Bell of the Desert

by Alan Gold

  Lawrence mused, and said, “But surely I brought a spark of life to your miserable existence?”

  “Of course you did. You were tremendously considerate. But was it because we were friends, or was it because I was teaching you so much about Arabia?”

  “Gertie,” he said shocked. “How can you even think that? Oh, you were a wonderful teacher, but we were pals. We’re such good friends. I love you, you know that.”

  “And I love you, Thomas. But I’m afraid that the sort of love we feel for each other isn’t exactly the satisfying sort of love that I need at the moment.”

  “Are things any better here for you?” he asked.

  “Worse, if anything. At least in Egypt, I had you. In Basrah, I have Percy Cox, who’s wonderful, as is Lady Cox, but they’re a family, and although they invite me over very often, it’s not the same as having my own close-knit circle. I do have some friends here, but the so-called experts from the Indian Expeditionary Force consider me to be a pariah. I’m seen as a spy for Viceroy Hardinge, a spy for London because of my connections and the letters I write to the foreign secretary who happens to be a friend, and I’m also seen as a friend of the Arabs. They only thing they haven’t yet suspected me of is sleeping with the Turks.”

  “Gertie!” Lawrence shouted in horror, and suddenly burst out laughing. “I never knew you had a wicked streak in you.”

  “There’s much you still don’t know about me. Did you know I swear like a trooper when I’m annoyed, but never in public. Still if you listen to what’s said about me in Basrah, you’d think I was the devil incarnate. Oh Thomas, I do so hate not having you and my friends from England here. I have some acquaintances, but no bosom friends. I spend much of my spare time, what little I have, outside Basrah, and wandering the deserts to meet with the Arab chieftains. And I’ve been doing some archaeology while I’ve been stationed here . . . good stuff which I’ll tell you about shortly.”

  She devolved into sadness for a rare moment. “Why has this damnable war made life so fraught? You know, when I was first starting on my travels, I had my degree, one man who wanted to marry me, a position in society, everything. But now, it’s all so bloody hard. I feel I’m approaching that point in my life where from now on, everything’s going to be going downhill, and I really don’t think I’ve lived a life at all.”

  He burst out laughing. “Are you mad? You do more in a year than most Englishmen do in the whole of their miserable lifetimes.”

  “But I’ve never married.”

  “Lots of women don’t marry, Gertie. And lots of men, too.”

  “But I wanted to marry, Thomas. I wanted children and my own home and family. And today, despite all the vital war work I’m helping with, that’s what I want more than anything. I know that sounds silly and frivolous, but at night, I’m so lonely. Oh, when I was young and exploring sights which no Western man had ever seen before, I didn’t think about a family, but now, it’s more important to me than just about anything.”

  “Is it a family you want, Gertie, or a husband, and all the husbandly things that entails?”

  She looked at him askance. “Why shouldn’t I want the comfort of a man? What’s wrong with a woman enjoying the yearnings of her body? Here, in Arabia, they mutilate girls’ genitals so they can’t enjoy what their menfolk so freely enjoy. Is that fair? Is that right?”

  “Of course not, but you’re making it sound as though your whole life has been barren. Yet you’ve had wonderful lovers.”

  “And still do. I try to keep it discrete, but I’ve had a number of liaisons with gentlemen of, shall we say, a military bearing. Not those whose wives are here, of course, but there are still a few around who are quite able to go the distance.”

  Lawrence burst out laughing. “You’re such a frightful slut, Gertie. I love you for it.”

  She knew she should be miffed by his description of her, but she also knew Lawrence too well to take offense. “And you, dear. What of you in Faisal’s company. Did he introduce you to any bodily pleasures?”

  “Lots. Every night there were different women. And boys . . . lots and lots of gorgeous boys. And for something new, we made delicious love to some sheep and goats and a very attractive camel.”

  “Still a virgin, then?”

  Lawrence sipped his tea. “’fraid so.”

  “Thomas,” she shouted. “When are you going to lose that terrible albatross around your neck?”

