Flashman At The Charge Part 7

An impetuous fellow, this Count - it never occurred to him that it might be his little Valla who was barren, and not her husband. However, that was not for me to say, so I kept mum, and left all the arrangements to papa.

He did it perfectly, no doubt with the connivance of that l.u.s.tful s.l.u.t Sara - there was a lady who took pleasure in her experimental work, all right. I sallied forth at midnight, and feeling not unlike a prize bull at the agricultural show - "'ere 'e is, ladies'n' gennelmen, Flashman b.u.t.tercup the Twenty-first of h.o.r.n.y Bottom Farm" - tip-toed out of the corridor where my room and East's lay, and set off on the long promenade to the other wing. It was ghostly in that creaky old house, with not a soul about, but true love spurred me on, and sure enough Valla's door was ajar, with a little sliver of light lancing across the pa.s.sage floor.

I popped in - and she was kneeling beside the bed, praying! I didn't know whether it was for forgiveness for the sin of adultery, or for the sin to be committed successfully, and I didn't stop to ask. There's no point in talking, or hanging back shuffling on these occasions, and saying: "Ah ... well, shall we . . .?" On the other hand, one doesn't go roaring and ramping at respectable married women, so I stooped and kissed her very gently, drew off her nightdress, and eased her on to the bed. I felt her plump little body trembling under my hands, so I kissed her long and carefully, fondling her and murmuring nonsense in her ear, and then her arms went round my neck.

Frankly, I think the Count had under-estimated her horse artillery husband, for she had learned a great deal from somewhere. I'd been prepared for her to be reluctant, or to need some jollying along, but she entered into the spirit of the thing like a tipsy widow, and it was from no sense of duty or giving the house of Pencherjevsky its money's worth that I stayed until past four o'clock. I do love a bouncy blonde with a hearty appet.i.te, and when I finally crawled back to my own chilly bed it was with the sense of an honest night's work well done.

But if a job is worth doing, it's worth doing well, and since there seemed to be an unspoken understanding that the treatment should be continued, I made frequent forays to Valla's room in the ensuing nights. And so far as I'm a judge, the little baggage revelled in being a dutiful daughter - they're a d.a.m.ned randy lot, these Russians. Something to do with the cold weather; I dare say. A curious thing was, I soon began to feel as though we were truly married, and no doubt this had something to do with the purpose behind our night games; yet during the day we remained on the same easy terms as before, and if Sara grudged her niece the pleasuring she was getting, she never let on. Pencherjevsky said nothing, but from time to time I would catch him eyeing us with sly satisfaction, fingering his beard at the table head.

East suspected something, I'm certain. His manner to me became nervous, and he avoided the family's society even more than before, but he didn't dare say anything. Too scared of finding his suspicions well grounded, I suppose.

The only fly in the ointment that I could see was the possibility that during the months ahead it might become apparent that I was labouring in vain; however, I was ready to face Pencherjevsky's disappointment when and if it came. Valla's yawns at breakfast were proof that I was doing my share manfully. And then something happened which made the whole speculation pointless.

From time to time in the first winter months there had been other guests at the big house of Starotorsk: military ones. The nearest township - where I'd encountered Ignatieff - was an important army head-quarters, a sort of staging post for the Crimea, but as there was no decent accommodation in the place, the more important wayfarers were in the habit of putting up with Pencherjevsky. On these occasions East and I were politely kept in our rooms, with a Cossack posted in the corridor, and our meals sent up on trays, but we saw some of the comings and goings from our windows - Liprandi, for example, and a grandee with a large military staff whom East said was Prince Worontzoff. After one such visit it was obvious to both of us that some sort of military conference had been held in the Count's library - you could smell it the next morning, and there was a big map easel leaned up in a corner that hadn't been there before.

"We should keep our eyes and ears open," says East to me later. "Do you know - if we could have got out of our rooms when that confabulation was going on, we might have crept into the old gallery up yonder, and heard all kinds of useful intelligence."

This was a sort of screened minstrel's gallery that over-looked the library; you got into it by a little door off the main landing. But it was no welcome suggestion to me, as you can guess, who am all for lying low.

"Rot!" says I. "We ain't spies - and if we were, and the whole Russian general staff were to blab their plans within earshot, what could we do with the knowledge?"

