Siege of Khartoum (Simon Fonthill Series), page 24
The next day, Alice met Abdullah and was relieved to hear that he had been able to arrange for the purchase of five camels at what she felt intuitively was a reasonable price. Then she sought out Walter Piggott, her Reuters colleague. After some initial friction, their friendship had grown, based on mutual respect. Now she explained to him that she had picked up the threads of what could be a good story, the details of which must remain a secret. It demanded, however, that she must leave camp for a while, and she requested him to notify London, explaining that she would be out of contact for a time. His puzzlement was partly assuaged when she broke the news to him that he and not she was to be included in the mounted column. Then she found Sergeant Morgan, who was staying behind at Korti with Wolseley, of course, and requested that he look after her bag of sovereigns and other personal effects for a few days. He too was puzzled, but knew better than to ask questions. One last visit to the armoury, where she made several purchases from the sergeant major in charge, whom she had met on Wolseley’s el Kebir campaign, completed her preparations.
Two days later, a little after dusk, an Equatorial Sudanese and his slim young wife rode out of Korti, the basic needs of their new home in the far south carried on three camels behind them. No one queried their departure, for no one cared.
Chapter 12
They crossed the river immediately with the help of a disinterested native ferryman and headed out into the desert in the great bend of the Nile. They made good time, for, in fact, the three camels they were leading were not at all heavily loaded, carrying only their supplies for the outward journey before, hopefully, bringing back Simon, Jenkins and Ahmed. They had put some ten miles behind them before Alice decided that they should rest. They made no fire and only took four hours’ sleep before setting off again to the south-east.
Abdullah had advised that they should make for the wells at Jakdul and then turn due south, keeping well away from but roughly parallel to the river and heading out into the desert, where they would meet fewer Dervishes, before coming into Omdurman, where the three men had been imprisoned, from the west. The Nile, he said, was a bad place to be and its banks were comparatively fully populated. They would stand less chance of being questioned by the Mahdi’s men out in the desert.
Consulting her rough map, Alice was happy with this, for if they were not going to sail up the river - which seemed fraught with difficulties - then the direct desert route south would be shorter, although long enough at nearly two hundred miles. And time, of course, was of the essence.
The route they followed to the wells was fairly clearly defined, and Alice was troubled at first that they would seem to offer a tempting target to brigands, with their three pack camels. But the people they met, desert Bedawi, traders and ordinary Sudanese moving between the two loops of the Nile, seemed little interested in them. The travellers all passed with a nod of the head and a cheerful as-salaam alaykum. All the pair had for protection were Abdullah’s sword, a fearsome cross-handled thing, slung beside him on his saddle, and the little French army Chamelot Delvigne revolver that Alice had bought in Cairo during the Tel el Kebir campaign two years before. She had decided against attempting to purchase rifles. This would have been difficult to do anyway, and the guns would have been the possible object of attention if they were stopped. Abdullah did not care. ‘No guns, no fighting, lady,’ he said. And he was probably right.
As their journey progressed, Alice became more aware each day of the Sudanese’s worth. He was more than competent, in that he was a seasoned desert traveller - he knew when to press the camels and when to let them find their own pace, even though he remained aware of the need for speed - and he had the ability to detect, in a seemingly arid plain, a declivity that would provide them with some shelter for the night, even though they lacked tents. He also knew the location of wells in this wilderness, a vital attribute once they had turned south at Jakdul, leaving behind them the well-defined although sparsely travelled trail between the great bend of the river.
Above all, however, he proved to be an equable companion. He rarely spoke, unless invited to do so, but his huge smile was never far away, beaming back at Alice as she rode dutifully behind him as a Muslim wife should.
She questioned him about his background, and he revealed that he had been a slave, taken as a boy by Arab slavers from he knew not where in the deep south, but released as a young teenager by Gordon Pasha in Equatoria, when the General had travelled through the region in his great anti-slavery campaign during his first incumbency as governor general of Sudan. Gordon, he recalled, had been a kind man who had taken a great personal interest in his welfare.
‘He put me into school he start at Khartoum,’ he said. ‘He called all the boys his “little chicks”. Then, later, I work in his house. But he left and I not happy. So I go back to Equatoria and find good woman. But I hear Gordon Pasha come back so I return to Khartoum to work for him and make a little money for wedding.’
Alice nodded. ‘And the General asked you to take his message to General Wolseley?’
‘Yes, lady. He know I do what I promise. So he gives me one message in my clothes and the other in headstall of camel. Mahdi’s men question me but I say nothing. They search but find nothing.’
‘The Dervishes did not plant a false message on you then?’
‘Oh no. If they do that, I throw it away.’
‘But why did they let you go?’
‘I say I want to go home to south. They let me go. So I go out into desert and then turn round and go north.’
‘Abdullah, I am so glad you did.’
The huge smile returned. ‘Me glad also, lady. Now I will have money for wedding.
Alice answered his smile. ‘But will your woman remain true to you? You must have been away a long time.’
‘Oh yes. She like me. I a good man.’
