Winds of Eden (37 page)

Chapter Thirty-nine

Relief Force, Sannaiyat, Sunday 23rd April 1916

Michael was sitting in his tent among a welter of scribbled notes he'd made on the communiqués Townshend had sent out via the wireless from Kut. He was trying to shorten them into an easily read form that wouldn't depress the readers of the
Daily Mirror
. Something, that given the nature of the news from both the besieged and Relief Force, was proving impossible.

He read what he'd written,

The Force sent to relieve General Townshend and his beleaguered troops at Kut al Amara are entrenched close to the Turks. In places barely 150 to 200 yards separate the front lines of the two armies. General Gorringe is determined to break through, but the Relief Force faces even greater difficulties than the well-armed Turks. The end of the rainy season has brought flooding to the Tigris and some of our troops notably the South Wales Borderers have spent days in waterlogged trenches without blankets, waterproof sheets, or firewood. It speaks volumes for the determination of our troops that their spirits remain as high as their determination to break General Townshend's forces out of Kut.

The rations for all ranks British and Indians inside Kut have been reduced to 5 ounces of meal, but General Townshend has sent word to us over the wireless …

Michael looked up as Peter Smythe entered the tent. ‘How did the staff meeting go?'

‘Same as all the others. If it was possible to bottle hot air, the amount that was expended could have propelled the entire staff over the Turkish heads and into Kut.'

‘Any news?' Michael fished.

‘None other than what you've probably already heard. Rations have been reduced to five ounces a day inside Kut. We were starving before I left, I can't bear to think of what John and the others are going through now. The staff are talking of Townshend surrendering and that's before Captain Lawrence and Colonel Beach have even reached here to talk over Townshend's idea of bribing the Turks to stand their siege troops down.'

‘Do you think they'll allow Lawrence and Beach to talk to the Turks?' Michael pressed him.

‘As Kitchener and the war cabinet are backing the idea I don't see how they can refuse.'

‘Despite everything Mitkhal and the Arabs have said about offering Halil Bey the money?'

‘When have the brass ever taken any notice of anything a native says, even a knowledgeable one. Come to that, when have the brass taken any notice of anyone who speaks sense.' Peter flung himself down on his cot and reached for his cigarettes. ‘I'm not Harry, nor do I possess his knowledge of this country and the people, but I understand enough to know Mitkhal's right. The Turkish press and our enemies will make a great deal of this attempt at bribery. We'll lose “face” – that strange concept few Westerners understand. Harry was one of them. I've never missed your brother more. Things would be very different if he were here.'

‘He was only one man. Could he really have done anything to sort out this bloody awful mess?' Michael asked.

‘He could, and he would have. Harry was brilliant. As a political officer and a man.' Peter looked around the tent. Mitkhal's cot was made up but there was no sign of his saddlebags. ‘Where's Mitkhal?'

When Mitkhal had first stayed in camp overnight, Michael and Peter had insisted on him sharing their tent, much to the annoyance of the staff and their fellow officers.

‘Airlifting food into Kut with the Royal Flying Corps. From what the Squadron leader told me this morning, the only flour that doesn't land in the Tigris are the bags dropped from whatever plane Mitkhal's in. Unfortunately from the wireless messages coming out of Kut, the airlifted food is too little too late. Why are you asking, did you want him for something?'

‘Not me, the brass. They're planning to take in 250 tons of supplies by river.'

‘That's suicide.'

‘We're of the same opinion. When I tried arguing with the brass they pointed out Mitkhal's sailed mahailas in and out of the town without any trouble.'

‘He had to bribe the Turks even to carry messages for Halil Bey, and the entire cargo of the mahaila he sailed couldn't have amounted to an eighth of a ton. The Turks won't look on 250 tons kindly.'

‘All of which I said. It fell on deaf ears. They're preparing the
Julnar
at Amara as I speak. To be crewed by twelve volunteers, unmarried ratings only to apply. Captained by Commander Charles Cowley, Royal Naval Reserve.'