"Who knows-" says he, looking keen. "That Cossack they put to watch our doors sleeps half the night - did you know? Reeking of brandy. We could get out, I daresay - I tell you what, Flashman, if another high ranker comes this way,, I think we're bound to try and overhear him, if we can. It's our duty."

"Duty?" says I, alarmed. "Duty to eavesdrop? What kind of company have you been keeping lately? I can't see Raglan, or any other honourable man, thinking much of that sort of conduct." The high moral line, you see; deuced handy sometimes. "Why, we're as good as guests in this place."

"We're prisoners," says he, "and we haven't given any parole. Any information we can come by is a legitimate prize of war - and if we heard anything big enough it might even be worth trying a run for it. We're not that far from the Crimea."

This was appalling. Wherever you go, however snug you may have made yourself, there is always one of these duty-bound, energetic b.a.s.t.a.r.ds trying to make trouble. The thought of spying on the Russians, and then lighting out in the snow some dark night, with Pencherjevsky's Cossacks after us - my imagination was in full flight in a trice, while Scud stood chewing his lip, muttering his thoughtful lunacies. I didn't argue - it would have looked bad, as though I weren't as eager to strike a blow for Britannia as he was. And it wasn't even worth talking about - we weren't going to get the chance to spy, or escape, or do anything foolish. I'd have given a thousand to one on that - which, as it turned out, would have been very unwise odds to offer.

However, after that small discussion the weeks had slipped by without any other important Russians visiting the place, and then came my diversion with Valla, and East's ridiculous day-dream went clean out of my mind. And then, about ten days after I had started galloping her, a couple of Ruski staff captains jingled into the courtyard one morning, to be followed by a large horse-sled, and shortly afterwards comes the Count's major-domo to East and me, presenting his apologies, and chivvying us off to our rooms.

We took the precaution of m.u.f.fling the hidden speaking-tube, and kept a good watch from East's window that day. We saw more sleds arrive, and from the distant hum of voices in the house and the sound of tramping on the stairs we realized there must be a fair-sized party in the place. East was all excited, but what really stirred him was when a sled arrived late in the afternoon, and Pencherjevsky himself was in the yard to meet it - attired as we'd never seen him before, in full dress uniform.

"This is important," says East, his eyes alight. "Depend upon it, that's some really big wig. Gad! I'd give a year's pay to hear what pa.s.ses below tonight." He was white with excitement. "Flashman, I'm going to have a shot at it!"

"You're crazy," says I. "With a Cossack mooching about the pa.s.sage all night? You say he sleeps - he can wake up, too, can't he?"

"I'll chance that," says he, and for all I could try - appeals to his common sense, to his position as a guest, to his honour as an officer (I think I even invoked Arnold and religion) he remained set.

"Well, don't count on me," I told him. "It ain't worth it - they won't be saying anything worth a d.a.m.n - it ain't safe, and by thunder, it's downright ungentlemanly. So now!"

To my surprise, he patted my arm. "I respect what you say, old fellow," says he. "But - I can't help it. I may be wrong, but I see my duty differently, don't you understand? I know it's St Paul's to a pub it'll be a fool's errand, but - well, you never know. And I'm not like you - I haven't done much for Queen and country. I'd like to try."

Well, there was nothing for it but to get my head under the bed-clothes that night and snore like h.e.l.l, to let the world know that Flashy wasn't up to mischief. Neither, it transpired, was the bold East: he reported next day that the Cossack had stayed awake all night, so his expedition had to be called off. But the sleds stayed there all day, and the next, and they kept us cooped up all the time, and the Cossack remained vigilant, to East's mounting frenzy.

"Three days!" says he. "Who can it be, down there? I tell you, it must be some important meeting! I know it! And we have to sit here, like mice in a cage, when if we could only get out for an hour, we might find out something that would - oh, I don't know, but it might be vital to the war! It's enough to drive a chap out of his wits!"

"It already has," says I. "You haven't been shut up like this-before, have you? Well, I've been a prisoner more times than I care to think of, and I can tell you, after a while you don't reason straight any longer. That's what's wrong with you. Also, you're tired out; get to sleep tonight, and forget this nonsense."

