The Sleeping Sands (26 page)

‘You understand,’ he hissed, ‘if the boy recovers, it won’t be your barbaric alchemy that has cured him, but the blessed waters of these cups.’

‘And if he dies?’ whispered Layard.

‘Whoever heard of water harming anyone?’ hissed the seyyid back. ‘If he dies it can only be as the result of your unclean remedy.’

Layard took the dose of Dover’s powder and poured it into the boy’s mouth, massaging his throat and chest. The child’s body was hot and his unconscious form twitched and trembled with fever. Layard took a damp cloth and began to mop at the child’s body, silently reciting his own prayer.

Minutes, then hours passed. Layard stayed by the boy’s side, desperately trying to cool his burning body, while the Khan and Khanum stood anxiously over him. The doctors looked on in sullen triumph as the boy’s fever intensified and his convulsions became more pronounced.

‘It is as we said, Excellency,’ squeaked the Isfahan physician. ‘The Frank has simply poisoned your son. If you had allowed us more time-‘

‘Silence, Persian’ snarled the Khan, ‘or I’ll cure your yapping tongue with some Bakhtiari medicine.’

He placed his hand pointedly on the hilt of his dagger.

Nothing more was said. The silence was only broken by the unsteady, irregular breathing of the boy and the steady faint ticking of Layard’s pocket watch, which he was periodically using to check his patient’s pulse.

The hours passed. At midnight the boy gasped and broke into a violent sweat. Layard sighed in relief. The fever had broken. Over the course of the next hours his temperature returned to normal and at cock-crow, Layard began to administer the quinine.

The physician from Isfahan examined Hussein Kuli.

‘The boy is out of danger,’ he pronounced.

The Khan and his wife embraced their son, both weeping openly.

Mehemet Taki Khan embraced Layard.

‘I am forever in your debt, Mr Layard,’ he said hoarsely, struggling with his tears. ‘You have restored my son to me. From this day forward I shall consider you a part of my family. You shall be moved to a room in the enderun and you may have use of any of the horses in my stable.’

He patted the Englishman on the shoulder, noticing his travel-stained robes.

‘My wife shall ensure you are dressed as befits a member of my clan. You shall have all the help you need in your work,’ he turned back to his son, distracted by his desire to take up the boy in his arms.

‘What is it again that you are doing in the mountains?’ he asked, his attention focused on Hussein Kuli.

‘I seek the Tomb of Daniel,’ said Henry Layard, softly.

C
HAPTER 14

L
AYARD’S NEXT FEW WEEKS AMONG THE
B
AKHTIARI
were among the most memorable and enjoyable of his life. He had his own room in the enderun, away from the cramped guest-quarters and out of the sight of the Matamet’s official, who left for Isfahan a fortnight after Hussein Kuli’s recovery, accompanied by the little physician. Fitted out with a wardrobe of the finest clothes and with the pick of the Khan’s horses, Layard spent his days engaged in the carefree pleasures of tribal life. He was now considered a bosom companion by Hussein Kuli and his comrades, who would beg Layard to join them in games or fishing expeditions; accompanied, whenever she could slip away from the watchful gaze of her mother, by Lady Moon. At other times he would accompany the Khan’s brother Au Kerim hunting, with hawks and greyhounds or climbing the high peaks to shoot ibex. Whenever he ventured into the countryside, he would take his instruments and make observations and notes, to update and correct the Society’s maps. For less strenuous entertainment, he would sit and watch the Khan’s horsemen practicing, as they performed breathtaking feats of horsemanship and marksmanship alike, picking up silk handkerchiefs from the ground at full gallop or shooting targets to their rear as they charged away from imaginary enemies. On other days, he would sit with Seyyid Kerim, reading verses from the Shah-Nameh and practicing Persian calligraphy.

Khatun-Jan Khanum had become Layard’s greatest friend and ally. She not only took care of arranging Layard’s wardrobe but also became his advisor on all matters of life among the Bakhtiari. She was as intelligent and astute as her husband in understanding the complexities of tribal politics and kept Layard informed of the many comings and goings at Kala Tul. She was a tall, handsome woman, who habitually wore her long, curling hair loose, flowing down her back from under a purple silk headscarf. She had three sons by Mehemet Taki Khan, Hussein being the oldest, but her figure and looks had in no way diminished. She was lithe, supple and, as it proved when she persuaded Layard to allow her a turn with his double-barrelled gun, a crack shot. When Layard’s own bouts of fever returned, she insisted on personally nursing him and she also acted as his banker whenever he rode from Kala Tul, holding his money to keep it safe from thieves.

