by Max Hennessy
‘Never!’
‘The campaign in the Dardanelles has failed.’
‘There’ll be others.’
‘Like Mesopotamia? There were fifteen thousand men shut up in Kut. Starvation and disease have reduced them now to ten thousand and eventually there will be still less.’
‘They’ll be relieved.’
‘Not the way the British army is setting about it.’
She spoke with complete confidence in her beliefs and military knowledge. ‘How would you do it?’ Kelly asked.
‘With promises of guns and help, the Arabs could harass the Turks enough for the British to break through.’
‘Is that what the Arabs want?’
She smiled. ‘We are quite indifferent as to whether General Townshend is relieved or not, but we are eager to harass the Turks for you. Kut means nothing but Baghdad and Damascus do. With our help, the British could capture Akaba, Gaza, Jerusalem and Damascus, even as far north as Alexandretta. The Turks would then have to withdraw from the Narrows, and the Black Sea would be open to Allied ships.’
It sounded logical. The idea of using the Arab tribes to harass Turkish communications was a sound one. No one could live as they could in the desert or move faster across its arid wastes.
‘But time is running short,’ the girl went on. ‘With the Arab peasantry in the grip of Turkish military service and Syria prostrate, our assets are disappearing. We must strike now, however feebly, and keep on striking. That is why I am here. As soon as it can be arranged, you will go to Tripoli and from there a boat will take you to Egypt. You must tell your people there of our aims and our hopes and our needs. You must do something for us.’
‘You’re very brave,’ Kelly said.
Two large kohl-rimmed eyes met his. ‘I’m often frightened. Perhaps we have moved too soon. But on the other hand, perhaps a few lives must be paid for the sake of our pride.’
She seemed so intelligent, so unbiased, he felt he had to make a protest. ‘Those women who were captured: Can you accept that? As a woman?’
She shrugged. ‘Arab tribes have raided other Arab tribes since the beginning of time. They’ve always taken their women this way, and in any case, many of these women in Turkish families were originally Arabs. They are not dismayed.’
‘But you?’
‘I’m supposed to be emancipated. I’m supposed to be able to handle a rifle and shoot a man without turning a hair. I was educated in England where you have Suffragettes. Why should it be different here?’
‘Doesn’t it worry you?’
As she frowned in an effort to explain, she looked remarkably like Charley trying to explain her own devotion to another, different ideal.
‘Sometimes it bothers me a great deal,’ she admitted. ‘The worst is that I don’t know what I am supposed to be. At Cheltenham I was taught to regard as savages people who held the beliefs my people held. But I am one of them. So what am I? What am I supposed to think? Am I a civilised woman behaving in an uncivilised fashion? Or am I merely a savage taking what she can get when and where and how she can get it?’
There were unexpected tears in her eyes and the stern, grave face had crumpled a little.
‘I do not accept the Arab attitude that I am a mere chattel,’ she went on. ‘But I also cannot accept the Western attitude that I am an individual. Yet who among those out there can I regard as an equal? I’m lonely, I’m not an Englishwoman but I’m also not a savage.’ Her voice was despairing. ‘I don’t know what I am!’
They stayed with the Arabs for six days. A messenger was sent off the following morning towards Tripoli and they were warned that within a week they would be on their way.
Rumbelo’s wound began to improve and the fever he’d started began to subside. Arab clothing arrived in the tent and they all stared at each other, grinning.
‘I look like a cross between Abdul the Damned and Ethelred the Unready,’ Kelly said.
Because of the heat, for the most part they remained in the tent during the day, but every evening Jemil called for Kelly to lead him to the striped tent set apart from the others. At first Ayesha was grave and commanding, not giving an inch to the fact that Kelly was a man, but after two or three days he became aware of a difference, an unexpected shyness, and an attendance on his wishes and opinions. On the fifth night, the messenger returned from Tripoli and Jemil appeared at once. Ayesha was waiting for him.
‘There is a boat arriving in Tripoli,’ she said. ‘You will move off in the morning. We shall see you safely there.’
‘Isn’t it dangerous for you?’
She avoided meeting his eyes. ‘No more dangerous than anything else. I have promised that you shall go to Egypt. The British have an office there which deals with Arab affairs. Go to them. Tell them about us. Tell them we need their help.’
Greatly daring, he touched her hand. She didn’t pull it away and he took hold of her fingers. Abruptly, she lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. She was so small she made him feel tall and strong.
‘We shall come back,’ he said.
She gave a small, twisted smile. ‘I shall not be here to see the victory.’ Her hands were still in his, her head back, her eyes on his face. ‘But it will not matter. I am enough of a believer in Islam, despite Cheltenham, to accept that death is only a step to a better life. I shall not see the end of the war.’
Her fatalism was curiously frightening. ‘Of course you will!’
She shook her head, clearly unperturbed. ‘My father has two sons, both of far more importance than I. I shall never marry. I shall never know what love is.’
‘Do you want all these things?’
She looked up at him. ‘I want to be a woman. That is all.’ There were tears in her eyes again and to Kelly they were a clear green light. As he pulled her closer she abruptly flung herself into his arms.
