01 - Flashman fp-1

by George MacDonald Fraser

  I mounted in one flying leap, and the little beast reared in astonishment, sending the groom flying and causing the others to give back from her flashing fore-hooves. She curvetted sideways before I got her under control with a hand in her mane; one wild glance round for a way out was all I had time for, but it showed me the way.

  On all sides Afghans were running in towards the group on the carpet; the knives were out and the Ghazis were yelling blue murder.

  Straight downhill, ahead of me, they seemed thinnest; I jammed my heels into the mare's sides and she leaped forward, striking aside a ruffian in a skullcap who was snatching at her head. The impact caused her to swerve, and before I could check her she was plunging towards the struggling crowd in the centre of the carpet.

  She was one of your pure-bred, mettlesome bitches, all nerves and speed, and all I could do was clamp my knees to her flanks and hang on. One split second I had to survey the scene before she was in the middle of it; McNaghten, with two Afghans holding his arms, was being pushed headlong down the hill, his tall hat falling from his head, his glasses gone, and his mouth open in horror. Mackenzie I saw being thrown like a bolster over the flanks of a horse with a big Barukzi in the saddle, and Lawrence was being served the same way; he was fighting like a mad thing. Trevor I didn't see, but I think I heard him; as my little mare drove into the press like a thunderbolt there was a horrid, bubbling scream, and an exultant yell of Ghazi voices.

  I had no time for anything but clinging to the mare, yet even in my terror I noticed Akbar, sabre in hand, thrusting back a Ghazi who was trying to come at Lawrence with a knife. Mackenzie was shouting and another Ghazi thrust at him with a lance, but Akbar, cool as you please, struck the lance aside with his sword and shouted with laughter.

  "Lords of my country, are you?" he yelled. "You'll protect me, will you, Mackenzie Sahib?"

  Then my mare had bounded past them. I had a few yards to steady her and to move in, and I set her head downhill.

  "Seize him!" shouted Akbar. "Take him alive!"

  Hands grabbed at the mare's head and at my legs, but we had the speed, thank God, and burst through them. Straight downhill, across the canal bridge, there was the level stretch beside the river, and beyond lay the cantonment. Once over the bridge, on this mare, there wasn't a mounted Afghan who could come near me. Gasping with fear, I clung to the mane and urged her forward. . It must have taken longer to seize my mount, burst through the press, and take flight than I had imagined, for I was suddenly aware that McNaghten and the two Afghans who were carrying him off were twenty yards down the hill, and almost right in my path. As they saw me bearing down on them one of them sprang back, grasping a pistol from his belt. There was no way of avoiding the fellow, and I lugged out my sword with one hand, holding on grimly with the other. But instead of shooting at me, he levelled his piece at the Envoy.

  "For God's sake!" McNaghten cried, and then the pistol banged and he staggered back, clutching at his face. I rode full tilt into the man who had shot him, and the mare reared back on her haunches; there was a mob around us now, slashing at McNaghten as he fell, and bounding over the snow at me. I yelled in rage and panic, and swung my sword blindly; it whistled through the empty air, and I nearly overbalanced, but the mare righted me, and I

  slashed again and this time struck something that crunched and fell away. The air was full of howls and threats; I lunged furiously and managed to shake off a hand that was clutching at my left leg; something cracked into the saddle beside my thigh, and the mare shrieked and bounded forward.

  Another leap, another blind slash of my sword and we were clear, with the mob cursing and streaming at our heels. I put my head down and my heels in, and we went like a Derby winner in the last furlong.

  We were down the slope and across the bridge when I saw ahead of me a little party of horsemen trotting slowly in our direction. In front I recognised Le Geyt - this was the escort that was to have guarded McNaghten, but of Shelton and his troops there was no sign.

  Well, they might just be in time to convoy his corpse, if the Ghazis left any of it; I stood up in the stirrups, glancing behind to make sure the pursuit was distanced, and hallooed.

