Paths of Glory

by Jeffrey Archer

  George didn’t see the poor fellow a few steps below him who had removed his goggles and reeled backward as he took the full blast of cold wind in his face. Moments later he was on his hands and knees on the floor at the base of the staircase, covering his eyes and vomiting. Lampton drew a line through the name of another man who wouldn’t be making the passage to India.

  When the buzzer sounded at fifty minutes, they had reached 24,000 feet, with temperatures of minus twenty-five degrees. Only Mallory, Finch, Odell, Somervell, Bullock, and Norton were still on their feet. By the time they had reached 25,000 feet, Bullock and Odell had joined the others on the mats, so exhausted they didn’t have the strength to follow the progress of the four survivors. Dr. Lampton checked the clock and put a tick beside Odell’s and Bullock’s names.

  Somervell managed just over fifty-three minutes before he fell off the staircase and collapsed to his hands and knees. He tried valiantly to step back on, but was immediately thrown off again. Norton was kneeling by his side a moment later. Lampton wrote 53 minutes and 54 minutes next to their names. He then turned his attention to the two men who appeared to be immovable.

  Lampton lowered the temperature to minus forty degrees and raised the atmospheric pressure to that at 29,000 feet, but the two survivors still refused to be budged. He turned the wind machine up to forty miles an hour. Finch stumbled, regretting that he had bagged the top step, as he was now shielding George from the full force of the wind. But just as it looked as if he was beaten, he somehow managed to recover and find enough strength to keep pace with the relentlessly moving escalator.

  The clock showed both climbers that they only had three more minutes to go. That was when George decided he would have to give up. His legs felt like lumps of jelly, he was frozen and gasping for breath, and he was beginning to fall back. He accepted that the victory would be Finch’s. Then, without warning, Finch fell back a step, and then another, followed by a third, which only made George more determined to hold on for the last ninety seconds until the final buzzer sounded. When the staircase at last came to a halt, he and Finch fell into each other’s arms like a pair of legless drunks.

  Odell hauled himself up from his mat and staggered across to congratulate them. Somervell and Norton joined them a moment later. If Bullock could have crawled across, he would have done so, but he remained spread-eagled on the mat, still gasping for breath.

  Once the wind machine had been turned off, the altitude returned to sea level and the temperature raised to normal, the door of the chamber was unlocked, and a dozen doctors and nurses rushed into the room and began to carry out tests on the participants to gauge their rates of recovery. In less than five minutes, George’s heartbeat was back down to forty-eight, by which time Finch was strolling around the room chatting to those colleagues who were still standing.

  Dr. Lampton remained in the control room. He knew he was going to have to tell Hinks that Mallory and Finch were by far the most impressive candidates, and frankly there was nothing to choose between them. He was convinced that if anyone was likely to reach 29,000 feet and stand on top of the world, it was going to be one of those two.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  WHEN RUTH PICKED up the phone, she immediately recognized the voice on the other end of the line.

  “Good morning, headmaster,” she said. “—Yes, he left a few moments ago—no, he never drives to school, headmaster, he always walks—it’s just under five miles, and it usually takes him around fifty minutes. Good-bye, headmaster.”

  George raised his ancient umbrella when he felt a few drops of rain land on his forehead. He tried to think about his morning lesson with the lower fifth—not that he had anything new to tell them about the Elizabethans. He wondered how Francis Drake would have handled the problem that had been nagging away at him for the past decade.

  He had not yet heard from the Everest Committee following last week’s medical tests. Still, there could be a letter waiting for him when he returned home that evening. There might even be a mention of the team selection in The Times—if so, Andrew O’Sullivan would be certain to bring it to his attention during the mid-morning break. However, after Finch’s stalwart effort at the medical, George would have no complaint if he turned out to be the committee’s choice as climbing leader. He’d laughed out loud when Young had reported verbatim the exchange between Finch and Hinks that had taken place at the committee meeting. He only wished he had been able to witness the encounter himself.

  Although he didn’t agree with Finch about the use of oxygen at high altitude, he did accept that if they were to have any chance of making a good fist of it, they would have to approach the whole exercise in a more professional manner than in the past, and to learn from the mistakes made during the South Pole debacle.

  His thoughts turned to Ruth, and how supportive she had been. The past year had been idyllic. They were blessed with two lovely daughters and a lifestyle that would have been the envy of most men. Did he really want to travel to the other side of the earth, and have to watch his children growing up by letter and photograph? But it was Ruth who had cruelly summed up his innermost dilemma when she had casually asked him how he would feel if Andrew pointed out a photograph in The Times of George Finch standing on top of the world, while he had just come from teaching the lower fifth?

  George checked his watch as he passed a signpost that told him he still had three miles to walk, and smiled. He was a couple of minutes ahead of schedule for a change. He disliked being late for morning assembly, and Ruth always did everything in her power to make sure he left home each morning well in time. The headmaster always entered Great Hall as the clock chimed nine, and if George was so much as thirty seconds late, he had to slip in at the back during prayers, while heads were bowed. The problem was that the headmaster’s head was never bowed—nor were the lower fifth’s for that matter.