‘I've heard of him. Isn't he half Armenian?' Michael checked.

‘His mother was of that race.'

‘Haven't the Turks put a price on his head?'

‘You're well-informed. They have. There's no doubt that if they catch him, they'll hang him. Something else I pointed out to the brass that they ignored.'

Relief Force, Fallahiya, Sunday 23rd April 1916

Peter and Michael accompanied Mitkhal when he rode downstream from the British camp at Sannaiyat to Fallahiya where the
Julnar
was berthed. They reached the steamer at six in the morning. Indian sepoys had set up a kitchen on the bank and greeted them with mugs of tea and bowls of bully beef.

‘This is way beyond what anyone expects of you, Mitkhal.' Peter said as they all walked down to the bank and stared at the river. ‘The ship's engineer, Sub-Lieutenant Reed, and Commander Cowley, know the Tigris. They both worked for the Euphrates and Tigris Steamship company before the war.'

‘They don't know the location of the Turkish gun emplacements and sniper burrows.'

‘They asked for bachelor volunteers. You have a wife and child, and there's Harry's wife and children …'

‘Ibn Shalan will care for them.' He handed Michael Norfolk's reins.

‘You want me give the mare to Harry's wife?'

‘I doubt you'll find her. If I don't return, keep the horse. Take her back to Harry's home at Clyneswood.'

‘You know about Clyneswood?

‘Nights can be long and cold in the desert. Take care, both of you.' Mitkhal slung his saddlebags over his shoulder and walked up the gangplank. He didn't want to walk away from Peter and Michael without telling them that Harry lived. But Harry's safety and that of their families was paramount, and Harry wasn't alive. Only Hasan Mahmoud. If he told Michael or Peter about Hasan Mahmoud they would search for him if they survived the war. And the one thing he couldn't predict was how Hasan would react if he was faced with someone from his previous life.

Lansing Memorial Mission, Sunday 23rd April 1916

‘It's wonderful to see everyone around the table for once,' Mrs Butler said as soon as her husband had said grace. ‘I take it things have quietened in the hospital.'

‘The flood of wounded Turkish POWs has dwindled to a steady stream.' Dr Picard watched the maid fill his soup bowl.

‘Dr Downe, I know you're needed in the hospital but this is only the second meal you've shared with us since your arrival. I hope Theo and Dr Picard aren't wearing you out?'

‘No more than the London Hospital, Mrs Butler, and please call me Georgiana. It reminds me that I have a personality beyond that of doctor.'

‘How are you settling in, Dr Downe?'

‘As far as the hospital goes I believe I've made myself useful. As for the rest, I'll tell you when I've had time to look around.'

‘Useful,' Dr Picard repeated. ‘I don't know how we managed without Dr Downe.'

‘Have you heard from your brother?' Theo asked.

‘Michael seems determined to stay with the Relief Force. I also had a letter from a friend of mine who's working in the military hospital in Amara.'

‘A doctor?' Dr Picard asked.

‘A nursing sister, Clarissa Amey. She and Captain Tom Mason,' Georgiana looked up from her plate and glanced at Maud, ‘have just become engaged. As soon as Tom has recovered from his wounds they intend to visit Basra to buy an engagement ring.'

‘They must stay here,' Mrs Butler insisted.

‘First he has to recover from his wounds,' Georgiana qualified. ‘According to Clary – Clarissa, he was in a bad way when he arrived at Amara.'

‘I thought doctors were supposed to stay behind the lines.' Dr Picard commented.

‘No one told Tom that. He was treating men in no-man's-land when he was hit.' Georgiana picked up her soup spoon again.

‘It would be lovely if Captain Mason recovered in time for your and Theo's wedding, Maud,' Mrs Butler said unthinkingly.

Her remark was met by silence.

‘Oh dear, how tactless of me,' Mrs Butler apologised. ‘I doubt Captain Mason would want to attend the wedding of his brother's widow.'

