The captain laughed. ‘Is it likely, sirs? No, but I know of him, and he is somewhat less crazy than many of them. His hospitality is noted, and strangers are well received at his palace. Usually,’ he added as an afterthought.

  Sigerson gave me a significant look. ‘So it is likely that any strangers who had landed there recently would have gone to see this Emir?’

  ‘Noblemen, men of quality, certainly.’

  We arrived at Suakin, a place whose ramshackle wooden wharves and jetties seemed ill-suited to such a bustling port, the major port of the Sudan, or at least it was in those days. There were a good many soldiers wandering about the docks, sullen-looking fellows, heavily armed, looking closely at all who passed them.

  On the principle that attack is the best form of defence, we marched boldly up to some of the fiercest looking of these men, and demanded that they escort us to the palace of the Emir.

  This they did, and a short time after we were being ushered in to the presence of the great man himself. He was an elderly man, as tall as Sigerson himself, and as lean and ascetic looking, with a great hawk’s beak of a nose. For all that he was the representative of a bloodthirsty lunatic, the Emir had a penetrating manner, and a sardonic sense of humour. He spoke a classical Arabic as well as the local variants, and in accordance with our pre-arranged design, Selim informed him that we were three zealots, sworn enemies of all foreigners and infidels, and that whilst in Mecca we had got upon the scent of one who was not only a foreigner and an infidel but a dangerous traitor to boot, a man who had eluded our vigilance for long enough to get to Jeddah, and thence to the Sudan, where, we were certain, he planned some harm to the Khalifa and his loyal servants.

  The Emir listened to all this in silence, and his eyes narrowed as he listened. When Selim had told his tale, and described Igorov, the Emir said, ‘Yes, there was such a man. He came to me yesterday, together with a – a holy man,’ – the pause was only slight, but it was clear that Igorov’s companion had failed to impress the Emir favourably – ‘and they had some tale of being divinely inspired to travel to Khartoum, to preach a holy war against the British devils in Egypt.’

  Although this was pretty much what we had judged, as a result of our earlier talks, must be the case, put in those bald terms I confess it sounded a little ridiculous to me at first. But then I recollected that since the time of the Mahdi, who had claimed exactly that same sort of divine inspiration, the people of the Sudan had been living in a kind of ferment of superstitious dread, awaiting further portents. They were thus easy prey to the sort of nonsense which Igorov had invented.

  Moreover, it is one thing to laugh at this from the comfort of an armchair in the club, but quite another when you stood there in the Emir’s palace, and remembered that Gordon’s death, real enough, tragic enough and horrible enough, was the result of exactly this sort of religious fanaticism, and was – at the time of which I write – only ten years in the past.

  ‘I gave him them an escort to Khartoum,’ the Emir was saying. ‘What was I to believe? And now you say he is a foreigner, an infidel, and a traitor?’

  ‘And a spy,’ added Selim cheerfully, for good measure.

  ‘What was I to believe?’ the Emir asked again. He slapped his hands on his knees, like a man who comes to a sudden decision, and stood up. ‘Well, then,’ said he, and I recognized the tone well enough – it was that of the career diplomat, the man who realizes that one of his decisions has gone wrong, and that the consequence of the blunder seems likely to be the end of his career, or, in the Emir’s case, of his life. ‘Well, then. We must go to Khartoum and stop him.’

  ‘I had hoped you would say that,’ said Sigerson calmly. ‘If we get there quickly enough, much may still be saved.’

  The Emir turned to a servant who stood nearby. ‘Horses!’ he called out. ‘And quickly, if you would keep your head on your shoulders!’

  Chapter Sixteen – Khartoum

  As we rode through the arid lands that stretch between Suakin and Khartoum, the old Emir kept looking back at us over his shoulder, and asking what he could possibly have been expected to do about Igorov. The pace he set was such a breakneck one that we had little opportunity to answer him, even if any of us had thought of an answer to give him.

  When we halted for the night in a little hamlet, the Emir lost no time in elaborating on his troubles, present and prospective. ‘I shall be called to account for allowing him to get as far as Khartoum,’ he assured us, with a morose shake of his head. ‘Why, I even gave him some of my personal bodyguard, to speed him on his way!’

