Bell of the Desert

by Alan Gold

  Outside the headquarters, those troops who had been relieved in the assault northwards towards Baghdad were on parade ready for ibn Sa’ud’s inspection. He walked up and down the rows of troops, towering above most of them. Every now and then, he would stop and ask one about his adventures in Kut or some other battle. Gertrude would translate seamlessly and flawlessly and the interchange lasted only a matter of moments before the sheik walked onwards.

  At the end of the inspection, Sir Percy asked ibn Sa’ud whether he would accept the salute and the presentation of arms. Gertrude explained discretely what that implied and whispering into his ear what was expected of him. She followed him up to the inspection podium. To the tune of another march from the band, the troops paraded past and ibn Sa’ud did his best to salute. After the last man had left the parade ground, General Maude, the new British Army Commander, presented ibn Sa’ud with a jewelled ceremonial sword.

  Gertrude didn’t know whether to retreat back to her office now that the formalities were over, but at a subtle nod from ibn Sa’ud, Percy asked her if she would like to continue to accompany their guest, and she found herself sitting between the sheik and Sir Percy, with General Maude in the front, as they drove to the recently-built railway terminus. Here, ibn Sa’ud saw the pride of British industry, as well as having his hand placed under a new X-ray machine. Fascinated, he spent long moments wiggling his hand and watching the skeletal bones move clearly beneath his skin. He invited Gertrude to join her hand with his in the machine, adding to his amusement.

  After more parades and a demonstration of British firepower and the use of high explosives in the nearby desert, the sheik was driven to his hotel where he asked to be excused from the dinner in his honor that night in the Officer’s Mess, saying he was exhausted from so much British hospitality, and would prefer to spend a quiet evening alone.

  Everyone bade him good night, and Gertrude excused herself, going home. She hadn’t been indoors for more than fifteen minutes, and was preparing herself a scotch and soda, when there was a heavy-fisted knock at the door.

  She waited in her lounge-room, listening to her servant open the door. She recognised the voice of the sheik’s servant and immediately went out to greet him.

  “Is His Highness well?” she asked.

  “Perfectly. He commands your attendance in his rooms. I am here to take you.”

  Her mind traveled back to Egypt and a similar interchange between the servant of Prince Faisal and herself. But this time, she would not make the same fuss. This time, British interests were paramount, and her positioning as a confidant of ibn Sa’ud could potentially save thousands of lives.

  Grabbing her coat, she followed the servant outside, where a car was waiting. Within a few minutes, she was seated in the suite of rooms occupied by Sheik ibn Sa’ud, enjoying his hospitality of apple tea and cinnamon cake.

  “I thought you might not come. Is it not improper for a man to entertain an Englishwoman alone in a room?”

  “In our case, sir, it is neither improper nor unwise. You are a very important person to the British government. I am a servant of that government, and my sex is of no consequence. It is only right and proper that I should be at your service.”

  He nodded. With some difficulty, he said, “You are the first Western woman I have ever seen. Are all Western women like you?”

  “Are all Arabs like you?” she asked.

  He began to smile, but suddenly burst out laughing. “Of course you are an exception. You are a woman in the world of men. To be such, you must be very different. In what way are you different, Gertrude Bell?”

  “Your father knows in what way I am different, sir.”

  He looked at her with his piercing eyes. “You know my father?”

  “When he came to Romania many years ago. I was a young girl in the embassy. We had many discussions. He is truly a man of men.”

  “Did my father take you?”

  She tried to hide her smile. “No, Majesty. He didn’t. He was respectful of me as the niece of the ambassador.”

  “He spoke of a woman. A young girl who had impressed him. But he also told me to beware of women like you. He said you have tongues which can cut a man’s flesh. Is this true?”

  “My tongue is sharp, Excellency, but I use it cut through anything which impedes my journey.”

  Ibn Sa’ud looked at her closely. His father had described a girl’s face to him, a tall red-headed girl with striking looks and eyes which were the color of precious gems. Could this middle-aged graying woman be the same? How cruel were the years.