‘If you'll excuse me, I think I hear Robin crying.' Maud left the table and the room.

‘Theo, I'm so sorry.'

‘Don't trouble yourself, Mrs Butler. It's just wedding nerves now the date is drawing closer.' Theo handed the maid his soup bowl.

‘Is everything organised, Theo?' Mrs Butler asked. ‘Because if there's anything I can do, I'd be delighted.'

‘We're seeing the solicitor tomorrow morning to draw up the legal agreement.'

‘You need to see a solicitor before you can marry in Basra?' Georgiana raised her eyebrows.

‘Only if you have a stepson to adopt.' Theo saw no reason to make his financial arrangement with Maud public.

‘Of course, how remiss of me.'

The maid cleared the soup bowls and brought in the entrée. Maud returned.

‘Robin has settled,' she announced to the room in general.

‘Can we talk about the meeting with the solicitor after dinner?' Theo asked.

‘Of course.' Maud kept her eyes downcast and concentrated on her meal.

‘Would you like a game of chess after dinner?' Angela asked Georgiana shyly. Having seen the way she worked in the hospital and barked orders at the formidable Sister Margaret, she was more than a little in awe of Harry's sister.

‘Charles called into the hospital today. He and Kitty are going to a fundraising concert party in aid of war orphans at the Basra Club and he offered to pick me up. Why don't you come too, Angela?'

‘I couldn't possibly. I'd feel like a gooseberry.'

‘Then we'd be gooseberries together. I haven't met Kitty, but Charles is clearly besotted with her.'

‘He still hasn't managed to wangle a posting to the front?' Theo asked.

‘From what he said, it's not for the want of trying. But as he can barely stand upright for more than five minutes with a stick, I can understand HQ's reluctance to send him further than the Basra office.'

‘That won't please Charles.'

‘It hasn't.' Georgiana looked at Angela. ‘You will come with us, won't you, please? I think Charles only asked me out of a sense of duty and it would be lovely to have someone to talk to when he and his lady love are billing and cooing.'

‘You've talked me into it. Do you think it will be very dressy?'

Maud continued to sit at the table, with, but apart from, the others. Preoccupied with thoughts of her forthcoming wedding she oscillated between the absolute conviction that she was following the only course open to her if she was going to end her pariah status, and the certainty that she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

Mrs Butler's reaction to the news that she and Theo were about to marry, had been cool enough to convince her that she wouldn't overcome her tainted reputation while she remained in Basra, even after she changed her name to Wallace.

She listened to Georgiana and Angela discuss clothes. She would have given anything to have been able to turn the clock back to the early days of her marriage to John. If she'd been a faithful wife – if she'd never had an affair with Geoffrey Brooke – if she'd never allowed Miguel D'Arbez to seduce her – if she'd never participated in Miguel's orgies – ‘if', the saddest word in the English language.

‘You all right, Maud?'

She looked up. Angela, Georgiana, Dr Picard, and the Butlers had left the room. The meal was over.

‘I'll see you in my study in ten minutes?'

‘Yes.'

‘I'll give you a final medical examination. Just to be sure you're ready for all that marriage entails.'

Lovemaking with John had been a beautiful experience. Sex with Geoffrey exciting because it was forbidden. The orgies Miguel had organised had been erotic, stimulating, titillating senses she'd never suspected herself of possessing until Miguel had aroused them. Throughout it all she'd been a willing, even eager, participant.

So was it simply guilt that made her feel so used and degraded whenever Theo ‘examined' her?

Chapter Forty

Maqasis, midnight, Monday 24th April 1916

Mitkhal sheltered against the bulkhead and reloaded his revolver. The
Julnar
had made good progress since it had set off that morning at 7.00 a.m., making an average speed of six knots, but the last four hours had seen five assaults from Turkish positions new to him. The attacks had been so well orchestrated he could only assume that the
Julnar
had been tracked from Amara by Turkish spies.

