Treachery in Tibet (25 page)

‘Thank you,’ Alice whispered through dry lips. Her tongue now felt as though it had swollen to fill her mouth. ‘Do you have any … any water?’

‘Ah yes. I think of that.’ The interpreter adjusted his spectacles and fumbled in a little bag he carried and produced a small earthenware jar, removed the stopper and held it to Alice’s lips.

Greedily, she gulped until the precious water ran down her chin. Carefully, the little man wiped it. ‘They intend to leave you to hang like this without water or food for, I think, two days,’ he whispered. ‘I think this terrible thing to do, so I come back and tell the jailer that I had been sent to … what is the word? Ah yes. Interrogate you. So he let me in. Look I bring little meat and bread too. Can you eat?’

‘Yes.’ Alice licked her lips. ‘But can you cut me down first? This is very … it is very painful.’ She cursed inwardly as she felt the tears slip down her cheeks again.

‘Oh, ah, I am very sorry. But cannot do that. General would kill me if I interfere with his punishment. I am sorry. He probably kill me anyway, if he know I am here now, with food. Here, take a little bread with our butter.’

Alice shook her head in frustration. ‘I am very grateful. But can’t you possibly do something … find something to put under my feet? The pain is very, very strong. Something to take the strain away, you see.’

The interpreter pushed his pince-nez back up his nose and looked around the cell. ‘Ah yes,’ he muttered, ‘but nothing here.’ Then: ‘Ah, yes. I think I see little stool outside. I get it. But be quiet now. Jailer must not hear.’

He was away for what seemed like hours to Alice, but then he returned, carrying a little three-legged stool. ‘It was in corridor,’ he said. ‘I steal it. I hope it is not missed. Here … I lift your legs.’

He did so and, at last, Alice was able to stand, flat on her heels. The relief was immediate and sent from heaven, but she staggered on the precarious platform as the strain was taken from her calves and
she lost her balance. The little man had to hold her for a moment.

‘Oh, thank you, so much,’ she gasped. ‘That is such a relief. Is there … do you have … any more water?’

‘Yes, of course. Here.’ He lifted the jar and she drank again. ‘I think I could take a little bread and whatever you have now,’ she said.

He fastidiously took out meat from his haversack, then two pieces of bread, and placed the meat within the bread and held it to her lips so that she could eat. Alice munched away as best she could, hungrily now, for she had not eaten since the porridge and milk given to her, what? Probably twenty-four hours ago.

‘I am very grateful to you, sir,’ she said eventually. ‘Pray tell me your name.’

The interpreter gave her a wan smile. ‘Oh, madam. I do not think it relevant to give you my name. I am just glad to be of some small assistance to you. I teach at one of the monasteries here. Unfortunately, the General took me away from this work to interpret for him here. Although,’ his smile widened a little, ‘perhaps that was fortunate for you.’

‘Oh, it certainly was.’ Alice’s voice dropped and became full of concern. ‘Tell me, do you know if they have found Sunil, the Tibetan youth who came with me to Lhasa?’

‘No, I do not. The soldiers go to get him but I do not know if they find him.’

‘Oh, I hope to God they do not. Tell me also, do you know how many jailers or soldiers are posted here in this prison?’

‘Yes. It is used also as a kind of barracks, I think. But it is really small building and has only one jailer, I think, but about ten of the
Khampas, who act as General’s bodyguards, live here. General lives in Governor’s house, a little way up street.’

For the first time for hours, Alice felt a little ray of light open up in her mind. Only ten guards …! Perhaps, if Sunil returned with her handgun, she could … Then despair descended again. How stupid of her to think that! The guards would almost certainly find Sunil and … She frowned in agony at the thought of them torturing her splendid, brave companion.

The interpreter looked over his shoulder. ‘I think I must go now because jailer get suspicious.’ He held up the jar. ‘More water?’

‘Yes please.’ She took several sips, carefully this time.

