The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [583]
Ash frowned and observed with an edge to his voice that possibly they did not want to be helped by foreigners – except financially. Money was the one and only thing that could help the Amir and his people, and save the foreigners in the Residency from disaster. ‘If the troops get paid you may all still have a chance of scraping through with nothing worse than a bloody nose and a few bruises. But if it doesn't, I wouldn't bet a brass farthing on the safety of the Mission, or the future prospects of the Amir either.’
‘Faith, what a cheerful little ray of sunshine you are,’ observed Wally with a wry smile. ‘I suppose you'll tell me next that every mullah in the place is calling for a Holy War?’
‘Oddly enough, they aren't. Or only a very few. There is a fiery gentleman down Herat way who is being very vocal, and an equally vocal fakir here in the city. But by and large the majority of mullahs have been remarkably pacific and seem to be doing their best to keep things on an even keel. It's a pity they haven't got a better Amir; one can't help feeling sorry for the poor fellow, but he's not half the man his father was – and he, Heaven knows, wasn't anything to write home about. What the Afghans need now is a strong man: another Dost Mohammed.’
‘Or a fellow like that one over' there,’ suggested Wally, nodding his head in the direction of Barbur's tomb.
‘The Tiger? God forbid!’ said Ash fervently. ‘If he'd been in command here, we would never have got further than Ali Masjid. Now there's someone you should write an epic poem about: Ode to a Dead Emperor. Hic jacet ecce Barbur, magnus Imperator. Fama semper vivat*… “Lie lightly on him, gentle earth.” ’
Wally laughed and said that he would try his hand at Barbur when he had finished with ‘The Village of Bemaru’, which was still giving him trouble. The political situation was not mentioned again and the talk turned to pleasanter subjects: to books and horses, mutual friends and the prospects of shikar in the cold weather. ‘Do you remember that Christmas we spent at Morala,’ said Wally, ‘and the evening we brought down eight teal between us at one go, and seven of them fell into the river and we had to go in after them because the shikari couldn't swim? Do you remember –’
A sudden and stronger gust of wind whined through the bushes and raised a cloud of dust that set him coughing. Mingled with the dust were a few rain drops, and he scrambled to his feet, exclaiming: ‘Glory be! I believe it's going to rain. That's something to be thankful for. We could do with a good downpour provided it doesn't wash the whole place away in a river of mud. Well, I must be off. Time I got back to my neglected duties if I don't want to get a rap over the knuckles from my respected Chief. See you sometime next week. And in the meantime I'll have a talk with William, and think about discontinuing the sports – though I suspect you're exaggerating, you old Job's Comforter. No, don't see me to the gate: Taimus is out there. Salaam aleikoum!’
‘And the same to you, you poor purblind blinkered off-scouring of an Irish bog. And for God's sake don't go trailing your coat riding around the countryside without an escort again. It's too damned unhealthy.’
‘ “Too rash, too unadvised, too sudden,” ’ declaimed Wally soulfully. ‘Ah, away with you! It's a pessimist ye‘are and I don't know how I put up with you at all, at all.’ He laughed again, and gripped Ash's hand: ‘Be easy now; I'll watch out for myself, I promise. Next time I'll bring a posse with me, all armed to the teeth. Will that satisfy you?’
‘I shan't be satisfied until you and Kelly and the rest of our fellows are safe back in Mardan again,’ replied Ash with a worn smile, ‘But for the present I suppose I shall have to settle for an armed posse. Mind now that you don't move without it, you benighted bog-trotter.’
‘Cross-me-heart,’ said Wally