Bayonets Along the Border (13 page)

‘He has been telling them to go across Border and preach jihad, that means …’

‘Oh, I know what it means. Do go on.’

‘Sorry, sahib. They go across in many numbers to start holy war against British. One mullah, very strong man, very good preacher, they say, has recently left to raise tribes that have not so far fought against British.’

‘Ah, interesting. Well, the sooner we leave and get back to the Punjab the better. Thank you, Inderjit. What you have found confirms the Viceroy’s fears. We leave tomorrow.’

They were interrupted by the arrival of a trooper, who spoke in dialect to the
daffadar
and handed a letter to him. Inderjit passed it on to Simon. ‘From the Amir, sahib,’ he said. ‘It just arrive this minute.’

‘Strange. I only left him half an hour ago.’ He broke the seal and read the following, written in a strong, forward-sloping hand and signed by the Amir:

Fonthill crushed the letter in his hand, clenched his fist and put it to his mouth. Ten thousand men against the Khyber Pass forts – and Alice was in the first of them! He turned to Inderjit Singh. ‘Please find Captain Appleby-Smith and ask him to report to me immediately. Tell him it is urgent.’

‘Very good, sahib.’

Simon straightened out the letter and read it again. The Amir must have known about the planned attack on the forts all along but had written this letter as an afterthought after pondering Fonthill’s implications that he was linked to the mullahs’ activities. His warning obviously was an attempt to curry favour with the Viceroy. The old devil!
Ten thousand warriors!
Would the forts – particularly the Landi Kotal, the first they would reach if the Afridis came from the west end of the Pass – be able to hold out? He bit his lip.

Appleby-Smith came bustling in, his face very red and the veins
in his nose standing out sharply. Had he been drinking or merely sleeping?

‘Clarence,’ he said, ‘I have ended my business with the Amir and have just received news that an attack is about to be launched on the Khyber Pass forts in great force. We must hurry there. We must leave this afternoon.’

Frowning, the captain shook his head. ‘Oh, that would be very difficult, I fear. I gave the
daffadars
permission to let the men go into the bazaars today, reporting back this evening. I thought that—’

‘Damnit, man. Never mind what you thought. That was a stupid thing to do. This is hostile country. Individually, our men will be vulnerable to attack in the crowded bazaars. Can you recall them immediately?’

‘Well, I am not sure, I—’

‘Get them back. Send out the
daffadars
to round them up and bring them back. At least they won’t have been drinking. I want us on the road by 3 p.m. at the latest.’

‘What? That would be diff—’

‘DO IT! Lives are at stake. Go man. NOW!’

Once inside the fort, Alice followed Captain Barton up steep stairs to the little room that had been allocated to her. Thanking him, she threw her bag onto the trestle bed, waited for him to leave, then hurried out onto the battlements to catch one last glimpse of the column as it wound its way to the west. She was just able to see Simon, a small and distant figure, sitting upright in the saddle in the midst of the troopers, before a bend in the road took them out of sight.

She rested her chin on the stone rampart, closed her eyes and let her troubled thoughts run free. Why, oh why, did she and her beloved husband keep putting themselves in harm’s way? What were they doing in this strange, barren and brutal country, anyway? And why couldn’t she have stopped him from undertaking this ridiculous mission – not so much putting his head into the tiger’s mouth as pulling it shut on his neck?

Turning her face to the hot sun and leaning back, Alice speculated on how much she loved Simon Fonthill. If only they could have had a child, if only the good Lord had allowed that single pregnancy of so many years ago to reach fulfilment, then their son would be now – what? She calculated quickly: twelve years old. A big, strong lad with a taste for rugby football and maybe hunting and Jenkins would have taught him how to catch trout by tickling them with his fingers …

If he had lived, their lives would have been so different. The boy would have made demands on them, of course, he would have had to receive a good education, like his father, and there would surely have been other children. Events would have taken such a different course – no adventuring with Cecil Rhodes, no rushing to respond to this silly invitation to a birthday party on the edge of nowhere. Just a conventional acceptance of their responsibilities as parents in this age of Victorian family fealty.

Or would they? She smiled, letting her head fall back in the gap of the castellated wall and allowing herself the rare luxury of taking in the hot sun on her skin for a little longer. No. They could never have settled for that sort of prosaic life, children or not. They had adventure in their blood, both of them, and the call had to be answered. The Empire, this strange accumulation of foreign lands by people from a small island off the coast of mainland Europe, was the place to answer it.

Her lip curled. The Empire. The
British
Empire! So beloved by the jingo press and the Tory party and usually portrayed by cartoonists as some mystic combination of a lion and a bluff old John Bull. But what was it? No more than a collection of other people’s countries invaded by the British army over the last three hundreds years, serviced by the
British navy in that time and exploited by British merchants at the expense of their indigenous inhabitants. Oh, how she hated it!

And now it could be about to break up her precious marriage.

