The Sleeping Sands (30 page)

From his speech and manner and from a closer inspection, I now concluded that beneath the patina painted upon him by these barbarous regions was a European and furthermore a Gentleman. I replaced my pistol and apologised for my earlier discourtesy. He laughed warmly and introduced himself as an Englishman, Mr Henry Layard. He politely stated that the joy of meeting a fellow European made up for any misunderstanding. I now laughed and told him that he too had been mistaken; informing him that, while I had spent much time in Russia since losing our family estates in Alsace, I was in fact as much a Briton as he, my mother being of that race. We became friends on the spot.

Since our meeting, Mr Layard has been visiting me on a daily basis and we have enjoyed many happy hours in conversation, sharing my dwindling stocks of wine and tobacco. It transpired that he had been away from Kala Tul when the army arrived, investigating some monument or other and found himself cut off from the sanctuary of the castle by the Matamet’s camp. In attempting to pass through the camp, he was seized as a spy by the ferrashes, who dragged him before the Matamet. Fortunately for Mr Layard, he was recognized both by the Governor and by Sheikh Ali Naghi Khan, the local Khan’s brother, who travels with the Matamet as a negotiator. The Governor received him politely and, after some polite discussion of his recent antiquarian investigations, granted him passage to the castle; requesting only that he impress upon the Khan the good sense of coming to an accommodation with the Matamet’s wishes.

Mr Layard seems to possess an astute understanding of the local politics among the Bakhtiari – indeed more so than one might expect from a junior solicitor or gentleman antiquary. He admits to an anxiety for the Khan and his people. He enquired recently about the humour and behaviour of Ali Naghi Khan on the road to Kala Tul. When I informed him that the Sheikh had appeared to be generally in good spirits and on civil terms with the Matamet, he frowned and suggested that the Governor was concocting some sort of deception. When, at another time, I told him of the meetings that the Matamet had arranged en route with various tribal leaders from the surrounding territory, Mr Layard nodded and told me somewhat cryptically that the Matamet was unravelling the Khan’s carpets. He seemed genuinely concerned for the fate of the Bakhtiari and, when he left me that evening, he was in a most melancholic state.

Some strange bond seems to have formed between Mr Layard and the Khan, though they share nothing in manners, philosophy or morals. Mr Layard is a most remarkable man. He appears to have a supernally heightened sympathy to the people and country around him – as evinced by his ability to rapidly understand and speak foreign languages and his capacity to find something to love in these savage and godless thieves. On those occasions when I have arrived late to my tent, to find Mr Layard has come before me; I have often found him in animated conversation with Saleh, my Lur servant. Saleh is generally a surly, ill-tempered fellow, yet he seems to have taken most enthusiastically to Mr Layard and often asks me when next ‘the Effendi’, as he calls him, will be visiting. Mr Layard certainly has a way with these people that I have never before observed in European or Persian.

I have no doubt that Mr Layard is gathering information for the British and that they must hold these mountains to be of a strategic importance that is as yet unknown to me. Nor have I discovered how Mr Layard is passing any intelligence out of this remote region. I shall continue to observe him and report to Your Excellency. Mr Layard told me that he spent some time in Russia during 1838. No doubt Department 3 will have a record of him. In the meantime, while both the siege and my stocks of tobacco endure, I shall continue to enjoy the company of a most civilized and entertaining gentleman.

I am as ever,

Your faithful and obedient servant,

Clement Joseph Philippe Pen De Bode.

*                      *                      *

‘Sir John, I am very glad that you have been able to find the time to see me.’

‘Madam, an invitation to visit Mrs Sara Austen is always a delightful pleasure.’

Sir John Barrow accepted a cup of tea and leant back in his chair.

‘As I said, madam, it is always a pleasure.’ He sipped his tea and carefully replaced the china cup.

‘I will always find time to call upon you, with the slightest excuse. However, I sense from your manner that something concerns you. Is there any matter in which I can be of assistance?’

Sara Austen smiled at her guest.

‘I apologise, Sir John for my rather inappropriate inability to conceal my emotions, but, since you ask, I must confess that I do have something on my mind. It concerns my nephew, Mr Layard.’