He replaced the stopper. ‘There is a little left. I hide this in straw in case they cut you down and you can reach it.’ He tucked it away. ‘I go now, lady. I hope they cut you down soon.’

Alice raised her eyebrows. ‘Not as much as I do. Thank you, whoever you are. You have been kind.’

He nodded and the little smile appeared from behind his pince-nez. ‘It was good to practise my English. I learn it in Calcutta, you know.’

‘Yes, er, how interesting.’ She tried to smile but couldn’t. If he was going to stay and chat, why the hell couldn’t he cut her down! ‘Goodbye, and thank you again.’

He bowed, carefully put away the paper in which he had brought the bread and meat, tucked it in his bag and walked to the door, obviously left unlocked, and was gone. Alice sucked in her breath. Would her keeper notice the precious stool and take it away again? But he did not bestow a glance on her, shutting the door with a clang and locking it.

Alice sighed and then inhaled quickly as she remembered that
the interpreter had said that the Khampas were going to leave her hanging for two days …
two days!
Thank God the stool was making her position less of a torture. But,
two days
…! How much time had passed since the General’s visit? She had no idea and she wished she had asked her little benefactor. She screwed her head around to try and look up at the window. Was the light fading? Yes, almost certainly. So perhaps, Sunil would come soon? Ah no! He was almost certainly captured and was probably being tortured at this very moment … Two days! She shook her head in confusion and frustration. Her sense of time had slipped away completely. Perhaps there would be only one more day to go. Perhaps.

She must have slipped again into some sort of sleep for she jerked awake suddenly. What was it? Someone calling? It came again: ‘Memsahib, are you still there? Memsahib?’

‘Oh, thank God. Sunil. Is that you?’

‘Yes, miss. I keep calling but you don’t answer. I thought they take you.’

‘I am sorry. But, dear boy, the Khampa soldiers went to get you. Did they not find you?’

A note of pride came into the youth’s voice now, almost scorn. ‘Ah no. They clumsy people. Aunt hear them coming and she hide me in grain store with my rifle. They do not find me, but …’ His voice tailed away.

‘Yes, Sunil. Go on.’

The boy suddenly sounded much younger, as though the years had suddenly been torn away from him. He went on, but his voice was hardly above a whisper and Alice had to strain to hear him. ‘I wait in grain store for long time. Then I creep out, with rifle, ready to
shoot Khampas. But I find only bodies of my uncle, my aunt and my cousins. Khampas kill them all. Take off their heads with their swords.’

Alice realised that Sunil was sobbing now and, aching and hitherto conscious only of her own pain, her heart went out to the boy.

‘Oh, Sunil. I am so sorry. I really am. I … I … it is all my fault. I am very, very sorry.’

‘Don’t worry, miss.’ Sunil’s voice was stronger now. ‘I have my rifle. I give you little gun through window and then knock on door of jail. When man comes, I shoot him, get key, let you out and then we run.’

Alice thought quickly. She had promised that when he came she would have a plan. But the events of the past few hours had confused and jumbled her mind. She had no plan – but she quickly resolved that Sunil should be exposed to no more danger.

‘Ah. I think not, my dear boy. Now, listen carefully.’

‘Yes, memsahib.’ He sounded disappointed.

‘Do you happen to have your knife with you – you know, the one which I gave you and which folds?’

‘Yes. I never go without it.’

‘Good. Now, if you look up to the bars on this window you will see that a rope is wound round one of them. Can you see it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you think you could climb up and cut through the rope. It is attached to my wrists, you see, and I am virtually hanging from it. It is very painful.’

‘Oh goodness! I kill them for that.’

‘Thank you, but can you get up to the window?’

‘I look. It dirty street here. Full of rubbish. I have to find something to stand on. Back in moment.’

‘Ah, please don’t be long.’

