Winds of Eden (24 page)

‘That and unlimited access to my money.'

‘A husband is legally entitled to use his wife's money to maintain his family as he sees fit.'

‘Leaving his wife penniless.'

‘Leaving his wife a generous allowance for housekeeping and personal expenses.'

‘If I marry I will lose my army widow's pension.'

‘But not the annuity?' he checked quickly.

She looked him in the eye. ‘No, not the annuity.'

‘Think about what I said.' He replaced his cup on the tray and reached out to take hers.

‘I don't need to think about your offer, Theo.'

‘Don't be hasty. We'll talk again at the end of the month. If you refuse me, then I promise I'll never mention the subject again.'

Chapter Twenty-five

Kut al Amara, Friday 7th January 1916

Crabbe paced uneasily outside the brigadier's office. He listened hard but the silence inside was absolute. Resisting the impulse to knock on the door, he pushed his hands deep into his trouser pockets and walked to the east end of the corridor.

Sergeant Lane entered the building.

Crabbe beckoned to him and led him past the office doors to a secluded alcove. ‘Has Pickering told you where they've taken Mitkhal or the horses?'

‘He's refusing to talk, sir. Going by the amount of blood on him, he's been involved in a ruckus but he wouldn't say whether it was with a horse or a man. You don't think he'd kill Lieutenant Colonel Downe's orderly or his horses do you, sir? I've seen the horses. They're magnificent specimens. It would be a crying shame to slaughter them.'

‘At the moment we don't know anything, other than the horses and Lieutenant Colonel Downe's orderly are missing.'

The door to the brigadier's office opened. His adjutant appeared. ‘Major Crabbe?'

‘Wait here, sergeant.' Crabbe marched into the office.

Colonel Perry was standing in front of the brigadier's desk. The brigadier was sitting back in his chair watching him.

‘Thank you for joining us, Major Crabbe.'

‘Sir.'

‘I understand you have the duty sergeant from the Norfolks' stable under guard?'

‘In the Dorsets' guard house, sir.'

‘Interrogate him using whatever methods you deem fit and necessary to ascertain the whereabouts of Lieutenant Colonel Downe's orderly and his horses.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Your orders.' The brigadier handed him a sheaf of forms. ‘These give you access to every building and authorize you to conduct a thorough search of the town and the environs. The moment the orderly or the horses are found inform me.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Do you have any suggestions as to which quarter Major Crabbe should commence his search, Colonel Perry?'

‘None. As I have repeatedly told you, sir, I have no idea as to the location of the horses or the orderly.'

‘You have no thoughts whatsoever on where they might be?' the brigadier pressed.

‘As I have already said, sir, I stabled the horses with the Norfolks and entrusted them to the care of the duty sergeant. I last saw them two days ago. They were tethered to the line of officers' mounts and in reasonable condition considering the reduced livestock rations.'

‘Mitkhal?' Crabbe demanded.

‘I haven't seen Downe's Arab in months.'

‘Months?' Crabbe queried.

‘At least a month, maybe two before the battle of Ctesiphon.'

The brigadier moved in his chair. ‘Ensure the men search meticulously, Crabbe. Start in the stables and work out. Keep me posted.

‘Sir.' Crabbe left the office and closed the door behind him. He found Sergeant Lane in the street outside, smoking. The moment the man saw him he dropped his cigarette, ground the stub to dust beneath his boot, and snapped to attention.

‘I need volunteers for search parties. Two platoons would be good, four better. You've left Sergeant Pickering in the Dorsets' guard house?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Meet me there as soon as you've organised the search parties. Tell them to begin with the stables. When they've finished they are to wait there for a supervising officer to arrive.'

‘Sir.'

Ali Gharbi, Friday 7th January 1916

Tom was bored, restless and tired. He'd been kept awake most of the night – not by the intermittent boom of the guns which he'd learned to ignore on the Western Front – but by the thought of wounded men lying neglected and unattended upriver.

After breakfast he carried a camp chair outside his tent which seemed ridiculously large since Boris and Tim had left, and sat, scanning an ancient copy of the
Westminster Gazette
. He turned the pages, read the first paragraph of a short story and realised he hadn't absorbed a single word.

