The Long Road to Baghdad (2011) Page 34

  ‘They are my children. I have the right to see them.’

  Shalan swung his sword above Harry’s head. ‘Here, Ferenghis have no rights.’

  Ignoring the sword, Harry caught Shalan’s arm. ‘You cannot take my family and give it to another. You cannot …’ A hand gripped his shoulder. He turned and tried to swing a punch, but his fist was gripped in mid-air. His arms were wrenched and tied behind his back. He was dragged onto Dorset.

  He clung with his thighs to the saddle as Dorset galloped alongside the Arabs’ horses. The midday sun beat down mercilessly and still they rode. No one spoke, no one rested. At nightfall, they halted beside the river. The Bedouin who’d led Dorset cut the bonds on Harry’s wrists. Harry reclaimed his reins. Exhausted, Dorset tried to hobble down to the river, but Harry held her fast.

  ‘Tell Shalan he’s not seen the last of me. I’ll be back, and next time I will see my children.’

  ‘I think not, Ferenghi. Furja is now my wife. She and her daughters sleep in my harem. Should you ride into Shalan’s camp again you will not escape.’ Ali Mansur pulled a knife and ran the blade along his thumb, drawing blood. ‘Next time we meet, I will take your head to decorate my tent pole. Your little ones will see it every morning when they leave to tend my flocks. Should you place no value on your own miserable carcass, I promise I will give Furja and your daughters a stripe every time I hear your name from today.’ Wheeling his horse, he followed his companions back across the plain.

  Sensing Harry’s lack of concentration, Dorset cantered down to the water. Harry slid off her back and patted her head as she drank. Perhaps it was just as well he had a war to return to. If he didn’t, he might go mad.

  Lansing Memorial Hospital, Sunday 20th June 1915

  Maud grabbed the wall when the corridor floor rose in a wave of white tiles; someone lifted her in the air. The head of an Arab orderly came into view. She heard him call for Theo. Then the world turned black.

  When she came round, she was lying on a couch in Theo’s office. Someone, she hoped it hadn’t been Theo, had removed her dress, and covered her with a sheet. He was calling her name and she felt as though he was miles away.

  ‘Mrs Mason, Maud, drink this.’ A mixture of water and vinegar was lifted to her lips. Nauseous, unable to swallow, its tepid warmth trickled over her chin. Theo shouted for a kidney dish and held her head while she retched.

  ‘Did you know before you started work here?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you think we were so desperate for nurses we’d take a pregnant woman? Have you any idea of the damage exposure to infections could do to your child?’ he reprimanded.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Tears flowed from her eyes.

  ‘If you don’t rest you could lose the child. You’ve lost a little blood as it is.’

  She flushed in embarrassment as she realised there was a pad between her legs.

  ‘Perhaps that was your intention. It’s obvious the child isn’t your husband’s. Basra is a small place. Everyone’s talking about his refusal to see you.’

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ she croaked.

  ‘Your health is my business. I’ve arranged for you to be taken to the mission. There, you will stay in bed, until I give you permission to leave it. Pity, you had the makings of a good nurse.’

  ‘I can be a nurse again.’

  ‘With a child? Can you support yourself?’

  ‘I have a little money and John’s salary.’

  ‘I don’t think you can rely on that. Men can be finicky about the fatherhood of their wives’ children.’ He washed his hands. ‘Is there any point in asking whose child it is?’

  ‘The child is mine, Dr Wallace.’

  ‘The father’s health is a factor to be considered.’

  ‘He was healthy enough when I last saw him.’

  ‘Does he know?’

  ‘That’s a peculiar question considering I’ve only just found out myself.’

  ‘He’ll have to support you.’

  She couldn’t bear the condemnation in his eyes, so she said the one thing she hoped would stir his pity. ‘I was raped. Last May. By an officer. Before you ask, I never saw him before, I haven’t seen him since, and I never want to see him again.’

  ‘Where did this attack take place?’ His tone was sceptical.

  ‘I went to an officers’ lodging house the evening before the Amara expedition left. It was a stupid thing to do, but I was hoping to find someone to carry a letter to John. The man … He wasn’t living there, only visiting, Colonel Hale found out that much.’