He was not. Within three minutes she felt the rope tighten as his knife blade was hooked under it as it bent around the bar and he began to saw. Then he had severed it and Alice tottered for a moment on the stool and then fell headlong. The fall winded her but the relief on her arms and shoulders was wonderful. She lay for a moment, savouring it.

‘Memsahib. You all right?’

‘Yes, Sunil. From now on you will be known as Sunil the magnificent.’

‘Yes. Good. You want gun now?’

‘Yes, please. Toss it through and then lower it.’

He did so and then the cord was returned so that he could attach the little box of cartridges to it. This too was then thrown through and then lowered.

‘Now, you load gun and then I go and shoot guard. Yes?’

‘No, Sunil.’ Alice stood with her back to the wall under the window and carefully loaded the gun. She spoke to him as she did so. ‘There are eleven men – one jailer and ten soldiers – who live here in this building. As soon as you fired your rifle they would be upon you. Then we should both be killed.’ She looked up at the window.

‘Can you hear me?’

‘Oh yes. I hear you.’

‘I want you to listen carefully and do exactly as I tell you. Do you still have your pony?’

‘Yes, I hide it in the gulley where you wait for me when we first arrive. Khampas take your horse.’

‘Splendid. Now I want you to go from here now – don’t waste any time – find the pony and ride back the way we came. If you go on that main road, ride fast and don’t get into trouble at all, you will eventually meet either Fonthill Sahib, coming to look for us, or the vanguard of the army. I think it will be my husband first. Explain to him exactly what has happened and bring him here.’

‘What you do now, then?’

‘Don’t worry about me. I will be all right now that I have my little handgun. But I cannot hold out here for very long, so you must go quickly. Go now but take great care, Sunil. My life depends upon you.’

‘You sure? I can kill all the soldiers with my rifle. Jenkins bach says I am good shot.’

‘Yes, I am sure. Go now. And thank you, Sunil. You have been my saviour. Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye, miss.’

She heard what she thought was a stifled sob, then all was silent in the cell again. Alice held the cold steel of the handgun to her cheek for a moment, as though for reassurance, and sat on the stool, deep in thought. She had absolutely no idea what she would do next, but two things were important: to get Sunil out of danger and to alert Simon about what had happened to her. With luck, Sunil’s ride could accomplish both things.

She worked the mechanism of the gun to slip a cartridge into the barrel. It was a snub-nosed automatic French Chamelot-Delvigne of eleven millimetre calibre, but Alice handled it with affection. She had
first come across the little weapon when she was in Egypt, covering the invasion of that country in the early 80s and had been lucky to have found one now in India. It was very small and useless at long range. But it could kill a large man at short range – and she had a large man very much in mind now as she slipped the little weapon into the pocket of her riding breeches.

She fumbled amongst the straw to find the jar of water, drained it and then lay on the straw and eased her aching shoulders. Now all she had to do was wait …

Following his talk with Jenkins, Simon strode away, his mind in a whirl, to find General Macdonald, his titular superior. Of course, he must ride after Alice – but how long had she been gone? He stopped for a moment to think. The first note from her had been delivered, what – five days ago? He could not remember and he had thrown the scrap of paper away long ago. It would take her perhaps two days to reach Lhasa, so she would now have been in Lhasa for, say, three days. Long enough to get into trouble!

He had to follow her, of course, but how? Just he and Jenkins? No, they would need at least someone to interpret for them. So, what – take a company of the Mounted Infantry? No. Too many. It would seem like they were invading Lhasa, and it would take time for such a party to prepare to ride out. Better, perhaps, to take ten good men, plus an interpreter and Jenkins, of course. Even a wounded Jenkins was better than no Jenkins at all. He strode on.

He found Macdonald inevitably checking a list of supplies. Patiently, Simon explained the situation and asked permission to leave the column to ride into Lhasa and find his wife. The General removed his cigarette and regarded Fonthill through the drifting blue smoke.

‘You’re not proposing taking the whole of the Mounted Infantry with you, are you? I couldn’t allow that, you know. They’re too valuable. We might be attacked again.’