She twisted and looked back up the Khyber Pass towards where Afghanistan lay somewhere over those mountains. They – she and Simon and, of course, Jenkins – had tempted fate for so long that sooner or later she knew that it would catch up with them. Had the time come now?

Alice pushed herself upright and sucked in the hot air. Stupid to think of that just because she and Simon had been parted again. He could look after himself, and where he might fail there was always Jenkins. Better, much better, to get on with her work. It’s time she looked round Fort Landi Kotal. She prided herself on the wealth of detail in her reports. Now, she must make notes.

It was, indeed, an impressive bastion. It completely commanded the road, so that it could halt invaders coming from the west and provide safety to travellers along it. The trouble was that it was overlooked by the hills climbing up behind it. But then, she shrugged, it would have been impossible to have found a cleared, flat piece of land at this end of the Khyber. And it was strongly built, with castellated ramparts and a huge, single, iron-studded door that it would take heavy artillery to break down. Yes, Fort Landi Kotal seemed quite impregnable.

So Captain Barton confirmed that evening over dinner, a delicious stew, whose provenance Alice had trouble in defining but which was of no importance, so flavoursome was it. She found to her surprise that he was the only European officer in the fort and that he messed with the
subedars
, the Indian officers; four of them, a cheerful, handsome bunch, all bearded and with flashing teeth. Although respectful, they
were not above engaging in mild flirtation with her and Alice enjoyed that.

What, she asked of Barton, were the tribal affiliations of the soldiers of the Khyber Rifles?

‘Oh, they are all locals, all Afridis, from along the Khyber,’ he said. ‘All raised by Sir Robert Warburton, the political officer here, who, alas, is now on retirement leave. We shall miss him.’ He looked along the table at the grinning faces, ‘Particularly these chaps and, indeed, all the men of the regiment, for they all respected him.’

‘Indeed,’ Alice spoke quietly now. ‘But I remember that the Afridis from this area were a great problem for General Roberts in the Second Afghan War. They harried his troops at every stage, if I remember aright.’

Barton nodded. ‘So I believe. But Sir Robert has been able to keep them quiet for the last sixteen years or so. No trouble at all with them. And, of course, they make perfect soldiers, you know. Cheerful, hard-working, good with weapons and brave, very brave. Of course, it helps that the Afridis of the Pass have been given an annual subsidy of goodness knows how many rupees to keep the road open. It has certainly paid off, but Warburton has been the key. He is almost an honorary Afridi, you know.’

‘Really.’ Alice made a note on her ever-present writing pad. ‘As you know, we met some trouble in the north – Malakand and all that – which seemed to have been inspired by some kind of mullah, who preached fire and brimstone along the valleys and persuaded so many of the tribesmen that they would reach Paradise if they attacked the British troops. You’ve had no sign of that sort of trouble along here?’

‘No.’ He paused for a moment and his face took on a slight frown.
‘However, it is true that my spies tell me that a new mullah has, it seems, arrived in the hills further west and is attempting to spread the same gospel. But I hear that General Blood has cleared up things beyond Malakand and I should be very much surprised if rebellion takes hold in this area. The Afridis along the Pass are too used to having their annual pension handed down to them. And there is the influence of Warburton, too, of course, although he has gone now.

‘However, as I explained to you and your husband, I have taken precautions in the form of replenishing our supplies and ammunition. We could withstand quite a siege here, if we had to, don’t worry. We are in a far better position than the forts along the Pass towards the Punjab end. At Masjid they have no proper water supply and Maude is overlooked, even more than we are here. But we are all interdependent to some extent and reinforcements would soon come our way if we are seriously attacked.’

Alice scribbled away. ‘And I presume you send out patrols?’

‘Oh yes. There is no way we could be taken by surprise.’

Putting down her pencil, Alice directed at Barton one of her most winning smiles. ‘It would be fascinating, Captain, for me to go on one of those patrols. You know – to pick up the atmosphere, a sense of the discipline and routine and so on. Would you be kind enough to arrange this?’

Barton smiled back. ‘Alas no, madam. I really could not allow that. You would not only be in danger but you could impair the safety of the patrol. In these troubled times, these chaps have enough to do to look after themselves, let alone a white lady of some distinction. I am sorry.’

‘Ah well,’ Alice let her beguiling smile slip into a comradely grin. ‘It
was worth a try. Although I am not all that distinguished, I must say.’

‘Oh, but you are. I remember reading your reports about the Second Afghan War in the
Morning Post
when I was a cadet at Sandhurst. It’s an honour to have you here.’

Alice nodded at the compliment. ‘You are far too kind, Captain – but not in reminding me of my age.
Really
, a lady must have her secrets, you know.’

Barton blushed. ‘Oh, I say. I didn’t mean to—’

‘Don’t apologise. I was just joking. Now,’ her pencil reappeared ‘do tell me how many men you have here.’