  She averted her eyes lest Theo read too much in her expression. The colonel’s death meant her version of the facts would never be questioned, but this was the first time she’d told the story she’d threatened Charles with. ‘I was hurt. Not badly, just bruises, and my dress was torn. Colonel Hale treated me. I asked him to keep the whole thing quiet because I was ashamed. I didn’t want any gossip but most of all I wanted to spare John …’ This time her tears were genuine. A child. She was having a child her husband could and would publicly disown.

  ‘You want this baby?’ he asked in a marginally kinder tone.

  ‘Is there an alternative?’

  ‘No legal one.’ He went to the door. ‘I’ll order an ambulance.’

  After Theo left, she considered the life within her. A separate entity. A child, and as she’d told Theo, her child. It wouldn’t be John’s, but then she’d never carry his child, not now. If she had a girl, the baby might go a little way towards filling the aching void left by her mother. Given the father’s colouring, she should be a golden one.

  Placing her hands over her stomach, she gazed out of the window. Then she realised the palms were stirring alongside the river. The Shamal had arrived.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Basra, Wednesday 23rd June 1915

  Harry rode into HQ in the early hours. After seeing Dorset stabled, he walked to Abdul’s and spent a fruitless ten minutes searching for Mitkhal before a servant told him that, under the impression he’d been ordered to Qurna, the Arab had left Basra that morning. Cursing, he went to his room, stripped off, and bathed before falling into bed.

  When he woke, the sun and temperature were high, although nowhere near as hell-like as the Karun Valley. He breakfasted on dates before donning his uniform and returning to HQ.

  The sleepy post of ten months earlier had been transformed into a bustling Army camp that housed thousands. He was shown into his superior’s office, gave a brief account of the situation in Karun, omitting all mention of Shalan’s hostility, and was ordered to join General Gorringe’s expedition to Nasiriyeh. He headed for his bungalow. Farik opened the door, greeting him with a hugely welcoming grin.

  ‘Ubbatan …’

  ‘Have you heard from your master?’ Harry questioned.

  ‘You know Sheikh Ibn Shalan, Ubbatan. He never leaves the desert.’

  ‘His daughter?’

  ‘I have heard no news of my master nor my lady.’

  ‘I’m leaving today. Finish what you have to do here. Afterwards, should anyone ask, including your master, you have not seen me since last October.’ Harry handed him a couple of gold sovereigns.

  Peter emerged, napkin in hand, from the dining room. ‘I thought I heard Farik talking to someone. It’s marvellous to see you. Join us for lunch. Farik has made the most delicious rice and tinned ham pilaff. There’s plenty to spare.’ Peter showed him into the dining room.

  Angela’s initial smile of pleasure clouded when she realised why he’d come. ‘You’re leaving, and you’re taking Peter with you?’

  ‘I have to leave for Qurna today but I can find enough paperwork – genuine paperwork this time, I’m afraid – to keep Peter occupied here until the 26th. I dare not stretch it any longer with the push to Nasiriyeh starting.’ He looked at Peter’s smiling face and wondered why his friend’s happiness cut so deep. Had he become so dog in the manger he couldn’t bear to see another man
enjoying the pleasures of married life that had been denied him?

  ‘Thank you for giving us a few more days.’ Angela left the table to fetch extra cutlery and crockery. ‘Peter told me how many strings you had to pull to organise him any time at all.’

  ‘It’s my policy to use all the power that comes with this uniform before the brass realise their mistake and take it off me. How’s John?’ He helped himself to rice.

  Peter looked away.

  ‘He’s not worse?’ Harry rose.

  ‘No, sit down. John’s making a good recovery.’

  ‘It’s Maud,’ Angela interrupted. ‘She’s ill and going to need some looking after for a while. They’re taking care of her at the mission, but she should be with her family.’

  ‘She only has her father and John.’ Harry sipped the wine Peter poured for him. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘Woman’s trouble,’ Angela explained. ‘Nothing serious, but it will take her a while to recover. I’ll take care of her.’

  ‘Are you going to continue teaching?’

  ‘Yes. The Reverend Butler won’t be able to find a replacement for me while the war’s on and –’ she smiled at Peter ‘– I don’t want to leave the mission until it’s over.’

  ‘I may be able to get someone to look after Maud.’ Harry recalled Emily’s maid, Harriet. ‘If I can, will you be able to put her up at the mission?’