  ‘That may not be a bad thing, though,’ remarked Sigerson. ‘If I may be permitted to offer a suggestion?’

  The Emir nodded, and Sigerson began to expound his plan. As he listened, the Emir’s face lost some of its woeful look, and by the time Sigerson had done, the Emir not only beamed cheerfully at us, but stood up and actually embraced the mortified Sigerson.

  ‘Your brothers, though uncommunicative, are evidently cunning schemers,’ the Emir told Selim, who had, for obvious reasons, done most of the talking on our behalf up until then.

  ‘I have done my humble best to instruct them,’ said Selim modestly. ‘As to their being close-mouthed, the truth of the matter is that they have worked with the accursed British in Egypt for so long, and been forced to sully their mouths with the ridiculous language – like the braying of a donkey, is it not? – that they have all but lost their Arabic.’

  ‘Indeed?’ The Emir looked at us pretty closely at this information, and I inwardly cursed Selim for his stupidity. ‘Working with the British, say you?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Selim, ‘that is their cunning. They pretend to work with the infidel dogs, while secretly doing all they can to undermine their rule. I could tell you tales of espionage, sabotage and all-round treachery that would do your heart good to hear.’

  The Emir’s face cleared. ‘I see. Just the sort of men I get on best with! And the sainted Khalifa, too, will be pleased to meet you.’

  I do not know what the others felt about the prospect, but I found my skin crawling at the very thought of meeting the bloodthirsty villain who oppressed the Sudan. However, it would have been fatal to have said anything of the kind, so I tried to look as pleased as I could.

  After three or four days through wild, almost empty country, we arrived at Khartoum, an unimpressive collection of low mud huts scattered along one bank of the Nile. The only good thing about the place, it struck me, was that the wind from the desert could blow unimpeded through the streets, and hence carry off to some extent the many and varied stenches that, despite the best efforts of the wind, assailed the nostrils.

  ‘Now,’ said the Emir, looking around the place with a keen interest, ‘I have been here before, but it was ten years or so ago, and I am not entirely sure of the way.’

  I shuddered at the thought of what this cynical old man might have seen and done on his last visit here. But then, by his own lights, I suppose he was no worse than the rest of them in that God-forsaken place, and his courtly manner had done much to make us forget that he was the representative of the Khalifa, and, I suppose, of the Mahdi before that.

  Khartoum struck me as being an eerie place. It had a look of neglect, of being haunted by the ghosts of ancient infamies and all but forgotten tragedies. The fact that the seat of government had been moved to Omdurman, across the Nile, may perhaps have contributed to the feeling that the place had been deserted. Or again, it may well have been that the city was livelier than it appeared to me, that it was the memory of Gordon’s death that weighed upon my mind and cast a gloom over the whole place.

  Be all that as it may, the old Emir looked about him until he recollected some landmark, then set off, the rest of us following. We halted before a large building, somewhat more imposing, though no cleaner, than its fellows, and the Emir dismounted.

  A short, rotund man came scurrying out to greet us, and he and the Emir embraced with many expressions of mutual affection. This man was evidently some local dignitary, he was probably another emir, I imagine, the title is quite common in those parts, but he filled more or less the office of mayor for the city of Khartoum, so I shall call him the mayor to distinguish him from our old friend the Emir of Suakin.

  There were introductions all round, and the mayor invited us inside cordially enough, and called for refreshments.

  As anyone who has travelled much in those parts will be aware, the process of welcoming guests can be a protracted one, and the mayor was evidently intending all the courteousness that the occasion demanded. The Emir, however, was still apprehensive that we might have arrived too late, and when once the mayor had bid us welcome, the Emir remarked, ‘Forgive my boldness, my friend, but we are here on most urgent business. Have two travellers arrived here in the last day or so, a big man with fair skin and a black beard, accompanied by one of our own Dervishes?’

  ‘Indeed,’ the mayor nodded. ‘They have been here two days, and the city is talking of nothing else.’

  ‘And how so?’