  But the only effect was that the cowardly brutes turned straight round and made for the cantonment at full pelt; Le Geyt did make some effort to rally them, but they paid no heed. Well, I am a poltroon myself, but this was ridiculous; it costs nothing to make a show, when all is said. Acting on the thought, I wheeled my mare; sure enough, the nearest Afghans were a hundred yards in my rear, and had given up chasing me. As far again beyond them a crowd was milling round the spot where McNaghten had fallen; even as I watched they began to yell and dance, and I saw a spear upthrust with something grey stuck on the end of it. Just for an instant I thought: "Well, Burnes will get the job now," and then I remembered, Burnes was dead. Say what you like, the political service is a chancy business.

  I could make out Akbar in his glittering steel breastplate, surrounded by an excited crowd, but there was no sign of Mackenzie or Lawrence. By God, I thought, I'm the only survivor, and as Le Geyt came spurring up to me I rode forward a few paces, on impulse, and waved my sword over my head. It was impressively bloody from having hit somebody in the scramble.

  "Akbar Khan!" I roared, and on the hillside faces began to turn to look down towards me. "Akbar Khan, you for-sworn, treacherous dog!"

  Le Geyt was babbling at my elbow, but I paid no heed.

  "Come down, you infidel!" I shouted. "Come down and fight like a man!"

  I was confident that he wouldn't, even if he could hear me, which was unlikely. But some of the nearer Afghans could; there was a move in my direction.

  "Come away, sir, do!" cries Le Geyt. "See, they are advancing!"

  They were still a safe way off. "You dirty dog!" I roared. "Have you no shame, you that call yourself Sirdar? You murder unarmed old men, but will you come and fight with Bloody Lance?" And I waved my sabre again.

  "For God's sake!" cries Le Geyt. "You can't fight them all!"

  "Haven't I just been doing that?" says I. "By God, I've a good mind - "

  He grabbed me by the arm and pointed. The Ghazis were advancing, straggling groups of them were crossing the bridge. I didn't see any guns among them, but they were getting uncomfortably close.

  "Sending your jackals, are you?" I bawled. "It's you I want, you Afghan bastard! Well, if you won't, you won't, but there'll be another day!"

  With which I wheeled about, and we made off for the cantonment gate, before the Ghazis got within charging distance; they can move fast, when they want to.

  At the gate all was chaos; there were troops hastily forming up, and servants and hangers-on scattering everywhere; Shelton was wrestling into his sword-belt and bawling orders. Red in the face, he caught sight of me.

  "My God, Flashman! What is this? Where is the Envoy?"

  "Dead," says I. "Cut to bits, and Mackenzie with him, for all I know."

  He just gaped. "Who - what? - how?" "Akbar Khan cut 'em up, sir," says I, very cool. And I added: "We had been expecting you and the regiment, but you didn't come."

  There was a crowd round
  "Didn't come?" says Shelton. "In God's name, sir, I was coming this moment. This was the time appointed by the General!"

  This astonished me. "Well, he was late," says I. "Damned late."

  There was a tremendous hubbub about us, and cries of

  "Massacre!" "All dead but Flashman!" "My God, look at him!" "The Envoy's murdered!" and so on. Le Geyt pushed his way through them, and we left Shelton roaring to his men to stand fast till he found what the devil was what. He spurred up beside me, demanding to know what had taken place, and when I told him all of it, damning Akbar for a treacherous villain.

  "We must see the General at once," says he. "How the devil did you come off alive, Flashman?"

  "You may well ask, sir," cries Le Geyt. "Look here!" And h
e pointed to my saddle. I remembered having felt a blow near my leg in the skirmish, and when I looked, there was a Khyber knife with its point buried in the saddle bag. One of the Ghazis must have thrown it; two inches either way and it would have disabled me or the mare. Just the thought of what that would have meant blew all the brag I had been showing clean away. I felt ill and weak.

  Le Geyt steadied me in the saddle, and they helped me down at Elphy's front door, while the crowd buzzed around. I straightened up, and as Shelton and I mounted the steps I heard Le Geyt saying: "He cut his way through the pack of'em, and even then he would have ridden back in alone if I hadn't stopped him! He would, I tell you, just to come at Akbar!"

