Flashman Papers Omnibus

by Fraser George MacDonald

  But how long could our beasts keep up their present pace? They were far from fresh – on the other hand, our pursuers didn’t look too chipper, either. I watched them, my heart in my mouth, through the falling snow – was it getting thicker? By God, it was! If it really set in, and we could hold them as far as Arabat, we might be able to lose them – and even as the thought crossed my mind I felt the pace of the sled slacken just a little. I stared back at the distant horsemen, my throat dry, fixing on the centre man until my eyes ached and he seemed to be swimming mistily before me. He was just a vague blur – no, I could make out the shape of his head now – they were gaining, ever so little, but still gaining, creeping gradually up behind, yard by yard.

  I couldn’t stand it. I plunged to the side of the sled, stuck my head out, and bawled at East.

  “They’re closing, you fool! Faster! Can’t you stir those bloody cattle!”

  He shot a glance over his shoulder, cracked on the reins, and cried:

  “It’s no go … horses are almost played out! Can’t … We’re too heavy! Throw out some weight … the food … anything!”

  I looked back; they were certainly gaining now, for the pale blobs of their faces were dimly visible even through the driving snow. They couldn’t be much more than two hundred yards away, and one of ’em was shouting; I could just catch the voice, but not the words.

  “Damn you!” I roared. “Russian bastards!” And fell back into the sled, scrabbling for our supplies, to hurl them out and lighten the sled. It was ridiculous – a few loaves and a couple of bottles – but out they went anyway, and not a scrap of difference did it make. The cover? If I let it go, would that help – it would cut down the wind resistance at least. I struggled with the buckles, stiff with the cold as they were, bruising my fingers and swearing feebly. There were eight of them, two to each side, and I just had the wit to undo the rear ones first, and the front ones last, whereupon the whole thing flew off, billowing away before it flopped on the snow. Perhaps it helped a trifle, but nothing like enough – they were still closing, almost imperceptibly, but closing nonetheless.

  I groaned and cursed, while the freezing wind whipped at me, casting about for anything else to jettison. The furs? We’d freeze without them, and Valla didn’t have a stitch – Valla! For an instant even I was appalled – but only for an instant. There was eight stone of her if there was an ounce – her loss would lighten us splendidly! And that wasn’t all – they’d be bound to check, at least, if she came bouncing over the back. Gallant Russian gentlemen, after all, don’t abandon naked girls in the snow. It would gain us seconds, anyway, and the loss of weight would surely do the rest.

  I stooped over her, fighting to balance myself in the rocking sled. She was still unconscious, wrapped in her furs, looking truly lovely with her silver hair shining in the moonlight, murmuring a little in her half-drunken sleep. I heaved her upright, keeping the fur round her as best I could, and dragged her to the back seat. She nestled against me, and even in that moment of panic I found myself kissing her goodbye – well, it seemed the least I could do. Her lips were chill, with the snow driving past us in the wind; there’ll be more than your lips cold in a moment, thinks I. At least her eyes were shut, and our pursuers would see to her before she froze.

  “Good-bye, little one,” says I. “Sleep tight,” and I slipped my arm beneath her legs and bundled her over the back in one clean movement; there was a flash of white limbs as the furs fell away from her, and then she was sprawling on the snow behind us. The sled leaped forward as though a brake had been released, East yelled with alarm, and I could guess he was clinging to the reins for dear life; I gazed back at the receding dark blur where the fur lay beside Valla in the snow. She was invisible in the white confusion, but I saw the riders suddenly swerve out from the centre, a thin shout reached me, and then the leader and his immediate flankers were reining up, the riders on the wings were checking, too, but then they came on, rot them, while a little knot of the centre men halted and gathered, and I saw a couple of them swinging down from their saddles before they were lost in the snowy night.

  And the dozen or so riders from the wings were losing ground, too! The lightened sled was fairly racing along. I yelled with delight, tossing my hands in the air, and scrambled forward, over the front of the sled, heaving myself up beside East on the box.

  “On, Scud, on!” I shouted. “We’re leaving ’em! We’ll beat them yet!”

  “What was it?” he cried. “What did you do? What did you throw out?”

  “Useless baggage!” shouts I. “Never mind, man! Drive for your life!”

  He shouted at the beasts, snapping the reins, and then cries:

  “What baggage? We had none!” He glanced over his shoulder, at where the horsemen were dim shapes now in the distance, and his eyes fell on the sled. “Is Valla all –” and then he positively screamed. “Valla! Valla! My God!” He reeled in his seat, and I had to grab the reins as they slipped from his fingers. “You – you – no, you couldn’t! Flashman, you …”

  “Hold on, you infernal fool!” I yelled. “It’s too late now!” He made a grab at the reins, and I had to sweep him back by main force, as I clutched the ribbons in one hand. “Stop it, damn you, or you’ll have us sunk as well!”