He finished reloading, crawled back along the lower deck and peered over the side. All he could see were moving shadows, black shapes against a black background. A shot thudded harmlessly against the side of the vessel below him. He stared at the bank in search of a recognisable shape. A whistling tore through the air. He recognised the sound and flung himself flat next to the rail. A shell crashed on deck, splintering the wood. A scream pierced the air and he knew shell fragments had found a target. It was only when he moved that he realised he was drenched in blood. Another shell tore through the air, illuminating the scene around him. The captain was lying dead on deck next to him.

A rating crawled up to him. ‘Lieutenant Commander Cowley's injured.'

Before Mitkhal could answer him the engines gave an unearthly screech and the ship juddered to a halt. The engine continued to make the eerie noise but the boat remained caught in the river unable to make headway.

A broad Welsh accent stated the obvious. ‘Something tells me we're stuck.'

Another voice, in heavily-accented English, resounded from the bank. ‘Crew of the
Julnar
. You are surrounded. We are holding you fast. You have no choice but to surrender.'

Mitkhal heard snatches of whispered conversation on deck. He pushed his revolver back into his abba and slithered over the deck away from the bank to the river side of the steamboat. As silently as he could, he slipped over the side and into the water.

Kut Al Amara, Friday 28th April 1916

John pulled a sheet over the head of a sapper who was lying on an improvised bed on the damp mud floor of the cellar of the General Hospital. Two days ago he'd expected the man to make a full recovery from the wound in his chest but when he'd pressed the wound that morning it had seeped blood, and he knew it was useless to even hope. Exhaustion and malnutrition had destroyed the body's ability to heal itself. It was a phenomenon the doctors and orderlies in Kut were becoming depressingly familiar with.

He straightened his back and studied the other men in the makeshift temporary ward that had been hastily improvised to alleviate overcrowding. From the look of them it wouldn't be long before another doctor or orderly pulled a sheet over their heads.

The door opened and Crabbe beckoned to him. He waved to signify he'd seen him, went to the orderly who was trying to spoon horsemeat stew into a man's mouth and ordered him to send for a burial party.

Knight and Bowditch were waiting with Crabbe outside the building. John noted the sombre expression on all their faces.

‘It's official, we're surrendering.'

‘Tomorrow.' Crabbe handed him a sheet of paper. ‘Townshend's still hoping that we'll be able to embark for India on condition we never bear arms against the Turk again.'

John took the sheet from him. ‘Do you think that's likely?'

Crabbe looked around the deserted street before shaking his head. ‘We've been ordered to destroy all our weapons and anything else the enemy could make use of, so what does that tell you?'

‘We'll be marched into captivity tomorrow,' John guessed. ‘What about the sick and wounded?'

‘I asked, and was assured that those in need of medical attention will be examined by Turkish doctors and sent downstream. In exchange for wounded and sick Turkish POWs.'

‘Which is probably why Perry's in the officer's hospital now with a fever. I wouldn't have put it past him to get deliberately infected,' Knight said.

‘That sight is enough to make a grown man cry,' Bowditch declared when they reached the riverbank.

Officers were shooting their revolvers into their binoculars to smash the lenses. A bonfire had been built of the wagons and officers and their bearers were throwing saddlery and swords on to it. Larger guns were being dismantled, smashed, and tossed into the Tigris. Ammunition was being dumped by the boxload into the river.

‘Where are you going?' Crabbe asked John when he turned his back.

‘To get my binoculars and telescope so they can be destroyed. Then I'll check the wounded and make a list of everyone who should be sent downstream.'

‘I'll come with you.' Knight handed John a copy of Townshend's latest communication to the troops.

John read the last paragraph.

Whatever has happened, my comrades, you can only be proud of yourselves. We have done our duty to King and Empire. The whole world knows we have done our duty.

I ask you to stand by me with your ready and splendid discipline, shown throughout in the next few days, for the expedition of all service I demand from you. We may possibly go into camp, I hope between the Fort and the town, along the shore whence we can easily embark.

