The Long Road to Baghdad (2011) Page 6

  ‘Sir, Captain Shakespear has had more success than any other British officer in treating with the natives, and he has met them man to man on his own terms, without relinquishing his uniform.’

  ‘I sympathise with your opinion, Crabbe,’ Perry interrupted, ‘but Shakespear’s efforts amongst the tribes who inhabit the empty quarter, commendable as they are, can hardly be held as an example for us to follow here in the Gulf. Sometimes we, in command, find it necessary to bend a few rules.’

  ‘Sir, none of this alters the fact that Lieutenant Downe spends more time cavorting in the bazaars dressed like a native …’

  ‘I know Lieutenant Downe better than you, Major. I know his people.’ He glared at Crabbe to ensure the major comprehended the social distinction he was drawing. ‘I’m fully aware what he does with his free time. But he’s young and bored. I would have found this posting tedious myself at his age. No action, no social life worth speaking of. It’s hardly surprising he finds amusement where he can. It’s up to us older, more experienced officers to guide him. Utilise his abilities as a man and an officer, and that’s precisely what I’m doing. Lieutenant Downe mixes well with the locals. He’s learnt their lingo, something no other officer on this post has seen fit to do, and he keeps me informed of local rumour. Perhaps you’d like to take that as an example, Major?’ Leaving his desk, Perry strode to the window, turned his back on Crabbe, and stared out over the Shatt-el-Arab.

  Flotillas of low-slung native barges scudded downstream to the Gulf, but the colonel remained oblivious to any beauty the scene might have held. Crabbe infuriated him. The insufferable base-born nobody had dared criticise a Downe. Whatever Harry’s failings, he was of sound family. The fifth generation Downe to hold a commission in the regiment. Damn High Command and their notions of promoting dregs from the ranks.

  ‘Our work here is on a different level to Shakespear’s,’ he continued. ‘We’re not dealing with would-be kings, like Saud, but petty tribal chieftains. Dozens of them. Each more vicious than the last. And Downe, speaking Arabic, and wearing native dress, negotiated a treaty where adherence to the book would have failed. I don’t think you realise, Crabbe, the Bedouin can be the devil to deal with.’

  ‘As we’re speaking off the record, Colonel,’ Crabbe interceded, ‘in my opinion there’s only one way to deal with lying, murderous natives. Arab or …’

  ‘We haven’t the men to cover the territory of the oil company, much less curb the natives. Downe persuaded Ibn Shalan to not only leave our pipeline alone, but safeguard it from sabotage by other tribes.’

  ‘And you believe Ibn Shalan will honour such an agreement, sir? Sheikh Muhammerah admitted at the last conference that he has as much control over the snakes in the desert as Shalan, and of the two, the snakes are more predictable.’

  ‘I have the treaty bearing Shalan’s signature. It clearly delineates the responsibilities he’s assumed for the security of the pipeline.’

  ‘May I ask what it is costing us, sir?’

  ‘The usual: horses, livestock, guns.’

  ‘You gave that bandit guns knowing he could use them against us?’

  ‘You’re out of order, Major!’

  ‘I assumed we were talking off the record, sir.

  ‘Our off the record conversation pertained only to Downe, and that remark suggests you’re questioning my competency. As your CO, I find your attitude insubordinate and offensive.’

  ‘I apologise, sir. No slur was intended on your judgement or competency as CO.’ Crabbe paled. For the first time in his career, he’d spoken first and thought afterwards.

  ‘I gave Ibn Shalan guns so he could defend the oil pipeline. If he should use them to any private ends, you can rest assured they’ll be compatible with British interests. He knows we can halt his supply of ammunition whenever we choose.’

  ‘Sir.’ Crabbe had never made a friend among the officers in the regiment, but he’d managed to avoid invoking open animosity. His only hope was that Perry wouldn’t bear a grudge for long.

  ‘Take this –’ Perry threw the report at him ‘– and remove Downe’s name from the charge sheet. Then perhaps we can begin to run this post the way it should be run.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘And when you’ve finished, clean up this base. If I’ve told the sepoy sergeant once, I’ve told him a thousand times that the wood that cannot be housed in my woodshed should be stacked in the general stores, not outside my veranda.’

  ‘I’ll see to it immediately, sir.’

  ‘Make sure you do, Crabbe. Dismissed.’