‘Ah, how is young Henry?’ a slight frown played across Barrow’s forehead, ‘I trust all is well with our adventurer?’

‘That is precisely the source of my concern,’ replied Mrs Austen, leaning forward slightly and clasping her hands in her lap, ‘I have heard nothing of Henry for weeks, and then it was simply some very partial and rather old news from my brother in law. When last I heard, Henry had left Isfahan in the Autumn for some remote part of the mountains; an area that virtually no European has visited before. By all accounts it is a savage and lawless country and I fear greatly for the welfare of my nephew.’

‘My dear lady,’ smiled Barrow, in what he hoped was as reassuring a manner as possible, ‘I know your nephew and, if any man is able to cope with whatever privations the wilderness might throw at him, it is he. Henry is as fine a specimen of English manhood as any I have met – and you know well that I have met some of the finest.

‘It is only to be expected that news from such a remote place may be slow in arriving and sparse in its distribution. I counsel you, Madam, to worry less about your nephew. Unfounded anxiety could only have a deleterious effect on your own wellbeing and will do little for Mr Layard.

‘Your duty, Mrs Layard, is to ensure your own spirits and health are in the highest of order, so that when Mr Layard next communicates with you, he finds his Aunt to be the wise and gentle guide he has always known.’

‘Sir John,’ said Mrs Austen, a little curtly, ‘you both flatter me and do me a disservice at the same time. I am not such a feeble creature to sit back in happy ignorance of the world around me while waiting for reassurances from my nephew. I am more aware than perhaps you think of the situation in Persia and of the nature of the country in which my nephew abides. I have read reports of some of the less fortunate travellers in the region and I have no intention of some day reading a similar report of Henry’s fate.’

‘Mrs Austen, I fear you overstate-‘

Sara Austen cut in, two points of colour forming in her pale cheeks.

‘I overstate nothing, Sir John. I have a very clear understanding of the situation. The world is changing about us and we are finally waking from our own petty squabbles in the West to begin to see it. But I fear that too few are opening their eyes and too late. Night after night, I entertain foolish men who spend hours debating the minutiae of character and moral sentiment, while out there in the dark a vast machine is moving about us. There are wheels turning in the East, Sir John that may be beyond both our comprehension and our control.’

She stifled a small, involuntary gasp, surprised by her own passion.

‘Sir John,’ she said, softly, ‘I fear Henry will be crushed by those wheels.’

John Barrow looked thoughtfully at Sara Austen, as if seeing the woman anew. After a moment of silence, he sighed and reached for his teacup.

‘My dear Mrs Austen,’ he said, the cup hovering midway to his lips, ‘I would do anything to spare you this anxiety. The truth is, however, that you are right.’

He drank from the cup and placed it carefully on the table between them.

‘I meant what I said,’ he continued, ‘when I told you that I had every confidence in Mr Layard to survive whatever dangers he might encounter but I must acknowledge that the region he is now in is far from stable.

‘The thing is,’ he paused, ‘there is nothing we can do save wait for more news and trust both to God and to your nephew’s character that no ill might come to him.’

‘You might trust to God,’ said Sara hotly, ‘and of Henry’s character I have no doubt, but I am certainly not prepared to wait meekly for news. I cannot rest in the knowledge that I have done nothing to help my nephew. What is our Navy for if not to protect our People when they are in danger?

‘Sir John, you must do what you can to help him.’

‘Mrs Austen,’ pleaded Barrow, ‘you know that I would do anything you asked, but Henry is out of our reach. Relations between Britain and Persia are strained almost to breaking. Any interference by the Admiralty in the area could push our countries to war. There is simply nothing I can do.’

Sara Austen leaned forward and grasped Barrow’s forearm, tears welling in her eyes.

‘Sir John, if you bear me any love at all; find a way. I will ask you this but once. Show me that of all Englishmen, at least one retains some shred of character.’

Sir John Barrow, unable to meet the intensity of her gaze, looked down at the tea set. He seemed to find some resolution in its blue and white pattern.

‘Mrs Austen,’ he said, grimly, ‘you have my word. I will do what I can.’

Sara released his arm and wiped her eyes with a lace handkerchief. She sniffed and smiled sweetly.

‘I know you will, Sir John.’