  ‘It is said that they preach a holy war against the British. The Dervish has, naturally, talked to his fellows, and the word has gone to the Khalifa. It is rumoured that he plans to come here, tomorrow or the day after, to see for himself.’

  ‘Does he?’ said the Emir. ‘Now, my friend, this is all very interesting, for we have followed these two men here from Suakin. They are spies and traitors, and since I sent them here, their continued existence is a danger to me.’

  ‘Oh?’ It did not sound as if regard for his old comrade’s well-being had a high place in the mayor’s catalogue of imperative concerns.

  ‘And to you, of course, since you are responsible for the safety of Khartoum.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I was, naturally, about to say that we must do something about these villains.’

  ‘Softly, old friend, softly. Our brother here has a plan, though we did not know that the saintly Khalifa would be coming here – that is so much the better, now that I think about it. We shall wait until he arrives, meet him before he can see the traitors, and tell him the truth about them. We shall say – and it is true enough, up to a point – that we knew them for what they are, but waited so that the Khalifa himself might deal with them.’

  The mayor wriggled in his chair. ‘Wonderful, wonderful! Think you that he will deal with them here, or take them to Omdurman?’

  The Emir shrugged. ‘As to that, it matters little to me. Age has dimmed my pleasure in watching elaborate executions.’

  ‘Oh? Fortunately I have not been so affected.’ And the two old rogues roared with laughter, with the rest of us trying to join in as heartily as we decently could.

  By this time it was late afternoon, and the mayor said that we should dine with him, and offered us a couple of rooms, a grand one for the Emir, and one not so grand for the rest of the party.

  When we had been shown to our room, that we might prepare for the meal later on, I took the opportunity to speak to Sigerson about something that had been bothering me for some time. ‘Is it right?’ I asked him, ‘to denounce even Igorov to these wretches? I have heard some talk of the cruelty of this Khalifa, and I think that, no matter what harm Igorov may have wished to do to Britain, he does not deserve the sort of fate which certainly awaits him at the hands of these butchers.’

  Sigerson had the grace to look shamefaced. ‘I confess that it is something which has bothered me, too,’ he said. ‘To kill an enemy in the heat of battle is one thing, but this is something else. The real difficulty is that our own position here is none too secure. Were we in England or France, we should have recourse to the authorities. In Tibet, we were to some extent engaged in open warfare, with no quarter sought or given. Here, we must use all our skill and art merely to avoid a hideous death ourselves at the hands of the Khalifa’s torturers. But I am by no means happy about what we proposed. In the desert, it seemed a sensible way of putting a stop to Igorov’s schemes, but now –’ and he shrugged, and looked most unhappy.

  ‘But then why go through with it?’ asked Selim. ‘I know that “Byzantine” has become identified with a Machiavellian intricacy, but it seems to me that in this instance the answer is very simple. Why do we not see Igorov ourselves, and tell him that we know everything? That we have given him away to the Khalifa, and that he would be well advised to flee for his life?’

  Sigerson’s face cleared. ‘Excellent!’

  Over dinner that evening, we asked the mayor if he knew where Igorov might be found.

  ‘He sits in the ruins of the old palace,’ he answered, looking round uneasily.

  ‘What,’ said our Emir, ‘the place of the devil, Gordon?’

  ‘Aye. It is a strange place,’ the mayor explained to us, ‘haunted by djinns and other evil spirits.’ He shuddered. ‘As you will imagine, that has added to the mystery surrounding these men.’

  ‘And this palace is – where, exactly?’ asked Selim.

  ‘On the river bank, in such a direction,’ the mayor told him, pointing.

  We had intended to ask to be excused, pleading fatigue after the ride, but the Emir saved us the trouble, saying precisely what we had planned to say. He was a very old man, so it was understandable, and it saved us from drawing attention to ourselves.

  The mayor’s house had only an aged watchman by way of a guard, and we easily eluded him, and made our way through deserted alleys and lanes until we reached the river. Gordon’s palace was not too hard to find, for the local people had evidently the same distaste for the place as their mayor had displayed, so that there were few new houses round about it.