  “Not until you give yourself to me totally, Gertie. Not until you slip off your clothes and wrap me in your arms, and say ‘take me, Thomas, I’m yours.’”

  “I keep telling you, dear, that young men are the answer to your needs. Accept it, and you’ll live happily, but perhaps not in England. There are lots and lots of lovely young men in the Middle East who’d delight in being yours.”

  “I’m not like that, Gertie.”

  “Yes you are, Thomas. And you seem to be the only one who doesn’t know it.”

  He finished his tea, and thought about her comments. From anybody else, they would have been such an insult he’d have risen, and stormed out of the room. But he knew Gertie loved him, and had his best interests at heart. As he did hers.

  “But why didn’t you marry, my dearest?” he asked. “You could have married a buffoon, had his children, called yourself Lady or Duchess, and then buggered off to the Far East or Arabia.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand, do you, Lawrence? I’m a woman of great zeal. My life is lived with a passion and to my regret, I love with a passion. I can’t do things half-heartedly.”

  “Like you love me with a passion?” he asked wryly.

  She smiled. “With the passion of a mother.”

  “Then why do you keep saying no to me? I’m more than happy to explore the physical side of life with you, and you could teach me so much,” he said.

  “Thomas!” she shouted, and hit him on the arm.

  “Well why not? You know I love you, and you certainly love me.”

  “Of course I love you, dear boy, but as a friend. Not in that way. I’m far too old for you, and conversely, and somewhat obviously, you’re far too young for me.”

  “The Greeks understood the importance of love between an older and wiser person, and a young boy taken under the wing and taught the ways of life.”

  “That was the relationship between a catamite and his pathic, dear boy, and they were both males. Women weren’t included in that particular association.”

  “Well, how about the other ancient Greek women? Not Sappho of course, but one of the Hetaerae, the women prostitutes used by parents to teach young boys the art of love making?”

  She looked at him in shock. “I may be many things, Thomas, but I’m not one of the Hetaerae.”

  He laughed. “I wasn’t going to pay. I just thought you could—”

  “I’m not interested in a physical relationship with you,” she said. “I love you for your helplessness, for your wonderful mind, for all your potential to do great things, and most especially for your mischief. You do and say things in public which I would love to say, but couldn’t possibly, because were I to say them, I would be considered a harridan and expunged from genteel society. You’re the catalyst which enables those baser instincts which I have to keep hidden to be brought out, and you do it most wonderfully, dearest. I shall always love you, Thomas, but as mother to son . . . or at least considerably older sister to very young and naughty brother.”

  He shrugged, reached over and kissed her on the cheek. As he put down his teacup, he stood and Gertrude’s servant walked in, carrying his clean and dry uniform.

  He retired behind a screen to put them on.

  ~

  General Headquarters, Basrah

  “I have to tell you, Major Lawrence, I’m personally disgusted by the very notion of an Englishman transmitting a bribe to anyone, especially a Turk,” said Sir Percy Cox. “I’m so sorry I had to involve an Englishman to conduct such a compact with the devil. A
nd I want you to know, Lawrence, I’ll have nothing whatsoever to do with this transaction. My name will not be attached to the orders, I will not recognise you at official functions when you’re applauded and bemedalled for this exercise, nor will I enter into correspondence concerning this shameful incident. This is a moment of infamy in the annals of the conduct of British warfare, and it humiliates me even to know of it.

  “We have brave men in France dying at the war front for principle, and yet London and Delhi have instructed me to sully these brave men’s reputation by offering a bribe to—”

  “Sir Percy,” said Lawrence, interrupting, “with the very greatest of respect, it doesn’t matter a hoot what you or I think of this issue. Only two things are of importance—firstly, the lives of tens of thousands of young men are at stake, and secondly London has given us our orders.”

  “I’m well aware of the stakes involved, Lawrence. I’ve done everything in my power to send reinforcements and relief to the poor blighters stuck in that hellhole. But if we descend to bribery, what next? Will we pay them not to fight us? Will we offer them money to quit Mesopotamia? What happens when Great Britain descends into the same depths of disrepute and dishonesty as our enemy? Eh?”