‘I am sure you are.’ Then she swallowed hard. ‘Tell me again about the three men. Did you see this . . . ah . . . flogging?’
‘No, lady. But I heard about it. But you not to worry. The small, broad one and the tall, thin one - he your man I think, yes?’
Alice nodded, unable to speak.
‘These two all right, I think. Little man - I heard he was a Turk, no?’
‘No. An Egyptian.’
‘Ah, same thing. He not so good. But then I leave. So I don’t know.
‘Oh, poor Ahmed. Why were they whipped?’
‘Don’t know, lady. It happen many times in Mahdi’s camp.’
Alice took out her handkerchief and blew her nose fiercely. Her mind turned again to the problem of what to do once they arrived at Omdurman. If the three were still alive - and please God they would be, for Simon and Jenkins were old campaigners and must be hard as old boots now - how on earth would they free them? And if they were able to relieve them of their chains, how to get out of the camp and then escape pursuit on the long ride north? She stuck out her chin. Well, she would worry about that when the time came. She would think of something. Now they must just get on with it, riding south, always south.
In fact, despite her anxiety about Simon, Alice found a kind of tranquillity in the desert. The route they took led them into a less frequented part of the northern Sudan, bordering Kodorfan to the south, and they met no one after leaving Jakdul Wells. Once she became accustomed to it, she enjoyed the lolloping gait of the camels, and the heat, although fierce, was bearable. She also came to appreciate the beauty of the desert. In the scrub of Afghanistan and the level sand and gravel of the northern desert of Egypt, everything had seemed monochrome. The banks of the Nile, too, had become almost boring, with their rocks and dun-coloured sand. But here, the desert always seemed to be changing: the rocks harsh and arid, black and gold in the midday heat, but merging softly into purple as the afternoon slipped into evening, and distant hills showing as a smudged mauve on the horizon. The air was clear.
The days slipped by in a rhythmic ritual: sleeping warmly wrapped under the stars; breakfast as the sun burned its way over a distant peak; then riding until noon; a handful of dates and plenty of water, followed by a few hours of fitful dozing in the midday heat under a canopy, before back to hard riding and the laying of a fire and a meal, skilfully cooked by Abdullah, as the cool night crept across the desert.
As they journeyed, Alice consulted her compass from time to time, but it was not really necessary. Abdullah seemed to have a sixth sense of direction that kept him riding firmly due south, with, seemingly, only an occasional glimpse up at the sun or a morning star to help him. He also knew when to deviate to find a well - sometimes just a hole between rocks with surprisingly cool water at the bottom from which to fill their water sacks. How would a man from the south know this vast country so well?
He shrugged. ‘I know the desert,’ was all he would say by way of explanation.
Alice estimated that they had been travelling for seven days when they met the Dervishes. They loomed out of the distance, shimmering disturbingly in the heat haze as though they were mirages, until they neared and became firmly fixed: three of them, travelling quite fast on camels and coming directly towards them.
‘Put on burkha,’ grunted Abdullah.
Alice quickly put on the black Muslim head covering, which showed nothing of her face except her eyes - her grey eyes, dammit!
The three reined in their camels and made no attempt to pass. Abdullah gave his greeting but received no response from the Arabs. Instead, they viewed the Sudanese and Alice with slow, insolent eyes. They were undoubtedly Dervishes, and men of the Mahdi, for they had sewn the distinctive rectangular red patches to their clothing to show their allegiance.
Alice lowered her head in subservience but observed the men through her lashes. They were young and haughty, sitting their mounts with an arrogant ease, Remington rifles balanced across their knees. Still without a word, the three rode around the two travellers slowly, examining the three pack camels and then Alice in particular. One edged his camel near to her, and as she bent her head, he used his camel stick to push her chin upwards to look into her eyes. She kept her lashes lowered and did not engage his glance.
The man spoke for the first time, but Alice’s untuned ear could not comprehend. His meaning was clear, however, for she understood Abdullah’s reply. ‘She is my woman,’ he said.
Used to Abdullah’s voice, her knowledge of Arabic was just able to cope with his replies, although not the questions, which were rapped out quickly. She tightened her grip on the butt of the little revolver tucked away under her garment.
‘No, she is my woman. My wife,’ repeated Abdullah calmly. Oh God. What were they asking?
Further questions. ‘We are from the south. Many women there have grey eyes.’ Good thinking, Abdullah!
More questions. ‘We travel home to Equatoria from Jakdul Wells, where we met my father and mother who trade there. We go to set up our house in the south there.’ Then: ‘No. You cannot have her. She is not for sale.’ Ah, so that was it. What would they do now?
Abdullah spoke quite calmly, almost with authority, and Alice had never admired him so much.
The Dervish who had made the offer then began to smile, although his black eyes remained cold. He spoke again and indicated the sword that hung from Abdullah’s saddle, and then his own curved blade, hanging from his belt. God! A challenge? She could not let Abdullah fight for her. The two other Dervishes gave a cry of delight and grinned.
Abdullah seemed quite unperturbed. He looked the Dervish up and down, his face expressionless, and shrugged his shoulders. If he gave her up, as he obviously must, then could she kill all three with her small handgun? She was woefully out of practice, but better that than . . .