For a moment he thought of Charley but it seemed to be a decision that needed little consideration. Ayesha was literally begging for love and, for God’s sake, he couldn’t just push her away and go full astern after she’d saved them from years of imprisonment. Surely there were times when a man could push moral aspects aside.
‘Ayesha–’ Kelly’s voice came out as a croak and he had to clear his throat.
She seemed to think he was about to reject her. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said quietly. ‘I understand how you feel. You are an honourable man.’
Not as honourable as all that, Kelly thought.
‘Your English boys found me attractive when I was in England.’ The small voice was plaintive, almost pleading. ‘But they tried hard always to behave with honour.’
Not me, Kelly told himself, feeling his pulses race. By God, not me! Not after eight months locked away from women. ‘I haven’t a scrap of honour, Ayesha,’ he said. ‘Not in circumstances like this.’
Her face was grave as her hands unfastened the girdle that held the robe round his waist, then her fingers slid inside it, cool and soft against his flesh. As she moved closer to him again, her head against his chest, her eyes turned shyly downwards, he pushed the garment she wore down from her shoulders.
Nine
The following morning they were on the move again, heading towards Tripoli.
Ayesha, wearing the white robes once more, her head-cloth across her face, rode several horses’ lengths in front. His face shadowed by the browfold of his headgear, Kelly watched her intently, ridiculous thoughts running through his head. There had been other girls before – the girl in New York and the Ice Maiden in Kiel – but they’d been older than he had and had made the running, enjoying teaching him the facts of life. This was different. He’d been the dominant partner and had known that this was what Ayesha had wanted.
He had awakened dazzled and humbled with her sleeping quietly alongside him, her head on h
is shoulder, her lips parted, her body soft and warm against him.
‘I’m glad it happened,’ she had announced gravely as her eyes had opened. ‘It makes so much more sense of all the rest of life.’
She was trying hard to be strong-minded, frank and intelligent, as doubtless she’d been taught by her English teachers. Cheltenham Ladies’ College would have been proud of her, and he wondered how much Jemil knew. The old man’s face was expressionless and he had greeted Kelly unemotionally as he had brought the horses round.
They rode all day and camped at night alongside the road to the coast, Ayesha keeping herself well away from the others, with Jemil between her and the rest of the party. During the following day, Kelly rode alongside her. She didn’t look at him but held her head up, her eyes in front.
‘I long for you,’ she said quietly.
That night, Kelly lay apart from the rest of the group, listening, his heart thumping at every sound. But no one came near him and, unable to sleep, his mind filled with thoughts of Ayesha, he tossed restlessly in his blanket. Then, long after everyone was asleep, he heard a stone click and caught a whiff of perfume. A moment later she was alongside him, clinging to him. Taking his hand, she laid it on her breast inside her robe and her lips sought his fiercely.
‘I could not stay away,’ she breathed.
They made love like children, without regard for the others, and as she lay panting alongside him, he glanced up. Dark against the night sky, a tall figure was waiting and he caught his breath. Then he realised it was Jemil and that the old man was a party to the business.
She left his side before daylight, and as they mounted in the grey light of dawn, her face was covered again and she rode ahead of them as if she’d never noticed Kelly. Eventually, they saw the sea in the distance and began to descend to the coast. The water was shining in the sun over the flat roofs of the port. As they stared at it, Ayesha dropped back.
‘Here we must be careful,’ she said quietly, the keen military planner once more. ‘Turkey might be dying of overstrain, but her military governors are men of agility and suppleness. Many of them are descendants of Greeks, Albanians, Circassians, Bulgars, Armenians and Jews, and though Turkey might be decaying, they are not.’
For a few minutes they rode together down the hill until they reached the first scattering of houses. Turkish troops moved about, their ear-flapped khaki caps over their eyes against the sun.
‘I shall never forget you,’ Ayesha murmured.
‘Ayesha, what can I do?’
Her head went up. ‘Only tell your people our needs,’ she said.
He was just about to reply when she reined in, and he saw a Turkish outpost ahead of them.
‘If anything happens,’ she said, ‘take the road to the right. It leads direct to the water’s edge. You’ll find plenty of friends.’ Her hand touched his. ‘We shall be able to hold them up if they are suspicious. Your duty will be not to hesitate.’
‘ I can’t leave you.’
‘You are used by your training to obey orders. You must not look back.’
As she kicked her horse into motion, the little column edged forward, and immediately the Turks began to emerge from a small red-tiled hut to fill the road. An officer wearing a sword appeared and the men parted for him.
Ayesha stopped. On their right was a narrow road winding between cypresses down the slope. ‘That is your road,’ she said quietly. ‘Don’t hesitate. It takes longer than this one but it will lead you into the city. You are a naval officer, so you should be able to find the sea, I think.’
As she moved forward, the little column lengthened, first Ayesha, then Jemil, then the others, with the British party waiting at the rear as they all passed, and as the leading riders stopped, the whole column came to a halt, strung out in small groups along the road like a broken bead necklace.
