When just thirty miles short of the capital, Muraviev sent ahead two men. One he dispatched to Khiva to advise the Khan of his approach, while the other carried a similar message to the nearest military commander, for he was anxious to prevent any wild or alarming rumours from preceding him – least of all any suggestion that he was the advance guard of a force coming to avenge the treacherous massacre of 1717. As they rode out of the desert into the oasis surrounding the capital, Muraviev noticed how prosperous the villages were. ‘The fields, covered with the richest crops,’ he wrote, ‘presented a very different aspect to the sandy wastes of yesterday.’ Even in Europe, he added, he had not seen such well-cultivated land. ‘Our course lay through lonely meadows covered with fruit trees in which the birds sang sweetly.’ All this he recorded discreetly in his notebook.
Muraviev planned to make his entry into Khiva the next morning, but had ridden only a few miles when he was intercepted by a breathless horseman who ordered him, in the name of the Khan, to proceed no further, but to await the imminent arrival of two senior palace officials. Shortly afterwards they rode into view, accompanied by an armed escort. The elder, Muraviev observed, had ‘the face of a monkey . . . and jabbered at a tremendous pace . . . betraying at every word a vile character.’ He was know as Att Chapar – meaning ‘galloping horse’ – for it was his official function to travel throughout the country proclaiming the Khan’s orders. His companion, a tall, noble-looking man with a short beard, proved to be a senior officer in the Khivan armed forces. Chapar promised Muraviev that the Khan would receive him the following morning, but explained that in the meantime he would have to wait in a small fort a few miles away.
The walls of the fort were made of stone set in mud, and were about 20 feet high and 150 feet long. The fort itself was built in the form of a square, with a watch-tower at each corner. ‘There was only one entrance,’ Muraviev observed, ‘and that through a large gate secured with a powerful padlock.’ The room he was allocated was dark and squalid, although it provided welcome shelter from the intense heat. Food and tea were brought to him, and he was allowed to wander about the fort, although always accompanied by a guard. It did not take him very long to realise, however, that he was a prisoner. Unknown to him, someone had seen him taking surreptitious notes, and word of this had quickly reached the Khan. The arrival of a Russian envoy was disturbing enough, but it was clear that Muraviev was also a spy. If he was allowed to go free he would next appear at the head of an army. His arrival had caused consternation at the palace, and disagreement among the Khan’s advisers as to what should be done with him.
The Khan had angrily cursed Muraviev’s Turcoman companions for not robbing him and murdering him far out in the desert, thus sparing himself from any involvement or blame. The Qazi, his spiritual adviser, had recommended that the Russian be taken out into the desert and buried alive, but the Khan had pointed out that were word of it ever to get back to the Russians, then retribution in the form of a punitive expedition would speedily follow. It was generally agreed that Muraviev already knew too much, and must somehow be liquidated. But how? Had there been some way of disposing of him without the Russians ever discovering who was to blame, the Khan would not have hesitated for a second. The Khivans, normally so proficient in such matters, were for once baffled.
After seven nerve-wracking weeks, while Muraviev languished in the fort, it was finally agreed that the Khan should see the Russian and try to find out exactly what his game was. Just as Muraviev was despairing of ever getting away alive, and was making elaborate plans for a daring escape across the desert on horseback to the Persian frontier, he received a message to say that the Khan would see him at the palace. The next day, under escort, he was taken into Khiva. ‘The city presents a very beautiful appearance,’ he later recounted. Outside the walls stood the palaces and well-tended gardens of the rich. Ahead, in the distance, he could see the great mosque rising above the city’s forty-foot-high walls, its blue-tiled dome, surmounted by a massive golden ball, shimmering in the sunlight.