He fretted away, though, and I was almost out of patience with him by dinner-time, when who should come up with the servants bearing dinner, but Valla. She had just dropped in to see us, she said,- and was very bright, and played a three-handed card game with us, which was a trying one for East, I could see. He was jumpy as a cat with her at the best of times, blushing and falling over his feet, and now in addition he was fighting to keep from asking her what was afoot downstairs, and who the visitors were. She prattled on, till about nine, and then took her leave, and as I held the door for her she gave me a glance and a turn of her pretty blonde head that said, as plain as words: "It's been three nights now. Well?" I went back to my room next door, full of wicked notions, and leaving East yawning and brooding.

If I hadn't been such a l.u.s.tful brute, no doubt prudence would have kept me abed that night. But at midnight I was peeping out, and there was the Cossack, slumped on... his stool, head back and mouth open, reeking like Davis's cellar. Valla's work, thinks I, the charming little wretch. I slipped past him, and he never even stirred, and I padded out of the pool of lamplight round him and reached the big landing.

All was still up here, but there was a dim light down in the hall, and through the banisters I could see two whitetunicked and helmeted sentries on the big double doors of the library, with their sabres drawn, and an orderly officer pacing idly about smoking a cigarette. It struck me that it wasn't safe to be gallivanting about this house in the dark - they might think I was on the East tack, spying - so I flitted on, and two minutes later was stallioning away like billy-o with my modest flower of the steppes - by jingo, she was in a fine state of pa.s.sion, I remember. We had one violent bout, and then some warm wine from her little spirit lamp, and talked softly and dozed and played, and then went to it again, very slowly and wonderfully, and I can see that lovely white shape in the flickering light even now, and smell the perfume of that silver hair, and - dear me, how we old soldiers do run on.

"You must not linger too long, sweetheart," says she, at last. "Even drunk Cossacks don't sleep forever," and giggled, nibbling at my chin. So I kissed her a long good-night, with endearments, resumed my night-shirt, squeezed her bouncers again for luck, and toddled out into the cold, along her corridor, down the little stairs to the landing - and froze in icy shock against the wall on the second step, my heart going like a hammer.

There was someone on the landing. I could hear him, and then see him by the dim light from the far corridor where my room lay. He was crouched by the archway, listening, a man in a night-shirt, like myself. With a wrenching inward sigh, I realized that it could only be East.

The fool had stayed awake, seen the Cossack asleep, and was now bent on his crack-brained patriotic mischief. I hissed very gently, had the satisfaction of seeing him try to leap through the wall, and then was at his side, shushing him for all I was worth. He seized me, gurgling. "You! Flashman!" He let out a shuddering breath. "What -? You've been ... why didn't you tell me?" I wondered what the blazes he meant, until he whispered fiercely: "Good man! Have you heard anything? Are they still there?"

The madman seemed to think I'd been on his eaves-dropping lay. Well, at least I'd be spared recriminations for fornicating with his adored object. I shook my head, he bit his lip, and then the maniac breathed in my ear: "Come, then, quickly! Into the gallery - they're still down there!" And while I was peeping, terrified, into the dimness through the banisters, where the white sentries were still on guard, he suddenly flitted from my side across the landing. I daren't even try a loud whisper to call him back; he was fumbling with the catch of the little door in the far shadows, and I was just hesitating before bolting for bed and safety, when from our corridor sounded a cavernous yawn. Panicking, I shot across like a whippet, clutching vainly at East as he slipped through the low aperture into the gallery. Come back, come back, you mad b.a.s.t.a.r.d, my lips were saying, but no sound emerged, which was just as well, for with the opening of the little gallery door the clear tones of someone in the library echoed up to us. And light was filtering up through the fine screen which concealed the gallery from the floor below. If our Cossack guard was waking, and took a turn to the landing, he'd see the dim glow from the open gallery door. Gibbering silently to myself, half-way inside the little opening, I crept forward, edging the door delicately shut behind me.

East was flat on the dusty gallery floor, his feet towards me; it stank like a church in the confined s.p.a.ce between the carved wooden screen on the one hand and the wall on the other. My head was no more than a foot from the screen; thank G.o.d it was a nearly solid affair, with only occasional carved apertures. I lay panting and terrified, hearing the voice down in the library saying in Russian: .. so there would be no need to vary the orders at present. The establishment is large enough, and would not be affected."