  “Sir Percy, how much is a British soldier worth? To the war effort, I mean? Or to his parents and his wife and his sister? How much is it worth to find a way so that thousands and thousands of men aren’t unnecessarily slaughtered? To know the answer, you just have to look at what’s happening on the Western Front in France and Belgium, Sir Percy. Thousands of fine young men are being slaughtered just for a couple of yards of ground. Wouldn’t you rather reach an accommodation with the Kaiser and pay him to go away? In that way, you’d save countless lives and England would get its young men back.”

  Sir Percy shook his head in amazement. “And what about king and country, Major Lawrence? What about the morality of fighting for a cause . . . a cause in which we all believe? The Kaiser is an adventurer who needs to be taught a lesson, not paid for his bullying and thuggery. The Ottomans are a corrupt and effete group of nepotistic criminals. Look at the way they’ve enslaved the Arabs for these past hundreds of years. We have a duty, Mr. Lawrence. A duty to fight and rid the world and ourselves of people like these, and make it a better place, a land for heroes. We don’t have the right to descend to their level in the gutter and treat with them there. We have to be above all that, or else there’s no point in our fighting.”

  Lawrence breathed deeply, and said “And when we’ve rid the world of the Ottomans, will the Arabs then be free, Sir Percy? Will Britain pack its bags and say to the sheiks and emirs and sharifs now we’ve cleared off the Ottomans, Arabia is yours?”

  Sir Percy banged his desk and said, “Don’t be so damned insubordinate, Lawrence.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but with great respect, everybody knows we’re here merely to replace the Turks, and I think it’s a disgrace.”

  “I don’t give a damn what you think, Lawrence. You’re a serving British officer, and as such, you’ll follow orders.”

  “Of course he will, Percy. Major Lawrence is tired from the journey and is saying things which should not be said,” Gertrude said hastily.

  Lawrence realized by her intervention that he’d gone too far, and had once more allowed his emotions to run away with him, something which had previously caused him problems with the bigwigs in Cairo and Alexandria. Everybody wanted to know what he knew, but nobody was interested in his opinions.

  “Sir, I apologize if I’ve been insubordinate. But unless we come to terms with the fact that the Arab belongs in Arabia, and it’ll only happen if the British respect his rights, then all hell will break loose. Maybe not now, but in ten, fifty, or a hundred years’ time. Sir Percy, the Arabs are literally up in arms. Under Ottoman rule they were subservient—often willingly, often not, but Constantinople will always have the advantage over Great Britain in that they and the Arabs are all Muslims. If we Church of England British think we can impose our rule on the land of Islam, we’re in for a shock. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I need to spend some time with Miss Bell in assessing the best way to Kut al Amara, and the contacts I’ll need to get to the Turkish commander.”

  Lawrence saluted, swivelled on his heels, and walked out of the utilitarian office, leaving Sir Percy staring in astonishment. Never had a subordinate been so arrogant, so insulting. But what could he do? Lawrence was here on orders from the War Office in London and Military Headquarters in Delhi. As the Senior Political Officer, all he could really do was to tell Lawrence how rude and uncivil he was. Gertrude looked at Percy Cox and shrugged her shoulders, both in apology and dismay at the way the interview had gone.

  “He’s very unsubtle and much too frank, my dear, but I’m afraid Major Lawrence is absolutely right,” said Gertrude. She looked at Percy’s face and saw a man who had yet to come to terms with the powerlessness recent war events had caused. “When this whole bloody disaster is over and what’s left of our boys has returned to their homes, we’ll be stuck with an almighty mess, and people like you and me will have to clear it up.

  “And if you seriously think the Arabs will allow us simply to take the place of the Turks, you’re sadly mistaken. Our only hope when all this is over is that a leader emerges, probably not a tribal leader, but one who’ll coalesce all the tribes into one great Arab nation, and who’ll join with Great Britain in a partnership. A man who’ll have the foresight to know Arabia is pre-industrial, and will need a partnership to develop the extraordinary assets of this land, its agriculture, oil, and all its resources. Especially its women.”