  As he walked into School Lane, George was surprised to notice how few boys and masters were about. Even more puzzling, when he reached the school gates there was nobody in sight. Was it half term? A Sunday, perhaps? No, Ruth would have remembered and reminded him to put on his best suit.

  He walked across the empty quad toward the main hall, but not a sound was coming from inside. No headmaster, no music, not even a cough. Perhaps their heads were bowed in prayer? He turned the large wrought-iron handle slowly, and, not wishing to make a sound, pushed open the door and peered inside. The hall was packed, with every pupil in his place. On the stage stood the headmaster, with the rest of the staff seated behind him. George was more mystified than ever—after all, nine o’clock hadn’t yet chimed.

  And then one of the boys shouted, “There he is!” and everyone in the hall rose as one and began clapping and cheering.

  “Well done, sir.”

  “What a triumph.”

  “You’ll be first to reach the top!” someone shouted at him as he made his way down the center aisle toward the stage.

  The headmaster shook George warmly by the hand and said, “We are all so very proud of you, Mallory,” then waited for the boys to resume their seats before announcing, “I will now call upon David Elkington to address assembly.”

  The head boy rose from his place in the front row and walked up onto the stage. He unrolled a scroll and began to read.

  “Nos, scholae Carthusianae et pueri et magistri, te Georgium Leigh Mallory salutamus. Dilectus ad ducendum agmen Britannicum super Everest, tantos honores ad omnes Carthusianos iam tribuisti. Sine dubio, O virum optime, et maiorem gloriam et honorem in scholam tuam, in universitatem tuam et ad patriam.” We, the boys and masters of Charterhouse, salute George Leigh Mallory. You have honored all Carthusians by being chosen to lead the British assault on Everest. We are in no doubt, Sir, that you will bring further glory and honor to your school, your university, and your country.

  The head boy bowed before presenting the scroll to George. Once again, the whole school rose to their feet and let the senior history master know exactl
y how they felt.

  George bowed his head. He preferred the lower fifth not to see him in tears.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “ALLOW ME TO welcome you as a member of the committee, Mallory,” said Sir Francis warmly. “And may I add that we are delighted you felt able to accept the role of climbing leader.”

  “Hear, hear! Hear, hear!”

  “Thank you, Sir Francis,” said George. “It’s a great honor to be invited to lead such a fine bunch of chaps,” he added as he took his place between Geoffrey Young and General Bruce.

  “You will have read General Bruce’s report,” said Younghusband, “describing how the party will travel from Liverpool to the foothills of Everest. Perhaps you could advise the committee how you see matters proceeding once you’ve set up a base camp.”

  “I’ve read General Bruce’s report with great interest, Mr. Chairman,” said George, “and I agree with his assessment that it will be thorough and detailed preparation that will determine the success or failure of this whole expedition. We must not forget that no Englishman has ever been within forty miles of Everest, let alone set up a base camp on its lower slopes.”

  “Fair point,” admitted Bruce, his monocle falling from his eye, “but I am able to inform the committee that since writing my report I have had a meeting with Lord Curzon at the Foreign Office and he has assured me that he will do everything in his power to ensure a safe and swift passage across the border and into Tibet.”

  “Jolly good show,” said Raeburn, flicking some ash off the end of his cigar.

  “But even if we are able to cross the border without incident,” said George, “the committee must understand that no human being has ever climbed above 25,000 feet. We don’t even know if it’s possible to survive at such heights.”

  “I’m bound to say, Mr. Chairman,” said Ashcroft, “that I can’t see a great deal of difference between 25,000 and 29,000 feet, don’t you know.”

  “Speaking for myself, I don’t know,” said George, “because I’ve never stood at 25,000 feet, let alone 29,000. But if I ever do, commander, I’ll let you know.”

  “Now, Mallory,” said Sir Francis, “as no one knows the climbing team better than you, we’d be interested to hear who you think will accompany you on the final assault.”

  “I won’t be able to answer that question, Mr. Chairman, until I know who has acclimatized best to the conditions. But if I were to make a calculated guess, I’ve pencilled in Odell and Somervell”—Hinks allowed a smile to cross his face—“as the back-up team. However, I have only ever considered one man to be the obvious choice for the final climb, and that’s Finch.”

  No one around the table spoke. Raeburn lit another cigar, and Ashcroft stared at his agenda. It was left to Sir Francis to break the embarrassing silence. He turned to Hinks and said, “But I thought—”

  “Yes, Mr. Chairman,” said Hinks. Looking across the table at George, the secretary said, “I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible, Mallory.”

  “And why not?” asked George.

  “Because Finch will not be a member of the climbing party. Two of the Alpine Club’s recommendations failed the medical. One of them was Kenwright, the other was Finch.”

  “But there must be some mistake,” said George. “I’ve rarely come across a fitter man in all my years of climbing.”

  “I can assure you, Mallory, there is no mistake,” said Hinks, extracting a sheet of paper from his file. “I have Dr. Lampton’s report to hand, and it would appear that Finch has a perforated eardrum, which Lampton believes could cause dizziness and vomiting, and would prevent him from climbing for sustained periods at very high altitude.”

