Pharaoh (Jack Howard 7) (30 page)

He took the pen and held it poised to write. ‘The eighteenth of December was the anniversary of one of the most momentous events of our time, the proclaiming in 1862 by President Abraham Lincoln of the abolition of slavery in the United States. I drafted this document on that day, and it has been languishing since then as I have waited for a witness whom those who judge me will find credible. Will you be such a witness?’

Mayne stared at the document, then at Gordon. He remembered his mission, and Charrière waiting on the opposite shore. What Gordon was asking him to do now seemed unreal, impossible to digest. He swallowed hard, and nodded. ‘Of course, sir.’

‘I will tell you this. If Abraham Lincoln had been in my position today, or Lord Palmerston, who abolished slavery in the British Empire, they would not have left Khartoum or this life without proclaiming the emancipation of the slaves of the Sudan. As God is my witness, and Major Edward Mayne, a commissioned officer of Her Majesty’s Army in the Corps of Royal Engineers, I hereby bring this statute into law.’ He scratched his name on the paper and passed the pen to Mayne, who turned the paper to face him, leaned over and signed. Gordon blotted the signatures with his handkerchief, blew on the paper and held it to dry for a few moments, then folded it into a small square and passed it to Mayne. ‘Everything left in this room will be destroyed when the dervishes arrive. Have this, so that some may know of my final act.’

Mayne took the paper, holding it for a moment hesitantly. He had already entered a netherworld where the execution of his mission would prevent him from openly contacting Wolseley ever again, and a document like this would not be believed unless it were passed on by authoritative hands. He put the thought from his mind, and slipped it inside his tunic pocket. Gordon stood up, came round to the front of the desk and put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the open doorway with a view over the balcony. It was the dead of night, a heavy, overwhelming darkness that blocked out all the stars, allowing only a hint of moonlight to penetrate. Dawn was at least eight hours away, but the same thought was on both of their minds. Gordon gestured towards the river. ‘When it is time, I will tell my Sudanese guards to escort you to the steps leading down to the landing stage, so that you do not have to go out through the gates.’

Mayne suddenly remembered something. ‘The corporal at the gate. I believe he has gone over to the Mahdi.’

‘Indeed. But he has served a purpose, as the other guards tell me what he preaches. Doubtless you have heard that forty thousand angels will descend upon this place tomorrow.’

‘I believe those were his words.’

‘It’s from him that I ascertained with certainty that the Mahdi is attacking tomorrow. The man’s treachery is of little consequence now, but I have ordered my bodyguard to do away with him during the night. It means that when they fight to the death tomorrow, as they surely shall, they’ll know that they have a unity of purpose. They will fight and die as a band of brothers.’

Mayne could just make out his reed boat pulled up on the shore, beside the three posts with their macabre festoonings that looked so much like an image of the crosses bearing the three thieves on the hill of Calvary. He thought of asking, and then stopped himself. There was nothing untoward about executing miscreants in a place like this; it was part of Gordon’s job, and the Mahdi doubtless did the same on the opposite bank to those who had dissatisfied him.

Gordon followed Mayne’s gaze and then turned to him, his face spectral in the reflection from the river. ‘I would say this to the world. I stay here because I believe Jesus of Nazareth would have done as I do and not forsaken these people. But I am no messiah. I fear death as would any other man; even when it stares you in the face as it has done me for so long now, let me tell you, it is not something you welcome gladly. I do not want to die a lingering death with the Mahdi’s men goading me as the Romans did Christ with their spears. I want to die as a soldier, not like a martyr, and like all soldiers I would say that when it comes, I would like it to be clean and quick. Can you see to that for me?’

Mayne did not know what to say. Gordon walked across to the rifle on the stand by the window, leaning down and peering over the sights. ‘I’ve amused myself by taking pot shots at the dervishes on Tutti island. But our batch of ammunition is faulty; some of the cartridges have been overloaded with powder. The excess gas blowing back from the breech nearly blinded me a few weeks ago. It’s the reason I took to sleeping during the day. Even the hazy daylight in this place makes my eyes water uncontrollably.’