  ‘If it was someone capable of nursing Maud, we’d find the space. All the staff are working either in the school or the hospital and Theo can’t put Maud in the Lansing because of the risk of infection.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. If you need someone and her father’s not around –’ he avoided all mention of John ‘– contact me in Qurna. I’ve only just enough time to visit John before I leave. Tell Maud I’ll call the next time I’m in Basra.’

  He said his goodbyes and left, not only because time was short. He’d heard Farik moving in the next room, turning down beds and pulling blinds against the midday heat. It reminded him too much of the house in the Arab quarter – and Furja.

  John wasn’t quite as gaunt and hollow-eyed as when Harry had last seen him. He was sitting up in bed reading an old copy of the Westminster Gazette Peter had scrounged.

  ‘The wanderer returns.’

  ‘Both wanderers.’ Harry sat on John’s bed. ‘I thought you were heading for Hades at one point back there, Major Mason.’

  ‘How long are you here?’

  ‘Until this afternoon. I’ve been attached to Gorringe’s force in Qurna.’

  ‘And from there to Nasiriyeh?’ John guessed.

  ‘That information is classified.’

  ‘A couple of days in this place will teach you nothing is classified. Someone should invite the staff here so they can hear the outcome of their decisions before they make them. It would save them hours of briefings and meetings.’

  ‘Why should you want to spare them pain?’

  ‘You’re quite right. The staff deserve all the agony they get. Good luck, I wish I was going with you.’

  ‘If Nasiriyeh falls as easily as Amara we won’t need luck. Do you feel as reasonable as you look?’ Harry asked.

  ‘I’m weak, but on the mend. I’ll be up in a week or so.’

  ‘Don’t push it. I know you. You’ll be working here tomorrow.’ Harry took out his cigarettes. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to talk to you about Maud.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to her?’

  ‘Before I left for the Karun.’ He handed John Maud’s wedding ring. ‘She asked me to tell you she’ll agree to a divorce, and if it will help she’ll give you Brooke’s letters. She also said she’s sorry and she never stopped loving you.’

  John dropped the ring onto the bedside table, filched a cigarette, and picked up a box of matches.

  ‘There’s something else. Peter and Angela have told me she’s ill.’

  ‘Has she tried to do something stupid? Take her own life?’

  ‘Angela said it was woman’s trouble. She asked if there was any family she could contact. I told her there was only Perry and you, but I wondered about Harriet.’

  ‘Charles said he brought her here when he brought Maud but she married a sergeant in the Artillery a couple of days after they arrived.’

  ‘I’ll try and track her down.’

  ‘If you succeed, ask her if she’ll look after Maud. I’ll pay her wages. Maud’s still my wife and I won’t see her sick and destitute. I’ll carry on supporting her until she finds another fool to marry.’

  ‘I didn’t doubt you would. I’m sorry things didn’t work out.’

  ‘How’s Angela?’ John asked. ‘If she’s half as happy as Peter looks, she must be ecstatic.’

  ‘She is ecstatic.’ Harry rose. ‘Take your time convalescing. I spoke to the doctor. You could go back to India for a spell.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Do more than think. Enjoy a leave for both of us. And for God’s sake, take care of yourself.’

  After Harry left, John swung his legs to the floor. He stood for a few seconds holding onto the bedhead. Cursing his weakness, he sank back down. Yesterday he hadn’t managed to rise. He was getting stronger.

  He wished his progress wasn’t so damned slow. The doctors were rushed off their feet. They’d been short-staffed to begin with, and their numbers had been further depleted by death and sickness. With another show coming, they needed all the medical men they could get. He lay back and returned to the Westminster Gazette. He began a short story by Saki, a writer who never failed to amuse him, but he didn’t digest a word he read. His thoughts kept returning to Maud.

  Sick and alone in the mission. One way or another, he had to sort out what was left of his marriage.

  *……*……*

  Qurna, Sunday 27th June 1914

  Negotiating his way past the troops on the quayside, Mitkhal carried Harry’s satchel of Arab clothing and empty milk skin on board the Shushan . He entered the cabin, found a narrow bench at the stern end, and stowed the kit beneath it. A few minutes later, Harry arrived with Smythe.

