Part 31 (2/2)
Still listening for Ha.s.san's return, she half-heard the story of Ghulam Ali's narrow escape from the Ghilzai nomads on the road to Peshawar, and his joy at discovering Ha.s.san at the tea shop. She nodded at his report of the return journey's high winds, thieves, and lost mules, and his loving description of Ha.s.san Ali's silver-gray mare.
”Yar Mohammad will be the envy of Lah.o.r.e,” he had declared, his rough voice full of pride. ”Everyone will know that he spends his days with the great horse Ghyr Khush.”
At last, she had blurted out the question she had been longing to ask. ”Are my aunt and uncle still here? Are Yar Mohammad and Dittoo here?”
”No, Bibi.” Ghulam Ali's white eyebrows rose. ”They left just after sunrise this morning.”
Then they were alone. Mariana tugged her poshteen over her shoulders, went to the doorway, and moved the curtain aside.
A raw wind whipped her hair. It was snowing.
”It is good that they have left,” Ghulam Ali declared, ”for tomorrow the British will march for Jalalabad.”
Tomorrow. She looked out into the falling snow, imagining the British with their ragged army and starving camp followers, struggling down the narrow, dangerous road to Jalalabad and India. She looked out into the falling snow, imagining the British with their ragged army and starving camp followers, struggling down the narrow, dangerous road to Jalalabad and India.
But what would happen to her tomorrow? What if Ha.s.san never returned?
A distant line of pack animals trudged away toward the caravanserai's gate. Nur Rahman had been correct. Of all the tents that had been there when she arrived, only three were still visible, huddled together a hundred yards away.
A man emerged from one of them, m.u.f.fled in shawls. He stopped by the doorway and stared at her.
She backed hastily inside, took off her cloak, and pulled the sandali quilt to her chin. There was nothing to do now, but wait.
”IT HAS begun to snow.” Jamaluddin Khan pointed to the courtyard, where white flakes fell lightly on the backs of the tethered animals. ”I am pleased to see that you keep your Ghyr Khush covered with a felt blanket. That is the correct way. And since you cover her in this cold weather, I am sure you also cover her in hot weather, to keep her lean, and her sinews tight and strong.”
”Of course,” Zulmai replied, speaking for his friend. ”But since it is late, and snow is falling, perhaps we should make our transaction. We would like to return to our camp tonight.”
”Tonight? But no! It is too late to arrange for your provisions. And where is the sense in going out in this weather? You will certainly lose your way.”
He spread his arms. ”You must accept my hospitality tonight!”
”He desires my horse,” Ha.s.san whispered. ”That is why he is not letting us go.”
”I agree.” Zulmai offered Ha.s.san a hollow look. ”I should have warned you not to bring her.”
Ha.s.san shrugged. ”It is only a pity that I did not see it until now.”
He turned to his host. ”In exchange for your kind hospitality, Jamaluddin Khan,” he said formally, ”and for your offer of provisions for forty men for twenty-one days, I am presenting you with my mare, Ghyr Khush.”
”Ghyr Khush?” Jamaluddin cried, with theatrical dismay. ”No, no! I could never accept such a fine gift, such a beautiful gift!”
Ha.s.san held up his hand. ”You have offered us shelter from the bitter cold. You have killed a goat for our entertainment. We are brothers now.”
He smiled without bitterness. ”My wealth, Jamaluddin Khan, is your wealth.”
”Ah.” Jamaluddin sighed happily. ”In that case, my brother, I accept. Tomorrow morning I will furnish you with the two best mounts this house has to offer, and also its finest food: live chickens and goats; almonds, pistachios, dried figs, and dates from my stores; rice, flour, and beans; sugar, tea, salt, and spices.”
His eyes turned dreamy. ”And as for Ghyr Khush, I will never raise my voice to her. I will let her gallop over open s.p.a.ces as she was born to gallop. I will feed her with my own hands: eggs, mutton fat, barley, and quatlame quatlame, the food of her homeland. I will cover her in all weathers with layers of fine, felt blanket, and I will love her as I once loved my beautiful Ak Belek.”
Arguments had raged in the cantonment for days about how much artillery should be taken on the march, and how to get the army across the many rivers on the road to Jalalabad. In the Khurd-Kabul pa.s.s alone, it was rumored, the narrow road would cross the stream no less than thirty times.
”The six remaining guns,” General Elphinstone finally declared, ”belong to the Crown. On no account must they be left behind. We are abandoning too much valuable property as it is.”
His arm strapped across his chest with a filthy bandage, Harry Fitzgerald shook his head as he received his instructions. ”The artillery bullocks and horses are already half starved,” he objected. ”They will not be able to pull the guns through those steep defiles. And what if Afghan snipers-”
”Do as you are told,” he was ordered. ”Or, at least, begin to do it, since all orders are being countermanded within the hour.”
”Guns, property!” Fitzgerald muttered later that afternoon, as he inspected his bony, s.h.i.+vering artillery horses. ”Have they even thought thought of these animals? Have they even considered tents, or food for the men?” of these animals? Have they even considered tents, or food for the men?”
”THE RETREAT is now set for tomorrow,” Lady Sale announced that evening to her daughter, Charles Mott, and Lady Macnaghten, as they sat on her stiff-backed chairs around a fire that did little to warm the room.
Lady Macnaghten nodded. ”I have made up my mind what I am taking with me,” she said decisively.
Her voice, a full tone lower than it had been before her husband's death, held no hint of coquettishness. The three shawls she wore together over her head did not flatter her. ”I cannot ask the coolies or the servants to carry many of my household belongings, and so I shall bring only my bed, my warm clothes, shawls, and rezais, and all the dried fruit from the Residence pantry. Thank goodness the servants have winter boots.”
Her voice trailed away.
Charles Mott laid a hand on her arm. ”I shall remain at your side, Aunt,” he said gravely, ”and see to your safety.”
”We shall all stick together,” Lady Sale agreed.
Lady Macnaghten smiled. ”Indeed we shall. And we shall reach Jalalabad quite safely. I am sure of it.”
”She is a gallant woman,” Lady Sale observed to her daughter, after Lady Macnaghten had climbed the stairs to her room followed by her nephew, a candle flickering in his hand. ”I would never have expected it of her. And that foppish, fool nephew of hers has somehow developed a spine.”
She stood and held her hands to the fire. ”I wonder what became of Miss Givens. I cannot believe Mott's claim that an Afghan chief abducted her, and then demanded her entire family, including the servants, as hostages. I think she and her uncle have plotted an escape to India.”
”If they have,” her daughter said bluntly, ”then they are cowards.”
”Perhaps they are,” mused Lady Sale, ”but they are clever cowards. There is more to that Givens girl than meets the eye. And now,” she added briskly, ”we must go to bed, for tomorrow we shall march.”
MORNING ARRIVED in Mariana's tent without sun, or any sign of Ha.s.san Ali Khan.
When Nur Rahman held out a cup of morning tea, Mariana returned his greeting distractedly, her breath white in the tent's freezing air. When he did not leave immediately, but sat down by her doorway, his knife ready at his belt, she understood that he, too, was worried.
”All our drivers have taken their animals, and left,” he volunteered.
”The pack animals are gone? But why?”
He shrugged. ”Ha.s.san Ali Khan is supposed to supply all their food. It finished last night. When he had not returned this morning, they went away. Ghulam Ali and I told them to wait, but they said they must seek food and work elsewhere.”
”Are we all alone, then?”
”No.” The boy shook his head. ”The servants are in four tents behind us, but they are afraid. They say they have been threatened by people who think they are spying for the British.”
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