‘For pity’s sake!’ Sandy had cried. ‘What good does your arguing do? It doesn’t help us here or bring our missing children back.’
Alice had slipped away not wanting to hear any more, her heart leaden at the mention of their stolen children. The hardest trial of all to bear was the not knowing what had happened to Lotty. Her daughter’s third birthday had come and gone, yet Alice did not know if the girl lived. As far as anyone knew, John was still alive and at Akbar’s command but no further news had come through about the children abducted by the Ghilzais or the rumour that a fair child had been seen among the Afridis. All through the long, broiling, fearful summer Alice and the Aytons waited for news of Alexander or Lotty but none came.
August arrived; half the prisoners were delirious with fever. Gita fell ill and Alice nursed her as best she could in the searing heat, trying to reassure Gita’s anxious sons. Colin recovered but Jamieson succumbed. His sudden death was a blow to morale. If a robust young officer like Jamieson could be carried off by fever in the space of two sunrises, then no one was safe.
The evening after he was buried, Alice went to sit under a nearby mulberry tree and mourn the young officer whom she had first met on that fateful trip into Kabul nearly two years ago. The dusty sunset was punctuated with gunfire coming from the city. Alice had no idea who was in charge or who was fighting whom. She felt utterly powerless. One by one, the people she loved were being taken from her. She curled up under the tree, pulled her shawl over her head and wept.
Shouts at the gateway woke her. Alice must have fallen asleep under the tree for dawn was breaking over the fort walls. She sat up, stiff and aching from the hard ground. She could hear a commotion. Her stomach clenched in fear. Was this a raid? Perhaps the chiefs who had threatened to kill them were finally coming to do so. She stumbled back inside. Joining other prisoners on the veranda, she peered down at the inner courtyard as the gates were being pulled open and a dozen blanketed men trudged through.
‘I see scarlet jackets,’ Dinah cried out.
‘They’re British,’ Sandy gasped.
‘Is that Lieutenant Sinclair?’ Emily asked, seizing Alice’s arm.
Alice strained to see in the shadowed courtyard, her heart thumping. The men were being jostled forward by armed Afghans. They appeared to be prisoners too.
‘I’m not sure . . .’
Then the tallest of the men, shrouded in a bulky blanket, looked up and she recognised John’s rugged face. She stifled a cry of joy.
‘He’s holding a child!’ Dinah squealed. ‘Look!’
Alice strained to see. The bulky blanket was indeed a child bundled up, with just a fair head of hair showing. Alice screamed and headed for the stairs, clattering down them as fast as her shaking legs could manage. The others followed, shouting out to the new arrivals. Alice raced barefoot into the courtyard, arms outstretched and making for John in the mêlée of men, mules and guards.
She saw the look of relief on his face as he caught sight of her.
‘Alice!’ he rasped.
‘Lotty!’ she cried. ‘You’ve found her!’
The joy on his face vanished. As she reached him and pulled away the blanket she realised her mistake. A thin, wide-eyed boy looked at her, startled. She stared at him in confusion, not recognising him.
‘It’s Alexander,’ said John, his face full of pity.
Alice stood frozen to the spot. She had been so sure it was Lotty. Behind her she heard Emily scream. Moments later, Alexander was being enveloped by his parents, smothered in loving arms and welcomed with kisses and tears of relief. It was John who steered Alice aside and in the shadows put his arm about her shoulders. She turned into his hold and stifled a sob.
‘I’m sorry,’ John murmured into her hair. ‘I’d hoped it would be Lotty too.’
She pulled away. ‘But you said you’d found a fair-haired child among the Afridis. I got your message. It’s what’s been keeping me from giving up all these terrible months.’
‘I’m sorry for raising your hopes but it was Alexander who they had rescued.’
‘So where is my Lotty?’ Alice wailed. She was shaking from head to foot with shock and disappointment.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You must have heard something,’ Alice said. ‘All this time with Akbar and the Afghans – you must have picked up rumours. Can’t you tell me anything?’ She saw the hesitation in his face. ‘You know something don’t you? Tell me! I don’t care how bad it is – nothing is worse than this purgatory of not knowing.’