His entry caused a sensation among the townsfolk, who turned out in strength to glimpse this strange apparition in a Russian officer’s uniform. A large crowd accompanied him through the narrow streets to the elegantly furnished apartments which had been prepared for him, some even forcing their way in after him and having to be violently ejected by his Khivan escort. Now, for the first time, Muraviev became aware that among the crowd, staring at him in disbelief, were Russians – the pitiful victims of the slavers. They took off their hats respectfully to him, he later wrote, ‘and begged me in whispers to try to obtain their release.’ The memory of those lost souls was to haunt Muraviev for the rest of his life, but there was nothing he could do for them, his own position being precarious enough. Indeed, there seemed every likelihood that he might very soon be joining them. Even now, though his situation had improved, a close watch was kept on his every movement, with spies listening constantly at his door.
Having dispatched General Yermolov’s letter and gifts to the royal palace, two days later Muraviev received a summons to appear before the Khan that evening. Putting on his full dress uniform (he had been advised that it would be a breach of etiquette to wear his sword), he set out for the palace preceded by men armed with heavy sticks who brutally cleared a way through the crowds. Even the roofs were lined with spectators, and once again Muraviev could hear ‘the imploring voices’ of his fellow countrymen among the multitude. Making his way past Khiva’s great tiled mosques and madrasahs, its covered bazaars and bath-houses, he finally reached the main palace gateway. Entering, he crossed three courtyards, in the first of which were waiting sixty envoys from the surrounding regions who had come to pay their respects to the Khan. Eventually he was led down some steps and found himself in a fourth courtyard. In the middle of this, somewhat incongruously, stood the royal yurt – the circular tent of Central Asia. Seated in the entrance, cross-legged on a beautiful Persian rug, was the Khan himself.
Then, just as Muraviev was hesitating over how he should approach the Khan, he suddenly found himself seized from behind by a man in a dirty sheepskin coat. For a split second he feared he had been tricked. ‘The thought flashed through my mind that I was betrayed,’ he wrote, ‘and that I had been brought here unarmed, not for negotiation, but for execution.’ He shook himself free and prepared to fight for his life. But hastily it was explained to him that this was an ancient Khivan custom, and that all envoys were dragged before the Khan as a sign of voluntary submission. Muraviev now advanced across the courtyard towards the yurt, halting at the entrance and saluting the Khan in the local fashion. He then remained standing, waiting to be addressed. ‘The Khan’, he reported later, ‘has a very striking appearance. He must be six feet high . . . his beard is short and red, his voice pleasant, and he speaks distinctly, fluently and with dignity.’ He was dressed in a turban and a red robe. The latter, Muraviev was gratified to see, was newly made up from material included among the gifts he had brought.
After stroking his beard for several minutes and studying the Russian carefully, the Khan at last spoke. ‘Envoy,’ he enquired, ‘wherefore art thou come, and what dost thou wish of me?’ This was the moment Muraviev had been waiting for ever since leaving Tiflis. He answered: ‘The Governor of the Russian possessions lying between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea, under whose rule are Tiflis, Ganja, Grusia, Karabagh, Shusha, Nakha, Shekin, Shirvan, Baku, Kubin, Daghestan, Astrakhan, Lenkoran, Saljan and all the fortresses and provinces taken by force from the Persians, has sent me to express his deep respect, and to deliver you a letter.’
The Khan: ‘I have perused this letter.’
Muraviev: ‘I am also commanded to make certain verbal representations to thee, and only await thy order to discharge myself of the message now, or at any time that may be suitable.’
The Khan: ‘Speak now.’
Muraviev explained that the Tsar of all the Russias wished to see a prosperous commerce grow up between
their two kingdoms for their mutual profit and well-being. At present there was little trade because all caravans had to march for thirty days across a bandit-infested and waterless desert. But there was a shorter route which could be used. This lay between Khiva and the new harbour which the Russians were planning to build on the eastern shore of the Caspian at Krasnovodsk. There, Muraviev told the Khan, his merchants would always find vessels waiting, laden with all the Russian luxuries and goods that he and his subjects most desired. Moreover, the route between Khiva and Krasnovodsk would only take seventeen days, little more than half the present journey. But the Khan shook his head. While it was true that this was a far shorter route, the Turcoman tribes inhabiting that region were subject to Persian rule. ‘My caravans would thus run the risk of being plundered,’ he added, which effectively ruled it out.
