With a show of bad temper, Aslam began to turn his horse around. This was an uneasy moment. Joe could hardly breathe. If they failed now they would all be shot dead in seconds. At his side, Yussuf yawned negligently, spat in the sand and leaned over to pass a comment to Joe in Pushtu. Joe nodded, grimaced and idly began to pick his nose.

‘No! Wait a minute!’ The cry went up just as Aslam had predicted. But then something unexpected: one of the Afridi, apparently with a rush of insight, shouted at the others, his pronouncement accompanied by a loud guffaw. The others, understanding dawning, joined in his laughter, one of them counting ostentatiously on his fingers. It was evident to Joe that ribald jokes were being exchanged.

Yussuf leaned towards him and whispered, ‘Laugh with me, sahib,’ and, digging him in the ribs, they too appeared to be joining in a joke which was a total mystery to Joe. With a new sense of urgency and all smiles, the leading Afridi waved the two gunmen to come down from their cliffs.

While they were conferring together Grace moved her horse close to Joe and hissed an explanation. ‘What a piece of luck! I’d been thinking it was about time Allah, the All Merciful, took a hand and now they assume I’ve been sent for to attend the Malik’s new wife. (I hadn’t heard the old one was dead!) She’s due to give birth any day now they reckon. They’re actually fixing up an escort for us to get us through to Mahdan Khotal with all speed! God knows what we’ll say when we get there. I’ll have to play it by ear when the time comes!’

Lily had finally reached the end of what had been the longest day in her memory. Gently and firmly – with kindness even – she was escorted to the room that had been made ready for her and it was clearly explained that she should stay there and keep quiet.

‘What’s the good of that?’ Lily thought. ‘There’s no way in this world I’m going to sleep tonight. Everything’s happening all around me and I take no part. I don’t want to be here any more. I want to be back in Gor Khatri with people I understand. There’s a drama unfolding in this horrible place. Drama? A tragedy, more like!’ Her dismal thoughts were punctuated by the sound of lamentation from Halima’s room. Her cries had grown fainter and further apart and yet there was no one to whom Lily could turn to ask what was happening. Silently she made her way back to the main room and settled down on a heap of cushions by the window. She closed her eyes and fell instantly asleep.

She woke as swift-moving dawn broke once more, lighting the barren hills and sliding across the courtyard below, rolling back the shadows of the night. Lily jerked into full wakefulness as though she had never slept. She looked down on pacing figures in the courtyard and remembered why she was there at the window. She listened intently for noises from the next room and was relieved to hear a faint groan from Halima. At least she was still alive. Nothing then had changed in that long night.

She rolled over on her elbow and looked down on the rigid figure of the Malik who, it seemed, had not abandoned his silent vigil throughout the night. ‘What now?’ thought Lily. ‘Is there nothing they can do? Surely primitive women in a primitive tribal area know more about childbirth than anyone in the world and yet they seem helpless.’

The morning wore on. Women went in and out, their expressions increasingly sad and desperate. Down below a holy man joined the Malik and the two prayed together repetitively and with repeated gestures. The words were formal but the Malik’s anguish was manifest and Lily’s heart went out to that vengeful and violent man. Silently she added her own prayers to theirs. The children, she noticed, had all been sent away to play at the far end of the courtyard and Lily remained alone, anxious and frustrated as the hours crawled by. Finally, ‘I’m not going to waste another second,’ she decided. ‘I’m going to see what’s going on! At least I can sit with Halima for a bit. She may be surprised to see me. She may not even remember who I am but I think she might be glad to have me by her. It’s worth a try. I’m not going to spend another second in this room.’

She jumped to her feet but her attention was instantly diverted to a rattle and tumult from below. To Lily’s surprise, amidst shouts, the gate of the fort was creaking open as four men pushing the heavy timbers before them worked to admit a small cortège. Two Afridi tribesmen preceded a strange group of riders. Lily’s heart leapt as she saw that three of them were in Scouts’ uniform. She observed their approach with a spurt of hope. Perhaps they’d come to rescue her, to escort her back to the fort at Gor Khatri. Perhaps they would get her out of this alarming place. Perhaps a deal had been done. At least they represented something familiar. ‘Now I’m not alone,’ she thought.

The fourth member of the party was, on the other hand, completely incongruous and completely unfamiliar. A female figure. A female figure astride a horse. Surely that was unusual? She was dressed in red, veiled and in native clothes though she didn’t look like any of the native women Lily had seen since her arrival. This woman was short and stout and carried herself with some authority. She flung a leg over her horse’s head, jumped with surprising agility to the ground and began to fluff out her baggy trousers, calling out commands to her accompanying Scouts. Accustomed as she now was to the deferential attitudes of women in the presence of men, it was a surprise to hear and see a woman prepared to speak and speak loudly; a woman, moreover, to whom it seemed the Afridi were prepared to listen. Who could this be?

And at once Lily saw who it was. Grace! Grace Holbrook. Solid, uncompromising, organizing and efficient Grace! Grace who now turned and fixed her gaze on the Malik. The Malik, standing with the Imam by his side, looked from Grace to the Scouts and to the pair of his Afridi warriors who had escorted the small group into the square. He was speechless for just long enough. Grace hurried to greet him heartily and spoke to him in Pushtu. Such was his astonishment or his fatigue he could only reply in a hesitant voice, pausing to exchange dazed looks with the holy man. The exchange was very brief and Lily, with unspeakable relief, saw the Malik with a sweeping gesture invite Grace to accompany him to the harem. Grace took her medical case from the horse and followed him. Lily heard Grace begin to climb the stairs and ran to the door to greet her.

‘Oh, hullo, Lily,’ said Grace, ridding herself of her veil. ‘There you are! Talk to you in a minute. I think I’d better find out what’s happening here first. Just for the moment – be a good girl and get out of my way!’

She turned to address the assembled women crisply, firmly, unsentimentally. They all reacted in their different ways to welcome her. She went into Halima’s room where she remained for about ten minutes before emerging to say briefly to Lily, ‘Pencil and paper!’ before hurrying back inside.

This was Lily’s chance. She took a sheet of paper and a pencil from the table and at last was admitted to the sick room. The wax-like figure on the bed was hardly recognizable as Halima. Lily just managed to stifle a cry of alarm as she came to the awful conclusion that Halima was dead. But she must be mistaken – two women were gently smoothing her forehead and holding her by the hand. Lily tried to avert her eyes from the slopes of the enormous abdomen over which Grace was now working and wondered what to do next. Grace snatched the paper from her hand and started to scribble a message, talking to Lily in English as she wrote.

‘Lily, you’re to get this to the Malik right away! We’ve got a potentially lethal situation here. One more hour and we’d have lost them both. I have to operate.’

‘Do you mean… ’ Lily began, searching for the right word, ‘do you mean a caesarean? Is this a case for a caesarean operation?’ Such procedures were rarely talked of in Lily’s world and always in tones of horror.