  ‘You’re fools to travel on this boat.’ Mitkhal eyed the guns strapped to the deck on makeshift angle iron frameworks. ‘At the first sign of trouble someone will attempt to fire those and blow this vessel to Paradise.’

  ‘Nonsense, she’s perfectly sound,’ Harry scoffed, kicking a hole in the outside planking of her cabin. ‘Grace said she was built for the relief of Khartoum. That only makes her 26. A baby in Expeditionary Force terms.’

  ‘Look what happened to Gordon,’ Peter griped, depressed by his separation from Angela.

  ‘Gordon was killed before this little darling was able to get to him.’ Grace signalled his presence to the deck officer. ‘I hope you gentlemen enjoy the ride. The army likes watching the navy work in this war.’

  ‘The trouble with the navy is that its officers call punting through the marshes work,’ Harry shouted back as he walked down the gangplank with Mitkhal. ‘You know what to do?’ he whispered in Arabic.

  ‘Return to Shalan and spirit Furja, Gutne, and the children to Basra.’

  ‘I know it won’t be easy for you to give up your right to live with the tribe.’ Harry clasped his friend’s hand. ‘I wish I was free to go with you.’

  ‘We’ve been through this, Harry. If Ali Mansur sees you, he’ll not only kill you, he’ll harm Furja. Trust me. I am better off doing this without you.’

  ‘You have the bank draft?’

  Mitkhal patted the fold of his gumbaz over his heart.

  ‘You’ll buy them a house somewhere safe?’

  ‘As safe as I can find. I’ll leave a message for you at the mission with Mrs Smythe. I’ve promised you all this a hundred times, Harry, what more can I do?’

  ‘Nothing. Thank you.’ Harry embraced Mitkhal, much to the chagrin of Perry and Cleck-Heaton, who were boarding a launch.

  ‘Go; fight your war, Harry.’ Mitkhal looked again at the Shushan. ‘For o
nce, I’m glad I’m not going with you.’

  ‘Tell Furja the minute I can, I’ll come for her. We’ll go away and I’ll never leave her again.’

  Mitkhal left, and Peter called to Harry. He waved his hand and shook his head. Ignoring his fellow officers, he stood, staring at the Odin and Espiegle berthed in front of them. Misunderstanding his wave, Grace and Smythe joined him.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Grace mopped his brow.

  ‘What?’ Smythe asked.

  ‘The scenery, you philistine, we’re getting a free Cook’s tour.’

  ‘The natives don’t shoot at people on a Cook’s tour.’

  ‘Ah, but that adds to the excitement. What do you think, Harry?’

  ‘I think this bloody war can’t end soon enough for me,’ Harry answered.

  The engines wheezed, the gangplanks were heaved on board, and the Odin and Espiegle moved out in front of the flotilla. After a noisy wait, the Shushan rode into their wake. Smythe returned to the cabin leaving Harry on deck.

  Impenetrable thickets of reeds surrounded them on three sides. To the west lay the open expanse of the Hammar Lake, sprinkled with tiny green islands. On one or two, Harry spotted the peaks of reed huts and the curl of cook-fire smoke. As they chugged up channel, they disturbed herds of water buffaloes. Flocks of ducks and marsh birds screeched and rose in flapping clouds. Once, Harry spied the graceful shape of a mashuf trailing fish traps of date stalks and reeds.

  At midday, they left the Odin and Espiegle at Kubaish. The waterway had narrowed and could no longer accommodate their bows. Half an hour after the gunships disappeared over the horizon, three Turkish launches fired on the flotilla, and Harry had a taste of standing on deck when the guns that had concerned Mitkhal let rip.

  He closed his eyes as the boat shook from port to stern. Surprised to find the vessel intact when he opened them, he saw the tail end of the launches fleeing across the lake. To add insult to injury, Grace recognised two of them as British-built vessels from Thornycrofts that he’d helped deliver to the Turks before the war.

  Joining the others in the cabin, Harry stretched out on a mat. The air was stale and moist. He couldn’t move without touching someone. The light that filtered through the portholes turned from harsh white to soft gold. The smell of oil and body odours faded as he stole into an idyll of Furja and flower-strewn courtyards, but before he could savour the images, the flotilla came to a juddering halt.