Barbara Cleverly - The Damascened Blade

Calm and authoritative, Iskander said a few words to James and stepped forward to lead Grace to her horse. He handed her up on to the tall grey and took the reins of his own horse while Grace waved goodbye to the line of civilians and turned her head resolutely to the Khyber. The cortège started on its way. With the pipe band still playing enthusiastically, Joe, Lily and Betty began to make their way back into the fort.

‘Let’s go up on to the wall to watch them go,’ said Lily. ‘Anywhere so long as it’s out of earshot of this mob!’

But once inside the fort Betty hurried to her room in distress. Walking slowly, Lily took Joe’s arm. It was an emotionally charged moment and clearly she was wrestling with indecision, wondering perhaps whether to confide in him until, ‘Go ahead – ask me, Joe!’ she said finally. And when, tactfully, he just looked a question, ‘Nothing to tell, I’m afraid. He hasn’t said a word about his intentions! He had chance enough but I suppose he has to get back to Kabul to find out what his position is there. Who knows – he may turn up in Simla or Delhi and then we’ll think again. But I’m not counting on it! I think he’s gone for good, Joe.’

Joe looked at her carefully. What was he looking for? Signs of a broken heart? There were none. No tears. A level tone. Could Grace have misinterpreted Lily’s interest? She seemed thoughtful but there was something overriding this. Relief? Yes, he thought – relief. Perhaps Lily Coblenz had, after all, regretted her rash offer of a golden cage to a man of the hills. She would take back to Chicago the romantic and desperately sad tale of a handsome Pathan who broke her heart and whose heart she broke when she left him behind, in the comfortable knowledge that the man himself was not there to spoil her story with his awkward, untameable nature.

Joe wondered whether he was close enough to Lily to risk asking her directly about her feelings for Iskander. What the hell! He decided he was. ‘Look, Lily,’ he said. ‘They made me responsible for your welfare and your safe return to Simla. Not a job I wanted but it’s turned into more than just a responsibility. I care very much that you should return in good heart as well as sound in limb. What I’m trying to say is – well – I’d be very distressed if I thought you’d given your affections to a man who is incapable of returning them, a man who, as we speak, is riding away over the frontier, perhaps for ever. It might sound like the last reel of a moving picture, cinema organ playing in the background, but in real life it can be miserable! So – can you tell me? I’m your friend, remember!’

Lily took his hand in hers and smiled up at him, a smile full of kindness and humour. ‘I didn’t “give my affections”, Joe. They were snatched! I fell for the man! And it hurts, it certainly hurts that he didn’t feel the same way. But I’ll tell you something – when I was little, ten years old I think, Father took me to the mountains one summer. One of the hands brought in a black bear cub, an orphan I guess. Have you ever seen a black bear cub, Joe?’

He shook his head. ‘No, but I can imagine the effect one would have on a ten-year-old girl!’

‘Yes. Well, this was a particularly lovable animal and I was a very susceptible little girl. I was allowed to keep him for the whole summer. But it came time to go back to Chicago and I had to send him back into the forest to take his chances. Nearly broke my heart. I cried for a week and made everyone’s life a misery. And perhaps that was a sort of… what do you call it?… an inoculation? It’s happened again but I’ll get over it. Strong heart, Joe!’

They trailed slowly on, each wrapped in thought, but suddenly Lily turned an anxious face to Joe. ‘Listen! The band!’

Joe grimaced. ‘“Bonnie Dundee”! Again! Must be the third time they’ve been through that tune! Surely they could stop now?’

Lily was pale and tense. She gripped his hand. ‘Not if no one told them to! They’re awaiting orders. They’re waiting for James to tell them to pack it in and fall out.’ And then, ‘Where is James? He’s not come in!’

For an agonizing moment Joe was fixed to the spot, cursing himself for having ignored his instincts. He turned and started to run back towards the gate.

‘Joe! Wait!’

He turned, angry at being delayed.

‘No gun! Here! Catch!’

In one swift movement Lily threw a small gun to him.

He reached the gate and looked about. The Afghan troopers were well on their way to the Khyber but James had disappeared and only the pipe band remained, sweating and puffing. He seized a Scout by the arm. ‘Major Lindsay?’ he yelled above the din. ‘Where is he?’

‘Gone to cemetery with Iskander Khan,’ he said pointing. ‘Say one last prayer for Zeman Khan, sahib.’

Two hundred yards away James was walking briskly with Iskander, their backs to Joe. Iskander was leading his horse. Desperately Joe shouted a warning but it was drowned by the opening chords of the fourth rendition of ‘Bonnie Dundee’. He set off to run, remembering at last the gun in his hand. He looked at it with dismay. Christ! What was this? Somebody must have put this in Lily’s Christmas stocking! Would it repeat or was it single shot? Was it even loaded? Would it stop a man? A determined man? Joe had his doubts. But still it might make a warning noise. He fired it into the air. The two figures walked on oblivious.

Joe ran faster, thoughts pounding in his head as the energy coursed through his body. Iskander had even warned them. ‘Always an Afridi,’ he had said. He had reminded them that he also lived by the Pathan code of pukhtunwali. It had no significance for him that Ramazad and the tribe had washed away their right to badal – Iskander never had! He wouldn’t be bought off. He had stayed true to his customs and to his friend. He loved Zeman and had taken it upon himself to exact retribution from whoever had killed him. Alexander and Hephaestion? That’s what poor Lily had run into, all unknowingly. And he had returned to the fort as he had told them clearly himself to identify the killer and had sat opposite James when he confessed to the killing. He wouldn’t kill James while he was under the shield of his hospitality but now, outside the walls of the fort in the Muslim cemetery, he was free to do so. And what better place than at Zeman’s grave?

Yes, that’s what he was planning to do! Leave James’s body on top of Zeman’s grave. The symbolism was obvious. A grave for two warriors! Joe could hardly breathe. The hot air was scorching his lungs and through cracked lips he gasped and heaved as he ran. Sweat ran down his face blinding him. He swept his eyes clear to see that the two men walking companionably together had arrived at the grave-side and Iskander had tethered his horse and taken up a position facing the fort. James, across the grave from him, still had his back to Joe and his head was bent in prayer. Joe screamed again and fired the gun. James almost turned around but Iskander spoke to him and reclaimed his attention. Iskander had spotted Joe.

He put his left hand into his tunic, drew something out and extended his right hand to James. James leaned nearer. The old Pathan trick! Grasping their target warmly by one hand they would use the other to stick a knife in his ribs.

‘James! No! The knife! James! Watch for the knife!’ Joe could hardly raise the breath to shout. Too late, Joe saw James turn towards him, hearing him at last but now, by the very act of turning, exposed and fatally distracted. Joe had played into Iskander’s hands. The deflection of James’s attention left him wide open to the inevitable quick lunge.

The crack of a rifle shot threw Joe automatically to the ground. He crashed down, raising a cloud of dust and sand that clogged his mouth and filled his eyes. Unbelieving, he raised his head and rubbed the grit from his eyes to see the body of James lying over the grave. Iskander, weaving from side to side, his left arm shattered and bloody, had been sent spinning back several yards by the force of the shot. As Joe watched he staggered back to the grave, stood for a moment and collapsed across James’s body.