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Authors: Saul David
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standing before you.'
Abdulla turned his fierce dark eyes on George. 'You dare to address me , Feringhee?' he said, with quiet menace.
'Yes,' said George. 'I do. Your son is a warrior famed for his valour. You should be proud of him.'
'Proud?' spat Abdulla. 'Of a man who betrayed his people? Never!'
'How did he betray his people?' demanded George. 'Did he take up arms against them? No, he became a soldier of the British, like countless others. When was it a crime for an Afghan to become a mercenary?'
'Always - if his employer is British. They have twice invaded our country and deposed our rightful ruler. Now, instead of Sher Ali, we have his faithless son, Yakub Khan, who has allowed the British a residency in Kabul. Soon they will conquer the whole country.'
George measured his response. He knew that his and Ilderim's lives hung in the balance, and that to preserve them he would have to convince Abdulla that Britain was not intent on annexing his country. The only way to do this, he decided, would be to tell the truth about his mission. Only then might Ilderim's military service be forgiven.
'That is not true,' said George. 'The British government's only interest in Afghanistan is to prevent Russian encroachment, which might threaten the security of India. If Yakub Khan can guarantee this, he will be left to govern as he sees fit. How do I know this? Because I heard it from the mouth of our wazir, Lord Beaconsfield.'
'You lie, Feringhee. Why would your wazir tell a mere boy like you - and a dark-skinned one at that - about matters of such importance?'
'I have been sent here on a secret mission. I told your son I was a businessman called James Harper, but my real name is George Hart. I'm a captain in the British Army and I've been sent to Afghanistan to try to prevent a tribal uprising that will topple Yakub and provoke a fresh invasion, with more bloodshed.'
On hearing this Ilderim turned to George. 'I knew you were a soldier, huzoor . Didn't I say it when--'
'Quiet!' shouted Abdulla. 'I'm speaking. So tell me, Feringhee, how do you plan to stop the uprising? Because there will be one, and soon.'
'My task,' said George, looking Abdulla in the eye, 'is to prevent the Mullah Mushk-i-Alam from donning the Prophet's Cloak and rousing the faithful.'
'The Feringhee dog is a British spy!' interjected Gul Shah, raising his pistol. 'He says it himself. Let me kill him now and there's an end to it.'
'Stay your hand, Gul,' growled Abdulla. 'I will hear him out first. It is true that the mullah plots a holy war and would have the whole country under sharia law. I know this much from my cousin who lives in Ghazni. It is also true that the cloak would bring many Ghazis to the mullah's side. So your aim is not a foolish one, even if your hopes of success are slender. I, too, have no wish to see the mullah rule supreme: he would weaken the authority of tribal chiefs like me. But I have even less desire to see the British rule in Kabul, and will do everything in my power to prevent it.'
'Then you must spare me, forgive your son, and let us continue on our mission because there are those in Simla who would welcome a rising as an excuse to invade Afghanistan - and this time they will stay.'
'You talk in riddles,' said Abdulla, shaking his head. 'First you say the British don't want to invade. Now you insist they do. Which is it to be?'
'Both. The British government in London doesn't, but the Indian government at Simla does. The viceroy and his friends are convinced the security of India would best be served by annexing Afghanistan. London feels that would only result in more blood spilt and treasure spent, which is why it hasn't told Simla about my mission. If Simla finds out it will certainly try to interfere.'
'So I must let you go if I want Afghanistan to remain free?'
'Yes, and your son too. I can't find the cloak without him.'
Abdulla tugged at his beard while he digested George's words. 'I will think more about what
Abdulla turned his fierce dark eyes on George. 'You dare to address me , Feringhee?' he said, with quiet menace.
'Yes,' said George. 'I do. Your son is a warrior famed for his valour. You should be proud of him.'
'Proud?' spat Abdulla. 'Of a man who betrayed his people? Never!'
'How did he betray his people?' demanded George. 'Did he take up arms against them? No, he became a soldier of the British, like countless others. When was it a crime for an Afghan to become a mercenary?'
'Always - if his employer is British. They have twice invaded our country and deposed our rightful ruler. Now, instead of Sher Ali, we have his faithless son, Yakub Khan, who has allowed the British a residency in Kabul. Soon they will conquer the whole country.'
George measured his response. He knew that his and Ilderim's lives hung in the balance, and that to preserve them he would have to convince Abdulla that Britain was not intent on annexing his country. The only way to do this, he decided, would be to tell the truth about his mission. Only then might Ilderim's military service be forgiven.
'That is not true,' said George. 'The British government's only interest in Afghanistan is to prevent Russian encroachment, which might threaten the security of India. If Yakub Khan can guarantee this, he will be left to govern as he sees fit. How do I know this? Because I heard it from the mouth of our wazir, Lord Beaconsfield.'
'You lie, Feringhee. Why would your wazir tell a mere boy like you - and a dark-skinned one at that - about matters of such importance?'
'I have been sent here on a secret mission. I told your son I was a businessman called James Harper, but my real name is George Hart. I'm a captain in the British Army and I've been sent to Afghanistan to try to prevent a tribal uprising that will topple Yakub and provoke a fresh invasion, with more bloodshed.'
On hearing this Ilderim turned to George. 'I knew you were a soldier, huzoor . Didn't I say it when--'
'Quiet!' shouted Abdulla. 'I'm speaking. So tell me, Feringhee, how do you plan to stop the uprising? Because there will be one, and soon.'
'My task,' said George, looking Abdulla in the eye, 'is to prevent the Mullah Mushk-i-Alam from donning the Prophet's Cloak and rousing the faithful.'
'The Feringhee dog is a British spy!' interjected Gul Shah, raising his pistol. 'He says it himself. Let me kill him now and there's an end to it.'
'Stay your hand, Gul,' growled Abdulla. 'I will hear him out first. It is true that the mullah plots a holy war and would have the whole country under sharia law. I know this much from my cousin who lives in Ghazni. It is also true that the cloak would bring many Ghazis to the mullah's side. So your aim is not a foolish one, even if your hopes of success are slender. I, too, have no wish to see the mullah rule supreme: he would weaken the authority of tribal chiefs like me. But I have even less desire to see the British rule in Kabul, and will do everything in my power to prevent it.'
'Then you must spare me, forgive your son, and let us continue on our mission because there are those in Simla who would welcome a rising as an excuse to invade Afghanistan - and this time they will stay.'
'You talk in riddles,' said Abdulla, shaking his head. 'First you say the British don't want to invade. Now you insist they do. Which is it to be?'
'Both. The British government in London doesn't, but the Indian government at Simla does. The viceroy and his friends are convinced the security of India would best be served by annexing Afghanistan. London feels that would only result in more blood spilt and treasure spent, which is why it hasn't told Simla about my mission. If Simla finds out it will certainly try to interfere.'
'So I must let you go if I want Afghanistan to remain free?'
'Yes, and your son too. I can't find the cloak without him.'
Abdulla tugged at his beard while he digested George's words. 'I will think more about what
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