There were mutterings from the floor and one or two men stood up, pointing at Rathmore and calling out with savage gestures what appeared to be suggestions for making his death more interesting. As Halima did not translate these, Lily assumed her guess was right. The Malik began to speak again and all fell silent. He spoke for a very long time. The children standing around them began to get bored and drifted away but the women were riveted by the speech. Halima’s face was tense and she began to bite her lip, her gaze running constantly from Ramazad to her brother. Her commentary had dried up and Lily was going mad with suspense. The old devil, she was convinced, was up to something. His tone conveyed a blend of blatant honesty, charm and conviction. Lily had heard much the same delivery from a snake-oil salesman in Sioux City.
She looked closely at Iskander. He too appeared to be uneasy with the Malik’s delivery and attempted to interrupt. He was at once called to order in very cold tones by Ramazad. Lily began to recognize that what she was witnessing was a power struggle within the tribe. She’d sat in on board meetings where her father had set out to fillet the opposition but this time she suspected she was rooting for the losing side. The old stag, heavy with antlers, was lowering them to ward off the challenge from the younger blood. And with the death of Zeman perhaps the way had become clear for Iskander. And perhaps this was resented by Ramazad?
The Malik began to gesture to the sky and his voice took on an edge of barely suppressed rage. ‘Ramazad say ferenghi have planes to bomb us. No soldier can take Mahdan Khotal – no soldier on the ground – but the soldiers who fly can destroy our fort. He say that Iskander bring the bombs on our heads. Rathmore who is Iskander’s hostage is big Khan in his country . . .’ The Malik indicated Rathmore with a courteous gesture at which Rathmore rose and presented himself to the crowd with a small bow and the modest smile of an Englishman who has just hit a six.
Unconsciously, Lily seized Halima’s hand and the two women shared their anxiety and powerlessness in the clutch of cold, tense fingers. ‘Iskander wrong to bring death on the tribe. Ferenghi soldiers know hostages are here and attack from sky then, when walls are dust, attack from ground and finish us off. Remember what ferenghi do against Mahsud villages last year. And one of these hostages is a memsahib. This brings great shame on the tribe and great danger. Ferenghi fight more strong to get her back.’
A derisive shout went up from the crowd. ‘Our Malik is getting old! These are the fears of an old woman!’
‘Who’s afraid of the ferenghi? We’re not!’
‘How many sons must Ramazad lose before he takes badal?’
With a face of thunder Ramazad called for silence. ‘Whose sons are killed by ferenghi devil? Whose sons? Yours, Mahmood? Yours, Asnil? No! The sons of Ramazad!’ He beat his breast for emphasis. ‘My son Zeman is dead and I, Ramazad Khan, will avenge him. I know who kill him. Soldier with red hair who kill my two eldest sons now kill my third and last son. I will nail his . . . skin? . . .’ Halima hesitated.
‘Hide,’ Lily whispered.
‘. . . to the gate of Mahdan Khotal. Red hair soldier and all ferenghi soldier from fort. But this is my badal and I do not bring it on the tribe. Leave Ramazad’s badal to Ramazad! Iskander does not think. He has done great wrong to the tribe. We are all now in danger.’
This last pronouncement of the Malik’s was accompanied by the casting upwards to the sky of a fearful eye. ‘Jeez!’ thought Lily. ‘Can this guy ever ham it up! And now he’s got them eating out of his hand. By promising to take the load of retribution on his own shoulders – spiking poor old James, I guess I mean – he leaves the tribe free to look after their own concerns without losing face and avoid a showdown with the British Army and Air Force. But this isn’t looking good for Iskander. The orphan with no close relation to speak up for him. No one but his sister and she can say nothing! He’s going to make him carry the can!’
Halima seemed to have come to the same conclusion. When Iskander attempted to speak he was hooted down and fists were shaken. Icily proud, he fell silent and shrugged a shoulder. An outbreak of shouting and argument followed and finally the Malik intervened, the respected chairman bringing the meeting to order. He appeared to propose a motion and Lily looked enquiringly at Halima.
‘Jirga decide,’ she said, hardly able to get the words out, ‘if Iskander be sent away.’
‘What? Sent away? Outlawed, you mean?’ Lily was incredulous.
She was never quite clear as to how the voting was conducted but after a very short time loud cries and yells broke out again and Iskander, with a face to freeze the blood, turned on his heel and stalked away. Lily didn’t quite like the congratulatory pat on the back Rathmore delivered to the Malik as he swaggered off.