He looked around. Sappers and sepoys were moving in and around the camp in every direction; hauling boxes of tinned beef and ammunition into and out of the supply tents. Clerks were filling out dockets clipped to boards. Messengers were delivering yellow envelopes to the brigade offices, envelopes he presumed held communiqués that had arrived over the wireless. Despite the bustle he couldn't help feeling that the men were only going through the motions, trying to look busy because it was preferable to sitting around thinking about what was happening upriver.

‘Sahib?' Sami ran towards him. ‘Boat coming in, Sahib.'

Tom rose to his feet. Inertia had exhausted him more than a twenty-four hour surgical shift in a French field hospital. ‘Wounded from upriver?'

‘No, Sahib. Fresh troops from downriver and France. I have seen many bearers on board I know.'

‘You're sure nothing is coming down from upriver?' Tom wondered what was holding up the wounded. Because one thing he was certain of was that gunfire and shelling generated catastrophic injuries.

‘Nothing, Sahib. If you don't need me I'll go to meet the boat. Sahib Downe and Adjabi might be on board.'

‘They might at that, Sami. I'll walk to the river with you as I've nothing better to do.'

When they reached the bank, Tom instinctively looked upstream, but the only signs of life were the flocks of wild geese, grouse, and ducks that flew upwards, filling the air when they heard the noise of the steamer. He watched the paddle boat wend its way upriver. The upper decks were crowded with officers, the lower with ranks. He spotted Michael in the prow. It wasn't difficult. He was the only man in mufti. He went to meet his cousin as he walked down the gangplank.

‘Good journey?' he asked.

‘Strange journey. There isn't a tree, bush, blade of grass, or weed between here and Amara.'

‘I noticed.'

‘What do the locals and wildlife live on?'

‘Fish?' Tom suggested. ‘It's good to have you here.'

‘I wish I could say it's good to be here.' Michael studied the shoreline. ‘They told me Qurna was the Garden of Eden. I take it this is the wilderness?'

‘Very possibly.'

‘According to the wireless, fighting has broken out upstream.'

‘We heard the guns. They've been firing most of the night.'

A man ran out of the wireless room along the deck of the steamer. He was shouting. ‘All medical personnel ordered upriver.'

‘Sami …' Tom saw his bearer running back towards his tent.

‘I am collecting your things, Sahib,' Sami shouted.

‘If there's action upstream, that's where I'm going.' Michael saw Daoud leading the horses back on board and waved to Adjabi. ‘Put my kit back in the hold, we're staying on board.'

‘But I haven't seen Sami, Sahib.'

‘You soon will. Find him and give him a hand to haul my things on board.' Tom stepped on to the gangplank. ‘The fact they're looking for medics doesn't bode well. I wish they'd let me move out with the main force.'

‘They're letting you move out now when you're rested.'

‘Rested?' Tom repeated. ‘You know the worst things about war. Resting, waiting, and boredom. Sometimes I wish the generals would push everyone harder. That way whatever's coming will come sooner and we can just put an end to it and go home.'

Kut al Amara, Friday 7th January 1916

Crabbe went directly from HQ to the General Hospital.

‘Mason or Smythe around?' he asked Knight, who was pulling a bullet out of the first in a queue of sniper victims.

‘Operating,' Knight glared at his patient. ‘Move again, private, and I'll put you on a charge.'

‘You hurt me, sir.'

‘Hurt? You'll know the meaning of “hurt” if you move again. Sit still, that's an order.'

‘Yes, sir.' The man grimaced as Knight continued to probe his arm with a scalpel.

‘You need a medical man?' Knight asked Crabbe.

‘I need advice from a medical man and I need to find Smythe. I've a job for him.'

Knight concentrated, frowned, ignored his patient's scream and finally yanked out the bullet. ‘Clean up this wound, Matthews. I'm taking a five-minute break. I'll be outside if you need me.'

Crabbe opened the door, filched a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered Knight one. ‘Have you heard Mitkhal's disappeared?'

‘How the hell can he disappear when we're hemmed in on all sides?'

‘Brigadier's convinced Perry arranged it. Harry's horses are missing too.'

‘When you say the brigadier's convinced Perry had something to do with it, you mean you convinced the brigadier Perry had a hand in it.' Knight took a cigarette and pushed it into his mouth.

‘The brigadier didn't take much convincing.'

‘Has anyone tackled Perry?'

‘He's with the brigadier now.' Crabbe struck a Lucifer and lit their cigarettes. ‘Perry's playing the “I know nothing” card. He insists he placed the horses in the care of the duty sergeant in the Norfolks' stables, and hasn't checked them in two days.'