  Tucking the report under his arm, Crabbe turned and marched out of the office.

  Perry watched the door close behind Crabbe, then returned to the window. Crabbe was an ill-bred idiot. It showed in his blundering, graceless ways. The man wasn’t a gentleman, let alone officer material. He gazed out over the river and tried to forget the minor irritations of the morning: Maud, and her engagement to what amounted to a civilian; Downe’s various misdemeanours; the foul eggs at breakfast. Why did every trifling annoyance in this place blow up to twice the size it would have elsewhere? He watched a steam barge chug its way down river towards the Gulf. Perhaps it was going as far as India.

  If Shalan kept his side of the bargain, he might be able to manipulate Downe’s triumph and use it as a lever to prise his way back to a post at Regimental HQ. India was hot, but never as downright unbearable as this. He glanced at the thermometer fixed to the window. One hundred and twelve and it was only just after nine. Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, he mopped his brow, but it proved useless. The moisture came as much from the atmosphere as his body. Even the ceiling fans were more decorative than functional. They only swirled the same hot, damp air around the office. It was like living in a steam bath. Difficult to breathe, to dress, to live; everything rotting around you, even the clothes on your back.

  India could be hot, humid, and uncomfortable – he held no illusions about the place in the physical sense – but it had so much more to offer. The companionship of like-minded chaps, polo matches with teams fielding a full complement of officers, plus an ample number of good men in reserve, not scratch sides like this place. In the evening, there was always a dinner party that offered a variety of interesting people, instead of the same tired old faces. And servants – he hadn’t realised how much he and Emily relied on them until they came here and found the locals downright uncivilised and untrainable. When they returned to India he’d take up polo seriously again, buy some more ponies. After work, he’d drink in the club without worrying about having to go home to Emily. She’d have other wives to talk to. They wouldn’t have to see too much of one another as they’d been forced to here. It was damned unhealthy spending all your time with a woman and, with Maud gone, Emily would need friends around her. India had suited her; she’d been happy there, relieved of domestic duties, busy doing womanly things, leaving him free to relax. Visit the Rag once or twice a week.

  He missed the Rag; the Bedouin gypsy girls Mitkhal procured were no compensation for the loss of that pretty little Hindu. She’d looked innocent, but by God, the tricks she knew …

  He turned on his heel and returned to his desk, anger forgotten. He was already drafting the report that would get him back to India. He’d have to give Downe some credit, but he’d stress the whole thing had been his idea. The objective had been achieved, the pipeline secured, and his name was inscribed on the treaty alongside Shalan’s. Downe had merely co-signed as the envoy who’d carried the terms he’d drawn up. A communication like that should convince HQ that a chap capable of such a diplomatic victory would be better deployed running the show from base, not put out to grass in a desolate backwater like Mesopotamia.

  He’d have to be a bit subtle, but he was a past master at subtlety. Subtlety had gained him a full colonelcy five years before his time. And while he was about it, he’d put in a word about Crabbe; nothing too obvious, just a casual mention that Major Warren Crabbe lacked fines
se – polish – and the right kind of experience. That he needed more time in his present post with its small officers’ mess, where social blunders were easier to contain. He’d mention that a strong CO with the time and patience to instruct Crabbe in correct and acceptable behaviour would be an advantage. There was always a troublesome Johnny, someone’s darling son, the Brass was looking to shelve sideways; an awkward chap guaranteed to make Crabbe’s life hell. All he had to do was make some discreet enquiries, finger the right man, and Crabbe would become a fixture in this Arab-lined latrine. Possibly even permanently.

  Chapter Four

  The Shatt-el-Arab, Basra, Friday 3rd July 1914

  The steam launch seemed to have been hovering towards the quay for an eternity and still its engines spluttered with asthmatic wheezes that fixed, rather than propelled, the hull out of the central stream towards the shore.

  ‘May I, sir?’ Harry enquired of Perry, who’d refused to leave his carriage. Perry nodded, jerking greasy rivulets of perspiration from beneath his topee. Harry gauged the distance between quay and deck before running and jumping in a single movement that sent him sprawling to the paint-blistered door of the launch’s cabin.

  ‘I might have known it would be you.’ Maud, dressed in a long-sleeved blue silk shift and wide-brimmed, feather-trimmed, cream straw hat, looked down at him.