  Cox looked at her, and asked quietly, “And who might such a man be? Where will he be found? All I’ve met these last months have been scoundrels and thieves.”

  “That’s why a leader will have to come from outside the Arab family. Another Saladin.”

  “And is there such a man?” asked Percy Cox.

  She remained silent, wondering what his reaction would be when she answered.

  “I think there is. I think he was just here, talking with you.”

  Cox looked at her in shock. And then he burst out laughing. He laughed so hard, he collapsed back into his chair.

  Gertrude silently turned and followed Thomas Lawrence to the mess hall, the sound of Percy’s laughter echoing throughout the building.

  ~

  Sir Percy was alone. Lawrence and Gertrude had disappeared, which gave him time to ponder over the young man’s words. Gertie, brilliant as she was, spoke nonsense when she said the Arabs would follow such a fey and silly chap as Major Lawrence. The fact that he was English was the least of the reasons. Putting his nationality to one side, he had to admit Lawrence was quite brilliant and maybe he was right. Maybe Britain had no place in Arabia. But British industry and British ships and British factories needed oil, and all the indications were that there was oil aplenty beneath the sands of the desert. And nothing on Earth was going to prevent Percy from ensuring Britain got what it needed. After all, it would do no good laying in the ground in Arabia, the soft underbelly of a culture which could only use the oil’s ubiquity for lighting primitive wick lamps. None of the Arabic counties in the Persian Gulf had any skills in development. They were just illiterate nomads. So it was to both Arabia’s and Britain’s advantage to uncover, and then to control the flow of oil, just so long as the Turks or the Germans or worse, the bloody French didn’t get hold of it.

  ~

  Outside Percy’s office, Gertrude ran to catch up with Lawrence. When she did, she could see his face was a mask of fury.

  Still striding, he said, “I know you’re angry with me, Gertie, but he had no right to say that. How dare he put the lives of thousands and thousands of our boys at stake for some obsolete notion of honor or morality or heroism? God Almighty, this is a bloody awful war, with millions of young men dying because of the vainglory of people like Percy Cox and Allenby and Haig and Kitchener and all the others buggers. Well, I’m damned if
I’m going to allow British soldiers to perish, just for the sake of the reputations of a couple of men with epaulettes on their shoulders who should have been put out to graze years ago. Who the hell does Cox think he is to—”

  “He’s the senior political officer in Mesopotamia, that’s who, Thomas. He’s a brilliant man, a wonderful diplomat and a man who thinks deeply and passionately about Great Britain and her place in the world. As such, he deserves your respect. You can’t just turn and walk out on a political officer as senior as he, without being accused of insubordination. I know you’re on a mission, but Percy is still the civilian commander of this area, and as such, you have to respect his authority. And I promise you he isn’t just standing on principle for the fun of it. He’s agonised over this issue ever since Townshend got himself and his army trapped in Kut. Percy’s organised columns of relief, ships, everything to send reinforcement and supplies to our lads, but they’ve all been defeated or had to turn back because of overwhelming forces.”

  Lawrence stopped walking, and faced her. The corridor wasn’t the best place for them to speak, but he was in such a fury he couldn’t restrain himself. “If everything’s failed, why does he object to paying to have them rescued?”

  “Because when all else has failed for a man like Percy Cox, my dear, the only thing left to him is honor. Percy is terrified that if the British dishonor themselves over a matter such as this, it’ll just encourage the Turks and the Germans to think we’re weak and effete and have no moral fibre. That’ll spur them on. More of our men will be ransomed and it’ll turn into a damnable free-for-all.”

  They stood there, looking at each other for a long moment, before Lawrence shrugged, and said, “Oh well, regardless of what he or I think, I have my orders. Let’s you and me go back to your home, have a cup of coffee, and work out the Arab disposition.”