Companions of Paradise by Thalassa Ali Read Free Book Online Page A

customary duties on your trade caravans, I would not need these taxes.”
    “Sire,” said Macnaghten in his smoothest tone, “we cannot allow you to tax our kafilas.”
    “If I may not charge your kafilas, then you should give me the money I need. India is a rich country. Ahmad Shah Durrani supported this kingdom for years by plundering India. Now your people are enjoying its wealth, but you are not sharing it with me.”
    The king gestured about him. “Look at this household,” he said, his voice rising. “I have three hundred retainers to maintain, not to mention the royal guard or the women. What of my ministers and their families? Surely, with all the millions of rupees that pour into your Indian treasury, you have enough to spare for these.”
    “As I have said, Sire,” Macnaghten insisted, “the chiefs are paying their taxes.”
    “Then,” Shah Shuja said wearily, “we are doomed.”
    “But why?” his visitors chorused, disbelief on their faces.
    “The Eastern Ghilzai chiefs must be given gold to keep the passes open between here and India, while others must have their gold taken from them. Why should we take gold from one man, and hand that same gold to his enemy? Mark my words, the chiefs will not endure this inequity for long.”
    “We have heard your complaints, Sire,” Macnaghten said a trifle sharply, “and now we must confer with our generals. If you will give us your kind permission, we shall return to the cantonment.”
    After the British delegation had been seen out past the intricately carved doorway of the audience chamber, the Shah turned to his elderly, earless vizier.
    “Humza Khan,” he sighed, “these feranghis will be our undoing. Only their useless elephants will remain here in the Bala Hisar, devouring camel-loads of fodder each day, a testament to British folly and arrogance.”
    “Ah, Sire,” replied the old vizier, “who can tell the future?”
    ALTHOUGH THEY had been assured that none of the Shah's court understood English, Macnaghten did not speak until they had trotted their horses through the Bala Hisar's high main gate.
    “First Shah Shuja wishes to kill the chiefs,” Macnaghten said at last, “then he objects to taxing them. The man makes no common sense.”
    “And the money he spends!” Burnes shook his head. “His ministers were all wearing imported silks again. What have you heard from Calcutta?”
    “I had another letter this morning, demanding we reduce our expenses.” Macnaghten sighed. “If he had any political imagination, Lord Auckland would send more troops and more money. If we captured Herat and Peshawar, we would control this whole part of the world.”
    “Quite true, but impossible, given the visionless government we have,” agreed Burnes as he steered his horse past an obstacle course of rocks.
    Macnaghten shook his head. “I have no idea what to do now,” he said heavily. “I suppose we could always turn our backs on Shuja, and return to India.”
    “And if we did,” Burnes reminded him, “he would lose his head, and we would lose Afghanistan. Worse, we would no longer have the fruits and pleasures of Kabul to enjoy.”
    He smiled broadly as they and their escort clattered under the Lahori Gate and into the walled city. “Ah, Macnaghten,” he cried, “how I love this country!”

T hat night, at the sound of a string bed creaking in the darkness of her bedchamber, Shaikh Waliullah's twin sister opened her eyes.
    Hassan was awake. He sat hunched over on the edge of his bed, his hair tangled, his bearded face scarcely visible in the starlight from the window, his heavily bandaged leg at an awkward angle from his body.
    Dawn was far off, Safiya Sultana guessed, for she felt no instinctive urge to rise and wash for the pre-sunrise prayer. Instead, she raised herself on an ample elbow and studied the nephew she had nursed for the past nine weeks. “What is it, my dear?” she inquired. “Are your wounds troubling you?”
    “No,