The next two days presented more cloudless skies and hot sun. Alice strode around the fort and studied the soldiers’ routines and found one or two who could speak English – particularly one, rather elderly
havildar
(sergeant), who came from a nearby village and was proud that his son was serving with the regiment and in the garrison. She also took note of the firing sight lines from the surrounding hills and was a touch depressed to see how overlooked the fort was.

At the end of the third day, she had written a colourful, pen picture of life in this fort on the far corner of the Raj – and then wondered how she was going to fill the rest of her time until Simon returned. It would be terribly dull, she reflected that evening, sitting on her favourite spot on the firing step on the ramparts, if she was not allowed to step outside Fort Landi Kotal to go into the hills. It was, of course, oppressively hot still. Was it the heat, she reflected, as she studied the guards on duty, or was there an air of unease amongst the men? They seemed, somehow, restless and even sullen – an unusual trait among the Afridis she had met so far. Perhaps the men, too, had now become rather bored, like herself. She shrugged.
The sun, of course, and the monotony of garrison life.

The next day just before noon, Captain Barton knocked on the door of her room. He took off his helmet and perched on the little chair by her dressing table as she sat on the bed.

‘Bit of bad news, I’m afraid,’ he said.

She sat upright. ‘Not about Simon?’

‘No, no. And it might be rubbish. But one of my spies has just come in from the surrounding villages. It seems that the people around here are agog with the news that a mullah from Afghanistan – the one I mentioned to you the other night, his name is Sayyid Akbar, a real troublemaker by the sound of it …’

Alice grabbed her pencil and wrote down the name. ‘What about him?’

‘Allegedly he is raising the tribes all along the valleys up the Khyber and he is on his way here with a force numbering more than ten thousand men to attack the forts along the Pass. We, of course, could be the first one to be hit.’

‘How reliable is this information, do you think?’

Barton wiped his brow with his handkerchief. ‘Oh, pretty reliable, I think. This man has never got things wrong before.’

‘What will you do?’

‘I have telegraphed the news to Peshawar to my commanding officer there and have requested that he send me reinforcements, particularly mountain guns. The Pathans hate these.’

Alice scribbled away and looked up. ‘Well, Captain,’ she said with a level smile, ‘I was just becoming a teeny bit bored. It looks as though there will be no fear of that.’

He gave an answering grin. ‘No. They will undoubtedly have a go
at us. But they will bounce off the walls of this fort, I can tell you that.’

‘And you can trust your men, of course – if the neighbouring people join in, they sound as though they will be fighting their own people.’

‘Yes, but it has always been thus. My chaps won’t break and run. I can assure you of that.’

‘Well, that’s good to hear. Please keep me informed. May I use the telegraph to cable a story back to Peshawar?’

‘I’m afraid not. If and when these chaps arrive the line will undoubtedly be cut and I must keep it open until then for military purposes, you understand.’

‘Of course.’

That afternoon, Alice scribbled a story in cablese ready for despatch as soon as the line became clear. Then, as an afterthought, she rummaged among her belongings and extracted the Webley revolver that Simon had left with her. She cleaned it with a piece of rag and made sure that it was loaded, with six cartridges. Then she placed a small box of ammunition nearby.

She looked out of her small window at the hills and gulped. It had been a long time since she had been in danger without Simon by her side. Ah well. She put the revolver down on the dressing table. If she
would
wander down places like the Khyber Pass to the very edge of the Empire . . !

Early the next morning, Barton knocked on her door again. ‘I am most sorry,’ he said. ‘But my CO has ordered me to ride immediately back to Jamrud to report. It is only about twenty miles back up the Pass and if I push hard I should be back in a couple of days. Now, do come with me, if you wish, but I warn you that it will be a hard – a
very hard – ride, so I would prefer it if you stayed here because I must set a fast pace and you would almost certainly be safer here. There is no sign of the Pathans approaching us yet and I should be back with reinforcements before they do.’

‘Ah.’ Alice put a hand to her mouth and immediately regretted this sign of weakness. ‘Of course I shall stay. I must be here when Simon returns. Who will be in command while you are away?’

‘The senior
subedar, Subedar Major
Marshal Akbar Khan. He’s a first-class man. You can rely on him. But I must ask you, ma’am, to follow his instructions if we do come under attack. However, I am sure that won’t happen before I get back. Now, you must excuse me please, for I must leave.’

‘Of course. Good luck, Mr Barton.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

Alice climbed back up to the battlements to watch the captain and his escort of three men, gallop away to the east. She looked down on the inside working of the fort: guards mounted high on either side of the open gate, pacing back and forwards, almost nonchalantly; a cook coming out of the cookhouse, as though to smell the air; a small group of off-duty riflemen, sitting in vests playing cards. Everything seemed quiet and in order. And yet … she sensed that she was sitting on some sort of powder keg. Why was that man on the other side of the battlements, hardly moving, but staring intently to the west? Why was the fort, housing all these men, so strangely silent? Why had she let herself be left here, the only woman among 370 Afridis?