  That lifted my spirits a little, and I thought, aye, give a dog a good name and he's everyone's pet. Then Shelton, thrusting everyone aside, had us in Elphy's study, and was pouring out his tale, or rather, my tale.

  Elphy listened like a man who cannot believe what he sees and hears. He sat appalled, his sick face grey and his mouth moving, and I thought again, what in God's name have we got for a commander?

  Oddly enough, it wasn't the helpless look in the man's eyes, the droop of his shoulders, or even his evident illness that affected me - it was the sight of his skinny ankles and feet and bedroom slippers sticking out beneath his gown. They looked so ridiculous in one who was a general of an army.

  When we had done, he just stared and said:

  "My God, what is to be done? Oh, Sir William, Sir William, what a calamity!" After a few moments he pulled himself together and said we must take counsel what to do; then he looked at me and said:

  "Flashman, thank God you at least are safe. You come like Randolph Murray, the single bearer of dreadful news. Tell my orderly to summon the senior officers, if you please, and then have the doctors look at you."

  I believe he thought I was wounded; I thought then, and I think now, that he was sick in mind as well as in body. He seemed, as my wife's relatives would have said, to be "wandered".

  We had proof of this in the next hour or two. The cantonment, of course, was in a hubbub, and all sorts of rumours were flying. One, believe it or not, was that McNaghten had not been killed at all, but had gone into Kabul to continue discussions with Akbar, and in spite of having heard my story, this was what Elphy came round to believing.

  The old fool always fixed on what he wanted to believe, rather than what common sense suggested.

  However, his daydream didn't last long. Akbar released Lawrence and Mackenzie in the afternoon, and they con-firmed my tale. They had been locked up in Mohammed Khan's fort, and had seen McNaghten's severed limbs flourished by the Ghazis. Later the murderers hung what was left of him and Trevor on hooks in the butchers' stalls of the Kabul bazaar.

  Looking back, I believe that Akbar would rather have had McNaghten alive than dead. There is still great dispute about this, but it's my belief that Akbar had deliberately lured McNaghten into a plot against the Douranis to test him; when McNaghten accepted Akbar knew he was not to be trusted. He never intended to hold power in Afghanistan in league with us: he wanted the whole show for himself, and McNaughten's bad faith gave him the opportunity to seize it. But he would rather have held McNaghten hostage than kill him.

  For one thing, the Envoy's death could have cost Akbar all his hopes, and his life. A more resolute commander than Elphy - anyone, in fact - would have marched out of the cantonment to avenge it, and swept the killers out of Kabul. We could have done it, too; the troops that Elphy had said he couldn't rely on were furious over McNaghten's murder. They were itching for a fight, but of course Elphy wouldn't have it. He must shilly-shally, as usual, so we skulked all day in the cantonment, while the Afghans themselves were actually in a state of fear in case we might attack them. This I learned later; Mackenzie reckoned if we had shown face the whole lot would have cut and run.

  Anyway, this is history. At the time I only knew what I had seen and heard, and I didn't like it a bit. It seemed to me that having slaughtered the Envoy the Afghans would now start on the rest of us, and having seen Elphy wringing his hands and croaking I couldn't see what was to stop them. Perhaps it was the shock of my morning escape, but I was in the shivering dumps for the rest of the day. I could feel those Khyber knives and imagine the Ghazis yelling as they cut us to bits; I even wondered if it might not be best to get a fast horse and make off from Kabul as quickly as I could, but that prospect was as dangerous as staying.

  But by the next day things didn't look quite so bad. Akbar sent some of the chiefs down to express his regrets for McNaghten's death, and to resume the negotiations - as if nothing had happened. And Elphy, ready to clutch at anything, agreed to talk; he didn't see what else he could do, he said. The long and short of it was that the Afghans told us we must quit Kabul at once, leaving our guns behind, and also certain married officers and their wives as hostages!

  It doesn't seem credible now, but Elphy actually accepted. He offered a cash subsidy to any married officer who would go with his family as hostages to Akbar. There was a tremendous uproar over this; men were saying they would shoot their wives sooner than put them at the mercy of the Ghazis. There was a move to get Elphy to take action for once, by marching out and occupying the Bala Hissar, where we could have defied all Afghanistan in arms, but he couldn't make up his mind, and nothing was done.