‘No. Nothing like that. I thought just ten picked men: enough not to cause a disturbance when we enter Lhasa but enough to fight off any casual trouble we encounter.’

‘Very well. But you’d better check with Younghusband about going into Lhasa ahead of the main column. If you get into trouble, it could upset his diplomatic approach to the lamas.’

‘Very well. I will go now.’

If he was expecting a ‘good luck’, then it did not come. The General replaced the cigarette between his lips and returned to his column of figures. Younghusband, however, was much more animated.

‘Good God!’ he exclaimed. ‘Gone off on her own? Whatever did she expect to achieve?’

‘I’m damned if I know. But she is headstrong and brave and won’t shirk danger. I must go after her.’

‘Oh dear.’ Younghusband frowned. ‘I quite see that, old chap, but I was rather planning to enter the capital, er, peacefully, you know. Coming to negotiate, without further fighting and so on.’

‘Well, I don’t intend to inflame relations. That’s why I will take just ten good men from the Mounted Infantry to come with me and we will do our best to enter the capital quietly, without fuss or further fighting.’

‘Hmm. Where will you look to find her?’

‘At this stage, I don’t know. But she has taken the Tibetan youth with her. I seem to remember him saying that he had relations near Lhasa, perhaps there is a clue there. I doubt if she could just march up to the monastery where the government sits and demand entry. To start with, she would not know where to find it.’

‘Quite so. Well …’ Younghusband drummed his fingers on his trestle table. ‘Under the circumstances, I can’t stop you going. But, my dear fellow, I do beseech you to take great care with what you are about. You must not upset the lamas at this late stage and prejudice my negotiations. And, on the other hand, you will be entering a hornet’s nest and, with such little protection, you could be in great danger. You have done magnificent service on this campaign and I would hate to lose you, not the mention the great 257.’

‘352, actually, Commissioner.’

‘Ah yes. I am much better at poetry than numbers.’ He stood and extended his hand. ‘Go off, then, Fonthill, and take whatever will help you. Most of all, take great care. Good luck to you. Bring back your wife.’

Within the hour, Ottley had been reinstated as commander of the Mounted Infantry in Fonthill’s absence, ten troopers including a
daffadar
had been recruited as escort and Frank O’Connor had supplied a Tibetan who could, of course, speak the language, and who had proved a loyal servant to the column since its entry into his country. With a still-bandaged Jenkins at his side, Simon led his little band out of the camp and along the riverbank towards Lhasa.

He had been careful to ensure that the group did not go out of
its way to attract attention. The Mounted Infantry, of course, did not wear uniform, as such, just their
poshteens
and bound leggings. No riding boots or pennanted lances. On reflection, he had selected only Gurkhas as his escort. Their high-cheeked, Nepalese features and their small stature gave them a Tibetan look and he ordered that their small, distinctive pillbox hats should be left behind. He could not expect them to be taken for Tibetan soldiers, for the Tibetan army contained little cavalry, but at least they would not stand out as sore thumbs in this strange country.

They rode hard, without posting outriders, and made camp well after dark. Fonthill was up well before dawn and fidgeted as breakfast and coffee were prepared.

‘No good ridin’ in on an empty stomach,’ growled Jenkins. ‘Either we’re goin’ to fight the whole of the Tibetan army with just ten men, or we’ll get lost in this big city, ponce around for days and then get arrested for loiterin’ with intent. Either way, it would be good to ’ave somethin’ in our bellies, look you, before we ’it trouble.’

The sun had hardly crept above the jagged peaks before the little party was in the saddle again. Simon judged, by the number of little shacks that had begun to appear stretching away on either side of the road, that they must be nearing Lhasa. What to do when they reached the city? The question had dogged him since they had set out. Where to go? The interpreter they had brought with them had been picked up many weeks ago, near the Indian border. He had never been to Lhasa in his life and had no idea where the great monasteries and seat of government were sited.