I remember those words because they were the first I heard, but for the next few moments I was too occupied with scrabbling at East's feet, and indicating to him in dumb show that the sooner we were out of this the better, to pay any heed to what they were talking about. But d.a.m.n him, he wouldn't budge, but kept gesturing me to lie still and listen. So I did, and some first-rate military intelligence we overheard, too - about the appointment of a commissary-general for the Omsk region, and whether the fellow who commanded Orianburg oughtn't to be retired. Horse Guards would give their b.u.t.tocks to know this, thinks I furiously, and I had just determined to slide out and leave East alone to his dangerous and useless foolery, when I became conscious of a rather tired, hoa.r.s.e, but well-bred voice speaking in the library, and one word that he used froze me where I lay, ears straining: "So that is the conclusion of our agenda? Good. We are grateful to you, gentlemen. You have laboured well, and we are well pleased with the reports you have laid before us. There is Item Seven, of course," and the voice paused. "Late as it is, perhaps Count Ignatieff would favour us with a resume of the essential points again."

Ignatieff. My icy bully of the registrar's office. For no reason I felt my pulse begin to run even harder. Cautiously I turned my head, and put an eye to the nearest aperture.

Down beneath us, Pencherjevsky's fine long table was agleam with candles and littered with papers. There were five men round it. At the far end, facing us, Ignatieff was standing, very spruce and masterful in his white uniform; behind him there was the huge easel, covered with maps. On the side to his left was a stout, white-whiskered fellow in a blue uniform coat frosted with decorations - a marshal if ever I saw one. Opposite him, on Ignatieff's right, was a tall, bald, beak-nosed civilian, with his chin resting on his folded hands. At the end nearest us was a high-backed chair whose wings concealed the occupant, but I guessed he was the last speaker, for an aide seated at his side was saying: "Is it necessary, majesty? It is approved, after all, and I fear your majesty is over-tired already. Perhaps tomorrow...

"Let it be tonight," says the hidden chap, and his voice was dog-weary. "I am not as certain of my tomorrows as I once was. And the matter is of the first urgency. Pray proceed, Count."

As the aide bowed I was aware of East craning to squint back at me. His face was a study and his lips silently framed the words: "Tsar? The Tsar?"

Well, who else would they call majesty?28 I didn't know, but I was all ears and eyes now as Ignatieff bowed, and half-turned to the map behind him. That soft, metallic voice rang upwards from the library panelling.

"Item Seven, the plan known as the expedition of the Indus. By your majesty's leave."

I thought I must have misheard. Indus - that was in Northern India! What the devil did they have to do 'with that?

"Clause the first," says Ignatieff. "That with the attention of the allied Powers, notably Great Britain, occupied in their invasion of your majesty's Crimean province, the opportunity arises to further the policy of eastward pacification and civilization in those unsettled countries beyond our eastern and southern borders. Clause the second, that the surest way of fulfilling this policy, and at the same time striking a vital blow at the enemy, is to destroy, by native rebellion aided by armed force, the British position on the Indian continent. Clause the third, that the time for armed invasion by your majesty's imperial forces is now ripe, and will be undertaken forthwith. Hence, the Indus expedition."

I think I had stopped breathing; I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Clause the fourth," says Ignatieff. "The invasion is to be made by an imperial force of thirty thousand men, of whom ten thousand will be Cossack cavalry. General Duhamel," and he bowed towards the bald chap, "your majesty's agent in Teheran, believes that it would be a.s.sisted if Persia could be provoked into war against Britain's ally, Turkey. Clause the fifth -"

"Never mind the clauses," says Duhamel. "That advice has been withdrawn. Persia will remain neutral, but hostile to British interest - as she always has been."

Ignatieff bowed again. "With your majesty's leave. It is so agreed, and likewise approved that the Afghan and Sikh powers should be enlisted against the British, in our invasion. They will understand - as will the natives of India - that our expedition is not one of conquest, but to overthrow the English and liberate India." He paused. "We shall thus be liberating the people who are the source of Britain's wealth. "

He picked up a pointer and tapped the map, which was of Central Asia and Northern India. "We have considered five possible routes which the invasion might take. First, the three desert routes - Ust-Yurt-Khiva-Herat, or Raim-Bokhara, or Raim-Syr Daria-Tashkent. These, although preferred by General Khruleff' - at this the stout, whiskered fellow stirred in his seat - "have been abandoned because they run through the unsettled areas where we are still engaged in pacifying the Tajiks, Uzbeks and Khokandians, under the brigand leaders Yakub Beg and Izzat Kutebar. Although stinging reverses have been administered to these lawless bandits, and their stronghold of Ak Mechet occupied, they may still be strong enough to hinder the expedition's advance. The less fighting there is to do before we cross the Indian frontier the better."

