Scorpion Sunset Page 17

  ‘No, of course not.’ She squeezed his hand.

  ‘What brought on this “cottage and family” dream?’ he asked. ‘Was it really Clary or is it having a baby to care for?’

  ‘Partly the baby,’ she admitted. ‘I know Robin cries at night, but he really is a very good baby and …’

  ‘He’s not ours, Angela, he’s Maud’s,’ Peter reminded. ‘And knowing Maud and how fickle she can be I wouldn’t put it past her to dance back into Basra someday soon and reclaim him. So please, as much for Robin’s sake as yours, don’t get too attached to the child.’

  ‘That’s easy to say, but difficult to do when he looks up with those enormous trusting blue eyes and wraps his tiny fingers around yours.’

  ‘You already regard him as yours, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m fond of him,’ Angela admitted. She was good deal more than fond of him but aware of Peter’s feelings about the child, and his determination to keep his affection for their own children – when they had them – she was wary of saying more.

  Peter left the bed, dropped a kiss on her cheek and went to the dressing room. ‘There’s time for another couple of hours’ sleep. You’ll lock me in?’

  ‘If I must.’

  He looked back at her. ‘I love you, Mrs Smythe.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  ‘I’m sorry I have no father with a landed estate like John and Tom’s …’

  ‘I don’t want a landed estate, just a …’

  ‘Cottage with roses round the door?’ He ran his fingers through his thick red curls, brushing his hair away from his face. Then he grinned at her. The same boyish grin that had won her heart the first time she’d seen him at a ladies’ evening in the Basra mess. ‘Roses wither in winter, sweetheart, and in my experience, most English cottages are damp, draughty, and have chimneys that smoke terribly.’

  ‘None of which would matter as long as you were inside.’

  ‘We’ll talk again when the war is over and the Indian Office has decided what to do with me.’ He kissed her lips and held her close for a moment before going into the dressing room. As she locked the door behind him she heard Robin cry again. Leaving her slippers at the side of the bed, she left the room quietly, lest Peter heard her and guess where she was headed.

  The desert between Baghdad and Turkey

  July 1916

  A thin grey light on the horizon heralded the advent of dawn as John left the hospital tent. He stood in front of the flap, shivered in the cool wind, and looked around. The Arabs were already awake. They’d gathered around Dira’s cook fire to drink the tea Corporals Jones and Williams had brewed and were dispensing in tin mugs. He studied the men’s shadowy silhouettes, black against the breaking light, but failed to pick out Mitkhal’s massive figure.

  ‘I told Williams and Jones they could give the Arabs sugar, sir,’ Baker handed John a mug. ‘After what they did for us yesterday … I thought they’d earned it.’

  ‘They did, Baker.’ John agreed. ‘As for the sugar, better it’s used than left for the flies. They always get into the sacks no matter how tightly we fasten them.’

  ‘They do, sir. I fished out a fair number of bodies last night. It was too dark to see them this morning.’

  ‘So I’m probably drinking a few sand flies.’ John squinted into his mug but the light wasn’t good enough to see if anything was floating on the top.

  ‘And mosquitoes, I should think, sir, the way they were biting last night. If there’s a lump in your mouth chances are it’s more likely to be a fly than a tea leaf.’

  The sun suddenly inched high enough over the horizon to flood the desert with soft golden light. A line of four camels moved towards them from the horizon. John squinted, but because they were directly in front of the sun it was impossible to make out more than the wavering outline of beasts and riders.

  ‘Probably Mitkhal, sir, he went out to scout a couple of hours ago and said he’d be back at dawn.’

  ‘Mitkhal left the camp?’

  ‘He said he wanted to make sure no Turks were about to disturb us at breakfast sir. Roberts is making bully beef stew and we’ve the last of the bread to go with it.’

  ‘Sounds a good solid meal to set us up for whatever the day brings.’ John walked ahead to meet Mitkhal. Harry – Hasan, as he was forcing himself to think of him, was riding alongside him. Mitkhal joined the other Arabs but Harry rode his camel to meet him. When he reached him, he pulled up the beast and slid down.

