Bayonets Along the Border (9 page)

Fonthill sighed and rubbed his forehead.

‘Not bad news, I trust, sir?’ enquired Buckingham.

‘No. not exactly.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘Well, probably, I suppose. But you must excuse me, Duke, for I have another letter to read.’

‘Of course, sir. I shall retire. Call me when you need me.’

Simon unfolded the copy of the letter to the Amir and began to
read. It opened with a brief description of the bearer, emphasising that he was a man with a wide experience of warfare and diplomacy (Fonthill raised an eyebrow at this latter reference) throughout the Empire and held the order of the Companionship of the Bath – a high honour bestowed by the Queen-Empress on him for his services to the realm. He had been entrusted with delivering the letter to the Amir because of the importance of its contents. The Viceroy then expanded a well-modulated argument, outlining the treacherous nature of the uprisings that had taken place at Chitral, in the Tochi Valley and at Malakand and of the role of the mullahs in fermenting jihad in the valleys.

The British army in India, he continued, was well capable of putting down the rebellion but it trusted its good friend, the Amir, not to give aid of any sort to the Pathans occupied in fighting the British Raj across the Amir’s border. Such aid could extend the conflict unduly and would, of course, bring the Afghanistan government into a state of open warfare with Great Britain, so undoing the years of amicable friendship that both sides had worked so hard to create.

It ended – to Simon’s surprise – with a reminder that the previous Viceroy had only recently supplied the Amir’s agent in Peshawar with a gift of 5,000 Lee-Enfield rifles as a ‘mark of his confidence in Your Highness’. The present Viceroy had every trust that that faith would be maintained in these ‘more trying times’.

Fonthill put down the letter with a sigh. With trouble imminent – witness the attack on Chitral two years before – why on earth would the then British Viceroy give 5,000
of the latest
British rifles to a potential enemy? If bribery was needed, why not offer rupees, less instantly convertible into weapons of aggression?

He folded his letter and its enclosure and carefully placed them inside his jacket, called Buckingham and, with a non-commital handshake of thanks to the Commissioner, the two walked back to the hotel. On the way, Simon kept his own counsel and let the young subaltern restrain his obvious curiosity. He had some hard thinking to do.

Alice, of course, had no doubts about how he should reply.

‘For God’s sake, Simon,’ she snorted. ‘It’s ridiculous to expect someone whose knowledge of India and Afghanistan is nearly two decades out of date to undertake this task. You must refuse, of course. Plead old age, influenza, curry stomach or whatever. But you can’t go. Apart from anything else, it will be terribly dangerous. You will be putting your head into the lion’s – or rather the tiger’s – mouth. Surely you must see that?’

Fonthill thought for a moment. ‘Dangerous?’ he repeated eventually. ‘Well, it looks as though anywhere along the Border just now is likely to be dangerous, although things seem comparatively quiet in the south – and, particularly along the Khyber Pass, which is the route we would have to take to Kabul. As I understand it, the Waziris, whose lands line the Pass, possess reasonably good farmland which they wouldn’t want to risk and many of them are ex-sepoys who equally wouldn’t wish to risk their pensions. As for the Amir, I doubt if he would lift a finger, either openly or surreptitiously, against an envoy of the Viceroy. So I think we ought to be safe enough.’

Jenkins had joined them and had sat listening intently.

Simon turned to him. ‘What do you think, 352?’

The Welshman sniffed. ‘It’s up to you, bach sir. You know that. But if it’s a peaceful postin’ I wouldn’t object. Me shoulder’s still
achin’ from firin’ that Lee-Metford, so I wouldn’t be too anxious to go chasin’ a Victoria Cross again just yet awhile. But, either way, if you go, then I go with you.’

‘And so do I,’ said Alice, with conviction.

‘Ah.’ Simon shook his head. ‘Now, that would be out of the question, my love, and you know it.’

‘And why, pray, should it be out of the question? Is this the “feeble woman” argument again? That is tosh and you know that.’

‘I can’t think of a less appropriate description for you, Alice. No. There are two strong points against you accompanying us. The first is that you know how Muslims consider women to be second-class citizens – no, don’t object. Hear me out. For me to bring my wife with me on this mission would be to portray myself either as a rather weak object who could not bear to travel without his spouse or as someone who has seriously misunderstood the purpose of the journey, making it a sort of social occasion.’

