The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [566]
The party broke up late, and on the following morning the Amir's representative, Sirdar Khushdil Khan, escorted by a squadron of the 9th Afghan Cavalry, rode into the camp to conduct the Mission on the last leg of its journey towards the frontier.
The Amir's representative was accompanied by the head of the Ghilzai tribe, a gaunt, hatchet-faced greybeard by the name of Padshah Khan, whom Wally, for one, distrusted on sight. Not that he thought much better of Khushdil Khan, whose sinister countenance and sly, evasive eyes struck him as even more unpleasant than the wolf-like face of the robber chief. ‘Wouldn't trust either of ‘em as far as I could throw the mess piano,’ confided Wally in a whispered aside to Surgeon-Major Kelly, who smiled a tight-lipped smile and replied in an undertone that from now on they would have no alternative but to trust them, as until they reached Kabul that unprepossessing pair and the motley crew of ruffians they had brought with them were officially responsible for their safety. ‘Which I have to admit, I do not find particularly comforting,’ added the doctor thoughtfully.
The motley crew referred to were mounted on small, wiry-looking horses and decked out in what appeared to be the cast-off uniforms of British Dragoons, topped by long-discarded helmets acquired from the Bengal Horse Artillery. They were armed with smooth-bore carbines and tulwars, and Wally, eyeing them with professional interest, decided that his Guides ought to be able to handle them with ease. Apart from village hall amateur dramatics, he could not remember having seen such an outlandish assortment of warriors, and had it not been for their fierce, bearded faces and the hard gleam in their eyes, the effect would have been laughable.
But Wally's gaze held no amusement, for he was well aware that despite their ridiculous appearance and straggling, undisciplined lines, they did not know the meaning of fear – or of mercy, either. And like Major Kelly, he did not find it a reassuring thought that to such men as these the Amir of Afghanistan must look to preserve peace in Kabul and protect the lives of the British Envoy and his entourage.
‘We can deal with this lot if they try anything on the road,’ thought Wally, ‘but there will always be others to replace them. Hundreds of others – thousands. And there are less than eighty of us to protect the Mission…’
Riding towards Karatiga, it occurred to him that Ash might not, after all, have been taking such an alarmist view of the situation in Kabul and the new Amir's uncertain grip on authority as he had liked to think. For if a sullen, shifty-eyed Sirdar, a wolf-like Ghilzai chief and this ramshackle squadron of cavalry was the best that the Amir could send to greet the British Mission and take over responsibility for its safe arrival in Kabul, then it looked as though conditions might be almost as chaotic as Ash had made out. If so, he had misjudged him. Not that he himself could have behaved any differently if he had believed every word of it – as Ash should have known.
However great the danger might be, he would still not have changed places with anyone, and as he watched the detachments that had accompanied them to the frontier turn back and ride away, he felt sincerely sorry for them, because they were having to return tamely to the Kurrum and garrison duty, while he, Walter Hamilton, would be riding forward towards Adventure and the fabulous city of Kabul…
The Afghan delegation had pitched a tent on a stretch of level ground near the foot of the Shutergardan Pass, and here the Amir's representative and the head of the Ghilzais gave a banquet for Sir Louis and his suite and General Roberts and his fifty British officers, before hosts and guests remounted and rode together to the summit, where carpets had been spread on the ground and glasses of tea were served. The air on the crest of the pass had been cool and bracing, and the view of the surrounding peaks and the peaceful Loger Valley far below enough