  ‘Maud, how marvellous to see you looking so well, and –’ he arched his eyebrows as he rose and dusted himself off ‘– beautiful.’

  ‘My fiancé might hear you. He’s bigger than you, and terribly jealous.’ Maud batted her eyelashes and twirled her parasol coquettishly.

  ‘In that case, I’ll take advantage of his absence and kiss the bride while I have the opportunity.’ Harry planted a kiss on her left cheek.

  ‘I saw that, Harry. If you want to kiss and cuddle a girl, find your own.’

  Releasing Maud, Harry turned to his cousin. ‘Good God, you’ve grown a foot across the shoulders and acquired two stone of muscle since I last saw you.’

  John fingered the ends of his dark moustache and looked down at Harry’s slight figure. ‘And you’ve shrunk.’

  ‘It’s the heat,’ Harry warned. ‘It could happen to you and Maud. Not that it will matter much in your case, but there’ll be nothing left of Maud.’

  ‘Well?’ Hooking her arm into John’s, Maud nestled close to him. ‘Do you approve of my choice of husband, Harry?’

  ‘Wholeheartedly, but as for me looking for a girl of my own, there’s no point, John. My heart is broken. You’ve scooped the only catch worth taking this side of LondonBridge.’

  ‘I see you haven’t forgotten how to flatter, Harry.’ Emily bustled towards them, her hat pulled low over her eyes. Harry kissed her cheek, then noticed Charles glowering in the background.

  ‘Basra isn’t that bad, Charles.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Charles smiled. Harry was just the person he needed to see him through the hours ahead that he’d be forced to spend in the company of Emily – and her husband.

  ‘Where’s George?’ Emily enquired fractiously.

  ‘On the quay. I couldn’t wait to see these two reprobates.’ Harry laid one hand on John’s enormous shoulder, the other on Charles’s fractionally shorter, slimmer figure. ‘Out tonight? We’ll have to make it special. It’s John’s last night of freedom.’

  ‘Father’s arranged the wedding?’ Maud queried.

  ‘So rumour has it.’ Harry winked at John. ‘Barely time enough to say your prayers, let alone change your mind.’

  ‘Harry Downe …’ Maud began.

  ‘Are we going to stay on this boat all day?’ Emily was at breaking point. Before dawn, Charles had created the most awful scene in her cabin and now she was faced with an ordeal of introductions that promised to be even worse torture.

  ‘Do forgive me, Mrs Perry. I’ve been incredibly selfish, keeping you waiting while I talk.’ Harry offered her his arm. ‘If the gangplank is down I’ll escort you to your carriage. There’s no need to concern yourself with your luggage. I’ve told my bearer to take care of it.’ They left the cabin for the blinding, asphyxiating heat on deck.

  ‘Dear God!’

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it, Charles?’ Harry looked out at the palm-fringed mud banks, and low, flat-roofed buildings.

  ‘I’m used to India. Wharves in the middle of town and all that.’

  ‘This is the middle of town. The centre of all social and industrial life for miles, but it’s not at its best. We take longer midday breaks here than India. When it’s cooler the town will wake up and there’ll be a few people around.’

  ‘Will that make a difference?’ Charles enquired.

  ‘I’m glad you haven’t enlightened him,’ Harry whispered to Emily. ‘It’s going to be fun showing him the sights.’

  ‘Emily.’ The colonel unbent sufficiently to step outside his carriage and kiss his wife’s forehead. ‘Good trip?’

  ‘Yes, George.’

  ‘Maud.’ He greeted his daughter in like fashion. ‘And this is …?’

  ‘Captain John Mason, Father.’ Maud pulled John forward. ‘The most wonderful man in the world.’

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, sir.’ John offered the colonel his hand.

  ‘Likewise.’ The colonel shook John’s hand vigorously.

  Maud smiled. Her father didn’t appear to be displeased with her fiancé. Now all she had to do was persuade John to keep wearing the uniform she’d bullied him into donning for this crucial initial meeting.

  ‘Colonel Perry, may I present my good friend, Captain Charles Reid.’ John effected the introduction Emily had been dreading.

  ‘Glad to meet you,’ the colonel barked. ‘Knew your father. Good man. Good soldier.’

  ‘Kind of you say so, sir,’ Charles managed.

