Bell of the Desert

by Alan Gold

  “Good morning, Winston,” she replied quickly, “I was lost in my daily musings.”

  “I’m glad somebody here is a-musing,” he said conspiratorially. “I’ve heard nothing but cant and humbug since I’ve got here. But it’s not just humbug, Gertie, it’s also Machiavellian. Very Byzantine. In your dealings, m’dear, don’t underestimate the danger of the cantankerous cauldrons of malevolence which these witches of Endor have been stirring. I’ve just been speaking to Smuts and the South African delegation, and those dunderheads want to forgive Germany and offer the hand of reconciliation.”

  Gertrude stood and towered above him. “But—”

  “Precisely, my dear. When are the guilty to receive the full measure of their punishment, I ask you? The good Lord might have said that vengeance shall be His, but whilst-so-ever I draw breath on His Earth, I shall make those Hun scoundrels suffer miserably for the devastation they’ve wreaked upon the entire civilized world.”

  “Winston,” she said, “The South Africans are the very least of my problem at the moment. I’m glad we’ve met, because I was going to seek an appointment with you this afternoon, if you had any time. Frankly my dear, I’m in a bit of a pickle. The more I perform my allotted tasks, the more I realize I just don’t know what to do. There’s no way I can reconcile the promises that have been made to the Arabs and the all-too similar expectations which have been raised with the French. I fear I’m going to leave here an utter failure. I hit a brick wall every time I speak with another delegation. Everybody has been made promises, and the promises are all vastly different. Who do we chose, and how do we deal with the accusations of reneging on our agreements? I don’t know how to tell Mr. Lloyd George.”

  “I’ll tell David. That’s my job. But your job, Gertrude, is to be the oil on England’s troubled waters, to assist us in reaching an honorable compromise that is acceptable to all parties.”

  He stood close to her and whispered confidentially, “It doesn’t surprise me that you’re finding things a bit tricky, after the promises Mr. Lawrence made to all and sundry when he was leading that Arab revolt. And now that he’s here in Paris, the accursed Mr. Lawrence isn’t helping your cause overly much, it seems to me. Poncing around like some nancy boy! He’s an embarrassment to England and all she represents. People here are asking questions about where Great Britain stands when one of its senior ranking officers waltzes around the conference hall like some catamite of a Grand Arabic Vizier.”

  “Winston!” she hissed, hitting him on the arm with her purse. “You know very well Mr. Lawrence is a dear friend of mine. He can’t help his mannerisms.”

  “Maybe he can’t help them, my dear, but he can certainly hide them. He can dress like a Colonel. And he should also determine on which side of the border to place his arse. I have no problem with him assisting King Faisal, but he’s acting like the king’s agent and accomplice instead of being a senior officer in the British Army. The problem is those robes he wears. For God’s sake, Gertrude, advise him on his dress sense will you. It’s right and proper for an Arab to wear Arabic robes at a formal conference, but not an Englishman.”

  “He’s an honorary sheik of the Howeitat. He’s entitled to wear the robes.”

  “Not at the Paris Peace Conference, he isn’t!” shouted Churchill. “He’s entitled to wear the uniform of a Colonel, and nothing more!”

  The hubbub of noise around them suddenly quietened and eyes turned in their direction. Gertrude grabbed Churchill by the arm, swung him around, and walked him out of the conference hall.

  Calmer in the more frenetic atmosphere of the antechamber, Churchill said, “I know you and he are pals, my dear, and I didn’t mean to upset you, but I’m afraid he’s causing us a degree of humiliation, and that’s the last thing we need when we’re dealing with a stubborn old bugger like Clemenceau. But there’s more at stake at the moment than Mr. Lawrence and his pantomime king. More, even, than Mesopotamia and the promises made to a handful of desert dwellers, despite the oil question. As I told you, there’s a move afoot by certain of the Great Powers to forgive the Kaiser and his Hunnish people any need to repay the debt they owe the rest of the world for their adventure into war. We and the French are pushing for reparations, so that for decades to come, the Germanic peoples will be burdened by the cost of their aggression and will think twice about such an act of bastardry in the future. But others think differently. They think that demanding compensation will lead Germany into penury which will give rise to a monster that cannot be controlled. That might be so, but we’ve already controlled one Germanic monster and we’ll decapitate any other monster before he can raise his ugly head. Will reparations lead us down a dark tunnel into an uncertain future? Only the Almighty knows.”