  “You have grown old, Chatrude Pell.”

  “Just as we all grow old, Excellency, and in the years to come, regret that while our manhood today stands firm before our wives, in the future we soften and bend with time.”

  “This will not happen to my manhood, woman. I am a rock for my people.”

  “Even rocks erode with time, sir, and become small pebbles.”

  They looked at each other, neither giving ground, until ibn Sa’ud smiled, and again burst out laughing. He had never had such a conversation with anybody in his kingdom, let alone a woman. “Truly you are an English woman, because any Arab who said that to me would lose his head.” He moved towards the sofa, and sat down. “And my father did not take you. It surprises me, as he knew many women and had many wives.”

  “He respected me.”

  Ibn Sa’ud frowned. “But if he respected you, then he would have had you. In my country, a king can take any woman. It is an honor. And now I, his son, will truly tread beyond his footsteps, for tonight, you shall know the true meaning of Arab manhood. Tonight, I shall have you.”

  “No, Excellency, you will not have me. For then you would only look on me as a woman, ibn Sa’ud, and not but as a representative of the British crown. As a British official, I am worth far more of your time than were you to take me for your pleasure.”

  And when she saw his face, she realized he’d been having fun with her. Just as his father had made fun of her half a lifetime ago. She laughed, and said, “You mustn’t play these games with me, Abdul Aziz. As a diplomat, I take things very seriously.”

  Ibn Sa’ud nodded, and said, “I like you, Gertrude Bell. You will one day learn to laugh. Is this why you’re different? Can you offer me more than you gave my father?”

  “I have learning, sir, which is at your disposal. And I’ve sat at the feet of great men whom I can bring to your service. I know your lands and your peoples. I have been an explorer in Arabia, travelling throughout your lands—”

  Suddenly his face lit up with understanding. “Now I remember! Hayil! Many years ago. An English woman was imprisoned by that son of pig who was sired by a whore, ibn Rashid. It was said she was traveling to pay me homage.”

  “That woman was me, Highness.”

  “Yes. Now I know. They say many things about you. They call you the Daughter of the Desert. They say you are an honorary man. You have learned our language and lived in our tents.”

  “Sir, you didn’t ask me to come here simply to find out more about me. In what way might I assist you?”

  Ibn Sa’ud nodded. “My family ruled all of Arabia for one hundred years, but when I was nothing more than a baby, my family was driven from its home by our former servants, the evil and merciless Rashids. For this the Sa’uds will hate and revile them into all eternity.”

  “You were exiled to Kuwait, weren’t you, sir,” she said, wanting him to know she had studied him and his life.

  “Correct, but in your year of 1901, when I was only twenty-one, I left Kuwait with forty soldiers on camels and with a vow on my lips to reclaim my family’s land and honor, or to die in the attempt.

  “In January of your year 1902, we crept into our old capital of Riyadh. We were concerned that we would be discovered, or some of our old retainers would make a fuss on seeing us, so we hid like thieves until the early morning, when the governor came out of doors to say his prayers. I slit his throat from ear
to ear and we seized the castle. Suddenly all our families and tribes and kinfolk rallied to our cause by our bravery, and for two years, we raided and fought and took back everything which the Rashids had taken from us, until once again, half of Arabia was ours.”

  “When ibn Rashid received help from the Turks, how badly were you affected? Could you fight them and the Rashids without the help of others?” she asked, mesmerised by his narrative.

  “It cost us dearly. We had bravery and camels, they were cowards with machine guns and howitzers. We suffered defeats at their hands, but for five years we drove them and drove them, fighting them at every opportunity, taunting them, hurting them, until eventually we came between them and their supply routes, and we starved them to death. Now, God be praised, like my forefather ibn Sa’ud, I have returned my entire people to the path of righteousness. Today, they worship Allah in the manner taught to us by Muhammad ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab, of blessed memory. Through his guidance, I have been able to create a tribe of religious warriors which I call the Ikhwan, and through these soldiers of God, we are in control again, and the Turks are on the run.”

