At Caspatyrus she disembarks, and waves away all offers of food and rest.
— Bring him to me.
He is old now, his skin so leathered and creased he could be one of the monstrous races he wrote about. But he still looks at her as he always did as though she isn’t really his queen no matter the words on his lips, the curve of his neck as he kneels in front of the gold and lapis-lazuli throne which four Pactyike men had carried from her ship to this grove of pomegranate trees.
— The Queen honours me. All this travel, for me?
— I’ve always wanted to see the Indus. Now there is peace in our kingdom, and my son is on the throne, it seemed the right time. You are incidental.
He smiles at the lie. She sent her best men to capture him, with instructions that he must be kept alive and brought to her. But when the message arrived to say he had been found in Caspatyrus and was too sick to survive the journey to Persepolis it was very clear what she had to do. Though looking at him now it’s clear he isn’t sick at all, just still able to convince his listeners of everything he has to say.
— Did you think you could hide from me here, Carian?
— Hide? No. I grow sentimental in my old age. I wanted to retrace the happiest footsteps I’ve ever taken. You were not part of my calculation.
— And who allowed you those happy footsteps? Who trusted a man of Caria? Who placed a circlet on the brow of a barbarian?
— A man wise enough to recognise that I would do exactly what he asked of me in return.
A smashed pomegranate lies near the throne. Rubies strewn at her feet in pools of blood.
— Where is the Circlet?
— Why?
— I want it back. That’s why I’ve come.
— I don’t have it.
— Why did you do it, after everything Persia had given you?
This is the real question, the only one in the world which eludes her understanding. Why did Scylax of the Fig Circlet, Scylax the Entrusted, choose to risk the wrath of Darius by writing a glorified account of the life of that Carian rebel, Heraclides, raising his ambush of the Persians to a victory greater than any of Darius or Cyrus? It had achieved nothing in the end; Caria was brought back under control, Heraclides was killed. So, why?
— Because I loved Heraclides.
— What kind of answer is that? What about Caria? What about Persia?
— Continents are cut up this way, and that way. Islands extend themselves across seas and mountains. What is any of that when compared to Heraclides?
The exhaustion of the journey has finally seeped into her marrow. She looks around at the chains of mountains, the bright green grass, the rivers and fruit-laden trees. Mountain ranges and valley together form the broken bowl of an artist, its base smeared with thick paints of green and blue and red. He didn’t lie about that.
— Are there really ants which dig out gold from the sand?
— Oh yes! If you weren’t going to kill me I’d show you.
She is startled by the sound of her own laughter. He stands and holds his hand out to her. The Circlet may be lost but they are not so very old yet — and the world is still full of discoveries.
Written by Najeeb Gul, Archaeologist for V.R. Spencer, Archaeologist (Qayyum wants me to add, ‘and campaigner for the freedom from Empire for the peoples of India and Britain’.)
14 August 1947, Caspatyrus, Pakistan.
End Note
The explanation from Olaf Caroe, then secretary to the Chief Commissioner, of what happened to the bodies on the night of 23 April 1930, is as follows:
I received a note on 23rd April evening from Sir Norman Bolton asking me to do what I could to arrange for the burial of as many of the casualties as possible during the night, in order to avoid the danger of a fresh riot occurring over the funeral procession. I spoke to R.S. Mehr Chand Khanna and asked him to bring me some of the leading Khilafists at the Municipal Library. He brought M. Abdurrab Nishtar; M. Ataullah Jan, Municipal Commissioner; M. Aurangzeb Khan, Vakil; Qazi Mohd Aslam, Vakil.
I informed these persons what was required and asked for their co-operation as peace-loving citizens and good Muslims. They agreed to do what they could and asked me to arrange for lorries, saying they would persuade the relatives to agree. I arranged for lorries through Shahji — one of C.C.’s orderlies — who is I believe a Peshawari and a Syed. During the night in this way we sent away seven or eight bodies in lorries. Some of them had no relatives and arrangements were made to pay for a mullah and to carry through the obsequies with all regard to religious rites. The next day Qazi Mohd Aslam came to see me and said that he was making himself unpopular by assisting in the matter. He gave me to understand that he could do no more. I fancy that the association of these four men with the action taken will put an end to any attempt to make capital of the incident. (‘Public and Judicial Department. Civil Disobedience Campaign in NWFP. Response to Patel allegations’. British Library reference number L/PJ/6/2007)
Several eye-witnesses, interviewed in preparation for the Indian National Congress’ ‘Report of the Peshawar Disturbance Inquiry Committee 1930’ describe seeing bodies packed into lorries while the troops fired on roofs and balconies in an attempt to keep witnesses away. The Congress’ list of the dead numbered a hundred and twenty-five, including forty-three missing. The official British inquiry conducted by Justices Sulaiman and Panckridge placed the number killed at thirty.
Acknowledgements
Syeda Meher Taban from the University of Mardan was an excellent guide through old Peshawar; Nidaullah Sehrai at the Peshawar Museum was generous in answering my questions; thanks also to Salman Rahim for making the trip to Peshawar possible. Sana Haroon gave me the run of her library and filled in many blanks in my knowledge. Qayyum Gul would not have entered my imagination if not for Mukulika Banerjee’s The Pathan Unarmed; J. Kasmin’s collection of artefacts — particularly the Achaemenid lion — brought me closer to Viv. I was extremely fortunate to be able to ask both Tom Holland and Madeleine Miller for Greek translations. (Najeeb didn’t have Tom’s translation of Herodotus at hand, so the version he reads is G. C. Macauley’s translation.) David J. Gill responded to questions from a stranger and was good enough to direct me to his Sifting the Soil of Greece so I might better understand the world of archaeologists before and during the war. Many other reference sources have been of great value, particularly Indian Voices In the Great War (selected by David Omissi), photograph and records of colonial Peshawar from the British Library, and Peshawar: Historic City of the Frontier by Dr Ahmed Hasan Dani. Beatrice Monti provided, yet again, a writing refuge at Santa Maddalena and also gave me the blue of the Mediterranean. Gillian Stern’s editorial acumen was invaluable. Thanks also to John Freeman, Ellah Allfrey and Yuka Igarashi for editorial work on the section of this novel that appeared in Granta 123: Best of Young British Novelists. Thank you to all at A. M. Heath and Bloomsbury — as well as the sub-agents, publishers, translators who help give my novels a place in the world. Finally, my deepest gratitude to my Dream Team of Frances Coady, Victoria Hobbs and Alexandra Pringle.