Layard thought the mother of Hussein Kuli the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered, until one day she introduced him to her younger sister, Khanumi, recently arrived at Kala Tul. Like Khatun-Jan, Khanumi forewent the formality of a veil when meeting Layard. When Layard first met her, she had been called away from playing with some of the children to be introduced by her older sister. Layard watched her as she skipped lightly away from the little group, laughing and pushing her thick, curling hair from her face. She fixed him with a pair of large, black almond eyes that sparkled with intelligence and humour.

‘You are the foreigner that my sister told me about?’ she smiled broadly, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth. ‘I hear you are something of a scholar.’

She cocked her head to one side and looked expectantly at Layard. He noticed, for a moment, the barest pink tip of her tongue unconsciously run across her lips. He opened his mouth to speak, suddenly conscious that he was a clumsy, untutored infidel. He struggled to remember the simplest of Bakhtiari phrases and she laughed, lightly and without malice as he stumbled with the formalities of greeting.

‘I am sorry,’ she said, ‘I thought you were Mr Layard; perhaps I was mistaken.’

Layard stammered that he was indeed the same.

‘Oh, but of course you are,’ she said, smoothing out her robes in a casual and un-selfconscious manner. ‘I am looking forward to hearing all about your adventures and the strange customs of your foreign lands. You are from England, no?’

Layard opened his mouth to speak, managing only, ‘I-‘

Khanumi raised her eyebrows and placed her hands on her hips.

‘You are not sure?’ she asked, feigning surprise, ‘or perhaps your adventures have been so distressing that you have forgotten?

‘Sister,’ she said, turning to Khatun-Jan, ‘Mr Layard is indeed a most marvellous scholar. I have never before met a scholar who could neither speak nor remember where he came from. It is indeed a marvel!’

‘I must apologise for my sister,’ said the Khanum, frowning. ‘She forgets her manners. She spends far too much time in the company of children and acts like a spoilt child as a result.’

‘Not at all!’ laughed Khanumi, musically. ‘I was paying our guest a compliment. My father says that a wise man values his words and is slow to share them. Mr Layard may be the wisest man I have ever met.’

She bowed to Layard, inclining a long, graceful neck, with a faint jingle of silver jewellery. Her face became serious for a moment.

‘Mr Layard, I know of the service you have done to my family. It is truly an honour to meet you.’

Then, as if her face could no longer hold such an unnatural aspect, a fresh smile flashed across her face.

‘I am looking forward to having many more learned discussions with you.’

‘As am, er, I, My Lady,’ stuttered Layard, as the Khanum’s sister span lightly around on the ball of her right foot and ran back to the group of children, covering the twenty feet between with a hop, skip and jump. His last words were to her receding back.

Khatun-Jan watched his awkwardness approvingly.

Later that evening, the Khan spoke to Layard about Khanumi.

‘My wife’s sister is beautiful, no?’ he asked.

Layard enthusiastically agreed.

‘She is also the daughter of a powerful Lur chieftain,’ continued the Khan, ‘and a princess in her own right. My wife tells me that she speaks highly of you.’

Layard confessed that he could not understand how he could have made anything but a bad impression on Khanumi.

‘My wife’s sister is an intelligent and astute young woman,’ responded the Khan. She can shoot a partridge when it’s hidden in the reeds and she can see a man’s true character when it is hidden by a rebellious tongue.

‘You know that I consider you to be more or less a part of my family,’ he continued. ‘If you would just convert to the Faith, then I would give you a house at Kala Tul and Khanumi as your bride.’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ stammered Layard. ‘your generosity is quite overwhelming. I couldn’t accept. Besides, I cannot stay too long in the mountains. I have a journey to make.’

‘And your mission calls you?’ asked the Khan, raising an eyebrow. ‘You know I really don’t understand how a man might subject himself to the dangers and privations you have experienced; not to mention turn down the chance to settle down with the most beautiful woman in Khuzistan and the riches of a Khan at his disposal; all for the sake of finding some ancient, mythical tomb. Do you believe it holds some weapon that your government can use against the Persians?’

‘No weapon,’ said Layard, ‘simply knowledge.’

‘I don’t see how any knowledge about old ruins is worth all your troubles,’ persisted the Khan. ‘Knowledge about the mountains and the countryside might be more worthwhile; especially if your country could use it to mount an assault against the Persians. Are you sure that you’re not a spy, Frank, sent in advance of a British invasion of Persia?’