‘We're going into captivity, aren't we?' John asked Crabbe who'd decided to accompany them so he could pick up his own weapons and binoculars.

Crabbe nodded.

‘For the duration?' Knight asked.

Crabbe nodded again. ‘But one of you will have to accompany the wounded downstream.'

‘You're the weakest, you should go,' Knight said to John.

‘I'll toss you for it.' Tails you stay and I go.'

‘Agreed.'

John took a sovereign from his pocket and tossed it in the air. ‘Sorry, Knight, you drew the short straw.'

‘That's not fair …'

‘You agreed,' John said. ‘Too late to argue now.'

Crabbe almost asked to see the sovereign John had used. Later he wished he had. Because he knew Harry had given John a two-headed sovereign for one of his birthdays. He wondered, not for the first time, if John had a death wish …

Lansing Memorial Hospital, Basra, Wednesday 24th May 1916

Georgiana stared wide-eyed at Charles. ‘Michael's here! In Basra?'

‘Not quite yet. His boat will be berthing in the next hour. I came straight here after I heard the wireless transmission he sent to HQ from the boat. We have to pick up Angela …'

‘What's that about Angela?' Theo left the ward where he'd been supervising the removal of the POWs judged fit enough to travel upstream.

‘Smythe and Michael will soon be berthing in Basra.'

‘Peter – but he's in Kut …'

‘Apparently not. And don't ask questions because I don't know more than I've told you. I sent down to Abdul, ordered a chicken dinner to be prepared for them and Angela. And Georgie too if you can do without her for the next couple of hours.'

‘We managed without her before she arrived here. I wouldn't like to say how, but we managed, and I daresay we'll manage an afternoon without her now. Take her with my blessing. Careful with that man,' he warned two orderlies. ‘He has a spinal wound, put him on a wooden board.' He looked at Georgiana. ‘What are you still doing here?'

‘Thank you, Theo.' Georgiana ran to the office to change out of her hospital clothes.

‘Don't run or Sister Margaret will imprison you for flouting the rules.'

‘Will you be at the wedding tonight?' he asked Charles.

‘I'll have to go to the office to make up for taking time off this afternoon.'

‘It's all right.' Theo read the expression on Charles's face. ‘I understand. Georgie doesn't want to come either. After all, John Mason was her cousin and your close friend, the last thing you'll want to do is watch his widow remarry.'

‘I heard you taking my name in vain, Dr Wallace?' Sister Margaret appeared behind him.

‘I was hoping you'd help me check out these POWs and tell me which ones are only pretending to be ill.'

Georgiana scurried out of the office, hat, gloves, and hair pins in hand, her hair in disarray. ‘We'll need a carriage.'

‘It's outside. We'll fetch Angela and go straight from the Mission to the wharf. She should be waiting for us – I sent a message to the school.'

They found Angela, white-faced with strain, pacing in front of the school. The ten minutes it took to drive the wharf crawled past at a snail's pace.

‘There they are, still on deck,' Charles shouted. ‘How's that for timing.'

Angela jumped out of the carriage, and ran across the wharf without a care as to how high her skirts flew. Georgiana walked to Michael at a more sedate pace.

‘You've lost weight, and you're yellow.'

‘With red spots,' he informed her gravely. ‘But so would you be if you'd had to live among the upriver flies and mosquitoes.' He glanced up at the window of his room in Abdul's and wondered if Kalla was there.

She finally hugged him. ‘Thank God you're here and alive.'

‘It's good to see you too, Georgie.' Michael released her and shook Charles's hand. ‘We've brought an acquaintance of yours down. He's handing over patients to the medics …'

‘John?' Georgiana cried. ‘He's alive …' she gripped Charles's hand.

‘Dr Downe, Georgie, this is Major David Knight, Indian medical officer and a very good friend of John and Harry.' Michael effected the introductions when David Knight joined them.