He was deep in thought when the
daffadar
he had sent on ahead
came galloping back. The Gurkha reined in amidst a flurry of dust. ‘Firing up ahead, sahib,’ he said.

Fonthill frowned. ‘What sort of firing? Did you see anything?’

‘No, sahib. It was some way down the road. I thought it better to come back and report immediately. But I recognise the sound of a Lee Metford and perhaps musket shots. But not many men.’

‘A Lee Metford!’ He turned to Jenkins. ‘Sunil had a Lee Metford.’

‘Yes. And he could use it, too.’

‘Right. Let’s go and take a look.
Daffadar,
you stay here with the troop and come up when we call.’

Cautiously, Fonthill and Jenkins set their ponies to the trot until they, too, could hear the sound of shots being exchanged, round a bend in the road. They tethered their horses to a bush and crept forward and peered round the edge of a boulder at the roadside.

At first they could see little, except puffs of smoke rising from three separate positions, behind rocks on the left-hand side of the road. Up a slight slope to the right they could see the body of a pony lying in a cluster of stones and someone lying behind it. It was from here that the distinctive crack of the British Lee Metford came.

Jenkins squinted his eyes to focus. ‘I reckon that’s old Sunshine,’ he muttered.

‘Damn!’ exclaimed Fonthill. ‘I’ve left my binoculars tied to the saddle.’

‘Don’t need ’em. That’s the lad all right. And I’d say ’e’s in a spot of trouble.’

‘God! Can you see any sign of Alice?’

‘No. I think ’e’s on ’is own.’

‘Right. We’ll go back and bring up the troop and ride down whoever is firing at him. Come on.’

Within minutes, they had rejoined the troop. Fonthill raised his voice and explained the situation. ‘We will advance at the trot and, at my command, we will charge at the men on the left of the road who are firing. They could be Khampas, so use your kukris. Right. To the front, trot.’

At the bend, Simon stood in the stirrups and drew his sabre. ‘Troop will charge!’ he shouted. The thirteen riders swept round the bend and thundered down the road. As they neared, Fonthill could see that it was indeed three Khampas who had taken shelter behind rocks on the left and were firing at the lone figure up the hillside.

On seeing the riders, however, the three immediately turned and fled, dodging between the rocks, their distinctive long hair flowing behind them. They reached a point where they had left their own ponies and, throwing themselves into the saddle, they set off down the road towards Lhasa.

Fonthill turned his head and shouted. ‘
Daffadar.
Ride down those men and kill them. Do not enter the city, but return here.’

‘Sahib!’

The troop swept past Simon and Jenkins, their kukris raised and their eyes gleaming. Even the interpreter drummed his heels into his pony’s sides bringing up the rear but as intent on catching the fleeing Khampas as the soldiers.

Fonthill reined in, cupped his hands and shouted up the hillside. ‘Sunil. Is that you?’

A thin voice replied. ‘Yes, sahib. I am very glad you come.’

‘I bet you are, lad,’ shouted Jenkins. ‘Are you wounded?’

‘No bach, but I am very tired.’

Simon threw himself off the saddle, threw the reins to Jenkins and shouted, ‘Stay there. I am coming up.’

Within seconds he was crouching beside the boy, who attempted to stand beside his stricken horse, but his trembling legs would not let him. Fonthill put his arm around Sunil’s shoulders and held him close. ‘You are all right now. Where is Alice?’

The boy wiped his brow with a dirty finger, further smearing cordite across his face. ‘She all right, I think. When I last see her.’

‘When was that and where?’

‘About eight or nine hours ago, I think. She in jail in Lhasa.’

Simon’s eyes widened. ‘In jail! But thank God she’s still alive. Now, see if you can stand and we will walk down and join Jenkins. I don’t want him scrambling up here. He has been wounded.’

‘Oh, I am sorry.’

