Part 21 (1/2)
She should be grateful. She was was grateful. In spite of the pain she had caused him, and in spite of the disgrace and ostracism her native liaison had caused, he had still found it in his heart to forgive her. grateful. In spite of the pain she had caused him, and in spite of the disgrace and ostracism her native liaison had caused, he had still found it in his heart to forgive her.
He must have thought all along that she had come to Kabul to marry him.
He had made her a generous offer, and she had treated him like a merchant selling a bolt of cotton.
But he had given her no warning. Had she been prepared, she might have offered him a less hurtful reply, or at least a more truthful one.
And what of his own feelings? He had not said he loved her. Perhaps he did not. Perhaps, like her, he only wanted to imagine a peaceful future far from this cold, mountainous land, in a house with a garden, and fair-haired children playing at his feet.
She had sent him into battle without the one thing that would have given him hope ”You must eat something, my dear,” Uncle Adrian said kindly. ”We must all preserve our strength.”
She looked up at her kind, unperceiving uncle. ”I will try, Uncle Adrian,” she murmured, raising a forkful of rice and meat to her mouth. ”I will try.”
Later, after reciting the durood, she lay listening to the night sounds of the cantonment. Over the coughing of the troops, someone was singing a mysterious, rhythmic Indian air, full of trills and mournful wobbling sounds.
It was, Mariana thought, the song of a broken heart.
November 23, 1841 Since that young man of yours is in charge of the gun,” Lady Sale announced, as she steered Mariana past her now defunct vegetable garden, ”you had better come to the roof with me and have a look at the fighting.”
Sorely regretting her shortcut past Lady Sale's house on her way to ask Nur Rahman for raisins, Mariana trailed reluctantly along a narrow s.p.a.ce between the house and its outer wall.
The last thing she wanted to see from Lady Sale's flat roof, with its perfect view of the Bibi Mahro hills and the village below, was Harry Fitzgerald being killed or wounded.
Lady Sale stepped past the b.l.o.o.d.y feathers of a recently killed chicken, negotiated a pile of loose stones beneath her kitchen window, and took hold of a bamboo ladder that leaned conveniently against the wall. Without hesitating, she gripped the uprights with gloved hands, and began to climb.
Halfway up, she looked down, her field gla.s.ses swinging from her neck. ”Stop dawdling, child,” she snapped. ”They've been up there since three in the morning. For all we know, the battle is nearly over.”
Escape was impossible. Mariana stiffened her spine, and stepped onto the ladder.
They had sent a little over a thousand British and Indian fighting men to face a seemingly inexhaustible supply of Afghan fighters with better knowledge of the terrain.
She would not think of Fitzgerald and his gun, she decided, as she scrambled onto the roof. She did not know how she would bear her remorse if he died ”Take shelter behind one of the chimneys,” Lady Sale ordered. ”Stray b.a.l.l.s come whizzing past.”
It was just after dawn, and the snow on the mountains had turned from purple to pink and gold. Mariana crouched behind her brick fortification, straining to see what was happening.
”Shelton took seventeen companies, a hundred sappers, a few troops of cavalry, and your young man's gun at two o'clock this morning,” Lady Sale announced, her field gla.s.ses to her eyes. ”He has set himself up on the hill immediately over the village, but he has already made his first mistake. He should have surprised the enemy while it was still dark, instead of wasting all this time.”
”I should have thought,” Mariana offered, ”that the brigadier's first mistake was to bring only one gun. Surely he knows there is a standing order forbidding-”
”That, missy,” Lady Sale barked from her post, ”is no concern of yours. I, who am a general's wife, may comment upon our military operations. You You, an unmarried woman with designs on an officer too low in rank to marry, may not.” not.”
Mariana felt her face color. ”I have read the rules,” she insisted stubbornly. ”It is true about the guns.”
”Of course it is true,” replied Lady Sale, ”but it is for me me, not you, to say so! Where,” she asked after a pause, ”have you learned about standing orders?”
”My father is interested in military history. I have read it since I was a child.”
