‘Your opinion?’
‘My opinion will not change the course of events. I advise you to look out for yourself. In the desert I carry a cyanide tablet, in case I’m captured.’
Mayne looked towards the clump of palms where Charrière was sharpening his hunting knife on a small whetstone he carried on his belt. ‘That will not be necessary. My bodyguard will see to it that neither of us is captured alive. And he will also spot anyone who tries to follow us.’
‘The desert is different from the forests and rivers of Canada.’
‘It’s the mind of the tracker that matters.’ Kitchener stared at him, and Mayne held his gaze. In some ways Kitchener was the more obvious man for the job, a fluent Arabic speaker who had travelled in disguise deep into the Mahdi’s territory, who had earned his desert credentials. But he had become too visible amongst the tribesmen for a covert operation; Gordon would have been forewarned of his arrival, the element of surprise would have been lost and Gordon might have retrenched and refused to budge. Wolseley had been astute enough to keep Mayne out of the limelight, to give him extensive desert experience but ensure that he was unknown in Khartoum. And yet Wolseley was a pawn in the hands of a more powerful directive. In reality Mayne was not Wolseley’s man, but Wilson’s.
And there was another factor. Mayne’s appointment might rankle with Kitchener’s desire to be in the thick of it, but Kitchener was ruled by intellect rather than instinct; he did not have the near-suicidal disregard for his personal safety of a Burnaby or a Buller.
Kitchener tapped the map case. ‘Gordon will be expecting an officer to try to reach him before the relief force arrives. As you will be disguised as an Arab, you will need a convincing entreaty to gain an audience with Gordon once you reach the palace. I suggest you take along your Royal Engineers cap badge and ask for it to be sent to him. He won’t turn away a fellow sapper.’
‘He might think it comes from you.’
‘He knows well enough that Wolseley will keep me back.’
‘Do you still have spies in the desert, your Ababda bodyguard?’
Kitchener remained expressionless. ‘The Mahdi’s forces have nearly sealed off the city. The east bank of the Blue Nile, where you are heading, is the last remaining point of access, and the river crossing will be perilous. Nobody could do it in daylight without being shot down either by Gordon’s men at the palace or by the dervishes on Tutti island. In answer to your question, I have not had any first-hand intelligence from Khartoum for days.’
Kitchener had not answered his question. Mayne remembered him at the military academy, aloof and uncommunicative. It was impossible to tell whether he was being evasive or simply addressing the issues that he felt to be significant. He was giving Mayne the latest intelligence, that was all. Mayne knew that the networks of spies would now be focused on the opposing armies themselves as they crystallised for war, in front of Khartoum or somewhere in the desert as the British column advanced. With all eyes on troop movements rather than the odd Arab traveller, he might stand a better chance of passing through the desert without being reported by spies of the Mahdi.
‘The Mahdi has fuelled the uprising by playing on the grievances of the tribesmen. None are to be trusted, except my Ababda men.’ Kitchener paused. ‘On another matter, but related. Do you know Captain John Howard?’
Mayne paused. ‘A few years below me at Woolwich. Out with the Madras Sappers in India putting down the Rampa rebellion, and now back at the School of Military Engineering to instruct in survey.’
Kitchener nodded. ‘He’s another who shares my interest in the archaeology of the Holy Land. Colonel Wilson and I have recommended that he be entrusted with the safe keeping of Gordon’s antiquities when they are sent to Chatham, including any from Khartoum that we can salvage. Howard is a scholar and a safe pair of hands. I met him before coming here, and he told me that the Rampa rebellion began as a protest by tribal people against a tax on alcohol, was then hijacked by the nationalists who wanted it to be seen as an uprising against the British, and by the second year had simply become violence for its own sake, with the brigands burning and killing because they enjoyed it. The longer a rebellion is allowed to string out, the more it will become self-fuelling. Men who have been persuaded to become killers learn to love it and do not put down arms easily.’
‘The warrior tradition is strong in the desert.’
‘We must strive to equal it. We are a worthy adversary to warriors of the Mahdi army, whereas the Egyptians and Ottomans are not. The Ansar despise the fellahin of the Nile as poor soldiers who have no taste for war, and in that they are right. An Egyptian army like the one led by Hicks they can wipe out in an easy afternoon. A real army like ours they will throw themselves on with fanaticism, because there is a chance that we might defeat them. The more they encounter us in battle, the more they will return. It is the way of war: the fight becomes the end, not just the means. We may stem the tide temporarily with a good fight or two, but attrition is the only way to stop them and we do not have the manpower.’
‘Wolseley intends us to leave the Sudan to its own devices.’
‘That would be a profound mistake,’ Kitchener said. ‘The jihad could engulf north Africa and the Middle East, just as it did thirteen hundred years ago. It could prove a bigger threat to us than Russia and Europe combined.’
Kitchener closed his empty map case and straightened up, then suddenly held Mayne by the shoulder, his eyes boring into him. ‘If any harm should befall Gordon, I will take a life for each hair on his head. Even if it takes the rest of my career, I will gain vengeance. You mark my words.’
Mayne stared at him, discomfited. They said that Kitchener’s eyesight had been permanently affected by the sand and the desert sun, but that his eyes also showed that he had been seduced by the cruelty of the desert, a place where the value of a man’s life was less than that of the camel he rode on and the handful of grain in his saddlebag.
Kitchener released him. ‘When Khartoum falls, we should expect the worst. The Ansar are a medieval army, and will behave like any other medieval army when they stormed a city. They will rape and pillage, mutilate and torture. The fair-skinned Egyptian women will be the first, the wives and daughters of the Ottoman officials still in Khartoum. They are the ones that Gordon will not leave behind. And then they will kill everyone.’
‘All in the name of Islam.’
‘For the dervishes baying for blood on that day, Muhammad will be about as far from them as Christ was from the crusaders when they took Acre.’
‘Could he convert to Islam? I mean Gordon? Others have done it among the Europeans captured by the Mahdi. The Austrian von Slatin for one.’
‘Von Slatin converted out of desperation to boost the loyalty of his Sudanese troops. It did him little good as they were massacred anyway, but after he was captured his conversion kept him alive. Others among the captured Europeans have done so under duress. Convert, or have your hands and feet chopped off.’
‘You have not answered my question.’
Kitchener paused. ‘The Sudanese credit Gordon with baraka, with mystical healing powers, just as they do the Mahdi. Gordon and the Mahdi are closer than many might think. The Sufi version of Islam that the Mahdi was born into is tolerant and inclusive. The fundamentalism he espouses now is for the jihad, and in person he and Gordon would find common ground. They share a passion for the prophets common to both religions, for Isaiah in particular.’