Chapter One-2
2013 Words
The palms of his hands, like his beard, were stained with henna.
For a moment the two men looked at each other.
The tall, proud, broad-shouldered Englishman with his cold reserve and the fanatical leader of a Holy War, which had resulted in the death of thousands of men, with his mystical aura of leadership.
Then Shamyl smiled.
“Welcome to Dargo-Vedin, Your Excellency. I must compliment you on your courage and tenacity in reaching us.”
He spoke in his own dialect and Lord Athelstan, who had been studying the Tartar language ever since he left India, replied in the same tongue.
“I am extremely grateful for the opportunity of doing so.”
“Few people dare or care to attempt the journey,” Shamyl answered. “I can only hope that you will think it worthwhile.”
“Whatever the outcome of our deliberations,” Lord Athelstan replied, “the privilege of meeting the Imam is something I shall never forget.”
Shamyl asked him to sit down and, after Russian tea and the customary little cakes that went with it, the Imam asked for news from England and what hope Lord Athelstan had brought him of aid from Queen Victoria.
It was hard to explain that the English, while anxious for the Caucasians to go on fighting, were not prepared to do anything practical or to supplement their contribution of weapons that Shamyl had already received.
Lord Athelstan had, however, brought a personal present for the Imam, a handsome gold watch and chain, which seemed to please him.
The Murids liked timepieces better than any other booty and in any raid prized them more than jewellery.
Shamyl could not take the gift direct from Christian hands. Lord Athelstan placed it beside him on a table from which it was collected by a servant.
“My present to Your Excellency, you will receive tomorrow,” Shamyl explained, “It consists of two fine thoroughbred Kabarda stallions, which I am convinced you will find most useful on your return journey.”
Lord Athelstan expressed his thanks and then he said a little tentatively,
“I was asked to enquire about the fate of your prisoners.”
For a moment a shadow passed over Shamyl’s face before he replied,
“You have been told what happened?”
“I learnt when I was in India,” Lord Athelstan replied, “that during a raid on Tzinondali you captured Her Serene Highness Princess Anna Tchavtchavada, her sister Princess Varvara, her niece Princess Nina and a number of their children.”
“That is correct,” Shamyl answered. “And they are being held as hostages until my own son is returned to me,”
Lord Athelstan was already aware that in 1839 Djemmal Eddin – Shamyl’s son – had been handed over as a hostage after a battle in which, surrounded by overwhelming Russian forces, Shamyl had been obliged to surrender.
At the age of eight Djemmal Eddin had been taken to St. Petersburg, which had been not only a blow to Shamyl’s pride as a leader but a dagger thrust to his love as a father.
He had plotted and planned, fought and suffered for thirteen years to find a way for his son to be returned to him. Now it appeared as if victory was within his grasp.
For seven months now he had held in Dargo-Vedin the Georgian Princesses and their children while negotiations were proceeding to exchange them for Djemmal Eddin together with a ransom.
It was not Shamyl, Lord Athelstan knew, who was asking the exorbitant sum of one million roubles for the hostages, but his Murids who had grown greedy with the years.
They wanted the money to build up their aôuls shattered by war and purchase new weapons with which they could go on fighting.
The capture of the Georgian Princesses had caused a sensation throughout the world.
The fact that Christian women could be held captive by Moslems aroused the chivalry of men in every country.
Lord Athelstan, from his knowledge of Shamyl, was convinced that apart from acute discomfort the women would have come to no physical harm.
What he was certain Shamyl did not know was that his son, in the long years he had been in Russia, had become completely Westernised.
The Czar, a cold remote figure both to his people, who had never understood him and to the majority of aristocrats in St. Petersburg, had an affection for children.
He had taken the child, Djemmal Eddin, under his wing and supervised his upbringing.
Appointing himself Djemmal Eddin’s Guardian, the Czar paid for all the expenses of his upbringing from his own purse and he had him brought to the Winter Palace several times a week.
He planned for Djemmal Eddin to enter the Cadet Corps with the sons of the Russian Nobility with the object of eventually obtaining a Commission in one of the Guards Regiments.
Caucasian Princes, who had sworn allegiance to Russia rather than to Shamyl, were very popular at the Russian Court.
They were known as ‘furious eagles’ and it is said that, as they moved about the streets, the Court, the ballrooms and the Army headquarters of St. Petersburg, they had an ‘eagle glance and a light half-fleeting step that was peculiar to them’.
Women found them irresistible and their horsemanship was fantastic. At full gallop standing in the stirrups, the reins held in their teeth, flourishing a kind-jal and shashka in either hand, they would leap to the ground and back onto their horses.
Lord Athelstan had been in St. Petersburg only three years previously, when he had met Djemmal Eddin and realised that he had become not only the pet of the Czar but of everyone at Court.
He was immensely popular.
His large, mournful, rather dark eyes above his high cheekbones and his densely black glossy hair made him outstanding even among the handsome good-looking young Russians.
He rode magnificently, he spoke several languages, was musical, had studied astrology and liked to paint.
What was more significant, Lord Athelstan thought, was that he seldom wore his native dress, not even the tcherkessha that made every Caucasian look so dashing.
He preferred to wear Russian uniform and this was in fact a symbol of his conversion to the West.
Lord Athelstan wondered now if it was possible to convey to Shamyl the fact that, if Djemmal Eddin was brought back home in exchange for the Georgian Princesses, he would come reluctantly.