This was the opening the Russian had been hoping for. ‘Sire,’ he declared, ‘if thou wilt but ally thyself to us, thy enemies shall also be our enemies.’ Why not therefore allow a Khivan official to visit Tiflis as a guest of the Tsar so that important matters of mutual interest, such as this, could be discussed with General Yermolov, who was eager for the Khan’s friendship? The suggestion clearly fell into line with the Khan’s own thinking, for he told Muraviev that he would send trusted officials back with him, adding: ‘I myself desire that firm and sincere friendship may grow between our two countries.’ With that he gave a sign that the audience was at an end. Muraviev, relieved that it had gone so well and that his life no longer appeared to be at stake, bowed and withdrew from the royal presence.
He was now anxious to leave Khiva before the winter closed in, as there was a risk that the warship which had orders to await his return might be trapped in the ice until the following spring. It was while the Khan’s officials prepared for their journey to Tiflis with him that the Russian slaves managed to smuggle a brief and poignant message to him about their plight. Hidden in the barrel of a gun which he had sent for repair, it read: ‘We venture to inform Your Honour that there are over 3,000 Russian slaves in this country who have to endure unheard-of suffering from hunger, cold and overwork, as well as every kind of insult. Take pity on our plight and lay it before His Majesty the Emperor. In gratitude we poor prisoners pray to God for your welfare.’
Muraviev, who had been making his own discreet enquiries into the situation of the slaves, was much moved by this. ‘It made me very conscious of the gratitude which I owed to Providence for delivering me from danger,’ he wrote afterwards. But there was little that he could do for his fellow countrymen there and then, beyond discovering all he could about them so that St Petersburg might be informed. ‘I resolved that as soon as I returned I would do everything that I could to deliver them,’ he added.
One elderly Russian he managed to speak to had been a slave for thirty years. He had been seized by the Kirghiz just a week after his wedding and sold in the Khiva slave-market. For years he had worked for long hours under terrible conditions to try to scrape together enough money to buy his freedom. But his master had cheated him of all his savings and then had sold him to someone else. ‘We consider you as our deliverer,’ he told Muraviev, ‘and pray to God for you. For two years more we will bear our sufferings in expectation of your return. If you do not come back, several of us will try to escape together across the Kirghiz Steppe. If God pleases that we should die, be it so. But we shall not fall alive into the hands of our tormentors.’ Young Russian males, Muraviev learned, fetched the highest prices in the Khivan slave-market. Persian males fetched considerably less, and Kurds least of all. ‘On the other hand,’ he reported, ‘a Persian female slave commanded a far higher price than a Russian one.’ Slaves caught trying to escape were nailed by their ears to a door, being too valuable to execute.
By now the Khan’s men were ready to leave, and more than two months after first arriving there, Muraviev struck out once again into the desert. Among the huge crowds which turned out to see him off he noticed small, sad-faced groups of Russian slaves waving to him. One man, obviously from a good family, ran for a while at his stirrups, beseeching him not to forget ‘us poor people’. After a bitterly cold journey across the desert, they finally reached the Caspian on December 13, 1819. Muraviev was greatly relieved to see the Russian corvette which had brought him still anchored off-shore. He hoisted his hat on a pole to attract attention, and a boat was sent to collect him. There was great rejoicing at his safe return, but he learned that the crew had suffered badly during the five months which had passed since they sailed from Baku. Only twenty of the original one hundred and twenty were still fit enough to carry out their duties. Five had died, thirty had scurvy, while the rest were so debilitated that they could hardly drag themselves around the decks.
They put into Baku on Christmas Eve. There Muraviev learned that General Yermolov was at Derbent, further up the coast, and he immediately set off to report his safe return to his superior. The general sent orders for the Khivan envoys to be brought to Tiflis where he would receive them. Meanwhile Muraviev sat down to prepare a full report on his mission, and his own recommendations over what action could be taken to free the Tsar’s subjects from bondage. It covered everything from the strength of the Khan’s armed forces, the weaknesses of his defences, the size of his arsenals and the best approach routes for an advancing army, to the economy, the system of government, crime, punishment, torture and methods of execution (impalement being a favourite). Muraviev also described the Khan’s ‘monstrous cruelty’ and his penchant for devising new methods of torture and punishment. Those caught drinking alcohol or smoking, which were forbidden after he himself had decided to give them up, had their mouths slit open to the ears. The permanent grin which resulted was intended as a macabre warning to others.