‘General Wolseley and his staff think you deliberately stand on your balcony at night in order to taunt the dervishes, and also to impress your own soldiers with your inviolability. The press have got hold of the notion, and there is even an illustration in a publication of the evangelical movement showing you on the balcony with your arms raised, illuminated by the sun, the people of Khartoum below eating the food that has poured from your hands, the bullets and shells of the Mahdi whizzing by you harmlessly.’

Gordon went to the open window and stared out over the river, lighting another cigarette and inhaling deeply. ‘I keep a telescope on the roof, in full view of the dervishes, I own you that. I used it to look out for the relief force, but I gave up on that long ago.’ He snorted. ‘But as for the proposition that I have become immortal, what tosh. What
utter
tosh. What kind of a man do they think I am?’

‘Some think you are a saint, sir, and others that you have become unhinged.’

‘A
saint
. Well, those poor wretches outside the gate believe I have
barak
, the life force, as some too believe of the Mahdi. But it’s just that we are both providers, and whether you offer food to the starving or a cause to the directionless, from their position at your feet you can appear very much larger than you really are. As for
unhinged
.’ Gordon paused, and took another drag. ‘Enraged, frustrated, enfeebled, exhausted, yes, but
unhinged
? I ask any of them to take my place and survive a siege of three hundred and thirty days, days of false promises, of a relief force that was never going to arrive. All they had to do was send a hundred soldiers and two steamers; that would have been enough to take off all of my staff and their families. I told Wolseley as much; I sent endless messages. In their absurd concoction of my character, they decided that I did not want to be rescued. And since then, the Mahdi’s army has increased many fold, making those hundred men of my plea an absurd proposition.’

He picked up a sheet from a pile on the desk. ‘There are forty thousand people in this city. Forty thousand starving wretches, most of them slaves for whom the only day of liberation in their lives is this one. They may see me as their saviour, yes, but it is because I give them food. That is what I spend my time doing here. I calculate the figures, and I work out how much is left; I give them just enough to stay alive. I keep the hospital running so that the few Arab doctors may relieve the sufferings of those diseased people who are not bound to perish. I own that what I am doing is merely giving sustenance to a dying man. The Mahdi
will
arrive, and these people
will
be slaughtered. I can do nothing about that, but I cannot leave them while I am still able to give them food. I
cannot
leave. If that is unhinged, then so be it.’

Gordon dropped the sheet, letting it flutter to the floor, and put his hands up to his face, covering his eyes. Then he ran them through his hair and let them drop to his sides. He looked pale, almost luminous, and suddenly fragile, and Mayne realised for the first time how emaciated he was. This was a man who chain-smoked to keep his appetite down, who had made it his task to distribute scant supplies of biscuit among forty thousand starving people, to make them last as long as possible. Mayne thought of the tedious hours they had spent in the School of Military Engineering learning about the economics of garrison management. This was hardly what the instructors would have had in mind, but Gordon was doing the job as he had been trained to do it.

Mayne pointed to the carefully laid-out jibba on the floor. ‘There are some who believe you have been influenced to convert to the cause of the Mahdi.’

Gordon passed his hand over his face, and then replied with an edge to his voice, as if trying to restrain himself. ‘It is true that I have a considerable correspondence with my friend Muhammad Ahmad. He is from a family of boatbuilders, you know, and he and I have a considerable shared interest in the technology of Nile watercraft.’ He gave a wry smile, and then went over to the desk and picked up another sheaf of papers, taking one and reading from it. ‘“In the name of God the merciful and compassionate, the Destroyer of him who is obstinate against his religion, blessings and peace be upon our Lord Mahomed and his successors, who have established the foundations and solid pillars of our faith.”’ He put the letter down. ‘It goes on in the same vein. My Sudanese clerk translates them for me. They invariably end with the Mahdi offering me sanctuary and an exalted place beside him if I see his particular version of the light. He cites the case of my friend and his prisoner von Slatin, pretending to believe that von Slatin’s conversion to Islam was not just an act of desperation to encourage his Sudanese troops before their final battle, and an act of expediency to save his life when he was captured. And he mentions our mutual interest in the prophet Isaiah, as if I would believe that Isaiah from on high would be instructing me to join a holy war and destroy all those who are obstinate against my religion.’