‘And Mitkhal?'

‘Perry says he hasn't seen him in months.'

‘You believe him?' Dizzy from the effect of smoke in his lungs, Knight leaned against the wall.

‘No.'

‘Tried beating the truth out of him?'

‘I'd have no compunction but the brigadier has. Perry's a dunderhead but unfortunately a senior dunderhead. However, we have the duty sergeant in custody.'

‘So,' Knight gave a grim smile. ‘You intend to beat Mitkhal and the horses' whereabouts out of him.'

‘He prides himself on being strong and silent.'

‘Hence the advice from a medical officer. You want hints on how to persuade him?'

‘He was covered in blood when we found him. There's no way of knowing whether it's the horses or Mitkhal's, but either way time is of the essence.'

‘In that case it's just as well John's in surgery.'

Crabbe gave Knight a quizzical look.

‘He has reservations about using torture to glean information.'

‘You don't?'

‘Depends on the cause.' Knight pushed open the door. ‘Matthews, send Gagan out here. Tell him to bring his bag.'

‘Who's Gagan?'

‘An Indian veterinary who cares for the horses. If you're looking for Smythe you should find him in his quarters. John ordered him to rest in preparation for his little adventure.'

Crabbe found Peter playing chess with Alf Grace in the Dorsets' mess. As both were off duty they volunteered to supervise the search teams and set off for the Norfolks' stables. He took Gagan and met Sergeant Lane outside the Dorsets' guard house.

‘Captain Smythe and Lieutenant Grace are supervising the search around the stables,' Crabbe informed Lane.

‘I mustered four platoons, sir and ordered three to the Norfolks' stables. I told them to send a runner if they find anything.'

‘Good, man.' Crabbe nodded. ‘Follow me.'

He led the way into the small courtyard that fronted the warehouse they'd requisitioned as a temporary prison. Two guards were stationed at the door of a single-storey mud brick building.

‘Sergeant Lane, Gagan, inside with me. The rest of you, remain here.'

The guard opened the door and Crabbe stepped inside.

‘Evans, in the absence of anyone senior, you're ranking private. Platoon at ease. If anyone arrives, alert me immediately.' Lane followed Crabbe.

The interior of the building was dark, gloomy. The only light came from a small barred unglazed window that looked out on the courtyard wall.

A corporal and a private were sitting at a table cleaning their guns. They jumped to attention when they saw Crabbe.

‘I'm here to interrogate the prisoner.'

The corporal picked up the keys from the table and unlocked the door.

Crabbe entered the cell with Gagan and Sergeant Lane.

‘You'll need this, sir.' The corporal handed Crabbe an oil lamp.

‘Lock the door behind us. Ignore any noises and don't let anyone in.'

‘Sir.'

The door closed with a thud behind them. The bolts grated home. Crabbe examined the cell. Barely six-foot-square, a two-foot-wide wood plank ran the full length of the wall behind the door. As a grey army blanket was folded on it, he assumed it did duty as a bed. Another shelf a foot long and barely half a foot wide had been nailed above a bucket in the opposite corner.

Crabbe handed Sergeant Lane the oil lamp, took a roughly drawn map of Kut from his pocket, held it up and faced the occupant.

Pickering rose slowly from the bed board. His wrists were locked in handcuffs, his ankles in chains.

‘He was reluctant to accompany us here, sir,' Sergeant Lane said by way of an explanation.

‘So I see, Sergeant. Do you have anything to tell us, Pickering?'

‘About what, sir?' The prisoner coughed, cleared his throat and spat a gob of phlegm, blood, and a tooth into the pail.

‘Can you look at this map and pinpoint the location of Lieutenant Colonel Downe's orderly, or his horses?'

‘No, sir.'

‘Not even if I tell you that Colonel Perry is speaking to the brigadier at this moment?'

‘No, sir.'

‘This is the last time I will ask you. Sergeant Pickering. Do you know the location of the horses or the Arab orderly who came looking for them?'

‘No, sir.'

‘Time to get out your instruments, Gagan.'

The Indian lifted his bag on to the bed shelf and opened it. Sergeant Lane set the lamp down next to it. Gagan lifted out one glittering, gleaming metal tool after another. Crabbe studied them before picking one up. He held it in front of the prisoner.

‘Do know what these are?'

‘No, sir.'

‘You don't know very much do you?'