Lady Sale sniffed. ”All well and good, but you should learn to behave yourself. Ah,” she added, the field gla.s.ses once more to her eyes. ”A party has started down from the top of the hill, no doubt to storm the village. Perhaps they will at last do something-but wait, they have missed the main gate, and gone past it, to one side. What fools! They are right in the line of fire from inside the walls. There,” she cried, ”several have already fallen!”
Where was Fitzgerald? ”Lady Sale,” Mariana began. ”Can you tell me-”
Lady Sale took the gla.s.ses from her eyes and glared toward the hills. ”What a stupid, senseless thing to do. They have missed their opportunity to take possession of the village! What is is the matter with them all?” the matter with them all?”
A whistling sound came from nearby. ”Musketry,” she shouted, retreating behind her chimney. ”By the way,” she added, after the ball thudded into the edge of the roof, ”your young man is doing quite well with his gun. He has managed to get it onto the very top of the hill and now he is firing down into the village. I can make out the smoke.”
Your young man. Please, please, Mariana prayed, let Fitzgerald live until she could think of the right thing to say.... Please, please, Mariana prayed, let Fitzgerald live until she could think of the right thing to say....
At nine o'clock they were still at their posts. The sun beat down on the flat roof, warming Mariana in spite of the cold wind.
Her throat felt dry. ”Should we not go down,” she suggested, ”and have some water?”
”What for?” Lady Sale waved a gloved hand toward the battle. ”Those men up there have had no water all morning. We, at least,” she added, as a second musket ball thudded into the bricks, ”are safe.”
No more than a mile from Mariana's vantage point, the two Bibi Mahro hills stood side by side, separated by a deep gorge leading to a valley beyond. On top of the right-hand hill, plainly visible above the collection of flat-roofed houses that climbed its lower slope, two groups of red-coated infantry had formed their usual dense squares. Nearby, Mariana could make out a troop of irregular Indian cavalry, distinguished by their flowing, native dress. Puffs of smoke issued from nearby, presumably from the gun.
Someone sat astride a horse on the summit of the hill, his jacket a tiny smudge of color against the distant mountains. Was it Fitzgerald?
”I understand you blotted your copybook in Lah.o.r.e, two years ago,” Lady Sale said bluntly.
Mariana did not reply.
”A serious mistake,” Lady Sale decreed. ”One never recovers from a scandal like that. How on earth did you allow yourself to be duped into marrying a native? native?
”I should think you would have had more sense,” she added, before Mariana could think of a reply. ”Moreover, it is very unwise of you to pin your hopes on a lieutenant, who is much too young for you. With all your knowledge of military matters, you must know that a lieutenant may not not marry, a captain marry, a captain may may marry, and a colonel marry, and a colonel must must marry. marry.
”Have you seen those hors.e.m.e.n on the plain?” she asked, mercifully changing the subject.
A distant swarm of Afghan riders appeared below the hills and milled about as if waiting for a signal.
”Look,” Mariana cried, pointing to the slope. ”I think men are leaving the village!”
”They are indeed,” Lady Sale agreed, her gla.s.ses trained upon the hill. ”They are running away, while our storming party is pinned down and unable to enter and secure it. Fools! But at least the Irregular Horse has ridden downhill to intercept the deserters.”
To Mariana's left, on the Kohistan Road, a thick stream of men on foot and horseback made its way toward them. ”More armed men are coming from the city,” Mariana cried. ”They are heading toward the second hill! Why have we not sent a sortie from here to cut them off?”
The men from the city numbered several thousand. Moving rapidly for men on foot, they traveled in groups toward the hills, triangular pennants aloft. They had no artillery, and save for a single, gesticulating figure at their head, they appeared to be leaderless. Nonetheless they made a terrifying sight.
Twenty minutes later, Mariana watched the first of the column begin to climb the left-hand hill, clearly making for the gorge that separated them from the British force.
The Afghan hors.e.m.e.n had already chased off the British irregular cavalry.
”A silly, stupid failure,” opined Lady Sale.
Fitzgerald's gun shot steadily at the column from the city. Puff after puff of smoke issued from his position, making it hard to see what was happening to the infantry squares nearby.
Mariana did not need to be told that the Afghan jezail, with its longer range and greater accuracy, was a better weapon than the British musket. If the enemy came within a quarter mile of the red-coated British and Indian squares on the hill, their fire would be both damaging and unreturned.