He pointed to the jibba. ‘As for the clothing of the Ansar, I studiously collect everything that comes my way, and let it be known that I want more, as I did during my time in China. Apart from my collection, there will be few other mementoes from this war, and none from Khartoum; the relief force will not arrive before the Mahdi occupies the city, and there will be no souvenir-hunting by our troops. But if Wolseley and his cronies so fervently believe in my imminent apostasy, then I have a mind to start wearing the jibba. It would be more comfortable in the heat.’

Mayne turned back to the rifle on the stand. ‘The Martini is a better rifle, sir, but I have seen dervish sharpshooters over the Nile use Remingtons to some effect.’

‘Are you a sharpshooter, Major Mayne? I had imagined so.’ Gordon looked at him, his blue eyes piercing. ‘What is your preferred rifle?’

Mayne paused. Had Gordon guessed? ‘A Sharps, sir. Model 1862, in 45/90 calibre. A thirty-four-inch octagonal barrel, made especially heavy.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Gordon, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘An American buffalo rifle. Aperture sights?’

‘They are the best, sir. I first used them at the Creedmore range near New York when I went there with a team from the Royal Military Academy.’

‘Stiff competition, I should think.’

‘I won, sir.’

Gordon looked out into the darkness towards the island, where the cooking fires of the dervishes could just be seen. ‘I believe an American soldier holds the distance record with a Sharps, during the Indian wars?’

‘One thousand four hundred and twenty-one yards over rough ground in the state of Montana, in the summer of 1874. His name was Private Ephrain Jones, sir. I competed against him at Creedmore.’

‘And you won.’

‘Sir.’

Gordon gestured outside. ‘Then I could do with such a rifle here, and such a sharpshooter. The first thing I did when I returned to Khartoum last year knowing it would come under siege was to make accurate measurements of the distances from the city to the far shore of the river, to allow my riflemen to find their range. It was a most interesting geometrical exercise. I had my Sudanese row a measured line across the river, and then took right angles from it to create a trigonometric survey of all the main points of the shore. Do you understand my reasoning?’

Mayne nodded. ‘Using triangulation you could thus calculate distances from any points of fire along the river shore.’

‘The Mahdi holds the island and all the shoreline to the west, but the fort and the adjoining riverbank to the east is dead ground, of no value to him because it’s too far away for his riflemen to shoot accurately, and his artillery is concentrated to the west and south where it can do greater damage to the entrances into the city. That fort provides good cover, though, and that’s where you’ve left your companion, isn’t it? I assume you have one. A spotter, perhaps. You’ve come here without your rifle and you would not leave that unattended.’

Mayne saw no reason to deny it. ‘Sir.’

‘What is your estimation of the distance to that fort?’

Mayne remembered Kitchener’s map. ‘Six hundred and fifty metres, give or take twenty.’

‘Six hundred and sixty-five metres. Bravo. You
are
good. Even at that range, with a cartridge that powerful a body shot could be a clean kill. Am I right?’

‘I’ve hunted deer with my Sharps at a thousand yards and dropped them stone dead.’

‘Have you ever hunted men, Major Mayne?’

Mayne swallowed, suddenly discomfited. ‘I’m a soldier, sir. Like you.’

Gordon stared at him, then smiled and slapped his shoulder. ‘Indeed we are. Soldier first, engineer second, dilettante fossicker down the byways of archaeology and geography and natural history third. That’s what they taught us. Isn’t that right?’

‘Sir.’

‘I know why you’ve come. And you know that I won’t leave with you. There’s nothing more I can do for the people here, but if the world knows the truth of why Gordon of Khartoum stayed to the end, then perhaps it will not be a pointless sacrifice. The Mahdi is coming at dawn. I will be on the balcony when they break through the gates. I will be in this full dress uniform, with a red tunic. You will not mistake me. I believe the sun will shine tomorrow, for the first time in days; I can sense it. You must choose your time well. For a few moments at dawn a sliver of light from the eastern horizon lights up the balcony and the mosque behind, but then as the sun rises it reflects off the Nile and obscures this place. I have seen it myself, from the fort on the opposite shore. And watch your back. There will be others with their eyes on you. Mark my words.’