Part 11 (1/2)
Close by the gate was a row of four wooden crosses, and to my horror I realised that the blackened, twisted things nailed to them were human bodies. Sher Afzul obviously had his own notions of discipline. One or two of the troopers muttered at the sight, and there were anxious glances at our shadowers, who had lined up on either side of the gateway. I was feeling a trifle wobbly myself, but I thought, to h.e.l.l with these blackamoors, we are English-men, and so I said, ”Come on, lads, ride to attention,” and we clattered under the frowning gateway.
I suppose Mogala is about a quarter of a mile from wall to wall, but inside its battlements, in addition to its huge keep, there were barracks and stables for Sher Afzul's warriors, storehouses and armouries, and the house of the Khan himself. In fact, it was more of a little palace than a house, for it stood in a pretty garden under the shadow of the outer wall, shaded by cypress tress, and it was furnished inside like something from Burton's Arabian Nights. There were tapestries on the walls, carpets on the paved floor, intricately carved wood screens in the archways, and a general air of luxury - he did himself well, I thought, but he took no chances. There were sentries all over the place, big men and well armed.
Sher Afzul turned out to be a man about sixty, with a beard dyed jet black, and a lined, ugly face whose main features were two fierce, burning eyes that looked straight through you. He received me civilly enough in his fine presence chamber, where he sat on a small throne with his court about him, but I couldn't doubt Burnes's a.s.sertion that he was half-mad. His hands twitched continuously, and he had a habit of jerking his turbanned head in a most violent fas.h.i.+on as he spoke. But he listened attentively as one of his ministers read aloud McNaghten's letter, and seemed satisfied, and he and his people exclaimed with delight over the present that Cotton had sent - a pair of very handsome pistols by Manton, in a velvet case, with a matching shot pouch and powder flask. Nothing would do but we must go straight into the garden for the Khan to try them out; he was a rotten shot, but at the fourth attempt he managed to blow the head off a very handsome parrot which sat chained on a perch, screeching at the explosions until the lucky shot put an end to it.
There was loud applause, and Sher Afzul wagged his head and seemed well pleased.
”A splendid gift,” he told me, and I was pleased to find that my Pushtu was quite good enough for me to follow him. ”You are the more welcome, Flashman bahadur, in that your guns are true. By G.o.d, it is a soldier's weapon!”
I said I was delighted, and had the happy idea of presenting one of my own pistols on the spot to the Khan's son, a bright, handsome lad of about sixteen, called Ilderim. He shouted with delight, and his eyes shone as he handled the weapon -I was off to a good start.
Then one of the courtiers came forward, and I felt a p.r.i.c.kle up my spine as I looked at him. He was a tall man -as tall as I was - with those big shoulders and the slim waist of an athlete. His coat was black and well fitting, he wore long boots, and there was a silk sash round his waist to carry his sabre. On his head he had one of those polished steel casques with vertical p.r.o.ngs, and the face under it was strikingly handsome in the rather pretty Eastern way which I personally don't like. You have seen them - straight nose, very full lips, woman's cheeks and jaw. He had a forked beard and two of the coldest eyes I ever saw. I put him down as a nasty customer, and I was right.
”I can kill parrots with a sling,” he said. ”Are the feringhee pistols good for anything else?”
Sher Afzul d.a.m.ned his eyes, more or less, for casting doubts on his fine new weapons, and thrusting one into the fellow's hand, told him to try his luck. And to my amazement, the brute turned straight about, drew a bead on one of the slaves working in the garden, and shot him on the spot.
I was shaken, I can tell you. I stared at the twitching body on the gra.s.s, and the Khan wagging his head, and at the murderer handing back the pistol with a shrug. Of course, it was only a n.i.g.g.e.r he had killed, and I knew that among Afghans life is dirt cheap; they think no more of killing a human being than you and I do of shooting a pheasant or catching a fish. But it's a trifle unsettling to a man of my temperament to know that he is in the power - for, guest or no, I was in their power - of blackguards who kill as wantonly and readily as that. That thought, more than the killing itself, rattled me.
Young Ilderim noticed this, and rebuked the black-coated man - not for murder, mark you, but for discourtesy to a guest!
”One does not bite the coin of the honoured stranger, Gul Shah,” was what he said, meaning you don't look a gift horse in the mouth. For the moment I was too fascinated at what I had seen to pay much heed, but as the Khan, talking rapidly, escorted me inside again, I remembered that this Gul Shah was the customer Burnes had warned me about - the friend of the arch-rebel, Akbar Khan. I kept an eye on him as I talked with Sher Afzul, and it seemed to me he kept an eye on me in return.
Sher Afzul talked sanely enough, mostly about hunting and blood-letting of a sterner kind, but you couldn't miss the wild gleam in his eye, or the fact that his evil temper was never far from the surface. He was used to playing the tyrant, and only to young Ilderim, whom he adored, was he more than civil. He snarled at Gul from time to time, but the big man looked him in the eye and didn't seem put out.
That evening we dined in the Khan's presence chamber, sitting about on cus.h.i.+ons forking with our fingers into the bowls of stew and rice and fruit, and drinking a pleasant Afghan liquor which had no great body to it. There would be about a dozen there, including Gul Shah, and after we had eaten and belched accordingly, Sher Afzul called for entertainment. This consisted of a good conjurer, and a few weedy youths with native flutes and tom-toms, and three or four dancing girls. I had pretended to be amused by the conjurer and musicians, but one of the dancing girls struck me as being worth more than a polite look: she was a glorious creature, very tall and long-legged, with a sulky, cold face and hair that had been dyed bright red and hung down in a tail to her backside. It was about all the covering she had; for the rest she wore satin trousers clasped low on her hips, and two bra.s.s breastplates which she removed at Sher Afzul's insistence.