Ignatieff lowered his pointer on the map. "So the south-ern routes, beneath the Caspian, are preferred - either through Tabriz and Teheran, or by Herat. An immediate choice is not necessary. The point is that infantry and artillery may be moved with ease across the South Caspian to is a weighty matter. No such attempt has ever been made before. But we are confident - are we not?"

Khruleff nodded slowly. "It has always been possible. Now it is a certainty. In a stroke, we clear the British from India, and extend your majesty's imperial . . . influence from the North Cape to the isle of Ceylon. No Tsar in history has achieved such an advance for our country. The troops are ample, the planning exact, the conditions ideal. The pick of Britain's army, and of her navy, are diverted in the Crimea, and it is certain that no a.s.sistance could be rendered in India within a year. By then - we shall have supplanted England in southern Asia. "29 "And it can begin without delay?" says the Tsar's voice.

"Immediately, majesty. By the southern route, we can be at the Khyber, with every man, gun, and item of equipment, seven months from this night." Ignatieff was almost striking an att.i.tude, his tawny head thrown back, one hand on the table. They waited, silently, and I heard the Tsar sigh.

"So be it, then. Forgive us, gentlemen, for desiring to hear it in summary again, but it is a matter for second, and third thoughts, even after the resolve has been given." He coughed, wearily. "All is approved, then - and the other items, with the exception of - yes, Item Ten. It can be referred to Omsk for further study. You have our leave, gentlemen."

At this there was a sc.r.a.pe of chairs, and East was kicking at me, and jabbing a finger at the door behind us. I'd been so spellbound by our enormous discovery, I'd almost forgotten where we were but, by gad, it was time we were no longer here. I edged back to the door, East crowding behind me, and then we heard Ignatieff s voice again.

"Majesty, with permission. In connection with Item Seven - the Indian expedition - mention was made of possible diversionary schemes, to prevent by all means any premature discovery of our intentions. I mentioned, but did not elaborate, a plan for possibly deluding the enemy with a false scent."

At this we stopped, crouched by the door. He went on: "Plans have been prepared, but in no considerable detail, for a spurious expedition through your Alaskan province, aimed at the British North American possessions. It was thought that if these could be brought to the attention of the British Government, in a suitably accidental manner, they would divert the enemy's attention from the eastern theatre entirely."

"I don't like it," says Khruleff's voice. "I have seen, the plan, majesty; it is over-elaborate and unnecessary."

"There are," says Ignatieff, quite unabashed, "two British officers, at present confined in this house - prisoners from the Crimea whom I had brought here expressly for the purpose. It should not be beyond our wits to ensure that they discovered the false North American plan; there-after they would obviously attempt to escape, to warn their government of it."

"And then?" says Duhamel.

"They would succeed, of course. It is no distance to the Crimea - it would be arranged without their suspecting they were mere tools of our purpose. And their government would at least be distracted."

"Too clever," says Khruleff. "Playing at spies."

"With submission, majesty," says Ignatieff, "there would be no difficulty. I have selected these two men with care - they are ideal for our purpose. One is an agent of intelligence, taken at Silistria - a clever, dangerous fellow. Show him the hint of a design against his country, and he would fasten on it like a hawk. The other is a very different sort - a great, coa.r.s.e bully of a man, all brawn and little brain; he has spent his time here lechering after every female he could find." I felt East stiffen beside me, as we listened to this infernal impudence. "But he would be necessary - for even if we permitted, and a.s.sisted their escape here, and saw that they reached the Crimea in safety, "I knew we were right to watch and listen!" cries he. "I knew it! But I never dreamed - this is the most appalling thing!" He slapped his hands and paced about. "Look - we've got to do something! We've got to get away - somehow! They must have news of this at Sevastopol. Raglan's there; he's the commander - if we could get this to him, and London, there'd be time - to try to prepare, at least. Send troops out - increase the north-west garrisons - perhaps even an expedition into Persia, or Afghanistan -"

"There isn't time," says I. "You heard them - seven months from tonight they'll be on the edge of the Punjab with thirty thousand men, and G.o.d knows how many Afghans ready to join in for a slap at us and the loot of India. It would take a month to get word to England, twice as long again to a.s.semble an army - if that's possible, which I doubt - and then it's four months to India -"

"But that's in time just in time!" cries he. "If only we can get away - at once!"