‘He can still fight, so don’t worry. Save your breath until you get down there. I presume your pony is dead?’

‘Oh yes. Khampas kill him.’

‘Right, tell me your story when we get down. We will see if dear old 352 can brew some tea while you tell your story and we wait for the troop to return. By the look of the Khampas’ old nags, I would say that they would have caught up with them by now.’

‘Yes, good. They bad men.’

Slowly, Sunil related how he and Alice had found his uncle, of the old man’s betrayal of them and of how he had been able to find Alice, cut her down and throw her the gun. Then, as instructed, he had run back to find his pony, mounted it without delay and ridden through the outskirts of Lhasa seeking the main road back towards
the river. Unfortunately, however, in the darkness he had become lost and shortly before dawn he had ridden past a Khampas guard post on the edge of the city. They had glimpsed his rifle and shouted at him to stop. He had galloped away and somehow had stumbled on the main road ahead. But, dog-tired, just as dawn was breaking, he had pulled his mount off the road a little way up the hillside, tethered his pony where he hoped she could not be seen from the road and lay down to sleep awhile before continuing his journey. Unfortunately, however, the horse had dragged her tether and been seen by the Khampas, who had mounted their own horses to pursue him. He awoke to find them climbing towards him.

‘There were four of them,’ he said proudly, ‘but I seize my rifle and kill one.’

‘Good lad,’ murmured Jenkins.

‘The others ran back down the hill and began firing at me. They only have muskets but they were Khampas, so they could shoot. They kill my horse so that I could not escape.’ The boy hung his head. ‘I thought I was dead. I was so glad to see you charge in.’ He looked up. ‘I wondered if you would come.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Fonthill. ‘We came all right. Now we must find Alice and free her.’ His voice lowered. ‘You say that she was tied up to a bar in the window. Had they … had they hurt her, do you know?’

The youth’s teeth flashed. ‘A little bit, I think, but she sounded very strong. She tell me what to do, exactly.’

‘Thank God for that. Do you think you can find the jail again?’

‘I think so, now in daylight.’

‘How far are we from the city?’

‘About five miles or less. I wander a bit in the dark.’

‘I’ve made some tea,’ said Jenkins quietly. And he handed out two steaming tin cups.

Sunil grabbed his and began drinking noisily. Then they all looked up as the clatter of hooves on the stony road announced the return of the troop. The
daffadar
held up a bloodstained kukri.

‘We find them, sahib. They dead now.’

‘Well done,
Daffadar.
They deserved that. Dismount and see if you can find brushwood and make tea. We can take a break now, I think. I know now what we must do.’

‘Very good, sahib.’

The three sat in conference, while Jenkins – ‘I knew I should ’ave brought three cups’ – shared Simon’s tea.

‘Now, Sunil,’ asked Fonthill, ‘is the prison in the heart of the city?’

‘No. I think it on the outskirts, towards where my uncle lives, er, or used to live.’

‘Good. Did Alice tell you by any chance how many soldiers or guards were stationed in the prison?’

‘Oh yes. She say,’ he thought for a moment, ‘about a dozen, I think.’

Jenkins nodded his head. ‘Just right. We’re not goin’ to be outnumbered for once. How do you want to play this one, bach sir?’

Fonthill sighed. ‘Well, I am afraid there is only one way. If Alice has her handgun with her then I only hope to God that she won’t be forced to use it. Ideally, we should hide somehow, watch the prison and make a plan of attack. But we can’t afford to do that. Anything could be happening to Alice as we speak. So …’ He forced a grin. ‘We ride straight up to the prison gates, knock loudly and ask if they
can take any more inmates. In other words, go straight in.’

A great grin spread across Jenkins’s battered face. ‘What could be better? I wonder if they’ve got any beer in there. I could do with a sip – just a sip, mind you. After all, I am a wounded old soldier.’

And they all laughed.

After they had mounted, Fonthill addressed the troop.