  ‘Good morning, Hasan.’

  ‘Good morning, John.’ Hasan smiled.

  ‘I wish I could ride a camel the way you do.’

  ‘You’d manage it if you had Mitkhal whipping you every time you made a mistake.’

  ‘Whipping?’ John smiled back.

  ‘With words, which can hurt a sensitive being as much as leather thongs.’

  ‘Tea, sir.’ Greening handed Hasan a mug.

  ‘Thank you.’ Hasan took it and beckoned John aside. ‘Turks will be here in about two or three hours.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘We counted about fifteen Turks, and twenty Arab auxiliaries. Bakhtairi Khans, and they can be bastards.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to be careful not to give them any reason to lose their temper with us.’

  ‘They’re escorting about a hundred British ranks. All look as though they’re hospital cases. They abandoned four men in the first ten minutes we watched them. We took them to a local tribe who promised to care for them. They’d better, we paid them enough, but I’ll be checking on them again when I pass back that way.’ Hasan squatted on the ground in the position peculiar to Arabs. John perched on his heels next to him and offered him a cigarette.

  ‘They’re definitely headed this way? They’re not likely to take a detour?’

  ‘While you remain camped here, there’s no way they’ll miss you. Mitkhal and I talked. He suggested that he stay here with a couple of our men and tell the Turks you were attacked by tribesmen who left the women after they were driven out, but,’ Hasan chuckled and John again caught a glimpse of Harry. ‘Not before the tribesmen had killed all your Turkish guards, although they didn’t manage to kill all the Arab auxiliaries. That story shouldn’t arouse suspicions as several of my father-in-law’s men are working for the Turks. That way Mitkhal and the men who stay with him can remain with you until you reach Turkey. They’ll do their best to curb the excesses of the Turks and the Bakhtairi Khans but it would be better if you didn’t annoy either group.’

  ‘We’ll try not to, but what about the Armenian women? Will the Turks try to kill them?’

  ‘They’ll want to but they won’t dare if you tell them they’re under British protection.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I doubt any Turk would recognise me, but they might recognise the signs of torture. A missing eye could be a murderer’s punishment. A missing hand the mark of a thief that the average Turk sincerely believes gives him the right to remove the other hand. So I prefer to avoid the company of the Ottomans; besides, I’ve been away from Furja and our children quite long enough.’

  ‘The happy family man?’ John questioned.

  ‘Very happy.’ Hasan took the stick he used to spur on his camel and started drawing in the sand. ‘When this is over, one way or another …’

  ‘You think the Turks will win?’ John broke in.

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t much care. I think the Ottoman Empire is crumbling, but like an old lion with one rotten tooth it might have a bite or even two left.’

  ‘So many men are dead.’

  ‘At the beginning of this war I thought the Indian Office wanted to colonise Mesopotamia with sepoys who’d retired from the Indian Army. I even remember a civil servant saying that as the locals were nomads they’d welcome industrious Indians moving into the country as they’d be prepared to work the land and grow crops for the locals. There was talk of resettling “surplus” Punjabi population here. Now I wonder if the British have any pl
ans for this country beyond taking it. Look around you. How in hell can anyone govern this wasteland? No one really knows how many people live here or, which tribe owns what in the way of land and buildings. The climates so foul it’s as much as anyone can do to survive one more day. The only thing of any value here, besides whatever treasure might have been buried in the remains of ancient cities and civilizations is the oil, and the Anglo-Persian oil company has laid claim to that. Even if the British take the place – at God only knows what cost in lives and blood – they’ll have no more luck governing it and extracting taxes from the Arabs than the Turks did.’

  ‘That won’t stop the India Office and the British Government from trying to take the place to rule it.’

  ‘Probably not.’ He looked at John. ‘I’ll be riding out with most of the men. I have no idea when I’ll see you again.’

  ‘Or even if we will meet again, but let’s not get maudlin.’

