Part 30 (1/2)
”No one can can defend it!” shouted Shelton. ”We cannot defend the smallest thing! Was I the only witness to the plundering of our camels and defend it!” shouted Shelton. ”We cannot defend the smallest thing! Was I the only witness to the plundering of our camels and dhoolies dhoolies this morning, as they returned from leaving our wounded at the Bala Hisar? Did I alone see our drivers and bearers stripped of all their clothes and forced to run for their lives, naked, across the snow?” this morning, as they returned from leaving our wounded at the Bala Hisar? Did I alone see our drivers and bearers stripped of all their clothes and forced to run for their lives, naked, across the snow?”
The general sighed. ”I do not know why no one ever fights these people off when they attack us. Have we no sentries, no proper guard?
”I have received another letter from Shah Shuja, begging us not to desert him,” he added mournfully. ”I wish I had any idea what to do now.”
They were to leave in the morning. Mariana stared into s.p.a.ce as she sipped her third cup of tea. The sun had already set. It was too late.
After Nur Rahman pounded away toward the city, she and her family had continued their dignified journey toward the vast caravanserai and animal market west of Kabul where Aminullah's men waited to escort them to India.
Perched atop her camel, frantic with nerves, she had hardly noticed the sweet air she breathed, or the clear azure sky above the steep brown hills in front of them. After they pa.s.sed inside the caravanserai's high gate, she had paid little attention to the huddled camps scattered over the caravanserai's hilly terrain.
A short distance from the main gate, they had found their quarters, a pair of thick, black goat-hair tents that squatted close to the ground, each one boasting half a dozen armed guards.
Other tents stood nearby. A lamb had been tied to one of them.
”The ladies will take one tent, the men will take the other,” Aminullah Khan had announced from the back of his horse, gesturing toward the black tents. ”I will entertain you until your departure in the morning. Then I will accompany you as far as the Sher Darwaza pa.s.s.”
The morning. Mariana sighed, adjusting her hopes. Perhaps the horseman had not been Ha.s.san after all. Perhaps he had only turned his head as Ha.s.san would have done... Mariana sighed, adjusting her hopes. Perhaps the horseman had not been Ha.s.san after all. Perhaps he had only turned his head as Ha.s.san would have done...
She looked about her in the gathering darkness. Held up by many poles and wrapped in layers of black goat-hair, the women's tent was comfortable enough, although it was too cold inside for them to remove their poshteens. It also was attractive, with its thickly woven floor coverings, its mattresses and bolsters, its piles of woven saddlebags, and its cheerful little fire in a circle of stones, although Aunt Claire had already complained bitterly about being stuffed into the same ice-cold tent with all the female servants.
Mariana imagined Uncle Adrian with Yar Mohammad and the Mug cook, not to mention Dittoo.
The smell of roasting meat drifted in from outside, along with male voices. Earlier, hearing frightened bleating, Mariana had put her head out of the tent in time to see a man holding the dying lamb up by its hind legs, while the blood from its slit throat drained into the snow.
Now, chopped into pieces and threaded onto skewers, it was to be their dinner.
She was dozing against a bolster when Nur Rahman put his head hesitantly into the tent.
”Tell that boy to come in or go out, but for goodness sake close the flap,” Aunt Claire snapped from her coc.o.o.n of quilts, causing Mariana to start awake. ”We have a howling draft as it is. Why is he he in the women's tent? And why is he swathed in-” in the women's tent? And why is he swathed in-”
Before her aunt could finish, Mariana was on her feet, beckoning him inside.
”I thought I would never find your horseman,” he whispered excitedly. ”But there he was, at Haji Khan's house, drinking tea with Muns.h.i.+ Sahib. He-”
”Where is he now?” Mariana demanded, her thoughts whirling. ”Is he here?”
”Of course not.” The boy waved a vague arm. ”He is at his own camp. Aminullah Khan would have him killed if he tried to visit you here. Aminullah has taken responsibility for your honor.”
His face filled with curiosity. ”Who is this man? Why do you want to see him?”
”Wait there.” Without replying, she hurried across the tent floor, found her chaderi, and put it on. ”Take me to him.”
A plaintive voice rose from the carpet as she tugged on her boots. ”Mariana! Where on earth are you going?”
”I shall be back soon, Aunt Claire,” Mariana called over her shoulder as she and Nur Rahman, identical in their chaderis, left the black tent and started off into the darkness.
”Stop. I must explain first.” Nur Rahman whispered something unintelligible to the trio of guards who sat outside, then motioned for Mariana to follow him.
”We must look as if we are going to that tent over there,” he said quietly, pointing. ”They must think we have gone to find other women to s.h.i.+eld us while we relieve ourselves outside. There is very little time,” he added, ”only enough to wish the man peace before we return.”
Fires glowed in the distance. Tents cl.u.s.tered near them. The boy pointed. ”That is his camp.”
A faint glow inside the largest tent told them it was occupied.
Mariana tried to smooth her hair, but it was beyond help after being stuffed into the embroidered cap of her chaderi, with most of its pins gone. Her lips were chapped from the cold.
She ran a nervous hand over her face. Why, in all those months, had she not imagined what she would say to Ha.s.san?
Her stomach lurched as she remembered Harry Fitzgerald.
Someone heard them arrive. ”Who is there?” inquired a male voice.
”It is I, Nur Rahman,” called the boy.
”Enter,” the voice replied.
Mariana signaled for Nur Rahman to wait, took a deep breath, lifted the door flap, and entered.
A single oil lamp lit the comfortably arranged tent. Its flame guttered in the draft from the door. Remembering, she bent to remove her boots.
Ha.s.san was already on his feet when she entered. ”I have been waiting for you,” he said sharply, stepping toward her across a thick Bokhara carpet. ”Where is the lady who sent you to find me?”
He was thinner than she remembered. He looked worn, as if he had recently completed some long and difficult work.
”Speak,” he snapped, gesturing impatiently.
”Oh!” she cried, her hand to her mouth, too fl.u.s.tered to take in that he thought she was Nur Rahman. ”Oh, your beautiful hand!”
He stopped short. He bent, and gazed through her cutwork. ”It is you,” he said.
He wore an exquisite, unfamiliar scent. Unnerved by his presence, she could only nod.
Nur Rahman's head appeared in the doorway. ”Quickly, Khanum,” he urged, ”we must return at once.”
Ha.s.san turned, frowning at the interruption. Mariana raised a hand. ”A moment, Nur Rahman.”
”No!” The boy shook his head violently. ”There is no time. You have left Aminullah Khan's tents without a male escort. If you do not return at once you will cause him dishonor. They kill their own women for making such mistakes,” he added desperately.
Ha.s.san strode across the carpet and jerked the door curtain open, letting in both Nur Rahman and a blast of freezing air. ”Where is his camp?” he asked curtly.
Nur Rahman pointed. ”Inside the gate. Near the mosque.”
”If it is that far away,” Ha.s.san said decisively, ”then you have already been gone too long. You cannot return.”
Not return? ”But I must go back,” Mariana protested. ”My aunt and uncle will worry. They will-” ”But I must go back,” Mariana protested. ”My aunt and uncle will worry. They will-”