At Alice’s raised voice, others were turning to watch. She didn’t care. She had to know what it was that John knew. He looked at her with such compassion in his green eyes that she wanted to break down in tears. But if she started to weep she might never stop.
‘Tell me,’ she ordered, digging her nails into her palms.
John nodded. ‘It’s fairly certain the Ghilzais had her for a while,’ he said. ‘I discovered she had been taken to Kabul.’
Alice’s heart leapt. ‘Is she there now?’
John shook his head. ‘Zemaun has been looking for her – and my Kazilbashi friend, Khan Shereen Khan – but they think she has been passed on.’
‘Passed on?’ Alice felt sick. ‘What do you mean?’
John swallowed. ‘Sold on.’
Alice’s throat filled with bile. The other women began to gather around her, patting and stroking her arms in comfort. But she had to know everything. She gripped her arms in front of her and asked, ‘Sold to whom?’
‘They don’t know for sure.’
‘But they have an idea?’ Alice pressed him. ‘Don’t spare me the truth, Lieutenant Sinclair.’ She could feel her teeth chattering as if the air was cold.
‘There is talk of slave-traders having been in the city,’ John said with reluctance. ‘Many Hindus have been rounded up and taken too.’
‘Taken where?’ It was Sandy who asked.
‘To the markets in Turkestan.’
A groan went up from the huddle around Alice.
‘But that is just the rumour,’ John said hastily. ‘They can’t be sure.’
‘But that’s what you believe, isn’t it?’ Alice said, feeling faint.
‘I believe she is still alive,’ John said, trying to instil courage with his look.
Alice turned from him and pushed away from the others. She went to the Aytons and put out a hand to touch Alexander’s matted hair. Sandy held the boy tightly in his arms.
‘Dear Zander,’ she whispered, ‘I’m so happy to see you.’
The boy gazed back with a dazed look, quite overwhelmed by it all. Emily put an arm around Alice and pulled her into her hold. Alice bowed her head and wept into her friend’s shoulder.
The days that followed were tense ones for the hostages. The new arrivals brought word of the lawlessness in Kabul. Shops had been shut up and the women of the royal household had been sent out of the citadel for safekeeping in outlying forts. John told of how the Kazilbashi chiefs had retreated into the Kohistan not wanting to get embroiled in the latest battle for power. Akbar had failed to broker a truce with the British forces in Jalalabad and was furious at their refusal to withdraw to India. Instead the British army was on the move up the passes towards Kabul.
But John soon dashed raised hopes.
‘Akbar is in no mood to treat us well,’ said John grimly. ‘He is threatening to send us all to Bamian and sell us to the chiefs in the north in retaliation. He’s back in Kabul to rally another army against the British. He no longer wants to broker a deal with Sale or Pollock. That’s why I’m not wanted as translator.’
‘So you’re just a common prisoner like the rest of us, eh?’ jibed Vernon.
‘It would seem so,’ John replied evenly, not rising to the baiting.
Alice couldn’t bear to be near her husband. He had shown no emotion at the news that their daughter was probably in the hand of slavers and could end up in Bokhara in the household of the despot who
tormented his British captives. All he could do was complain about how ill he felt and how she spent too much time fussing over her native servant rather than him. He had grown even more demanding and fretful since John’s arrival so Alice kept out of John’s way for the sake of peace with her fractious husband.
She could see the anger in John’s face and his clenched fists when Vernon spoke to her rudely but there was no point in provoking an argument. The prisoners had been thrown together for so long that Alice knew how the slightest bad word or jealous comment could lead to friction. It was best just to ignore Vernon’s carping. She could feel John’s frustration at not being able to talk privately or snatch a moment alone together but Alice’s heart had been shattered since hearing about Lotty’s fate. Nothing John could say would be able to console her now.
The weather broke. Vivid lightning lit the night sky, followed by booming thunder and torrential rain that turned the courtyards to mud. Two days later, their gaolers came to tell them that they were to be moved. Ponies were brought in and Dr Campbell, who had arrived with the Kabul hostages, was ordered to declare who was fit to travel on a mountainous journey.