Alice opened her mouth to interrupt but Simon held up his hand and continued. ‘The second reason is more important. You are now a working journalist, known to be reporting on the situation out here for one of Britain’s leading newspapers. To take you with me would seriously compromise my position as the Viceroy’s envoy on a confidential mission for him.’

A silence fell on the gathering.

Alice sniffed again. ‘So,’ she said eventually, ‘you mean to go?’

Simon shrugged. ‘I don’t see how I can refuse, to be honest. That
cri de coeur
at the end of his letter – “your country and Queen-Empress need you” – is a bit emotional and penny dreadful, I suppose. The bloody man is blackmailing me, of course. But, to be equally sentimental, I
must answer the call.’ He put an imaginary bugle to his lips and blew a ‘tataa-ta-taa.’

They all smiled.

Alice’s face now set in firm lines. ‘Very well, my love,’ she said. ‘I will do a deal with you.’

Fonthill frowned. ‘What sort of deal? Now don’t be frivolous, Alice. This is serious.’

‘And so am I. I won’t insist on coming with you to Kabul. But I wish to come part of the way.’

Simon’s frown deepened. ‘What do you mean, “part of the way”?’

‘You said yourself that the route to Kabul is through the famous Khyber Pass. You also said that the Pass is quiet …’

‘For the moment.’

‘Very well. But there are three fairly new-built forts that have been erected along the Pass to protect travellers and that are, by the sound of it, formidable constructions – much more capable of being defended than that sprawl of an encampment at Malakand that, despite the presence of you two, resisted the attack of thousands of Pathans.’

Simon ignored the jibe. ‘Yes. Sooo?’ He drew out the word suspiciously.

‘Sooo. I will come with you to the furthest point of the Pass where the largest of the forts is situated – it’s called Landi Kotal. You can leave me there and I should be completely safe within those great walls. I fancy the idea of writing a feature for the
Post
on what life is like garrisoning a fort on the very periphery of the Empire. Dull, perhaps, but not the way I would write it.’ She grinned. ‘And then you could pick me up on your return from Kabul and we could all go climbing in the Hindu Kush.’

The two ignored a groan from Jenkins.

Fonthill levelled a grim stare at his wife. ‘And you would promise that you would not do anything stupid like trying to follow me to Kabul?’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

Simon looked across to Jenkins who grinned and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Very well. But don’t you dare go looking for trouble.’

‘And I could well say the same to you, my love. Now. When do we leave? I really must wash my hair.’

‘Well, Fortescue must send us his squadron, I suppose, first. Our way will not take us past Marden. And I would like to telegraph the colonel and ask that Buckingham and his troop are included in the escort. They might fancy a break.’

‘Ah, what a good idea. And Inderjit too, of course?’

‘Of course. He is the troop’s
daffadar
.’

Fonthill cabled his acceptance of the Viceroy’s request to Simla, keeping the message simple but giving no details of the request, to ensure confidentiality: ‘Honoured to be asked. Answer is yes, of course.’ Then, after consulting Buckingham, he telegraphed to Fortescue asking that the subaltern’s troop should be included in the escort and set about preparing for his journey.

The travelling and holiday garments that had been suitable for the long voyage out and serviceable in the mess at Marden and even at the Malakand
abbatis
would not do, he felt, for the demands of an Amir’s court, so he set about finding something in Peshawar more suitable for an envoy of the Viceroy. He settled for a formal dark-blue dress coat and narrow trousers, with the Maltese Cross depicting the order
of the Companionship of the Bath, normally worn on a ribbon round the neck, fixed firmly to the jacket. It would, he felt, look a touch more viceregal there. A smart red sash completed the look of a diplomat who would stand no nonsense.

They found a facsimile of the Distinguished Conduct Medal to be worn by Jenkins (he had long since lost the original) on a smart warrant officer’s dress tunic. Fonthill felt that, as a representative of the Viceroy of India, he had every right to promote Jenkins on the spot – while pointing out to him that, alas, a regimental sergeant major’s pay did not come with the jacket. He persuaded, for 100 rupees (roughly £6.10s.), the armourer at the army barracks to clean and grease his and Jenkins’s rifles and revolvers and also replenish the ammunition they had expended so lavishly at Malakand. A cavalry officer’s sword was added to Fonthill’s kit, to give his mounted presence more military authority.

