Epilogue

Shortly after my return to the battle-scarred Western Front a long, curved package was delivered to the locum attending to patients at my surgery in Paddington. It contained a splendidly mounted gold-hilted sabre. The blade displayed distinctive patterns of banding and mottling reminiscent of flowing water. It was the weapon Fenlon used to fend off the terrifying Ghazis as he and my orderly dragged me off the battlefield to safety. Such Damascus steel blades gave rise to many legends, the ability to cut through a hair falling across the blade, or to slice through a hot rifle barrel.

A note accompanied it from Fenlon’s widow. ‘Dr. Watson, I enclose my dearest dead Maiwand Mike’s sabre. He wanted you to have it. He sought out and bought it in Khiva. He held the Damascene blade to be infinitely finer than the Isfahan blade. He hopes it will be a warrior’s key for your entry to Odin’s majestic High Hall. No hurry, but he looks forward to you catching up with him there, over a double-serving of Valhalla Orange Fool, even better than Boodle’s.

Janet Fenlon.’

Back at the Clearing Station at Malassises I arranged via post to join Frederick Courteney Selous out in Matabeleland once the War was over. I would take the beautiful bifullered blade with me.