  The day after McNaghten's death there was a council of officers, at which Elphy presided. He was in terribly poor shape; on top of everything else, he had had an accident that morning. He had decided to be personally armed in view of the emergency, and had sent for his pistols. His servant had dropped one while loading it, and the pistol had gone off, the ball had passed through Elphy's chair, nicking his backside but doing no other damage.

  Shelton, who could not abide Elphy, made the most of this.

  "The Afghans murder our people, try to make off with our wives, order us out of the country, and what does our commander do? Shoots himself in the arse - doubtless in an attempt to blow his brains out. He can't have missed by much."

  Mackenzie, who had no great regard for Elphy either, but even less for Shelton, suggested he might try to be helpful instead of sneering at the old fellow. Shelton rounded on him.

  "I will sneer at him, Mackenzie!" says he. "I like sneering at him!"

  And after this, to show what he thought, he took his blankets into the council and lay on them throughout, puffing at a cheroot and sniffing loudly whenever Elphy said anything unusually foolish; he sniffed a good deal.

  I was at the council, in view of my part in the negotiations, I suppose, and for pure folly it matches anything in my military career -

  and I was with Raglan in the Crimea, remember. It was obvious from the first that Elphy wanted to do anything that the Afghans said he must do; he desired to be convinced that nothing else was possible.

  "With poor Sir William gone, we are at a nonplus here," he kept repeating, looking around dolefully for someone to agree with him. "We can serve no purpose that I can see by remaining in Afghanistan."

  There were a few spoke out against this, but not many. Pottinger, a smart sort of fellow who had succeeded by default to Burnes's job, was for marching into the Bala Hissar; it was madness, he said, to attempt to retreat through the passes to India in midwinter with the army hampered by hundreds of women and children and camp followers. Anyway, he didn't trust Akbar's safe conduct; he warned Elphy that the Sirdar couldn't stop the Ghazis cutting us up in the passes, even if he wanted to.

  It seemed good sense to me: I was all for the Bala Hissar myself, so long as someone else led the way and Flashy was at his post beside Elphy Bey, with the rest of the army surrounding us. But the voices were all against Pottinger; it wasn't that they agreed with Elphy, but they didn't fancy staying in Kabul through the winter under his conmmand. They wanted rid of him, and that meant getting him and the army back to India.

  "God knows what he'll do if we stay here," someone muttered.

  "Make Akbar Polit
ical Officer, probably."

  "A quick march through the passes," says another. "They'll let us go rather than risk trouble."

  They argued on, until at last they were too tired and dispirited to talk any further. Elphy sat glooming round in the silence, but not giving any decision, and finally Shelton got up, ground out his cheroot, and snaps:

  "Well, I take it we go? Upon my word, we must have a clear direction. Is it your wish, sir, that I take order for the army to remove to India with all possible speed?"

  Elphy sat looking miserable, his fingers twitching together in his lap.

  "It will be for the best, perhaps," he said at last. "I could wish it were otherwise, and that you had a commander not incapacitated by disease. Will you be so kind, Brigadier Shelton, as to take what order you think most fitting?"

  So with no proper idea of what lay ahead, or how we should go, with the army dispirited and the officers divided, and with a commander announcing hourly that he was not fit to lead us, the decision was taken. We were to quit Kabul.

  It took about a week to conclude the agreement with the Afghans, and even longer to gather up the army and all its followers and make it even half-fit for the road. As Elphy's aide I had my hands full, carrying his orders, and then other orders to countermand the first ones, and listening to his bleating and Shelton's snarling. One thing I was determined on, that Flashy at any rate was going to get back to India, whoever else did not. I had my idea about how this should be done, and it did not consist of taking my simple chance with the rest. The whole business of getting the army to pull up its roots, and provisioned and equipped for the journey, proved to be such a mess that I was confident most of them would never see Jallalabad, beyond the passes, where Sale was now holding out and we could count ourselves safe.