  ‘I’ll try not to. When you see Georgie and Michael …’

  ‘If …’

  ‘No, when,’ Hasan corrected. ‘Tell them how much they both mean to me, and if you’re all in Basra take them to my father-in-law’s house. If I am anywhere close by I will come and see you.’

  ‘I doubt I could find the house again. I only went to and from the place by boat.’

  ‘So you did. If you can’t find it, go to Abdul’s. He’ll tell you where it is and I’m sure he’ll remember you. After all, you did perform the medical checks on his girls.’

  ‘I’ll ask him.’

  ‘And give Charles my regards and tell him not to be such a stuffed shirt.’

  ‘You think he’ll listen to me?’

  ‘No. And last of all, tell my parents I regret being such a disappointment to them, but try to explain I’m living my life the way I want.’

  ‘You’ll never be a disappointment to anyone who knows you – Hasan.’ John hugged his cousin. Behind them the Arabs were already mounting their camels. Hasan climbed on to his, hit it with a stick. The beast rose and Hasan followed the rest of the men out of the camp.

  John watched until the camel train was no more than a series of specks on the horizon. Only then did he turn and retrieve the tin mugs they’d used to drink tea.

  He saw the rough sketch Harry had drawn in the sand. A cartoon of three schoolboys holding up glasses of foaming beer and smoking cigars.

  He looked back to the horizon. School seemed so long ago, as if it had been experienced by another person a world away, but it was good to know that a little of that schoolboy still existed, not only in him, but Hasan, even if Harry was to all intents and purposes dead.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Shatt al-Arab

  August 1916

  Peter and Charles stood side by side on the deck of the steamer and watched the flat roofed mud brick buildings of Qurna loom slowly into view. Practically every building they could see had a roof terrace complete with awnings, tables, and chairs set out among potted palms and bushes. Black-robed women sat sewing in the shade, while men drank tea and gossiped and children played at their feet.

  ‘I wish I was up there in one of those shady spots with Angela and a bottle of iced wine,’ Peter said wistfully.

  ‘I have a bad case of deja vu,’ Charles grumbled, ‘Maybe it’s the optimist in me but I’d hoped I’d seen the last of this place when I was shipped downstream after the Battle of Nasiriyeh. Granted, I have no memory of the place then because I was too far gone from wounds and fever to even know I was here but I swear I sensed it.’

  ‘This town is all some men are going to see of the Basra Wilayat.’ David joined them. ‘I’ve just ordered fifteen sappers and two doctors to the hospital. The sickness rate is alarming. At the rate we’re going there’ll be no one left to march into Baghdad, provided of course we ever get near the place.’

  Charles eyed the men on the lower deck. ‘What does the Indian Office expect when they send us so many raw recruits? When are they going to realise six weeks in India to “thin the blood” isn’t enough to prepare untrained boys for war.’

  ‘You’ve been delegated responsibility for supplies, not manpower. So don’t borrow another officer’s worry.’ Peter slapped Charles on the back, ‘If my memory serves me right, there wasn’t a bad officers’ mess in Qurna. They may even have palatable whisky on offer to cheer you up.’

  ‘And fresh river ducks,’ David murmured. ‘Roasted, with pomegranate sauce and sautéed potatoes. I’ll meet you there after I’ve delivered the sick to the hospital.

  ‘There’s no necessity for you to leave the wharf, Knight.’ Perry strode along the deck. ‘You can hand over the sick on the dock. I’ve sent a message to the hospital requesting ambulances and doctors to receive our patients. We’ll be here long enough to offload them and refuel the boat and not a moment longer.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Perry continued walking along the deck, Cleck-Heaton hovering in his wake, an undersized tug lapping behind an oversized liner.

  ‘Is he wearing a brigadier’s uniform?’ stared at Perry.

  ‘Apologies, I should have warned you. The Force has been so decimated by sickness, it’s resulted in mass promotion of the unworthy. Perry was posted brigadier yesterday evening.’ Charles couldn’t stand Perry and was wary of mentioning him in conversation lest someone pick up on just how deep his dislike of the man actually ran.