  Gertrude was stunned. “But Winston, not reparations? You can’t surely be thinking of forcing the German people to pay compensation. It’ll ruin their economy which is already on its knees. God knows what’ll happen if—”

  “There’s a precedent. Germany extracted huge reparations from France after the Franco-Prussian War in the 1870’s, as well as taking the territories of Alsace and Lorraine. Let’s see how the Hun likes it when he has to empty his pockets to pay for what he and Kaiser Bill have done.”

  Across the enormous antechamber, Gertrude spied a sudden flurry of activity. Two men had just arrived in the precincts, both wearing traditional Arabic headdress and robes. One was tall, bearded, leather-skinned and leonine, the one beside him was shorter by more than a head, blond-haired and fair skinned with luminous blue eyes. Both men walked into the room, their dress and self-confidence making them the centre of attention and gossip.

  Lawrence saw Gertrude and waved. She smiled back, and looked on in horror as Lawrence guided Faisal, the recently crowned King of Syria, across the length of the hall to where she and Churchill were standing. Despite her attempt to send a covert signal to Lawrence to back away and save Churchill from an awkward situation, the young Englishman continued to guide the king towards the two of them.

  “Damn!” said Churchill. “The little bugger is coming our way.”

  Gertrude looked at him, and wondered whether he meant the term literally or accusatively. “Winston, don’t underestimate Colonel Lawrence. I still hold out great hopes for him.”

  “Don’t be silly dear,” said Churchill. “Men like Lawrence have one great moment in their lives, and the rest of their life is devoted to enhancing its memory. Lawrence’s was leading the Arabs and now he’s a spent force, like yesterday’s Times.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said hastily as the king and Lawrence advanced towards them. “He might be fey and feminine, but thousands of Arabs rallied around him. He could become a leader of the Arab world, if he plays his cards right.”

  Churchill glanced at her. “I’m afraid, Gertie, that Lawrence is a joker in a deck of knaves. He doesn’t stand a chance of leading anybody, especially the Arabs, now that the war is over.”

  Both Gertrude and Churchill bowed in deference to the king when they arrived. “Majesty,” said Churchill. He looked at the king’s diminutive companion. “Lawrence,” he said gruffly, before turning back to the king. “I hope Your Majesty found yesterday’s deliberations interesting. Let’s hope today, or tomorrow, the subject of Mesopotamia comes up, so that we can begin deliberations on what’s to be done.”

  “The deliberations over the Middle East, Mr. Churchill, will begin when the Great Powers sitting at the table have carved up the main course of Germany and Austria, and turn their eyes southwards to their deliciously oily dessert.”

  “Let’s hope they don’t come to the dessert course with dyspepsia,” said Lawrence.

  “Majesty,” said Churchill, ignoring Lawrence’s remark. “The Great Powers at this victors’ conference revere those who supported us in our battle against the forces of evil. You, Majesty, when you were in the Hejaz, were instrumental in raising the Arabic peoples against their Turkish overlords and slave-masters, and so helped
the entire world gain a stunning conclusion. We, the Great Powers, will not forget the part you and your people have played.”

  “You ignore the role Colonel Lawrence played,” said the king.

  “Not at all, sir. Colonel Lawrence was magnificent in his role as a British Army officer. And he seems to be starring whenever I purchase a copy of a newspaper. But had it not been for the courage of the Arabs in throwing off the shackles of your Ottoman overlords, Colonel Lawrence and those like him, would have been a footnote in history.”

  “I’m grateful, Mr. Churchill, for your words. However, words are like grains of sand in the desert. They look solid from a distance, but slip through your fingers when you examine them. What we need is for you to maintain the assurance you gave us when you asked us to rise up against the Turks. You told us we would have our independence. It is a debt of honor. I am here to collect on that debt,” said Faisal.

