Hart of Empire (41 page)

George pulled up before he, too, was caught in the trap, his horse's hoofs slipping on loose stones as he guided it off the track and up a short incline to the minimal cover of a juniper tree. At that moment his thoughts were centred on Yasmin's predicament, and how to get her out of it. He was about to shout a warning, though he knew it to be pointless, when he noticed activity at the barricade. A section was removed and a lone rider came through. George at once recognised the rider's green
kurta
and yellow turban. It was Mir Bacha himself.

George watched transfixed as the Kohistani chief approached Yasmin at the trot, stopping just yards from her. He seemed to be saying something, his right hand chopping through the air like an axe. George could imagine Yasmin's spirited response, and silently urged her not to do anything stupid. Inevitably she did, drawing her pistol in a blur and pointing it directly at Mir Bacha's chest. But before she had the chance to pull the trigger, a single shot rang out, quickly followed by two more. Yasmin's body twitched, and George knew she had been shot by a hidden marksman.

He looked on in horror as her hand dropped the pistol and she toppled from the saddle.
No!

He wanted to ride over to her, to cradle her in his arms, though he knew such an act to be every bit as suicidal as hers. While he hesitated - choked with emotion - Mir Bacha leant from his saddle and applied the
coup de grace
to Yasmin's inert form, the gunshot echoing down the canyon. This final callous act was too much for George to take and, his face pale with shock and his chest heaving with anger, he kicked his horse back down the incline, determined to kill Mir Bacha or die in the attempt.

He had barely reached the track when a horse galloped up from behind and a huge fist grabbed his reins. 'No,
huzoor
,' said Ilderim, shaking his handsome, weatherbeaten face. 'It is too late. She is dead and we must go.'

This time George didn't try to free himself. He knew that Ilderim was right, and that it would serve no purpose to sacrifice his own life. It wouldn't bring her back. And so, as quickly as it had flared, his anger ebbed away, to be replaced by an almost crushing sadness for what might have been: for Yasmin and for Afghanistan.

'
Huzoor!
' repeated Ilderim, more urgently this time. 'We
must
leave or we'll join her in the dust.'

A bullet whizzed by and pinged off a rock behind them. Then more shots, until the ground around them was erupting in little puffs of dust that caused the horses to shy and back away. This proximity to death brought George to his senses and, with a last look back at Yasmin's crumpled body, he turned his horse and galloped after Ilderim, the occasional bullet following them until they had rounded the spur. Directly ahead, riding fast towards them, was the remnant of the two Lancer squadrons, led by Sykes and FitzGeorge. George raised his hand and the ragged column, containing many wounded Lancers and others with their red and white lance pennons encrusted with blood, clattered to a halt in front of them.

'Why have you stopped us?' demanded FitzGeorge, his bridle hand shaking from the nervous shock of combat. 'And where's the princess?'

'She's dead. And so will you be if you enter the pass. Mir Bacha has barricaded the track and lined the heights with riflemen. Fortunately for you, the princess sprang the trap and paid with her life.'

FitzGeorge's face drained of blood. 'We've failed twice over: Mir Bacha has got away and we've lost a royal princess. What am I going to tell the general?'

'Tell him the truth - that we did our best.'

'Doing your best cuts no ice with Roberts,' observed FitzGeorge, bitterly. 'He's only interested in success. He'll never forgive me for this, or any of us.'

'I said it was a mistake to bring her,' said Sykes. 'What I want to know, though, is how Hart survived and she didn't.' He turned to George. 'Can you explain that?'

'What are you suggesting, Sykes?' said George, his face screwed up with contempt. 'That I stood by and let her die?'

'I'm not suggesting anything. I'm asking you a simple question.'

'You're forgetting that I outrank you so I don't answer to you.'

'But you don't outrank
me
,' said FitzGeorge. 'So what happened? The general will want to know.'

George looked away as the memory of Yasmin's death came back to him in all its tragic detail, sending a shiver down his spine. 'I tried to stop her but . . .'

'But what?' asked FitzGeorge.

'. . . she
wanted
to die.'

Chapter 22

General Roberts's headquarters, Sherpur cantonment, winter 1879

'Ah, Hart, do come in,' said the general, rising from his desk and gesturing towards a chair opposite. 'FitzGeorge here has already told me his side of the story. Now I'd like to hear yours.'

George looked across at the major, who was writing at a separate table, in the hope of gleaning a hint as to whether his report had been favourable or not. But FitzGeorge kept his head down and George was forced to conclude the worst. 'There's not much to tell,' he said woodenly. 'By the time we cut our way through the Kohistani cavalry, Mir Bacha had reached the safety of the pass where he'd set up an ambush for any pursuers. If the princess hadn't gone in first and sprung the trap, we'd all have been killed.'

'Yes, so I gathered from Major FitzGeorge. But the princess wasn't alone, was she? You and your Afghan bodyguard were with her. Why did you let her go on? Why didn't you wait for the rest of the cavalry?'

'I wanted to, and said as much to her. But she wouldn't listen.'

'Why?'

George thought back to their final conversation and shook his head. 'It's as I told Major FitzGeorge, General. She wouldn't listen because she welcomed death.'

'She
wanted
to die?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Because, having sided with us, she couldn't see a future for herself in Afghanistan, and neither could she contemplate a life in exile.'

'She told you that?' asked Roberts.