Then with his usual reserve, Lord Athelstan told himself that it was none of his business.
He had merely been told to enquire after the health of the Princesses and to find out how soon the exchange was likely to be made.
“We are at the moment at an impasse,” Shamyl explained. “I understand that my son will be returned to me, but there is apparently some difficulty in raising the ransom money.”
“Their Highnesses are in good health?” Lord Athelstan enquired.
“They are a part of my household,” Shamyl replied.
“Would it be possible for me to see them?”
There was a moment’s pause and then Shamyl said,
“I wish to speak to Your Excellency on a private matter.”
“I would deem it a privilege – ”
Shamyl made a gesture with his hand and the Murids, with their drawn swords, and the interpreter left the room, leaving the two men alone.
There was a little pause before Shamyl began,
“I would ask a favour.”
“If it is possible the favour is already granted,” Lord Athelstan replied in the extravagant language of the East.
Shamyl hesitated and Lord Athelstan felt that he was finding difficulty in expressing himself.
Then he said,
“Among those I hold as hostages there are two who were brought here unnecessarily.”
Lord Athelstan raised his eyebrows and Shamyl went on,
“You will understand that my instructions were to bring everyone who was in the home of Prince David Tchavtchavadze. It was not possible for my men to distinguish between individuals.”
“I understand.”
“There was, for instance, a French governess, Mrs. Drancy, who has been nothing but a trouble to us.”
There was a faint smile on Shamyl’s lips as he spoke and Lord Athelstan guessed that a voluble French woman would not behave with the same dignity or reserve as the Princesses.
“And also staying at Tzinondali was a friend of the Princess Nina, who is only seventeen and unmarried.”
Lord Athelstan did not speak, wondering what Shamyl was about to reveal to him.
“Her name is Countess Natasha Melikov,” Shamyl went on. “She and her young brother, aged nine, were conveyed here with the rest, although as hostages they have no significance.”
“Why not?” Lord Athelstan enquired.
“They are orphans, and there is no one, so they tell me, who would make any effort to ransom them,” Shamyl answered.
“Surely they can return to Russia with the rest of your prisoners when the terms of exchange are agreed?” Lord Athelstan asked.
“My people are loath to part with two Russian aristocrats who cannot pay for their release,” Shamyl said simply. “I have, therefore, to find a solution.”
Lord Athelstan waited.
He had a feeling he was somehow bound up in all this, but he could not for the moment see how.
“The Countess Natasha is extremely attractive,” Shamyl said. “In fact by most standards she is undoubtedly a great beauty. I have, therefore, with her agreement, arranged that she should become the wife of the Sultan Abdul Aziz.”
“With her agreement?” Lord Athelstan questioned sharply.
“In exchange for which,” Shamyl continued, “her brother, Prince Dimitri, will be exchanged with my other prisoners.”
Lord Athelstan was too experienced a diplomat either to allow his feelings to show in his face or to be expressed hastily by his lips.
But he knew what the world outside would think of a Christian woman being sent as wife to the Sultan of Turkey – a Moslem who already had four wives and a notoriously large harem of concubines.
As if he knew what he was feeling, there was a faint smile on Shamyl’s lips as he said,
“I am asking Your Excellency if you will escort this young woman to Constantinople, where I understand you will go for a ship to carry you to England.”
Lord Athelstan stiffened before he replied,
“You will understand that it is quite impossible. I am a diplomat and I claim diplomatic immunity in every country I visit because I play no part in their politics, their intrigues and interfere in nothing except that which affects my own country.”
He felt as if Shamyl did not understand the point he was making and went on,
“It would be inconceivable for me to take under my protection a woman whose action in agreeing to marry the Sultan would deeply offend the Russians through whose country I must pass when I leave here.”
“I thought perhaps that would be your Excellency’s attitude,” Shamyl said, apparently quite unperturbed. “It was, in fact, the Countess herself who suggested it.”
“You will please convey my regrets to the Countess,” Lord Athelstan said coldly. “But there is nothing I can do in this matter to oblige either you or her.”
Shamyl nodded his head.
Then he said,
“Your Excellency will realise that it is quite a problem. My gift to the Sultan concerns me deeply because as a Moslem he has always given me his encouragement and good wishes.”
He paused to continue,
“I would, however, ask for something more substantial such as arms and men, if I am to continue to fight the Russians. It is not only in the interests of my own country but of Great Britain also.”
“That is appreciated,” Lord Athelstan agreed.
“It is, of course, also essential that my gift should arrive unharmed,” Shamyl went on. “Apart from the insult to the lady in question, if she should be violated on the way, she would on arrival at the Sultan’s Palace be put to death by one of the less swift and certainly more painful methods of execution.”
Lord Athelstan thought briefly of the Turkish method of death by strangulation, the manner in which badly behaved concubines were dropped into the Bosphorus and of unspeakable tortures that were often repeated and re-repeated amongst those who knew the East.
It only confirmed his conviction that this was a matter he could take no part in.
“Again you must accept my apologies,” he said quietly.
Shamyl did not reply.
He rose to his feet and the interview was at an end. Only as he withdrew from the room where the audience had taken place did he say,
“We will meet again after sunset, Your Excellency, and I hope in the meantime you will think a little further on the subject we have just discussed.”
He disappeared before Lord Athelstan could answer him and Hadjio, the Steward, re-joined him to take him to his quarters where he was to sleep.
- Writer