‘Great Khan, I must assure you that I am not part of any invasion,’ exclaimed Layard, his eyes wide in concern.

The Khan grinned and laughed long and loud.

‘No matter, Brother Spy!’ he chuckled good-naturedly. ‘It wouldn’t concern me if you were here to fight the Persians. I don’t owe any allegiance to the Shah.’

‘What did he say to the match?’ asked Khatun-Jan later in the enderun.

‘He seems unwilling to abandon his mission,’ replied the Khan. ‘I am still not yet convinced that he is not working on some sort of invasion plan for the British.’

‘All the more reason for a union,’ observed the Khanum. ‘My sister brought more news of the British. Their ships have been seen gathering at the mouth of the Shat el Arab waterway. There’s wild talk too, of a plague spreading east from the desert. Our friends in the marshes report that the armies of both the Shah and Ibrahim Pasha are in disarray in the region, with whole companies deserting or simply disappearing. In all the confusion, the British are well placed to attack both Persia and Baghdad. If they do invade Persia, then we would be well served by having a British branch of the family.

‘Besides,’ she continued, ‘I like Henry and so does Khanumi. There is something about him – a restless sadness – it would be good for him to live among us. We must work harder to persuade him. Tell me, Husband, what is the greatest pleasure about living in the mountains?’

‘You are, O Lady of My Soul,’ smiled the Khan, reaching over to his wife.

‘Apart from that, you old mountain goat,’ laughed Khatun-Jan.

‘Lion-hunting?’ asked the Khan after a moment’s thought.

‘Very well,’ declared the Khanum, ‘if that is the case, take him lion hunting. It will give you a few days to encourage him to reconsider settling among us.’

*                      *                      *

‘The light yellow ones are Muslims,’ explained the Khan as they rode along a narrow mountain trail. ‘The dark yellow ones with black manes are infidels. If you are attacked by a Muslim lion, then you must ask him in the name of Ali to spare you. If it’s an infidel lion, then you have to fight like a demon, because he will try to eat you.’

‘And the Bakhtiari really believe this?’ asked Layard incredulously, ‘that there are Lions of two faiths?’

‘Of course,’ replied the Khan in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘only the other day a man came to Kala Tul who had been attacked by a Muslim lion on the road. He had said the correct prayer to Ali and the lion passed him by.’

‘Do you only have his word for this?’ asked Layard.

‘Not at all,’ responded his host, ‘he showed us to the thicket where the lion was hiding and we killed it. You have seen its skin hanging in the great hall.’

‘I find it hard to credit a dumb animal with making an informed choice about something as philosophically complex as faith,’ scoffed the Englishman.

‘Why? Are none of the animals in England Christians?’

‘Not one.’

‘And you know this for sure?’ pressed the Khan.

‘Absolutely,’ smiled Layard. ‘None can be Christian as none have been baptized.’

‘Ah. Then are there any animals in England as noble as the lion?’ asked the Khan.

‘Well,’ answered Layard thoughtfully, ‘perhaps the hart or the eagle come the closest, but no, I would say there was none as noble as the lion.’

‘Ha! That proves my point,’ cried Mehemet Taki Khan triumphantly, ‘without true faith, animals can develop no true nobility. That’s why you have no lions! You must concede the point, Henry. Now, I shall teach you the correct prayer:

O Cat of Ali

I am the Servant of Ali

Pass by my house

By the head of Ali

‘Come, you must recite it back to me-‘

At that moment there was a deafening roar and a huge dark shape exploded from a thicket at the roadside. Layard felt a sickening impact and a burning pain in his leg as a juggernaut of fur, claws and teeth slammed into him and his mount and brought horse and rider crashing to the ground. Layard lay, winded and gasping, his whole right side paralysed. His horse screamed in agony and tried to roll free of their assailant, pinning Layard to the ground. Layard looked round to see a large, brown lion sink its teeth into the neck of the horse, in an attempt to choke it. He desperately tried to wriggle free of the wildly thrashing mare and found himself suddenly pinned to the floor by the lion, which had stretched out a great paw and sunk its claws into his shoulder, holding him helpless as a cat might do a mouse. He twisted his head in terror, to find himself staring into the eyes of the lion, glowering at him over its snarling muzzle, buried in the horse’s throat. The lion growled at him and bit down hard on the horse, which twitched and fell still. The lion let the horse slip from its bloody jaws. Layard could feel its hot breath on his face.