  Gertrude froze. It was she who had been having these conversations with so many people over the past weeks. Deliberately, she hadn’t brought any member of her government into the fray for fear of compromising them. But now, by ill-luck, Churchill was confronted with the reality of what she had had to suffer.

  “Sir, many promises are given, many received, during wartime. What’s important isn’t that which was promised, but how to make the best of the worst. Catastrophic events oftentimes overtake promises, and leave good intentions floundering in the wake of an advancing army, or bogged down in the mire of war. How many young men, whose bodies today are rotting in the stinking marshes of Belgium or France made promises to their sweethearts that they would return and marry them? How many husbands said to their wives that they would be home by Christmas, safe and sound, yet whose dead eyes stare at the strange constellations of an alien sky? How many sweethearts and wives, mourning their dead, will hold in contempt their beloveds for swearing empty promises made with fervor and in sincerity, yet now tragically broken?

  “No, Your Majesty, look not to the promises which were made with good intent in the cauldron of conflict, but think rather that a resolution must now be made in terms of what’s best for you, the Arabic people, and for the entire Middle East. We British people have lost countless multitudes of our finest young men—an entire generation—in this dastardly war. Had any of us known the cruel price to be paid, we would have walked down any road to avoid such a heavy burden. Our industry has been devastated by the loss of our manpower. We must modernize it, just as I’ve modernized the navy. We British must encompass the new methods of production which are making America into such a powerhouse of capital and business. But to do that, sir, we must have a partnership with the Arabs and their oil. A partnership, King Faisal! A partnership in which you prosper as much as we.”

  “And does your partnership begin with the agreement Mr. Balfour made with the Jews over their resettlement in Palestine behind the backs of the Arabs? I am in favour of the Jewish presence, but it has caused, and undoubtedly will continue to cause, much hatred and anger in the Arab world. Is it a partnership when such things are done in secret?” asked the king.

  “Majesty,” said Churchill, “the Jews have given to Western society, and soon to Arabic society, a system of ethics which, even if it were entirely separated from the supernatural, would be incomparably the most precious possession of mankind, worth in fact the fruits of all wisdom and learning put together. Never underestimate the value of the Jews to Arabia. Given the chance, they will transform you from a medieval people to a modern people, able to sit as equals at the tables of scientists and writers and scholars. Your people have a proud history of scholarship and intellect, one which lasted five hundred years. You had courts which welcomed scientists, scholars, poets and philosophers, black men and white men, Muslims, Christians, and Jews. All peacefully sitting side by side as brothers discovering the laws of nature and looking deeply into mankind’s soul. But that all came to an end in the thirteenth century and you haven’t advanced a single footstep since. The Jews will return that status to you, given the simple chance to live in your midst.”

  The king began to interrupt, but Churchill was in full flight. “But you talk to me of the promise of partnership. Yes, promises were made to you by us and the French and others. But they were made with the good intent of friends and fellow combatants in a time of great and universal uncertainty. Shall we hang our promises like petards on an ancient battlement when they were made in moments of extremis? Is a man to be held liable for the pledges he whispers into the ear of his mistress when he is in the throes of making love? Surely, sir, unlike Janus, we can only afford to look forward, as we don’t have the luxury of looking in both directions. We can and must look forward, sir, to a prosperous future, and not backward to demarcations made by drawing lines in the sand, lines which the desert winds have now blown into the ether of man’s forgetfulness. Now, if Your Majesty will excuse me, I have a speech to prepare.”

  Churchill bowed again, kissed Gertrude’s hand, and patently ignored Lawrence. He turned and walked away leaving the three in his wake.

  “Insufferable windbag,” hissed Lawrence. “Why does he always sound as if he’s performing on stage at the Old Vic?”

  After a moment’s silence, Faisal said quietly so he couldn’t be overheard, “That man will either end up living in the prime minister’s residence, or spend his life in some British prison. Listening to him, I can’t tell which.”

  “Is there a difference?” asked Lawrence.