A pair of trustworthy and beautifully groomed army mounts provided by Commissioner Udny at Peshawar completed the more substantial elements of the provisions for the journey as the eighty-two men of the second troop of Guides sent from the Guides’ depot at Marden arrived, to complete Fonthill’s escort of a squadron, one hundred and sixty-four men in all.

Buckingham was standing with Fonthill as this second troop arrived. His face fell noticeably as the smartly attired men jingled towards them.

‘What’s the matter, Duke?’ asked Simon.

‘Ah, er, nothing important, sir.’

‘Come along. I couldn’t help noticing. You seem disappointed to see your lot arrive. I was told a full squadron was needed, you know.’

‘Yes, of course. It’s just … well … I really shouldn’t say this, sir, but as you are not actually in the army and we’ve, er, got along so well so far, if I may say so, I might perhaps confide in you. I’m afraid I don’t get along frightfully well with the chap who will command the squadron.’ He nodded discreetly to where a tall, heavily moustached officer was dismounting. ‘Captain Appleby-Smith, sir. Not quite my cup of tea, I’m afraid. Forgive me if I say nothing more.’

He sprang to attention and saluted smartly as Appleby-Smith approached. The salute was returned casually to acknowledge Buckingham and then the captain gave a half-deferential nod of the head to Fonthill.

‘Good day, Mr Fonthill. Appleby-Smith, sir. Good to see you again. I have the honour of commanding your escort to Kabul.’

Simon extended a hand and examined the captain carefully. The man was, of course, older than Buckingham by perhaps ten years and slimly built, with the cavalry man’s rather bowed legs. His countenance was the walnut-brown of an old Indian hand but rather more ruddy than most. And red veins coursed down the nose which hung over the great moustache. Fonthill had met him, of course, in the Guides’ Officer’s mess at the depot, but they had spoken little, for Appleby-Smith had remained rather out of the circle of officers who had cheerfully mingled with Simon, Jenkins and Alice, during their time at Marden. Almost, Simon remembered, as though he resented their presence.

The two men shook hands and the captain gestured towards a Guides’ subaltern who strode smartly towards them.

‘This is Lieutenant Dawson,’ he said. ‘He will be second in command of the squadron.’

Handshakes were exchanged again with Dawson, a rather plump young man, with a pleasant, open countenance, some two years older than Buckingham.

Fonthill turned and introduced Jenkins, who had been standing deferentially to one side.

‘Ah yes,’ drawled Appleby-Smith, ‘367, or something like that, isn’t it?’

Jenkins favoured them both with his face-breaking grin. ‘Ah, bless you bach, no. Good try, though. It’s 352, as a matter of fact.’

There was a faint intake of breath by the captain at being addressed so informally but he and his second in command exchanged handshakes with Jenkins cordially enough.

‘Delighted to have you escort me,’ said Fonthill. ‘Have you been to Kabul before, Captain?’

‘No. Can’t say that I have. Bit of a dump, I should imagine.’

Simon shook his head. ‘Well, no. It’s a long time since I was there but I remember it as being rather unusually beautiful. Nestling beside the river with lots of flowers and fruit orchards in the outskirts.’ He turned to Jenkins, anxious to demonstrate both his comrade’s status and their joint experience. ‘Wouldn’t you say, so, 352?’

‘Ah, yes indeed, bach sir. Almost as pretty as Rhyl, look you.’

Appleby-Smith lifted an eyebrow. ‘Really?’ he responded faintly. ‘How interesting.’

Fonthill decided to introduce business quickly. ‘When will you be ready to leave, Captain?’ he asked. ‘I presume you will need perhaps a day to prepare for the journey?’

‘Two days, I should think, Mr Fonthill. We have to provision ourselves adequately for the ride.’

‘Ah yes.’ Simon allowed a faint frown to cross his face. ‘Very well. May I suggest that we leave, then, shortly after dawn on the day after tomorrow?’

‘Very good … er … sir. We shall parade shortly after 5 a.m.’ He turned to Buckingham. ‘I presume you are ready to ride, Buckingham?’

‘Yes, of course, sir.’

‘Good,’ affirmed Fonthill. ‘By the way, my wife will accompany us for part—’

‘What?’ Appleby-Smith’s tone was peremptory, his astonishment and disapproval quite clear.

‘Yes.’ Simon replied quietly but firmly. ‘We will go via the Khyber, of course, and we will leave her at the fort at Landi Kotal. She has work to do there. And then, of course, we will pick her up there on our return.’ His tone hardened. ‘I presume you have no objections?’