He beckoned her to dance close in front of him, and the sight of the golden near-naked body writhing and quivering made me forget where I was for the moment. By the time she had finished her dance, with the tom-toms throbbing and the sweat glistening on her painted face, I must have been eating her alive with my eyes; as she salaamed to Sher Afzul he suddenly grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards him, and I noticed Gul Shah lean forward suddenly on his cus.h.i.+on.
Sher Afzul saw it too, for he looked one way and the other, grinning wickedly, and with his free hand began to fondle the girl's body. She took it with a face like stone, but Gul was glowering like thunder. Sher Afzul cackled and said to me:
”You like her, Flashman bahadur? Is she the kind of she-cat you delight to scratch with? Here, then, she is yours!” And he shoved her so hard towards me that she fell headlong into my lap. I caught her, and with an oath Gul Shah was on his feet, his hand dropping to his hilt. ”She is not for any Frank dog,” he shouted. ”By G.o.d, is she not?” roared Sher Afzul. ”Who says so?”
Gul Shah told him who said so, and there was a pretty little exchange which ended with Sher Afzul ordering him from the room - and it seemed to me that the girl's eyes followed him with disappointment as he stamped off. Sher Afzul apologised for the disturbance, and said I must not mind Gul Shah, who was an impudent b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and very greedy where women were concerned. Did I like the girl? Her name was Narreeman, and if she did not please me I was not to hesitate to flog her to my heart's content.
All this, I saw, was deliberately aimed at Gul Shah, who presumably l.u.s.ted after this female himself, thus giving Sher Afzul a chance to torment him. It was a dilemma for me: I had no desire to antagonise Gul Shah, but I could not afford to refuse Sher Afzul's hospitality, so to speak - also the hospitality was very warm and naked, and was lying across my lap, gasping still from the exertion of her dance, and causing me considerable excitement.
So I accepted at once, and waited impatiently while the time wore on with Sher Afzul talking interminably about his horses and his dogs and his falcons. At last it was over, and with Narreeman following I was conducted to the private room that had been allotted to me - it was a beautiful, balmy evening with the scents wafting in from the garden, and I was looking forward to a sleepless night. As it turned out, it was a tremendous sell, for she simply lay like a side of beef, staring at the roof as though I weren't there. I coaxed at first, and then threatened, and then taking Sher Afzul's advice I pulled her across my knees and smartened her up with my riding switch. At this she suddenly rounded on me like a panther, snarling and clawing, and narrowly missed raking my eyes. I was so enraged that I laid into her for all I was worth, but she fought like fury, naked as she was, and only when I got home a few good cuts did she try to run for it. I hauled her away from the door, and after a vicious struggle I managed to rape her - the only time in my life I have found it necessary, by the way. It has its points, but I shouldn't care to do it regularly. I prefer willing women.
Afterwards I shoved her out - I'd no wish to get a thumbnail in my eye during the night - and the guards took her away. She had not uttered a word the whole time.
Sher Afzul, seeing my scratched face in the morning, demanded details, and he and his toadies crowed which delight when I told them. Gul Shah was not present, but I had no doubt willing tongues would bear the tale to him.
Not that I cared, and there I made a mistake. Gul was only a nephew of Sher Afzul, and a b.a.s.t.a.r.d at that, but he was a power among the Gilzais for his fighting skill, and was itching to topple old Sher Afzul and steal his throne. It would have been a poor look-out for the Kabul garrison if he had succeeded, for the Gilzais were trembling in the balance all the time about us, and Gul would have tipped the scale. He hated the British, and in Afzul's place would have closed the pa.s.ses, even if it had meant losing the lakhs that were paid from India to keep them open. But Afzul, although ageing, was too tough and clever to be deposed just yet, and Ilderim, though only a boy, was well liked and regarded as certain to succeed him. And both of them were friendly, and could sway the other Gilzai chieftains.
A good deal of this I learned in the next two days, in which I and my party were the honoured guests of Mogala. I kept my eyes and ears open, and the Gilzais were most hospitable, from Afzul down to the villagers whose huts crouched outside the wall. This I will say for the Afghan - he is a treacherous, evil brute when he wants to be, but while he is your friend he is a first-rate fellow. The point is, you must judge to a second when he is going to cease to be friendly. There is seldom any warning.
Looking back, though, I can say that I probably got on better with the Afghans than most Britons do. I imagine Thomas Hughes would have said that in many respects of character I resembled them, and I wouldn't deny it. However it may be, I enjoyed those first two days: we had horse races and other riding compet.i.tions, and I earned a good deal of credit by showing them how a Persian pony can be put over the jumps. Then there was hawking, in which Sher Afzul was an adept, and tremendous feasting at nights, and Sher Afzul gave me another dancing girl, with much cackling and advice on how to manage her, which advice proved to be unnecessary.
But while it was pleasant enough, you could never for-get that in Afghanistan you are walking a knife-edge the whole time, and that these were cruel and blood-thirsty savages. Four men were executed on the second day, for armed robbery, in front of a delighted crowd in the courtyard, and a fifth, a petty chieftain, was blinded by Sher Afzul's physician. This is a common punishment among the Afghans: if a man is too important to be slaughtered like an ordinary felon, they take away his sight so that he can do no more harm. It was a sickening business, and one of my troopers got into a fight with a Gilzai over it, calling them filthy foreigners, which they could not understand. ”A blind man is a dead man,” was how they put it, and I had to make excuses to Sher Afzul and instruct Sergeant Hudson to give the trooper a punishment drill.