  “It’s a pity that Dr. Lampton hasn’t stood by Finch’s side on the top of Mont Blanc or the Matterhorn,” said Young. “If he had, he would have been able to record that he didn’t have as much as a nosebleed.”

  “That may well be,” said Hinks. “However—”

  “Don’t forget, Mr. Hinks,” said George, “that Finch is the only member of the team who has extensive knowledge of the use of oxygen.”

  “But—correct me if I am wrong, Mallory—when we last met you were opposed to the very idea of using oxygen,” said Hinks.

  “You’re right, and I still am,” said George. “But if I were to discover, having reached 27,000 feet, that not one member of my team was able to place one foot in front of the other, I might be willing to reconsider my position.”

  “Norton and Odell have also stated that they do not believe oxygen will prove necessary for the final climb.”

  “Norton and Odell have never been higher than 15,000 feet,” said Young. “They might also be forced to change their minds.”

  “Perhaps I should point out to you, Mallory,” said Hinks, “that Finch’s medical condition was not the only factor that influenced the Society’s decision.”

  “It wasn’t the Society’s decision to make,” said Young angrily. “Sir Francis and I agreed that the Alpine Club would submit the names of the climbing party, and the committee would not question its recommendations.”

  “That may well have been the case,” said Hinks. “However, we have since discovered that when we interviewed Finch for the position of climbing leader, he lied to this committee.”

  Both Mallory and Young were momentarily silenced, which allowed Hinks to continue uninterrupted.

  “When Mr. Raeburn asked Finch if he was a married man, he informed this committee that he was a widower.” Young bowed his head. “That turns out not to be the case, as I found to my dismay when Mrs. Finch wrote to assure me that she is alive and well.” Hinks extracted a letter from his file. “The committee may wish to place on record the final paragraph of her letter,” he added solemnly.

  Mallory pursed his lips. Young, however, did not appear to be surprised.

  “‘George and I were divorced some two years ago,’” read Hinks, “‘and I’m sorry to have to inform your committee that a third party was involved.’”

  “The rotter,” said Ashcroft.

  “Not a man to be trusted,” said Raeburn.

  “Frankly,” said George, ignoring both of them, “if we do manage to reach 27,000 feet, it isn’t going to matter much if my climbing partner is a divorcee, a widower, or even a bigamist, because I can assure you, Mr. Hinks, no one will notice whether he is wearing a wedding ring.”

  “Let me try to understand what you’re saying, Mallory,” said Hinks, going red in the face. “Are you telling this committee that you would climb the last 2,000 feet of Mount Everest with anyone, provided that you were able to reach the summit?”

  “Anyone,” said George without hesitation.

  “Even a German?” said Hinks quietly.

  “Even the devil,” replied George.

  “I say, old chap,” said Ashcroft, “don’t you think that was uncalled for?”

  “Not as uncalled for as dying an unnecessary death five thousand miles from home because I didn’t have the right climbing partner,” said George.

  “I am quite happy to record your strongly held feelings in the minutes, Mallory,” said Hinks, “but our decision on Finch is final.”

  George was silent for a moment. “Then you can also record in the minutes, Mr. Hinks, my resignation as climbing leader and as a member of this committee.” Several of those around the table began to speak at once, but George ignored them, and added, “I am not willing to leave my wife and children for at least six months to take part in a mission that failed simply because it left its finest climber behind.”

  Sir Francis had to raise his voice to make himself heard above the tumult that followed. “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” he said, tapping the side of his brandy glass with a pencil. “It is clear that we have reached an impasse that can be resolved only in one way.”

  “What do you have in mind, Mr. Chairman?” asked Hinks suspiciously.

  “We shall have to take a vote.”

  “But I haven’t had time to prepare th
e necessary ballot papers,” blustered Hinks.

  “Ballot papers won’t be necessary,” said Sir Francis. “After all, it’s a simple enough decision. Is Finch to be included in the climbing party or not?” Hinks sank back in his chair, struggling to conceal a smile.

  “Very well,” said Sir Francis. “Will those members in favor of Finch being included in the climbing party please raise their hands.”

  Mallory and Young immediately put up their hands, and to everyone’s surprise General Bruce joined them.

  “Those against?” said the chairman.

  Hinks, Raeburn, and Ashcroft raised their hands without hesitation.

  “That’s three votes each,” said Hinks, recording the decision in his minute book. “Which leaves you, Mr. Chairman, with the casting vote.”

  Everyone around the table turned toward Sir Francis. He considered his position for a few moments before saying, “I cast my vote in favor of Finch.”

  Hinks held his pen poised above the minute book, seemingly unable to record the chairman’s vote. “Mr. Chairman,” he said, “for the record, may we know what caused you to reach this decision?”

  “Most certainly,” said Sir Francis. “It won’t be me being asked to risk my life when Mallory reaches 27,000 feet.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  THE LITTLE BRASS bell above the door rang.

  “Good morning, Mr. Pink,” said George as he entered Ede & Ravenscroft.

  “Good morning, Mr. Mallory. How may I assist you on this occasion, sir?”

  George leaned across the counter. “I’ve just been selected as a member of the climbing party for the expedition to Everest,” he whispered.