"Well, we can't," says I. "The thing's not possible."

"We've got to make it possible!" says he, feverishly. "Look - look at this, will you?" And he s.n.a.t.c.hed a book from his bureau: it was some kind of geography or guide, in Russian script - that hideous lettering that always made me think of black magic recipes for conjuring the Devil. "See here; this map. Now, I've pieced this together over the past few months, just by listening and using my wits, and I've a fair notion where we are, although Starotorsk ain't shown on this map; too small. But I reckon we're about here, in this empty s.p.a.ce - perhaps fifty miles from Ekaterinoslav, and thirty from Alexandrovsk, see? It startled me, I tell you; I'd thought we were miles farther inland."

"So did I," says I. "You're sure you're right? - they must have brought me a h.e.l.l of a long way round, then."

"Of course - that's their way! They'll never do anything straight, I tell you. Confuse, disturb, upset - that's their book of common prayer! But don't you see - we're not much above a hundred miles from the north end of the Crimea - maybe only a couple of hundred from Raglan at Sevastopol!"

"With a couple of Russian armies in between," I pointed out. "Anyway, how could we get away from here?"

"Steal a sled at night - horses. If we went fast enough, we could get changes at the post stations on the way, as long as we kept ahead of pursuit. Don't you see, man - it must be possible!" His eyes were shining fiercely. "Ignatieff was planning for us to do this very thing! My G.o.d, why did they turn him down! Think of it - if he had had his way, they'd be helping us to escape with their bogus information, never dreaming we had the real plans! Of all the cursed luck!"

"Well, they did turn him down," says I. "And it's no go. You talk of stealing a sled - how far d'you think we'd get, with Pencherjevsky's Cossacks on our tail? You can't hide sleigh-tracks, you know - not on land as flat as your hat. Even if you could, they know exactly where we'd go - there's only one route" - and I pointed at his map - "through the neck of the Crimean peninsula at - what's it called? Armyansk. They'd overhaul us long before we got there."

"No, they wouldn't," says he, grinning - the same sly, f.a.g grin of fifteen years ago. "Because we won't go that way. There's another road to the Crimea - I got it from this book, but they'd never dream we knew of it. Look, now, old Flashy friend, and learn the advantages of studying geography. See how the Crimean peninsula is joined to mainland Russia - just a narrow isthmus, eh? Now look east a little way along the coast - what d'ye see?"

"A town called Yenitchi, " says I. "But if you're thinking of pinching a boat, you're mad -"

"Boat nothing," says he. "What d'ye see in the sea, south of Yenitchi?"

"A streak of fly-dung," says I, impatiently. "Now, Scud -"

"That's what it looks like," says he triumphantly. "But it ain't. That, my boy, is the Arrow of Arabat - a causeway, not more than half a mile across, without even a road on it, that runs from Yenitchi a clear sixty miles through the sea of Azov to Arabat in the Crimea - and from there it's a bare hundred miles across to Sevastopol! Don't you see, man? No one ever uses it, according to this book, except a few dromedary caravans in summer. Why, the Russians hardly know it exists, even! All we need is one night of snow, here, to cover our traces, and while they're chasing us towards the isthmus, we're tearing down to Yenitchi, along the causeway to Arabat, and then westward ho to Sevastopol -"

"Through the b.l.o.o.d.y Russian army!" cries I.

"Through whoever you please! Can't you see - no one will be looking for us there! They've no telegraph, anyway, in this benighted country - we both speak enough Russian to pa.s.s! Heavens, we speak it better than most moujiks, I'll swear. It's the way, Flashman - the only way!"