But Abdullah was tapping his camel on its neck, bidding it to kneel. He unwrapped his long legs from around the saddle pommel, slipped on to the sand and then, almost languidly, reached up and withdrew his great two-handed sword from its sheath.
‘Abdullah!’ Alice cried instinctively, but the Sudanese held up his hand in placation to her, his eyes still quite expressionless, and turned to face the Dervish. The latter slipped down from his own mount, drew his shorter, lighter sword and, holding it in one hand, pointed it first to Alice, as though marking out his property, and then to Abdullah.
Alice felt her mouth go completely dry. Her Sudanese mentor was no warrior, that appeared clear. He stood almost uncertainly, his legs apart, both hands clasped around this great sword, which appeared far too unwieldy to be used in single combat. His adversary, in contrast, trod lightly around him in a circle, his curved blade twinkling in the sunlight as he revolved it at arm’s length, moving it only from the wrist.
His fellows, still grinning, drew their camels back to give the contestants room, one of them grabbing the halter of Abdullah’s beast and pulling it back also. Alice remained resolutely where she was, comparatively close to the duellists, and loosened the revolver from its little holster under her jibba. She wished to be as near as possible before she withdrew her weapon. If she shot too soon, they would certainly kill her and Abdullah with their rifles. She would wait until Abdullah was failing, then she would take her chance. Whatever happened, though, she would protect her guide.
The disparity between the two swordsmen immediately became clear. Abdullah, the taller and thinner, was also much the slower. For a moment they both stood quite still, and a terrible silence fell upon the little gathering. In the distance somewhere a fly buzzed for a moment and then fell silent, as though it too realised that something momentous was about to happen here in the desert, far from the nearest dwelling. Alice did not move, but felt the perspiration trickling down her back, between her shoulder blades. When she intervened she had to get it right, absolutely right. She prayed that she would choose the right moment and that her aim would be good.
Then the Dervish suddenly attacked in flashes of thrusts and swings, forcing his opponent back in a series of clumsy feints. Abdullah was not just content to defend, however, for he then swung his own sword in two great swathes, which, if they had connected, would surely have cut the Dervish in two. As it was, the man jumped away with a contemptuous grin, earning the applause of his two followers.
Alice realised that this combat would not last long and that her options for intervening were few and, indeed, offered little hope of success. Abdullah had an advantage in reach but was disadvantaged by the heaviness of his weapon and the soldierly skill of his opponent. What could she do? Producing her revolver could perhaps stop the duel. But then what? Make the Dervishes ride away and leave them? They would be back in the darkness, surely, intrigued, to say the least, by this grey-eyed woman who carried a French army revolver. Shoot to kill now? Maybe she could hit two of them at short range, but her camel would certainly rear in fright and the third would be able to return the fire.
Then the hand clutching the revolver encountered something hard and angular in the undergarment beneath her jibba. Her vanity had not completely deserted her in the desert, and she carried a very small hand mirror to help her complete her primitive toilet twice a day. Now: which way was the sun, and would she have time and the required skill, with the two duellists moving around, to reflect its rays into the eyes of the Dervish? Equally importantly: would the other two see what she was up to, and even if they did not, would Abdullah be quick enough to take advantage of her intervention? It was worth a chance.
She removed the mirror and shot a quick look at the two spectators. Their eyes were firmly fixed on the combat, like senators at a Roman amphitheatre. As Abdullah faced her momentarily, she showed him the mirror and nodded to the sun.
Alice had no idea if the tall man had understood her meaning, but he suddenly stamped to his right and swung his sword in a great arc. It presented no danger to the Dervish, of course, who merely skipped away - but to face Alice, and with the sun behind him!
She held up the small, bright surface so that an oval of light settled momentarily on the man’s breast before he moved away. Damn! She nodded to Abdullah again, although there was no sign of recognition from him. Nevertheless, he repeated his tactic and the Dervish moved around once more. Alice held up the glass, protecting it with her shoulder from the gaze of the other two men. This time the beam of light landed on the beard of Abdullah’s opponent before he skipped aside. Damn! Useless!
She looked quickly at the two other Dervishes, but they were still riveted by the duel and were paying her no attention. She was, after all, just a woman on a camel - slim, certainly, and probably attractive enough to kill a man for, particularly if it was so easy to dispatch him, as was clearly the case here. But the fight was worth watching for all that.
Alice hunched over the mirror and concentrated hard. She angled the mirror once more, and as the Dervish circled to face her again was able at last to land that little circle of fierce white light on his eyes, causing the man to frown, lower his sword and lose his concentration for a second. Immediately Abdullah sprang forward and his blade cut a deep gash in the Dervish’s neck, producing a puzzled expression and forcing the man’s tongue to protrude between his teeth. Then the guide took a pace nearer and, for the first time, used the point of the blade instead of its edge. He thrust the sword deep into the breast of his opponent and then slowly withdrew it, causing the Dervish to slump slowly to the ground, his eyes glazed and his mouth open. There he lay unmoving, quite dead.