  ‘Well, can’t hang about here in this heat. We’ll go up in separate carriages, but lunch together. One sharp, my bungalow. All invited. You too, Downe.’

  Emily sat beside the colonel, John shut the carriage door, the sepoy whipped the horses, and Maud waved, blowing kisses as the carriage turned the corner. Harry waited until John joined them, then whistled. Mitkhal hauled a second carriage close to where they were standing.

  ‘A landau!’ Charles exclaimed. ‘Old, but in superb condition. Where did you find a turnout like this, Harry?’

  ‘It belonged to a Sheikh who hit a run of bad luck. John, there’s no need to look hangdog. It’s a ten-minute ride to the European quarter; if appearances are anything to go by, Maud will wait for you.’

  ‘I wasn’t looking hangdog,’ John protested in the face of his friends’ combined laughter.

  Harry climbed into the carriage, pulled out his cigarette case, and offered it around. ‘After the wedding, Charles, you’ll be bunking with one of the lieutenants. Peter Smythe. Don’t worry, he’s the right sort.’

  ‘If that means he’s a close friend of yours, pity help me.’

  ‘You’re a close friend.’

  ‘I had no choice in the matter.’

  ‘I’ll give you a suitable reply to that when I’ve had time to think of one.’ Harry lit his cigarette and tossed Charles his lighter. ‘You’re welcome to my bungalow for as long as it suits, John. There are two bedrooms so we can all sleep there tonight, but I thought you’d prefer to honeymoon in my place rather than impose on your in-laws. Mrs Perry’s an angel, but your father-in-law – let’s say he’s not the person I’d choose to take along on my bridal trip.’

  ‘Given your record of loving and leaving girls, Harry, I’m amazed you’ve taken your thoughts as far as a honeymoon,’ Charles commented.

  ‘It’s good of you to offer,’ John interrupted, before the conversation turned to the topic of Harry’s escapades. He hadn’t forgotten his cousin’s brief engagement to his sister. ‘But where are you going to sleep after tonight?’

  ‘I’ll find somewhere.’

  Charles removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘Who is
she, another Christina?’

  ‘I’ve learnt my lesson. No more married women – at least not those married to other men,’ Harry amended. Strange how quickly he’d come to think of Furja as his wife.

  ‘Harry, I’ve a problem with my best man,’ John broke in, covering Charles’s embarrassment at the mention of married women.

  ‘You’ve decided to break with convention and have two.’

  ‘No, Charles …’

  ‘Is leaving before dawn tomorrow,’ Charles interrupted.

  ‘You can’t.’ Harry protested. ‘The wedding’s not until 11, and then there’s the reception in the mess. Not to mention the fun I’ve lined up for us once John’s sobering influence is out of the way.’

  ‘No can stay.’ Charles forced a laugh. ‘It would mean spending at least a week here, and from what I’ve seen –’ he peered beneath the landau’s fringed shade at the fly-spattered, broiling street ‘– this isn’t the place to revive a weary soldier after a spell in India. Not when he has the option of visiting the West End.’

  ‘What are you babbling on about? You can’t leave until the ship you came in on sails out. That won’t be for three or four days.’

  ‘The Egra’s going out on the first tide tomorrow.’

  ‘But the liners always berth in the Gulf for at least three days,’ Harry insisted.

  ‘Not this time.’ Charles extinguished his cigarette in the brass ashtray sunk into the leather upholstery. ‘The captain called us into the salon this morning. Some Archduke or other has been assassinated in the Balkans …’

  ‘They’re always assassinating archdukes in the Balkans,’ Harry broke in.

  ‘Not Austrian ones,’ Charles said. ‘There’s talk of war.’

  ‘There’s been talk of war for months, years if you’re referring to the Balkans,’ Harry said dismissively.

  ‘I wholeheartedly agree with you.’ Charles had enough problems without adding to them by arguing the intricacies of Balkan politics with Harry. ‘But the good old Peninsula and Oriental Shipping Line, God bless her gilded lounges, has got the wind up. The captain’s been ordered to proceed forthwith for home, and forthwith means the minute she’s loaded, which will be first tide tomorrow. If this assassination does stir things up, there’s no telling when the next boat will arrive, and I’m not prepared to take the chance on one turning up soon. Unlike John, I have no beautiful Maud to amuse me while I wait.’