Hart of Empire Read Free

began Beaconsfield, 'on surviving the catastrophe at Isandlwana. I don't mind telling you that receiving the news of that defeat was one of the darkest moments of my life. The government might have fallen there and then without the glimmer of sunshine provided by the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift. I gather you fought there too?'
    Unwelcome memories of the vicious fighting, particularly the death of his friend Jake, swirled into George's head. 'I did, my lord,' said George, as if in a trance, 'until I was wounded.'
    'Of course,' said Beaconsfield, nodding, 'and I trust you're fully recovered.'
    'I am. Thank you.'
    'From what His Royal Highness tells me, you have performed a double service for your country - first, by your acts of valour during the fighting, and second, by exposing the inadequacies of the military command in South Africa. My instinct on hearing the news of Isandlwana was at once to relieve Lord Chelmsford of his command. But the duke argued against this, as did Her Majesty the Queen, on the grounds that it would be unfair to condemn the man before the full details of the battle were known. Well, now they are, thanks to you, and a few days ago Her Majesty finally sanctioned the Cabinet's recommendation to replace Lord Chelmsford with Sir Garnet Wolseley, who will leave on the SS Edinburgh Castle tomorrow. I hear you are booked on the same passage.'
    'Indeed I am,' said George, barely able to conceal his delight that Chelmsford had finally received his comeuppance. He was eager to return to South Africa - to take revenge on his Zulu cousin Mehlokazulu for killing Jake at Isandlwana, to settle scores with Sir Jocelyn Harris, his former CO, for drumming him out of the 1st Dragoon Guards and to avoid retribution for killing Thompson - but he had dreaded serving again under Chelmsford and his deputy Crealock. Now that threat had been lifted.
    'I can see from your expression that you approve of the Cabinet's decision,' said Beaconsfield, leaning forward. 'Quite right. But you may not have the opportunity to make Sir Garnet's acquaintance. We have in mind for you a quite different form of military service in another country that should suit your unique talents. Lord Salisbury will explain.'
    Nonplussed, and not a little irked that his return to South Africa was in doubt, George swung round to face the Foreign Secretary. 'Have you ever heard of the Prophet's Cloak?' asked Salisbury, in a deep, gravelly voice.
    'No,' replied George, 'but I imagine it has something to do with the Muhammadan religion.'
    'Exactly so. The Mussulmans believe it was once owned by the Prophet Muhammad himself and as such is one of their most sacred relics. How it found its way to Afghanistan has never been properly explained. Some say it was given as a present to an Afghan chief called Kais who fought on behalf of the Prophet in the seventh century, others that it was brought to the country from Bokhara in the late eighteenth century by Ahmad Shah Durrani, the founder of the ruling dynasty. Today it resides in a locked silver box, itself protected by two outer wooden chests, in the shrine of Kharka Sharif in Kandahar in the south of the country. If we could be sure it would stay there, and never see the light of day, we would not be having this conversation. But experience tells us it can and will be brought out in times of national emergency. It was last donned by Dost Mahomed, the late Amir of Kabul. Does that name sound familiar?'
    'Of course, my lord. Every schoolboy knows of Dost, and of how Britain was forced to restore him as ruler after the disasters of the first Afghan war in the forties.'
    'Quite right. Dost understood the symbolic power of the cloak as a means of rallying the faithful against the foreign invader, which brings me to the point. While you were battling the Zulu, a quite separate war was being fought in Afghanistan. And, like your war, it was launched by a pro-consul who exceeded his brief. When Lord Lytton took up his