I didn't like this one bit. Don't misunderstand me - I'm as true-blue a Briton as the next man, and I'm not unwilling to serve the old place in return for my pay, provided it don't entail too much discomfort or expense. But I draw the line where my hide is concerned - among the many things I'm not prepared to do for my country is die, especially at the end of a rope trailing from a Cossack's saddle, or with his lance up my innards. The thought of abandoning this snug retreat, where I was feeding full, drinking well, and rogering my captivity happily away, and going careering off through the snow-fast Russian wilderness, with those devils howling after me - and all so that we could report this crazy scheme to Raglan! It was mad. Anyway, what did I care for India? I'd sooner we had it than the Russians, of course, and if the intelligence could have been conveyed safely to Raglan (who'd have promptly forgotten it, or sent an army to Greenland by mistake, like as not) I'd have done it like a shot. But I draw the line at risks that aren't necessary to my own well-being. That's why I'm eighty years old today, while Scud East has been mouldering underground at Cawnpore this forty-odd years.

But I couldn't say this to him, of course. So I looked profound, and anxious, and shook my head. "Can't be done, Scud. Look now; you don't know much about this Arrow causeway, except what's in that book. Who's to say it's open in winter - or that it's still there? Might have been washed away. Who knows what guards they may have at either end? How do we get through the Crimea to Sevastopol? I've done a bit of travelling in disguise, you know, in Afghanistan and Germany .. . and, oh, lots of places, and it's a sight harder than you'd think. And in Russia - where everyone has to show his d.a.m.ned ticket every few miles - we'd never manage it. But" - I stilled his protest with a stern finger - "I'd chance that, of course, if it wasn't an absolute certainty that we'd be nabbed before we'd got halfway to this Yenitchi place. Even if we got clear away from here - which would be next to impossible - they would ride us down in few hours. It's hopeless, you see."

"I know that!" he cried. "I can count, too! But I tell you we've got to try! It's a chance in a million that we've found out this infernal piece of Russian treachery! We must try to use it, to warn Raglan and the people at home! What have we got to lose, except our lives?"

D'you know, when a man talks like that to me, I feel downright insulted. Why other, unnamed lives, or the East India Company's dividend, or the credit of Lord Aberdeen, or the honour of British arms, should be held by me to be of greater consequence than my own shrinking skin, I've always been at a loss to understand.

"You're missing the point," I told him. "Of course, one doesn't think twice about one's neck when it's a question of duty" - I don't, anyway - "but one has to be sure where one's duty lies. Maybe I've seen more rough work than you have, Scud, and I've learned there's no point in suicide - not when one can wait and watch and think. If we sit tight, who knows what chance may arise that ain't apparent now? But if we go off half-c.o.c.k, and get killed or something - well, that won't get the news to Raglan. Here's something: now that Ignatieff don't need us any more, they may even exchange us. Then the laugh would be on them, eh?"

At this he cried out that time was vital, and we daren't wait. I replied that we daren't go until we saw a reasonable chance (if I knew anything, we'd wait a long time for one), and so we bandied it to and fro and got no forrarder, and finally went to bed, played out.

When I thought the thing over, alone (and got into a fine sweat at the recollection of the fearful risk we'd run, crouching in that musty gallery) I could see East's point. Here we were, by an amazing fluke, in possession of information which any decent soldier would have gone through h.e.l.l to get to his chiefs. And Scud East was a decent soldier, by anyone's lights but mine. My task, plainly, was to prevent his doing anything rash - in other words, anything at all - and yet appear to be in as big a sweat as he was himself. Not too difficult, for one of my talents.

In the next few days we mulled over a dozen notions for escaping, each more lunatic than the last. It was quite interesting, really, to see at what point in some particular idiocy poor Scud would start to boggle; I remember the look of respectful horror which crept into his eyes when I regretted absently that we hadn't dropped from the gallery that night and cut all their throats, the Tsar's included - "too late, now, of course, since they've all gone," says I. "Pity, though; if we'd finished 'em off, that would have scotched their little scheme. And I haven't had a decent set-to since Balaclava. Aye, well."

Scud began to worry me, though; he was working himself up into a fever of anxiety and impatience where he might do something foolish. "We must try!" he kept insisting. "If we can think of no alternative soon, we're bound to make a run for it some night! I'll go mad if we don't, I tell you! How can you just sit there? - oh, no, I'm sorry, Flashman; I know this must be torturing you too! Forgive me, old fellow. I haven't got your steady nerve."