  Gertrude held her breath, uncertain how the king would react. He looked at her, and asked quietly, “Miss Bell, do you find it sometimes difficult to follow the reasoning of a man such as Mr. Churchill?”

  “He has a mind like a sewer rat,” hissed Lawrence.

  Gertrude shot him an unkind look. “Majesty, Mr. Churchill is a rising star in the English political firmament. He strives to impress, and sometimes sounds a bit pompous, but he’s a man of great moral standing, and—”

  “Gallipoli?” asked the king. “Surely Mr. Churchill’s arrogance can be blamed for the disaster at the beginning of the war. But enough talk of disasters. Might I suggest we meet in the privacy of my apartments for dinner. The strains on you at the moment must be overwhelming. What you and I need is some private entertainment, an oasis of calm in this maelstrom of confusion and compromise. What do you say, Miss Bell? Dinner tonight?”

  She flushed. Was he asking her out for an assignation?

  “That sounds jolly,” said Lawrence.

  The king turned towards him. “But surely, Colonel Lawrence, you have other arrangements to which you have to attend?”

  “Oh! Yes! Of course. How could I have forgotten?” he said.

  “Eight o’clock, then, Miss Bell.”

  The king and Lawrence retreated into the inner sanctum. Gertrude stood there, rooted to the spot, wondering what on Earth had just happened. She turned when she felt a presence beside her.

  “I didn’t know you were familiar with Faisal,” said Winston Churchill, having returned to find out the reaction to his comments.

  “It appears, Winston, that by the end of this evening, I’m destined to be much more familiar with him than I believed possible.”

  Churchill looked at her in surprise. “He wants you for his harem?”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”

  “But he wants you for a private rendezvous?”

  “So it appears. But I’m nearly two decades older than he is. He couldn’t possibly want me for my body, could he?”

  “Why not? You’re still a handsome woman, Gertie. How old are you?”

  “I’m just over fifty, Winston, and it’s very impolite to ask a woman her age.”

  “But that’s the whole point, m’dear. Some women grow increasingly attractive as they grow into their prime. You, Gertrude, are fortunate in that the desert sun, the healthy outdoors, and your marvellous fortune in being rich and able to wear the very finest of clothes, have made you into a real head-turner. You
are an object of desire.”

  “Perhaps for men in their sixties, or elderly retired generals nursing their whisky and soda, but surely not for somebody like Faisal, who would have been pleasured throughout his life by the most beautiful dusky-skinned maidens. What on Earth could interest one such as he have in an old lady like me?”

  Churchill burst out laughing. “A liaison with the famous Gertrude Bell. It’s all about status, m’dear” said Churchill, and turned on his heel to walk away. As a Parthian shot, he shouted to the assemblage, “His, not yours.”

  ~

  The king was dressed in a three-piece Saville Row suit of dark-brown cloth. It accentuated his height, and his standing. As his servant showed Gertrude into the room, Faisal stood and greeted her. She held out her hand, and he took it gently, and kissed it.

  “It’s very generous of Your Majesty to have invited me,” Gertrude said. She was already a bit light-headed from two gin and tonics which she’d drunk to give herself courage.

  They sat together on the sofa facing the window, which looked out over the riotous traffic of the Champs Elysees.

  “This reminds me of a time, Miss Bell, when we were also together in another hotel room, this one far away. Do you recall it?”

  She smiled. “Indeed I do, sir. It was in Egypt, I was dressed in a bathrobe, and you looked particularly debonair. I saw you as a young prince trying to fathom the British mind and which way you should take your country.”

  “And now I’m a young king, still trying to fathom the British mind.”

  They sipped glasses of Chateau d’Yquem and nibbled on canapés while she waited for him to expose his reasons for asking her here.

  “Tell me, Miss Bell, what do you think of my relationship with Mr. Lawrence?”

  “He’s a very fine young man, and I’m sure he’ll advise you well, sir,” she told him.

  “But how can he walk the path of Arabia and the path of Great Britain at the same time?”

  “It isn’t easy for him, and he’s certainly being criticized by very senior people in this conference . . .”