit is not my concern.’

  ‘We are part of Khalit.’

  ‘We have never been part of Khalit,’ Aziz roared. ‘Why otherwise do we fight for Hahdhdhah?’

  Thawab eyed him contemptuously. Aziz knew nothing of the cross-currents of Arab politics or the high visionary enterprise of a twentieth-century alliance. ‘This is a narrow belief, Aziz,’ he said.

  ‘I am doubtless a narrow man,’ Aziz admitted, ‘but I have always been a free man. I do not take orders from men who shoot round corners.’

  ‘You are out of date, Aziz,’ Thawab said softly, Aziz’s discomfiture as heady to him as hashish, and there was an answering growl from the Deleimi. ‘Times have changed. We are no longer tribes. We belong to a great whole. We are as one. We fight for freedom for our nations.’

  3

  The business of keeping silent was difficult, because the Dharwas were a noisy group, always anxious to fool about. For a long time they had even been making a jest of scuttling across the open space between the ramparts, dancing and weaving and even pretending to be hit, and they had always found it a painful business controlling their desire to chatter and gesticulate.

  With no sound to break the stillness, the oppressiveness of the hills grew worse. The dominant note had always been the size and desolation and it always took time to recover from the depression which the stillness and the melancholy of the giant landscape brought on. All the colour was purged away by the glare of the sun so that the view looked as though it were an old faded photograph. Apart from the eagles circling the hills or the occasional vulture hanging in the sky, there was remarkably little sign of life. In the distance, in Hahdhdhah village or in the camp across the road to the south, they occasionally saw groups of people, and now and again, a horseman hotfooting it down the road. Once they saw several of them in the distance across the plain, chasing a buck, which had emerged from a gully, but for the most part Aziz’s men kept their heads down and the landscape was empty, so
that no sound broke the heavy stillness. In the fort, apart from the sentries, everyone was asleep or resting in the shade below the walls, and sometimes the unnatural silence became so oppressive an outbreak of firing and the screech of Owdi’s bugle came almost as a relief.

  Because he had no wish to alarm anyone, Pentecost had not told a soul except Beebe and Fox and Fauzan the reason for the silence, and during a dawn pause in the horn-blowing and drumming and the shouting from the sangars and the stables, Minto appeared, dragging his injured leg between his two improvised crutches.

  ‘God, that hospital,’ he said to Fox. ‘Chap in there’s going round the bend. Says he hears the Great M-Maggot burrowing beneath the soil to drag him away. Bit hysterical, shouldn’t wonder.’

  Fox’s eyes gleamed. ‘Or else he’s heard digging, sir,’ he said.

  He gestured towards the water tower where, as they knew, there was little opportunity to provide flanking fire, and turned to one of the Toweidas nearby.

  ‘Fetch Abassi Pentecost!’

  When Pentecost arrived, he brought Beebe with him and they knelt on the floor of the hospital, their heads to the ground. Beebe looked up.

  ‘The bastards are here somewhere,’ he said. ‘But I can’t tell where.’

  ‘Why not try a stethoscope?’ Minto suggested. ‘We’ve got one.’ Pentecost gestured without tuning his head. ‘Get it, Freddy,’ he said.

  With the stethoscope to his ears Beebe bent again to the earth floor, then he dropped it and bolted for the door. They heard the motor of his lorry start up as he reversed it across the courtyard, and a moment later he appeared carrying a coil of wire.

  ‘I can probably get it to show up on the gravimeter,’ he said. ‘We ought to be able to pinpoint the sonofabitch.’