He hadn't got Valla to refresh him, either, which might have had a calming effect. I thought of suggesting that he take a steam-bath with Aunt Sara, to settle his nerves, but he might have enjoyed it too much, and then gone mad repenting. So I tried to look anxious and frustrated, while he chewed his nails and fretted horribly, and a week pa.s.sed, in which he must have lost a stone. Worrying about India, stab me. And then the worst happened: we got our opportunity, and in circ.u.mstances which even I couldn't refuse.

It came after a day in which Pencherjevsky lost his temper, a rare thing, and most memorable. I was in, the salon when I heard him bawling at the front door, and came out to find him standing in the hallway, fulminating at two fellows outside on the steps. One looked like a clergyman; the other was a lean, ugly little fellow dressed like a clerk.

... effrontery, to seek to thrust yourself between me and my people!" Pencherjevsky was roaring. "Merciful G.o.d, how do I keep my hands from you? Have you no souls to cure, you priest fellow, and you, Blank, no pen-pushing or pimping to occupy you? Ah, but no - you have your agitating, have you not, you seditious sc.u.m! Well, agitate elsewhere, before I have my Cossacks take their whips to you! Get out of my sight and off my land - both of you!"

He was grotesque in his rage, towering like some bearded old-world G.o.d - I'd have been in the next county before him, but these two stood their ground, jeopardizing their health.

"We are no serfs of yours!" cries the fellow Blank. "You do not order us," and Pencherjevsky gave a strangled roar and started forward, but the priest came between.

"Lord Count! A moment!" He was game, that one.

"Hear me, I implore. You are a just man, and surely it is little enough to ask. The woman is old, and if she cannot pay the soul-tax on her grandsons, you know what will happen. The officials will block her stove, and she will be driven out - to what? To die in the cold, or to starve, and the little ones with her. It is a matter of only one hundred and seventy silver kopecks - I do not ask you to pay for her, but let me find the money, and my friend here. We will be glad to pay! Surely you will let us - be merciful!"

"Look you," says Pencherjevsky, holding himself in. "Do I care for a handful of kopecks? No! Not if it was a hundred and seventy thousand roubles, either! But you come to me with a pitiful tale of this old crone, who cannot pay the tax on her brats - do I not know her son - worthless b.a.s.t.a.r.d! - is a koulak*(*A peasant with money, a usurer.) in Odessa, and could pay it for her, fifty times over! Well, let him! But if he will not, then it is for the government to enforce the law - no man hindering! No, not even me! Suppose I pay, or permit you to pay, on her behalf, what would happen then? I shall tell you. Next year, and every year thereafter, you would have all the moujiks from here to Rostov bawling at my door: 'We cannot pay the soul-tax,30 batiushka; pay for us, as you paid for so-and-so.' And where does that end?"

"But -" the priest was beginning, but Pencherjevsky cut him short.

"You would tell me that you will pay for them all? Aye, Master Blank there would pay - with the filthy money sent by his Communist friends in Germany! So that he could creep among my moujiks, sowing sedition, preaching revolution! I know him! So get him hence, priest, out of my sight, before I forget myself!"

"And the old woman, then? Have a little pity, Count!" "I have explained!" roars Pencherjevsky. "By G.o.d, as though I owe you that much! Get out, both of you!"

He advanced, hands clenched, and the two of them went scuttling down the steps. But the fellow Blank31 had to have a last word: "You filthy tyrant! You dig your own grave! You and your kind think you can live forever, by oppression and torture and theft - you sow dragon's teeth with your cruelty, and they will grow to tear you! You will see, you fiend!"

Pencherjevsky went mad. He flung his cap on the ground, foaming, and then ran bawling for his whip, his Cossacks, his sabre, while the two malcontents scampered off for their lives, Blank screaming threats and abuse over his shoulder. I listened with interest as the Count raved and stormed: "After them! I'll have that filthy creature knouted, G.o.d help me! Run him down, and don't leave an inch of hide on his carcase!"

Within a few moments a group of his Cossacks were in the saddle and thundering out of the gate, while he stormed about the hall, raging still: "The dog! The insolent garbage! To beard me, at my own door! The priest's a meddling fool - but that Blank! Anarchist swine! He'll be less impudent when my fellows have cut the b.u.t.tocks off him!"