Chapter 7
They were travelling in the opposite direction from Chakdarra, where most of the enemy forces were concentrated, but they were still in hostile territory. To avoid drawing unwanted attention to themselves, they wore the white robes of the Ghazis over their clothing and wound turbans around their heads. Even from a short distance there was nothing to distinguish them from a roving band of tribesmen riding captured British horses. To help complete the disguise, they carried jezail rifles in addition to their own Martini-Henrys and armed themselves with charras, which like the clothing and the rifles, they had taken from tribesmen killed at the scene of the battle. Mulvaney carefully inspected Andre’s appearance before they set out, and grunted his approval.
'It’ll do,' he said. 'No one will take you for a woman in that getup. Now all we need is to smear a bit o’ dirt upon our faces to darken up our skin, and the lot of us’ll be able to pass as Pathans. '
'Unless anyone gets close enough to see that red hair stickin’ out from beneath your puggaree,' said Learoyd.
They adjusted Mulvaney’s turban and set off down the road to Peshawar. They travelled quickly and made it through the first day of their journey without incident. They stopped to pitch camp in the shelter of a rock formation which would hide them and their campfire. Ortheris boiled some water for tea, and they watched the shadows lengthen as the sun slowly — sank behind the peaks.
'What’ll you do now, miss'' said Learoyd.
'I don’t quite know,' said Andre.
Learoyd nodded, watching as Mulvaney and Ortheris saw to the horses with the help of Gunga Din. Finn was scouting around, looking to see if their position was vulnerable. They could afford to take no chances. They would stand watch in shifts, with the exception of Andre and Din, Mulvaney having insisted that it was work for soldiers. Neither Finn nor Andre were in a position to disagree.
'It was too bad about the Father,' said Learoyd. 'Were you close''
Andre nodded. 'We’d known each other for a long time. He taught me almost all I know. It’s hard to believe he’s dead. I feel as if I’ve lost a relative. It’s the second time that’s happened to me. The first time, it was my brother. I never thought I could feel pain like that again.'
'I know what you mean, miss,' said Learoyd, staring out into the growing darkness, the flames making dancing shadows on his face. 'I lost someone once, my-self.'
'A brother'' Andre said.
'My son,' Learoyd said softly.
'I didn’t know you had a wife,' said Andre.
'I don’t, not anymore,' Learoyd said. 'It was a long time ago, when we first arrived in India. Bombay, it was. There was an outbreak of typhoid. My young son came down with it. I remember sittin’ up with him all night, prayin’ for the fever to break. It didn’t, and he died. My wife never forgave me. She blamed me for havin’ brought them to this godforsaken place, and placed the burden of responsibility for our son’s death squarely on my shoulders. He was just five years old. She went into hysterics and raved at me. After that she became very quiet and never said two words to me. She went back to London. I never saw nor heard from her again. Some time later a piece of paper arrived, in-formin’ me that I wasn’t married anymore, and that was an end of it.'
'You were an officer,' said Andre.
Learoyd looked at her with surprise, as if he hadn’t actually realised he had a listener.
'Enlisted men don’t bring their wives with them,' she said.
'I was a captain in the 4th Dragoon Guards,' Learoyd said. He shrugged. 'It was a long time ago. Ages, seems like.'
'What happened'' Andre said.
'Why am I an infantry private now, you mean' I was broken. I was in a bit of a state after she left me. My commandin’ officer saw me sulking about and drinkin’ too much. I suppose he meant to snap me out of it. Provoked an argument. Told me I was better off without the bloody bitch. It was the wrong thing to say to me, you understand, and the worst time to say it. I thrashed him to within an inch of his life. Took five men to pull me off him, otherwise I’m sure I would have beaten him to death. All things considered, my punishment could have been far worse. Circumstances were taken into account, that sort of thing. I couldn’t remain with the Guards after that. I requested a transfer to an infantry regiment and it was expeditiously granted. As to the pain, well, it subsided after a while. After a while longer, it more or less went away. But the memory comes back every now and then.' He took a pull from his flask. 'We do not, fortunately, have an infinite capacity for pain. But we do remember.'
He handed her the flask. 'Join me''
'Thank you, I will,' said Andre.
'Do yourself a favour,' Learoyd said. 'When we reach Peshawar, you keep right on goin’. This country is no place for someone like you.' He held up a hand to forestall her comment. 'I don’t mean to imply that you’re not up to it. I mean that it’s no place for you. No
place for any of us. We don’t belong here. We came here with our bloody empire and our bloody customs and our bloody rules, and we’re tryin’ to impose the whole lot on people who want no part of it. I wonder how the folks at home would feel if Sadullah brought
his Ghazi army into London, if he came with a corps of mullahs to do missionary work and instruct good Anglicans in the ways of Mohammad. Made them all build bloody mosques, closed down all the pubs and put veils on all the women. We’d start our own jehad. The lads and I are here for the duration, but you, there’s nothin’ to hold you here. Go back to London, find yourself a nice bloke and get married. Have yourself some kids, and talk about all this with the ladies over tea. Go home before this land withers your soul.'
'Has it withered yours, Chris' ' she said.
He sighed. 'Perhaps it has. I don’t know if I could go back home now. I’ve been here too long. In London I’d likely wind up on Leicester Square with a tin cup. Soldierin’ is all I know.'
'You’re an educated man,' she said.
'That’s neither here nor there. Soldierin’ gets in your blood after a while. It changes a man. It’s all fine and good for a young chap just commissioned. He can parade around in his full dress, impressin’ all the girls. For a bloke like me, who’s been out on the front, it’s another matter. Your home becomes your barracks, your family the men you serve with. You begin to talk like them and think like them. If you spend any time on the frontier, you begin to go a little native. You go back home and it’s another world. One that doesn’t make much sense somehow.'
He stretched out his hand and she passed the flask back to him.
'It’s a strange thing,' he said, staring up at the rock walls towering above them. 'I both hate and love this country. It isn’t mine, you see, and it never shall be. Look at Din over there. He’s got no home, but he’s happy as a lark. He’s got his soldier suit and he isn’t an untouchable out here and that’s all it takes to make him satisfied. Ortheris, well, Stanley doesn’t much care where he is nor what he’s doin’ so long as he comes out of it okay. A more easygoin’ chap you’ll never meet. Mulvaney' If Terrence would have his way, he’d be back with the field force headin’ for Chakdarra, He dearly loves a good, rousin’ dustup. He’s not truly happy unless he’s putting his steel in someone’s gizzard. In England he’d probably be in gaol. But me, I think about things far too much, so I look for trouble to keep my mind from thinkin’.' He smiled.'As they say, it may not be much, but it’s a livin’. '
He handed her the flask. 'Here, have another drink.'
'What are we drinking to'' said Finn, returning with the others.
'Old times,' said Andre.
Finn took out his own flask and unscrewed the cap. 'I’ll drink to that,' he said.
'Old times,' Learoyd said, holding up his flask.
'Old times,' they echoed. They drank. And then a rifle shot cracked out. Ortheris fell to the ground.
The camp of Sayyid Akbar possessed all the atmosphere of a Kabul bazaar. It had engulfed the small cliffside village where it was situated, enlarging it many times. Tents had been erected not only all around the village, on all sides of it, but in the village streets as well. The thousands of tribesmen who gathered in answer to Akbar’s summons made the camp festive and cacophonous. The mood was infectious. A great leader had arisen. The Light of Islam would rid the land of the hated British once and for all, and as the hoped-for day grew near, the fanatical enthusiasm of the tribesmen reached a fever pitch.
