As the departing column disappeared into the distance with Yakub Khan in its midst, Elliot lit his fourth cheroot of the day. “So now Afghanistan is without a ruler. What does the future hold for this unhappy land?”
“Hopefully, peace and prosperity,” Jack said, “although neither seems natural here.”
Elliot drew on his cheroot. “Aye, poor Afghanistan, living on the lip of a bear and a lion.”
“My man Batoor is as good as any to rule this place,” Jack said.
“Well, gentlemen,” Roberts had joined them, small of stature and quiet-voiced, “I have just written a letter to my wife, telling her I am King of Kabul.” He was silent for a moment, watching the flat roofs and minarets of his realm. “It is not a kingdom I covet, and I shall be right glad to get out of it.”
When the British settled int
