Wilson finished writing and came over, looking at Mayne with his penetrating blue eyes. Mayne extended his hand over the table. ‘Sir Charles. While I was reading General Gordon’s Reflections on Palestine, I chanced upon a description of the ancient arch that bears your name under the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. I should very much like to have your opinion on its purpose.’
Wilson shook his hand, keeping his gaze. ‘It’s always gratifying to find an officer with an interest in archaeology, especially a fellow sapper. Perhaps when this expedition is over we can meet up again and discuss it.’
Mayne withdrew his hand. There had been no hint of recognition in Wilson’s eyes. Yet Wilson had been Mayne’s superior in the intelligence department for almost fifteen years now, the man who briefed and debriefed him in the hidden complex of rooms under Whitehall. Mayne felt a rush of certainty course through him. In the past, his immediate contact had always been someone else, a middleman, an anonymous officer on the staff, someone who would secretly make his presence known and wait to pass on the signal to activate his mission. But this time was different. For the first time, Wilson himself had come, a man who was not only intelligence chief for the Nile expedition but also head of the most secretive department in Whitehall, an officer charged by the highest authority in the War Office to send out missions essential for the security of the Empire, missions that would shock the British Establishment to the core if the truth were ever to come out.
Mayne thought hard, his mind racing. Everything that was happening now, the relief expedition, the planning around this table, was the culmination of involvement in the Sudan that had begun before the British invaded Egypt three years earlier, going back to Gordon’s appointment by the Ottoman Khedive as governor general of the Sudan in 1875. At that date Wilson’s official role was as consul general in Constantinople, a brief that allowed him to travel widely and gather intelligence on the Ottoman Empire. It was no surprise that his interests came to cover the southern limits of Ottoman control, in Egypt and the Sudan. With the completion of the Suez Canal in 1869, Egypt had become the pivotal crossroads of empire, the gateway to India. For the British and the French, the other main shareholder in the canal, the lands of Egypt and the Near East also held huge historical resonance. Eight hundred years ago, the first crusaders had reached the Holy Land, confronting the forces of Islam that had laid claim to Jerusalem. Now those forces were once again rearing up, and standing at the apex of that gathering maelstrom was the figure of General Charles Gordon. Mayne knew now that his own future was wrapped up in that man’s destiny; that this was to be the ultimate mission for which Wilson had been preparing him.
Wolseley beckoned Mayne over. ‘You know why you are here?’
‘I await your instructions, sir.’
‘Then listen closely. What I am about to tell you will not only determine Gordon’s future, but will shape the future of the Sudan and Egypt and our prestige in the eyes of the world. What I am going to ask you to do must remain top secret. There will be no medals, no public accolade. Only those of us around this table will ever know. Are you willing to serve your Queen and country?’
Mayne caught Wilson’s eye, then gave Wolseley a steely look. ‘It’s what I’m here for. Tell me what I have to do.’
14
Wolseley picked up a tattered piece of paper from the table and showed it to Mayne. ‘This is Gordon’s last communiqué. It reached me through Kitchener’s network of spies, carried by fast camel through the desert. It’s dated the twenty-ninth of December, two days ago. He says: “Khartoum all right, and can hold out for years.”’
Kitchener opened the notebook he had been holding. ‘General Gordon has been sending his journals down by steamer to Metemma for safe keeping, and I have read the most recent entries. This is one for the fourteenth of December. “If the expeditionary force does not come in ten days, the town may fall; and I have done my best for the honour of our country.”’
Burnaby tapped his cigarette ash on to the floor. ‘Lord Randolph Churchill has suggested to me that we collect together a group of big-game hunters with African experience and send them to rescue Gordon,’ he said. ‘A posse, as I believe they would call it in America.’
‘With you at their head, doubtless,’ said Buller, giving Burnaby a jocular look.
‘The thought had occurred to me,’ Burnaby said with a smile, leaning back and exhaling another cloud of smoke.
‘Out of the question,’ Wolseley said forcibly. ‘This not the Wild West, and Her Majesty’s army does not appoint deputies to do its dirty work.’ Kitchener shut the notebook, and Wolseley stared at Mayne. ‘You see our dilemma. Gordon was in a perilous situation in November, and yet two days ago he can last out for years. Clearly the latter cannot be the case. We must question his state of mind.’
‘Can you not order Gordon to leave?’ Earle said. ‘You outrank him.’
‘Officially he works for the Khedive of Egypt, as governor general of the Egyptian province of Sudan. If I bring the Queen’s Regulations to bear, he will resign his commission in the British army and be out of our orbit completely. He has tried to resign before, and only the intervention of Gladstone kept him on our books. It is the only thread of control we have with him and we cannot jeopardise it.’
‘The man only ever treated orders as a basis for discussion,’ Earle said. ‘They even say he consults the prophet Isaiah before giving his approval.’
‘Orders as a basis for discussion? That sounds familiar.’ Wolseley raised an eyebrow at Kitchener. ‘Except that some of us operate without the need to consult any prophet other than ourselves.’
‘Is there any hope of negotiation with the Mahdi?’ Earle persisted.
Kitchener snorted. ‘As self-appointed ruler of the entire Muslim world, he answers only to Allah.’
‘Only to God?’ Buller mutterered. ‘That sounds like Gordon.’
‘General Gordon answers to himself,’ Kitchener snapped.
‘That also sounds like someone else, Major Kitchener.’
Kitchener’s look hardened, but he kept his counsel. ‘General Gordon’s intentions are tied to his sense of responsibility towards the people of Khartoum. In China he was there to defend the mercantile interests of the West, and in Khartoum he is here to defend the livelihood of the Sudanese.’
‘By all accounts it is a pestilential place, a veritable Gomorrah,’ Earle said forcibly. ‘Why Gordon should choose to make it his cause is beyond me. They say that half the population are slaves, the other half slave-dealers.’
‘A trade that Gordon has allowed to continue, to the consternation of the prime minister and the Queen,’ Buller added.
‘He allowed it to continue because it is in the best interests of the Sudanese people,’ Kitchener retorted. ‘General Gordon abhors the corruption of the Ottoman viziers who control the Sudan, and the venality of the Arab and Egyptian merchants. By banning the slave trade he would have lost sympathy with both the Ottomans and the Sudanese. By allowing it to continue he has established his reputation among them and increased his chance of quashing the trade when the time is right. His actions are sorely misunderstood, even by his erstwhile friends. His decision was made with noble intentions.’ Kitchener opened a marked page in the notebook and read from it. ‘“November the ninth. I declare positively, and once and for all, that I will not leave the Sudan until everyone who wants to go down is given the chance to do so.”’ He paused. ‘The next line is written by General Gordon in capital letters. He states that if any emissary comes up ordering him down, “I will not obey it, but will stay here, and fall with the town, and run all risks.”’ Kitchener shut the journal and put it down. ‘He reiterates his intention to stay many times, with great vehemence.’