  ‘May as well surrender to the Turks now,’ Peter muttered.

  ‘We may be able to use him as a buffer between us and Turkish bullets.’ David suggested.

  ‘He was my CO in Basra before the war. The one thing I can tell you about Perry is that he never – and I mean never – stands in any location where bullets are likely to fly. When battle starts, he’ll be dug into a nice comfortable hidey-hole at the furthest possible point from the front line.’ Peter reached for his cigarettes.

  ‘First man to track down Perry’s lair gives me the location so I can use it for fever cases,’ David chuckled. ‘If we can’t get the useless being one way we’ll get him another.’

  Charles smiled. ‘Glad to have you with us, Major Knight.’

  ‘Glad to be here, Major Reid.’

  ‘The musketeers. One for all and all for one,’ Peter chanted.

  Charles looked over the side at the sun-baked wharf and the thick clouds of flies hovering over clumps of rotting vegetation. He’d spoken earlier about sailing downstream. He hadn’t lied, he didn’t remember that journey, but he did remember the last time he’d been on a steamboat heading upstream. He’d been with John and Harry. The original three musketeers – and that memory was almost too painful to bear.

  Desert outside Baghdad

  August 1916

  ‘This is bloody disgraceful.’ John stood in the doorway of the reed hut and looked down at the four naked skeletal men, who lay inches deep in their own filth on the dirt floor. The eyes of the one lying closest to him flickered open.

  ‘Get water, Dira,’ he ordered.

  Dira was out of the doorway before John finished speaking. The Turkish captain who’d assumed command over John’s unit and Mitkhal’s auxiliaries took his place.

  ‘We have no time to waste here, Major Mason. We have to move on.’

  ‘I and my orderlies are not going anywhere,’ John contradicted. ‘Not until we’ve ministered to these men.’

  The captain pulled out his gun.

  ‘Shoot them and I’ll make sure the world knows about it.’

  ‘You are a prisoner …’

  ‘A prisoner of the Turks and your Arab auxiliaries, some of whom can speak English. We are on the edge of a village. Kill me and there’ll be witnesses. Or do you intend to kill them too?’

  ‘These men are as good as dead.’

  ‘These men fought bravely and deserve to be treated with dignity. Allow me to treat them, and look after the female patients in my care, and I will make sure you are known to the British authorities as a good and admirable man.’ When the captain hes
itated, John added, ‘There are many Turkish prisoners, officers included, in British hands.’

  ‘You have,’ the captain held up all the fingers on one hand, which John knew from experience meant five minutes.

  John shook his head. ‘We have to stop here and make camp, now.’

  ‘There is an hour of daylight left. We can travel a good distance in that time.’

  ‘I won’t risk moving these sick men.’

  ‘I didn’t think I would have to remind you again, Major Mason. I’m in charge of this party.’

  ‘And I didn’t think I’d have to remind you, captain, the garrison of Kut surrendered to your countrymen on the understanding that your forces would accept full responsibility for the care and welfare of our men.’

  ‘Your men … not women and children.’

  ‘The women and child travelling with us have been displaced by the war. They have nowhere to go.’

  ‘They could have stayed in any village we passed through.’

  John met the captain’s glare. ‘As slaves?’

  ‘They would be fed and have a roof over their head.’

  ‘And no status. And what if they fell ill again as a result of being starved and mistreated by the police that drove them from their homes?’

  The captain held up his hand to silence John. ‘Tomorrow, Major Mason, we cross the border into Turkey. Within one week we will be at our destination. I suggest you begin preparing yourself for separation from the women. A prisoner of war camp is no place for a female – even “a slave”. It is not for you to determine the future or treatment of the women who travel with you.’ The captain walked away and Dira, who’d been standing behind him, handed John a water bottle.

  ‘I’ll clean these men up, sir.’

  ‘We’ll do it together, Dira.’ John crouched down and wet the lips of the man closest to him. He studied the others. The only one that showed any sign of life was the one he was leaning over.