  Even to a man who does not believe in djinns, the palace had a menacing air. It had been burned to the ground at the same time that Gordon had been slain, and only the stumps of the walls remained. Some night bird hooted as we neared the place, and I was sure that, had I been a superstitious Dervish, I should have taken it for Gordon himself, come to visit the scene of his murder.

  We dared not light a lantern or anything of the sort, but there was a rind of a moon low in the sky, and by its sickly beams we picked our way through a forest of blackened and crumbling timbers, and over piles of rubble.

  I was in the lead, and after a moment I spied a kind of makeshift tent or shelter in an angle of the wreckage, and changed direction towards it, coming to an abrupt halt as I all but stumbled over what seemed to be a body lying in the debris. I raised a hand to warn the others, and we bent down to see who or what it might be.

  It was a man, not Igorov, but an Arab, with a great mop of frizzy hair. And he was not dead, but asleep, snoring loudly.

  ‘Evidently the Dervish,’ whispered Sigerson in my ear. ‘And Igorov, I take it, is in the tent yonder. What is the Russian for “Prince”, I wonder?’

  I scratched my head. ‘Gospodin?’ I hazarded.

  ‘It will have to do. It is at times like this that a man understands the parable of the Tower of Babel.’ And he bent down to the flap of the rough shelter, and called out softly.

  The tent shook as the sleeper inside woke and sat up, then the flap was thrust aside and Igorov stared out at us. He recognized us almost at a glance, and gave us a broad smile. ‘Well, sirs, I take it I need not ask the reason for this call.’ He held the flap to one side. ‘If you can tolerate a somewhat intimate ambience, please come inside, and I shall light the lamp. The neighbours make no complaint over my eccentricities, thank the Lord.’

  We did as he asked, with some difficulty, for the tent was not by any means generously proportioned, and Igorov struck a match and found a stub of candle.

  ‘As you say,’ began Sigerson without preamble, ‘there is no need to enquire as to why we are here. We have come to warn you that the authorities know who you are, and wait only for the arrival of their master to take the requisite action.’

  Igorov rubbed his bushy beard. ‘It might seem that such a denunciation could rebound upon the denouncer,’ said he. ‘After all, your own position here is – an irregular one, shall we say?’

  ‘Can you recite the Holy Koran?’ asked Selim.

  Igorov looked puzzled.

  ‘I can,’ added Selim. ‘Or much of it, at any rate. Moreover, we have excellent references, in the shape of two of the local chieftains.’

  ‘H’mm. Then there remains the possibility of an immediate settlement of the matter between us.’ And Igorov produced a large army revolver.

  ‘There is really no necessity for that,’ Sigerson told him. ‘We are all heavily armed –’ I may remind you that such was not the case, but Igorov could not know that – ‘and in addition to that we have our allies surrounding this place.’

  ‘A sensible precaution,’ said Igorov, putting the revolver away. ‘So then it must be a hasty au revoir?’

  ‘Think you we shall meet again?’ Sigerson asked.

  ‘Oh, I shall make it my business to see that we do,’ said Igorov with another broad grin. ‘Let me see, Selim Effendi I know well enough, Herr – Sigerson, was it not? I do not think we have met save the once, though I feel I should know you. Were you ever in Russia, perchance?’

  ‘I had the pleasure of visiting Odessa once. In connection with the Trepoff case, which may be familiar to you.’

  ‘Ah.’ I could see recognition in Igorov’s eyes. ‘I should have known. I had not the honour of meeting you then, but there was much talk of the affair, and of your part in it. Your government chose well, Mr – Sigerson. And this young man, yes – the Turkish Embassy, but I fear I forget the name.’

  ‘Dyce, sir,’ I told him. ‘Lieutenant Dyce.’

  ‘A soldier? Good, good. Yes, I feel we shall meet again, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Under happier circumstances, I trust, sir.’

  Igorov laughed. ‘Let us hope so.’ He hesitated. ‘I appreciate the fact that you have come to see me, gentlemen, the local folk do have some curious ideas as to what constitutes entertainment. And now, if you will forgive me, I must pack, though it will not take long.’

  ‘Is there aught you would need for the journey?’ asked Sigerson.

 

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