  Gertrude had heard of the band of brethren called the Ikhwan, the most feared soldiers on the entire Arabian Peninsula. These were men who had stopped the tribes from continuing their centuries-old nomadic ways, and forced them to live around oases and wells, so the land was settled and populated. She also knew of the sect which were called the Wahhabists, fundamentalist and narrow and against any form of modernity.

  She decided to remain silent. She had been summoned, not to listen to his history, but for a purpose which was yet to unfold. It could be hours before he came to the point, as was the Arabic custom, but she had to listen patiently, and not usurp his position in the narrative.

  “Tell me, Gertrude Bell. You are a woman who listens as well as speaks. I have been given five thousand pounds a month by your British colleagues. Is this sufficient for a man of my importance?”

  “Sir,” she responded, “this is not a question I can answer. My advice was not sought by the British government.”

  “But how much would you have paid me to be loyal to Britain? If you had been in command?”

  “Five thousand pounds is a very large amount of money, sir, and adequate for any needs you might have.”

  He nodded, and drank his glass of apple tea. She poured herself another glass, wondering when the purpose of her summons would become clear. He moved over to the window to look out over the city of Basrah. She stared at his body and his huge shoulders. It was said he needed many wives to satisfy his cravings and ensure he was never alone for any night of the year. The women which he had undoubtedly brought with him to see to his physical requirements were almost certainly hidden away and locked in one of the bedrooms, waiting for him to finish his business and take his choice. Gertrude could just imagine the jealousy and cattiness in the bedroom as younger women vied with each other to convince Abdul Aziz’ first wife, their mother hen, that they should be the ones allowed the privilege of bedding the sheik.

  His back turned, he asked, “And Sharif Hussein of Hejaz? How much are you paying him?”

  Knowing he already knew, she immediately retorted, “A far lesser amount than yourself.” Telling lies would destroy any future trust he might place in her.

  He turned. There was a look of fury on his face, which at first frightened her, until she suddenly remembered she was his guest, and was completely protected.

  “You know that camel-loving piece of dog’s flesh has claimed he is the true king of Arabia. He calls himself Caliph. Just because he claims descent from the Prophet and because he is the guardian of Mecca and Medina, he thinks he can rule over me, Sheik abd Al-‘aziz Al Sa’ud.

  “He has said this, Gertrude Bell. It will be my honor to cut off his manhood and throw it down the deepest well. He will be a eunuch and forever a laughingstock in the company of men. I will cause him to suffer hideous boils for the rest of his life and when he eats, may his right hand die and wither. This is what I shall do to him for daring to think himself greater than me.”

  “Many years ago, sir, I talked to your father about the need for another Saladin to rise up and unite the Arab people, and he agreed. Yet you object to Sharif Hussein having that role.”

  It was a dangerous statement, but an opening gambit on what could be an exciting prospect.

  “By what right does Hussein claim the mantle of Saladin?”

  “By his right as a descendant of the Prophet, peace and blessings upon him. And by his right as sharif of the Holy Cities.”

  “And who gave him this right? Did he earn this right by conquest? How many men did he kill, how many battles did he fight? None, woman. He was suckled by his mother as he sat on the throne. He has done nothing to make others of us follow him.”

  “Then who should the Arabs follow, Excellency?” asked Gertrude, trying to keep her voice impassive.

  “Me!” he bellowed. “Abd al-‘Aziz ibn ‘Abd ar-Rahman ibn Faysal ibn Turki ‘Abd Allah ibn Muhammad Al Sa’ud. I am the man of men! I will lead the Arab people to their destiny. I will destroy this sharif and all others who stand in my way.”

  “But Sir,” she said quickly, “your brother Arabs will follow your leadership if you remember the true enemy of your people are the Turks.”

  “Ha! How little you know, you woman of learning. The Turks are diseased and dying. As soon as they are driven from my country by us and you British, I shall turn my attention to that flea in Mecca, and I shall crush him between my thumb and my finger. And then I shall destroy his four sons and all those cursed breed who call themselves Hashemite.”