‘The road on the right, Rumbelo,’ Kelly said quietly. ‘If there’s shooting, that’s where we go. Without hesitation. Pass the word.’
‘What about His Nibs? If there’s shooting, he’s going to be the first to cop it.’
‘Those are our instructions. We’re expected to do as we’re told.’
Rumbelo frowned. ‘I don’t like leaving people in the lurch, sir, when they’re making sacrifices to help us.’
Kelly scowled, his own thoughts mixed and angry. ‘What’s the good of them making sacrifices if we don’t take advantage of them? If there’s trouble, we go at once. Pass it on to the others.’
They waited as a noisy argument full of shrill voices started. The day was cold and the wind blew a gritty dust in their faces. The horses fidgeted restlessly and Rumbelo shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. Up ahead the voices were growing louder and the Turkish officer was pointing to the rear of the column where they waited.
‘We’ve been spotted,’ Rumbelo whispered.
A shot rang out, the echo clattering across the valley. Immediately, as though they’d been instructed what to do, the Arabs in front of them flung themselves from their saddles and dived among the rocks, their rifles pointing towards the Turkish outpost. The Turkish officer was lying on his face in the road and the horses were curvetting and struggling as their heads were dragged round in an attempt to escape. More shots came and one of the horsemen fell off to hit the road in a puff of dust, and Kelly saw the slim white-clad figure in the middle of the skirmish sway, then there was a whole fusillade of shots and the Turks ran for the hut and the drainage ditch at the side of the road. Jemil was wrenching his horse’s head round and, as they kicked their heels into their mounts and bolted down the road to the right, Kelly saw he was gripping the reins of the grey pony and that the white-clad figure was clinging to its neck.
The road dropped away so steeply Kelly was convinced they were about to come a cropper, but they clattered downwards, hidden almost at once by cypresses and lemon groves. Above them, on their left, they could hear the rattle of firing and, glancing back, Kelly saw Jemil’s big mount thundering after them, followed by the grey.
As they halted among the houses, wondering which way to go, Jemil crashed through them, still leading the grey. Ayesha was clinging to the horse’s mane, her head-cloth still in place across her features. Dragging their horses’ heads round, they followed Jemil through the narrow streets, raising the dust and sending children and chickens flying. Eventually, in a small square, Jemil halted and dismounted. Speaking quickly to a group of Arab loafers, who appeared to be waiting for them, he gestured to Kelly and they followed him through a doorway with a pointed arch. The loafers snatched at the reins and the horses were spirited away. Within a minute the square was empty and the dust was settling.
As Kelly pushed into the dark house, he saw the big Arab had snatched Ayesha into his arms. Her head-cloth had fallen from her features and he saw a slim hand come up and lift it back into place, then their ears were filled with the sound of running feet as a Turkish patrol hurried past in search of them.
For a moment they held their breath, waiting for the thunder of rifle butts on the door, but nothing happened and eventually the owner of the house appeared, his face worried. Jemil barked at him and Kelly caught the name Jellal el Arar. The owner bobbed his head and gestured. As Jemil disappeared down a corridor, the rest of them were about to follow but Jemil reappeared and pushed them away, gesturing that they should wait. Then the owner of the house returned, calling softly, and two or three women arrived.
‘What’s happened?’ Kelly demanded and Jemil shook his head, barking a few words at him that he didn’t understand.
For a long time, they waited in the shadows, the whole lot of them crammed into a large room with a tiled porch, then the owner appeared and called Jemil. When Jemil returned he pointed at Kelly and led the way down the corridor.
Inside a shadowed room, Ayesha was stretched out on an Arab bed. She had been hit i
n the shoulder by a heavy lead bullet which had struck bone and spread, leaving a terrible wound the women were trying without much success to bandage. They had torn away her robes and he could see her small breasts, streaked with blood, as they fought to staunch the bleeding. Her black hair was spread across the pillow and in the pallor of her face her eyes looked enormous and tremendously, feverishly, bright.
‘Can’t we give her something to ease the pain?’ Kelly whispered.
The owner of the house shrugged. ‘Where do we get such drugs, effendi? We have none. What there were the Turks took.’
It was a torment to watch the agony in Ayesha’s face. As Kelly went to her she looked up at him. ‘You will be all right now,’ she said in a voice that was only a half-whisper but was still commanding. ‘These are friends of ours. They will find a guide for you as soon as it is dark.’ She stiffened in a sudden spasm of pain and Kelly bent closer.
‘We’ve got to get you away from here,’ he said.
She managed a weak smile. ‘That would be nice but I would only be a burden. My friends will care for me. I hope you do not blame me for making your escape more risky.’
Lifting her good arm, she reached up and touched his cheek with the back of her hand. ‘Perhaps one day you will come back here as a tourist and we shall meet again and drink coffee decorously as old friends.’
‘We’re more than friends.’
She didn’t seem to hear. ‘Or perhaps you’ll arrive leading a victorious army on Damascus and Constantinople.’ She smiled again. ‘But, of course not. You could never do that. You are a sailor.’