Muraviev argued passionately for the early conquest of Khiva. Not only would this free the Russian slaves from their bonds, but it would also bring to an end the tyranny under which most of the Khan’s subjects were forced to live. Furthermore, possession of Khiva would enable Russia to break the British monopoly of India’s priceless trade. For with Khiva in its hands ‘the whole trade of Asia, including that of India’ could be re-routed via there to the Caspian, and thence up the Volga to Russia and the European markets – an altogether shorter and cheaper route than via the Cape. This would seriously undermine, and eventually destroy, British rule in India, while providing badly needed new markets there and in Central Asia for Russian goods.
The conquest of Khiva, moreover, would not be difficult or costly, Muraviev argued. He believed that it could be achieved by a determined commander with as few as ‘three thousand brave soldiers’. An invading force would discover very quickly that it had valuable allies awaiting it. For a start there were the warlike Turcoman tribes living in the deserts through which it must pass to reach Khiva. Muraviev could vouch from his own experience of them that they went in as much fear of the Khan as his own subjects did, and would rally eagerly to anyone coming to overthrow him. Inside the capital the invader would enjoy the desperate support of a large fifth column. In addition to the 3,000 Russian slaves, many of whom had once been soldiers, there were 30,000 Persians and Kurds held in bondage by the Khivans. All were men with everything to gain and nothing to lose.
Despite all the perils that the young Muraviev had faced to gather intelligence for his chiefs, his grandiose plan for the annexation of Khiva and the release of the Russian and other slaves was to go unheeded. The moment had passed, for the once-great Yermolov had begun the slow slide from grace which would end with his replacement as Military Governor of the Caucasus. Moreover, Tsar Alexander himself had more urgent problems to contend with at home where his own position was threatened by disaffection. Nonetheless, Muraviev was at least able to keep his promise to the hapless Russians he had left behind in Khiva. Summoned by the Tsar to St Petersburg to be commended on his daring, he briefed the Emperor personally on the plight of his subjects there. Even if Muraviev was unable to do anything to haste
n their freedom, his revelations were to provide the Russians with an excellent excuse for their subsequent expansion into Muslim Central Asia. Thus his journey was destined to mark the beginning of the end of the independent khanates of Central Asia.
One man who foresaw this only too clearly was an official of the East India Company named William Moorcroft, who had spent several years travelling in the extreme north of India on the fringes of Turkestan. From remote camps on the upper Indus, where no European had ever set foot before, he was urging his superiors in Calcutta to pursue a forward policy in Central Asia and thus pre-empt Russian moves there. Not only, he repeatedly warned them, would the Russians seize the whole of Turkestan and Afghanistan, with their vast untapped markets, but very likely British India too. But whereas Muraviev, the first Russian player in the Great Game, was to be rewarded by his country, ending his career as Commander-in-Chief in the Caucasus, Moorcroft would be disowned by his chiefs, and finish up in a lonely, unmarked grave beside the Oxus.
·7·
A Strange Tale of Two Dogs
North of the Himalayan passes, on the storm-swept Tibetan plateau, stands the sacred mountain of Kailas. Wreathed in mystery, superstition and perpetual snow, the 22,000-foot peak is believed by both Buddhists and Hindus to lie at the very centre of existence. For as long as anyone can remember, devotees of both faiths have risked their lives to reach this remote mountain, one circuit of which is said to wash away the sins of a lifetime. To the faithful the bleak landscape around Kailas abounds in religious associations, including, some say, the footprints of the Buddha himself. There are holy lakes to bathe in, the tombs of saints to visit, sacred caves in which to meditate and pray, and monasteries where the exhausted traveller may rest.
The Great Game: On Secret Service in High Asia Page 10