  “But how can you unite the Arab people by destroying them? This will build hatred and lead to further repression. Leadership, Excellency, is gained by setting a good example so people wish to follow you.”

  He looked at her as though she was mad. “Leadership, woman, is gained by those whose arm is the strongest and whose sword is the sharpest. Men follow a leader out of fear of what will happen to them if they fail to follow. Before a battle, I always assemble my men and ask them who is the most cowardly among them. Those whose name the majority shout out is pushed out of the ranks, and without speaking, I walk over to the terrified man, draw my sword, and cut off his head with one swipe. From that moment onwards, every man in battle fights like a lion.

  “When I am paid by you British to use my armies, and when we have destroyed the Turks and sent them scurrying back to Constantinople like frightened dogs, I shall march to the Kingdom of Hejaz, parade the sharif and his brood in front of all his people, and one by one cut off their heads, women and children included. Then we’ll see if the people of the Hejaz are brave enough to resist me.”

  He smiled and looked at her. Gertrude looked back at him, but lowered her eyes, deciding not to comment further. Oh dear, was all she could think.

  TEN

  Baghdad, 1917

  She had been anticipating the knock on the door ever since she was told he was in the city. Although only in his mid-20’s, people were already speaking of him as a pioneer in the art of making radio broadcasts as well as magazine photography. The stories he had written about the European front since Woodrow Wilson had gained Congress’ consent to sign the Articles of War on April 6th, had excited the interest and rallied the patriotism of the entire continent of the United States, and when it was known he was coming to the Middle East, the British War Cabinet had given orders that he was to be treated with great consideration.

  Of course, Gertrude realized, there could only be one reason why Lowell Thomas was in Baghdad, and that was to report on the Arab Revolt which was now developing a life and a mind of its own. Even Allenby, whom she believed would soon be racing Lawrence and Faisal to Damascus in Syria, was talking of the uprising by the Howeitat and other tribes as being fundamental to ultimate British success.

  Certain ambitious officers in Europe, she knew, had acquiesced to all of Lowell Thomas’ requirements for specia
l journalistic consideration, as though he was a headmaster visiting the upper prep. But she had no intention of repeating such fawning and obsequious behaviour. Why should she? After all, she was well enough known in Great Britain, he was only an American, and she was a senior British diplomat. He was merely a reporter of events, while she was a prime mover in the war against the Turks. She would make him wait at least two knocks.

  “Come in,” she shouted eventually.

  The door slowly opened. In walked a tall young man, fresh-faced and eager, wearing a blindingly white suit, white fedora, and black shirt. His tie was a kaleidoscope of color and patterns which made her wince.

  “Miss Bell?” said the young man.

  “Mr. Thomas. I’ve been expecting you,” she said, rising to shake his hand. He had a firm grip, and had presumably been a college football player. Wasn’t that what all young Americans used to be before they grew up, she thought.

  “You know who I am?”

  “I’m Great Britain’s local busybody here in Mesopotamia. I have my finger in every pie.”

  “Then you know I’m a journalist, and that—”

  “That you’ve recently been in Europe telling the Americans what their lads are doing. Yes, Mr. Thomas, I know who you are and presumably why you’re here.”

  He looked at her in surprise. He’d only informed his magazine in New York by cable of his intention the other month. They sat and smiled at each other. She offered him water from a pitcher. It was flavoured with aniseed and as he sipped it he mentioned its unusual and captivating taste.

  “My own invention. I’m so fed up with the taste of apple tea and cinnamon and rose water. I wanted something which was different.”

  “That’s what they all say about you—that you’re different,” he said. He had a muscular voice, its cadences clear, its measure precise. She liked that in a man.

  “In what way am I different, I wonder,” she asked rhetorically. “I suppose being a woman political officer is somewhat uncommon, but I’ve been in this role for so long I no longer see myself as anything but one of the team.”