This provoked a panicked response from the sick and feverish. Several of the women, including Mrs Trevor, were ruled too ill to travel. Florentia though had rallied and was determined to stay with Dinah and baby Julia come what may. Campbell tried to get as many as possible on the list not to be moved as the word was that the prisoners were being taken to Bamian and then to Turkestan. A vengeful Akbar wanted the hostages beyond the border of Afghanistan where the British dared not go. Everyone knew that those forced to go were unlikely ever to return.
Emily surprised Alice with her stoical acceptance of their fate. Since Alexander’s return, her friend had regained some of her former optimism.
‘As long as I have Sandy and my boys with me,’ Emily said, ‘I can face anything.’
But Vernon insisted he was in no condition to march. Alice was speechless with disgust at her husband’s successful pleading to be allowed to remain with the sick. He showed none of the loyalty he’d professed on the retreat from Kabul when he’d demanded that the husbands stay with their wives and children to protect them. But John couldn’t hold back his contempt. He strode past Alice into the fetid room where Vernon was lying on a charpoy, smoking.
‘Show some guts, Buckley!’ John challenged. ‘The women and children need all the men who can be mustered to guard them through the Hindu Kush.’
Vernon glared at John with bloodshot eyes. ‘You don’t fool me, Sinclair. I know you’re itching to have an excuse to run off with my wife. Well, you’re welcome to her. She’s soiled goods in my eyes since you’ve had her.’
‘You bastard, Buckley!’ John sprang at him, knocking the water-pipe from his grasp. Vernon cried out. John hauled him off the low bed and landed a blow to his jaw. Colin and Sandy rushed in and pulled John off a dazed Vernon.
‘You saw that!’ Vernon panted. ‘He attacked his superior officer. I’ll see you hanged, you Scotch savage!’
As Colin manhandled a seething John out of the room, Sandy helped Vernon back onto the string bed.
‘You’re my witness, Ayton,’ Vernon said, visibly shaken.
Sandy’s look was full of disdain. ‘I saw you fall on the floor, Buckley. That’s all. Besides, Sinclair is probably going to a worse fate – and so is your wife. You’d do best to save your breath and say something of comfort to Alice before you’re parted.’
Sandy stalked from the room, throwing Alice a pitying look as she stood in the doorway. She waited for her husband to apologise for the vile words he had said about her; surely even Vernon would be contrite in the face of them being parted, perhaps forever?
Instead Vernon went on the defensive. ‘You put Sinclair up to that, didn’t you? You wanted to see a sick and defenceless man being beaten by that brigand.’
‘Don’t be absurd, Vernon.’
‘I know you can’t wait to be with him. But your duty is to me. I’m your husband and master, not the Scotchman. I demand that you stay here and nurse me. Campbell can be persuaded.’
Alice nearly choked with indignation. ‘You can stay if you like but the journey ahead holds no fear for me. I relish it,’ she said, her eyes blazing. ‘And not because of John Sinclair. If they are taking us to Turkestan then I have a chance of seeing Lotty again. Wild horses couldn’t keep me from going.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, woman! You won’t find her. She’s most probably dead. Sinclair is just trying to keep your hopes alive with his lurid tales about slavers so that you will go with him and be his whore.’
‘Only a man with the mind of a cesspit would think such a thing,’ Alice hissed. ‘You obviously care nothing for our daughter but at least Sinclair’s words give me hope. And hope is all I have.’
Unable to bear his presence a moment longer, she hurried from the room.
The prisoners were told they would travel by night to avoid the heat of the day. At moonrise on the twenty-fifth of August, there were many emotional farewells with the sick and wounded who were staying behind in the care of Dr Campbell. Yet Vernon tried to browbeat Alice till the last moment.
‘You’ll regret abandoning me,’ he accused her, ‘when you hear of my death through fever.’
‘Goodbye, Vernon,’ was all she could manage to say. Alice did not know if her pounding heart was from fear of the journey ahead or relief that she was finally being parted from the man who had bullied and denigrated her for so long.