*                      *                      *

In the high mountains, night fell swiftly. As the last long shadows began to melt together into the dusk, two darker shadows emerged from a clump of scrub and rocks, set in a deep narrow gorge. There was a soft whistle, a faint scrabbling of loose stones and a third shadow flowed down the side of the gorge to join them. In the crepuscular light, the shadows formed an indistinct huddle.

‘News?’ hissed the smaller of the first two shadows.

‘It is as we were told in Isfahan,’ said the newcomer, ‘the Matamet’s army has marched on Kala Tul.’

‘And the way to Khuzistan?’

‘It is clear for us. The country is almost empty. Many of the tribes have fled the Matamet. A few, still loyal to the Khan, have gone to defend Kala Tul. More have joined the Matamet.’

‘Hmm,’ mused the shadow that had first spoken, ‘the jackals can sense when the lion is about to fall. No doubt the Matamet has promised them the pickings of whatever he leaves behind when he has done with the Khan.

‘How long do you think the Khan will hold out against the Matamet?’

‘Kala Tul is strong, Effendi,’ replied the newcomer.

‘And the weather will soon turn,’ observed the shadow who had not yet spoken, ‘this is not a good time for a war against Mehemet Taki Khan.’

‘So why did the Governor march on Kala Tul?’ mused the first speaker, ‘Manuchar Ali Khan is no fool. Why would he choose this time to make his move against the Great Khan?’

His two companions said nothing. They knew when a question needed an answer and when to remain silent. The evening’s conversation had already become uncharacteristically and uncomfortably discursive. They were more at ease taking orders than offering opinions. Now, they kept their counsel in silence and awaited new instruction.

The first speaker was as used to answering his own questions as his companions were to holding their tongues.

‘It has to be something to do with Layard,’ he concluded. ‘His presence has changed the balance of things. Something has drawn the attention of the Matamet. Perhaps-‘

He broke off.

‘Come,’ he spoke softly but imperatively, ‘we will move into Khuzistan. We travel at night and quietly. On no account can the Society be discovered here.’

His two Lur companions acknowledged the order by simply turning and moving along the gorge. They walked in single file, leaving a space of several yards between them. With unspoken practice, the Englishman, stepped into the space and the three shadows disappeared into the darkness.

*                      *                      *

‘I spoke with Mrs Austen yesterday. She remains very worried about your nephew.’

‘My dear sister in law is possessed of a noble spirit. It is to her credit that she has such an interest in the young gentleman’s welfare. I am only thankful that she knows no more about what stakes Mr Layard is playing for.’

‘Stakes?’ Benjamin Disraeli turned to William Layard, who was walking beside him along Piccadilly. He stopped, leading the older man to take a couple of steps and then pirouette neatly round to face him.

‘Stakes, my boy!’ He laughed and raised his fists in an exaggerated mockery of a pugilist, dancing back and forth lightly on his feet despite his bulk.

‘It’s all about Sport, Mr Disraeli,’ he stopped dead, dropping his guard and leaning one huge paw heavily on Disraeli’s shoulder, his face suddenly purple.

‘Excuse me a moment, my boy,’ he panted, ‘now what was I saying?’

‘You were telling me about sport,’ began Disraeli.

‘Ah yes, sport!’ interjected William, his face returning to its normal shade of red as a wide grin spread across it.

‘Something you are no doubt fond of, being a practitioner of the Noble Art, eh?’ he dug Disraeli gently in the ribs with a soft round fist the size of a melon.

Disraeli staggered back a step or two, slipping a little on the icy pavement before regaining his balance.

‘I am afraid I don’t follow,’ he said crossly, ‘what has this got to do with Mr Layard?’

‘I told you once that there was game in the East, Mr Disraeli,’ explained William Layard, ‘and my nephew has his part to play in it, just as you have.

‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘one could say, with no significant stretch of the imagination, that there are several games afoot and Henry is playing for an accumulated pot. If he claims it, then we shall all be winners.’

‘Mr Layard,’ snapped Disraeli in irritation, ‘you offer nothing new. In place of news all you bring is riddles. Mrs Austen is becoming increasingly distressed with every day that passes without news of her nephew. She has already approached Sir John Barrow for assistance from the Admiralty Office.’