‘I'm sorry I'm not John. But you're right, he is alive, Dr Downe.'

Charles paled. ‘Are you sure John's alive?'

‘Yes. It's a long story.'

‘We have plenty of time to hear it over lunch, Knight. On me.' Charles waved to Abdul, who waved back.

‘Let me guess, John insisted on staying with the men going into Turkish captivity in case he was needed,' Georgiana said.

‘Not in case, Dr Downe. He'll be needed all right,' David said. ‘One of the officers described the Kut garrison as a sick, skeleton army rotten with cholera and disease.'

‘Looking at you, I can believe it, Major Knight.'

‘Please don't take me as an example of the Kut garrison. I've had over three weeks of full rations and rest and recuperation on the voyage down here.'

‘I suppose we couldn't expect anything else of John,' Georgiana declared. ‘He's always put others before himself.'

‘Chicken dinner in Abdul's on me, ladies, gentlemen.' Charles reminded.

‘Is it true the entire Kut garrison has gone into captivity?' Charles asked Michael.

‘Did I hear you right, Charles, an officer from HQ asking a journalist for confirmation of news?' Georgiana teased.

‘News, like figures, has a habit of getting fudged in HQ,' Charles murmured too low for anyone except Michael to hear.

‘From what I've heard around thirteen and half thousand men have been marched into captivity. Four thousand of those are sick or wounded,' Michael added. ‘And approximately two thousand died in the garrison during the siege from enemy action or disease.'

‘But John is alive.' Charles was having a problem believing the news. He turned to look at the officers leaving the boat. ‘That's …'

‘Maud's father, Colonel Perry, yes,' Knight confirmed.

‘If he's sick or wounded, he doesn't look it,' Charles observed.

‘He's a born survivor, a swinger of lead, as the Navy would say,' Knight smiled at Georgiana.

Angela finally moved away from Peter but she didn't relinquish his hand. ‘We have to tell Maud that John is alive,' she insisted. ‘Right away.'

‘Why right away?' Peter asked.

‘Because she's supposed to be marrying my brother tonight.'

‘Did she even bother to have widow's weeds made?' David asked scathingly.

‘Hardly matters,' Michael chipped in. ‘She can't marry him now, it would be bigamy.'

‘I'll go back to the Lansing and tell Theo.' Angela was already hailing the carriage that had brought them to the wharf.

‘I'll go with you. It's good of you stand us a meal and everything, Charles…'

Charles smiled at Peter. ‘But you'd prefer to say hello to your wife in private. Perfectly understandable. Go on off, the both of you. Take the carriage, but send it back here when you've finished with it.'

Angela hugged Georgiana and allowed Peter to help her into the carriage.

Abdul had laid out the lunch in the bay window of a private upstairs dining room that overlooked the harbour. The chicken might have been as good as Abdul insisted it was, but none of them took time to savour it.

Sitting next to Michael and holding her brother's hand, Georgiana listened intently as David Knight recounted stories of what it had been like for the men marooned in Kut. Charles listened intently, while Michael pulled out his notebook and questioned David about the details.

Still holding hands with Michael she looked through the window down at the wharf. A family of Arabs were leaving Abdul's and boarding a gaily painted native mahaila, crewed by half a dozen tall, strapping natives in Bedouin garb. A fine, upstanding, grey-bearded man joined them. Behind him were two heavily veiled women, both carrying babies. Two men shepherding tiny twin girls brought up the rear of the party.

‘Harry has twin daughters.'

Had Charles told her that?

One was possibly the tallest man she'd ever seen but he wasn't the one who'd caught her eye. She relinquished her grasp on Michael's hand and left the table.

The second man was about her height, a patch covered one of his eyes and the scarring around it suggested the socket was empty. His right arm was supported in a sling and ended at his wrist. But it was only when he looked up at her that she knew for certain.

‘Georgie?' Michael left his seat and joined her.

He looked down. ‘We have to run down …'