The train of camels and ponies carrying the forty able-bodied hostages set out from Noor Fort under armed guard. Detouring widely to avoid Kabul, they crossed the Loghur River and headed for the Paghman Hills.
Ever since John’s arrival with Alexander, Alice had felt numb to her core. Even Gita’s recovery hadn’t lifted her spirits as it should have done – or John’s presence around the fort.
She had yearned for him for so long and yet her feelings were now cauterised. Her heart felt as hard as flint and she no longer believed that people were ultimately good. How could they be when they allowed a three-year-old girl to be snatched from her mother and sold to the highest bidder? All the suffering and bloodshed, the carnage of the retreat and the months of imprisonment were for nothing. They were pawns in the imperious games of bloodthirsty men – the men who sat in distant Calcutta and London as well as the murderous men who held them captive.
In Alice’s corrosive thoughts, John was somehow tainted too. She couldn’t help blaming him for the cruel disappointment of not bringing Lotty to her. She knew it was unfair and illogical but she couldn’t help the bitterness that was eating into her heart with each new day.
At least they were on the move and away from the infernal heat of the fort and from Vernon. She could breathe again in the night air under a brittle star-laden sky. To move was all she could concentrate on and it felt good to be back in the saddle. With each step across the rocky plain she might be travelling nearer to her missing daughter. She held on fiercely to the thought and kept her eyes focused on the mountains ahead.
CHAPTER 39
For two nights they travelled across the hot plain and into the foothills, setting off at midnight each night. The caravan of camels and ponies covered about two miles every hour, jolting their passengers, many of whom were still weak from the summer fever.
John made it his business to be courteous to the guards and friendly to their leader, General Saleh Mohammed. The general – a warrior from the Khyber Pass region – approved of John’s kinship with the Afridis and allowed him to carry his Uncle Azlan’s hunting knife to help them procure food along the way. John also hoped that his bonds with the Kazilbashi families could be of help to the captives as they travelled through the Hindu Kush.
He was hurt by the way Alice had rebuffed him since his arrival in captivity but his heart ached for her in her constant worry over Lotty. At least she was away from the malignant control of her vile husband, he thought with grim s
atisfaction. Whatever happened, he would do what he could to protect Alice and stay with her till the last.
As they moved further into the hills, and after the muddy red waters of the Kabul river, John found himself once again relishing the clearer air and the sight of poplar trees lining sweet rushing streams. The armed guards commandeered supplies from passing camel trains to feed their entourage and they camped in what shade they could find during the daytime.
A further two days into the Hindu Kush, the band of captives arrived at Istalif – meaning lush orchards – the fort of John’s Kazilbashi in-laws. Aziz came out to greet them, but his delight at seeing John turned to consternation to discover his brother-in-law was a hostage and not a guard.
‘This cannot be allowed,’ Aziz declared. ‘We will pay to have you released.’
‘My dear Aziz,’ John said, an arm about the tall youth, ‘you would have to buy freedom for us all. I shall not desert my comrades and friends.’
Deeply perturbed, Aziz ordered food to be brought out to the hostages – naan bread with apricot paste, pilaf, roast fowl and fish, grapes and pears – which they ate by the side of a chuckling river in the shade of willows.
That night, they did not travel on but camped in the Kazilbashis’ orchard and Aziz entertained General Saleh Mohammed and John along with senior officers Pottinger, Shelton and Lawrence. John made sure that the Afghan general was well fed and also that Aziz provided victuals for the onward journey to make life easier for their chief captor. From talking with Saleh Mohammed, John knew that the general was uneasy about his role of transporting the British towards Bamian and beyond. He particularly found it distasteful that he was in charge of delivering women and children into the hands of hostile tribesmen – possibly slave-dealers. The general was a soldier of fortune who had fought alongside British cavalry in the early days before rallying to Dost Mohammed’s cause. He said it had been the abusive language of the non-commissioned officers that had made him switch sides.
In the Far Pashmina Mountains Page 46