'Yes.'

Roberts slowly shook his head. 'I'll never understand these people, and I've served in India for twenty-five years.'

'Perhaps that's the point, General.'

'What point?'

'We'll never understand each other, which is why we - the British - should stop trying to impose our culture and system of rule on unwilling and ungrateful foreigners.'

Roberts rubbed his beard in contemplation. 'You may be right. But the problem we face in Afghanistan, when we do withdraw, is who to leave in control.'

'So your mind is fixed then, General? You
will
advise Simla to pull our troops out of the whole country?'

'Yes, I will.'

'Sir,' interrupted FitzGeorge, who had ceased writing, 'I thought we'd agreed that our advice would be to pull out of the north only and retain Kandahar and Helmand provinces as an extra buffer between us and the Russians.'

'I've changed my mind.'

'Sir,' persisted FitzGeorge, clearly worried that he would lose the commission on the trading concessions he had promised to secure, 'are you sure you've thought this through? If we relinquish the whole country are we not back to where we started from?'

'No, Major, we are not. Because I also intend to recommend a break-up of the country. If these last few weeks of fighting have taught me anything, it's that the Afghans will never accept foreign rule. So our best course of action is to restore a strong Afghan ruler favourable to our policies. The question is, do we restore one ruler, or many? I favour the latter. A strong, united Afghanistan is only desirable if we can be certain that its interests and ours will always remain identical. But history has taught us that we can't be certain, and that even if the man we were to choose as amir were to remain perfectly loyal, there is no guarantee that his successor would. Which is why I'm going to advise the Indian government to divide the country into two or three smaller states, each run by a different ruler, and never again attempt to place the whole country under a single sovereign.'

'Sir,' said FitzGeorge, 'I think you're making a mistake. The security of our Indian empire depends upon our retaining at least a foothold in Afghanistan.'

'Not in my opinion. Now, I won't hear any more on the subject, Major. Have you finished the text of the proclamation I asked you to write?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, let me see it.'

Glum-faced, FitzGeorge walked over to Roberts's desk and handed over the paper he had been working on. Roberts read it and nodded with satisfaction. 'Very good, Major.'

'Thank you, sir,' said FitzGeorge, without enthusiasm. 'Is there anything else? Because if not I have reports to write.'

'No, there's nothing else. Off you go.'

As the door closed, Roberts pushed the paper across the desk to George. 'What do you think, Hart? Will it do?'

George was not hopeful. He had already seen and heard enough of Roberts's smug self-importance and casual brutality to doubt that this proclamation would be any different from the previous ones. But he was about to be pleasantly surprised. It read:

At the instigation of some seditious men, the ignorant people, generally not considering the result, raised a rebellion. Now many of the insurgents have received their reward, and as subjects are a trust from God, the British government, which is just and merciful, as well as strong, has forgiven their guilt. It is now proclaimed that all who come in without delay will be pardoned, excepting only Mohammed Jan of Wardak, Mir Bacha of Kohistan, and Mullah Mushk-i-Alam of Ghazni. Come and make your submission without fear. The British government has no enmity towards the people. All who come in without delay need have no fear or suspicion. The British government speaks only that which is in its heart.

George looked up from the paper. 'You mean to offer an amnesty to all but the leading rebels?'

'I do. It's a pity we failed to capture any yesterday, but the victory we gained yesterday was so complete - with more than three thousand Afghans killed, while we lost just five killed and thirty or so wounded - that I have no doubt the great tribal confederation is broken for good. Why, only this morning we reoccupied Kabul and the Bala Hissar, and tomorrow I will send cavalry further afield to harry the retreating rebels. But this proclamation will do more to bring the rebellion to a speedy conclusion than any military action could. Lord Canning tried something similar during the Mutiny of fifty-seven and it was a great success. I hope it will be again, because I can't set up a new Afghan ruler here until order has been restored.'

'Do you have anyone in mind, General?'

'Well, I
had
Princess Yasmin in mind, as I told you, but she's no longer with us, and I wonder if the Afghans could have accepted a female ruler - I doubt it. Which leaves only two credible candidates, in my view: Ayub Khan, Yakub and Yasmin's younger brother, and the current governor of Herat; and Abdur Rahman, their first cousin, whose father fought and lost the throne to his younger brother, Sher Ali, in the sixties. My personal preference is for Abdur Rahman because he was in exile in Russian Turkestan when the attack on the Residency took place, and therefore cannot be implicated. I can't say the same for Ayub Khan, not least because the troops that mutinied were from his province.'

'Do you know where this Abdur Rahman is now?'

'No, but Major FitzGeorge is doing all he can to find out. We'll track him down sooner or later, never you fear. So, what's next for you, Hart? I imagine you're keen to return home and make your report.'

'I am, General,' said George, taken aback, 'but I half suspected you'd want to keep me here for a while.'

'Not at all,' said Roberts, waving his hand dismissively. 'You've done your bit, and more, both before and during the battle. If you hadn't brought the princess in we'd never have learnt the rebels' battle plan, and during the fighting you provided valuable tactical advice, and courage in action. The only black mark against you is the loss of the princess, a death I'll be hard put to explain to the authorities, let alone her family, but hardly your fault. So, no, I'm happy for you to leave Afghanistan as soon as you consider the route to be secure. Before you go, however, I'd like to know what you intend to write about me in your report to His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge.'