  “Rein up!” he bawled, struggling with me. “Rein up – must go back! My God, Valla! You filthy, inhuman brute – oh, God!”

  “You idiot!” I shouted, lunging with all my weight to keep him off. “It was her or all of us!” Divine inspiration seized me. “Have you forgotten what we’re doing, curse you? We’ve got to get to Raglan, with our news! If we don’t – what about Ignatieff and his cursed plans? By heaven, East, I don’t forget my duty, even if you do, and I tell you I’d heave a thousand Russian sluts into the snow for my country’s sake!” And ten thousand for my own, but that’s no matter. “Don’t you see – it was that or be captured? And we’ve got to get through – whatever the cost!”

  It stopped him struggling for the reins, at any rate; I felt him go limp beside me, and then he was sobbing like a man in torment, feebly beating with his fist against his temple.

  “Oh, my God! How could you – oh, little Valla! I’d have gone – gladly! Oh, she’ll die – freezing in that horrible waste!”

  “Stop that damned babbling!” says I, stern duty personified. “Do you think I wouldn’t have gone myself? And if I had, and some accident had then happened to you, where would our mission have been? While we’re both free we double our hope of success.” I snapped the reins, blinking against the driving snow as we sped along, and then stole a glance behind – nothing but whirling snow over the empty causeway; our pursuers were lost in the distance, but they’d still be there; we daren’t check for an instant.

  East was clinging to the box as we rocked along, a man stricken. He kept repeating Valla’s name over and over again, and groaning. “Oh, it’s too much! Too high a price – God, have you no pity, Flashman? Are you made of stone?”

  “Where my duty’s concerned – aye!” cries I, in a fine patriotic fever. “You may thank God for it! If you’d had your way, we’d have died with Pencherjevsky, or be getting sabred to bits back yonder – and would that have served our country?” I decided a little manly rave would do no harm – not that I gave a damn what East thought, but it would keep him quiet, and stop him doing anything rash even now. “My God, East! Have you any notion what this night’s work has cost me? D’you think it won’t haunt me forever? D’you think I … I have no heart?” I dashed my knuckles across my eyes in a fine gesture. “Anyway, it’s odds she’ll be all right – they’re her people, after all, and they’ll wrap her up nice as ninepence.”

  He heaved a great shuddering breath. “Oh, I pray to God it may be so! But the horror of that moment – it’s no good, Flashman – I’m not like you! I have not the iron will – I am not of your mettle!”

  You’re right there, boy, thinks I, turning again to look back. Still nothing, and then through the dimn
ess ahead there was a faint glimmer of light, growing to a cluster, and the causeway was narrowing to nothing more than a dyke, so that I had to slow the sled for fear we should pitch down the banks to the frozen sea. There was a big square fort looming up on our right, and a straggle of buildings on the left, whence the lights came; between, the road ran clear on to broad snowfields.

  I snapped the whip, calling to the horses, and we drove through, never heeding a voice that called to us from the fort wall overhead. The horsemen might well have closed on us with our slowing down for the dyke, and there wasn’t a second to spare. We scudded across the snowfield, casting anxious glances behind; the ground was becoming broken ahead, with little mounds and valleys, and stunted undergrowth – once into that, with the light snow still falling to blot out our tracks, we could twist away and lose them for certain.

  “Bravo!” cries I, “we’re almost there!” Behind us, Arabat and its fort were fading into the dark; the glimmer of the lights was diminishing as we breasted the first gentle slope and made for a broad gully in the rising ground. We sped silently into it, the sled rocking on the uneven surface; I reined in gently as we went down the reverse slope – and then the lead horse stumbled, whinnying, and came slithering down, the near-side beast swerved sharply, wrenching the reins from my hands, the sled slewed horribly, struck something with a fearful jar, East went flying over the side, and I was hurled headlong forward. I went somersaulting through the air, roaring, felt my back strike the rump of the near-side horse, and then I was plunging into the snow. I landed on my back, and there above me was the sled, hanging poised: I screamed and flung up my hands to save my head. The sled came lumbering over, slowly almost, on top of me, a fiery pain shot through my left side, a crushing weight was across my chest; I shrieked again, and then it settled, pinning me in the snow like a beetle on a card.

  I beat at it with my fists, and tried to heave up, but its weight and the agony in my side stopped me – there was a rib gone for sure, if nothing worse. One of the horses was floundering about in the snow, neighing madly, and then I heard East’s voice:

  “Flashman! Flashman, are you all right?”

  “I’m pinned!” I cried. “The sled – get the damned thing off me! Ah, God, my back’s broken!”

  He came blundering through the snow, and knelt beside me. He put his shoulder to the sled, heaving for all he was worth, but he might as well have tried to shift St Paul’s. It didn’t give so much as an inch.

  “Get it off!” I groaned. “It’s killing me – oh, Christ! Push, damn you – are you made of jelly?”

  “I can’t!” he whispered, straining away. “It won’t … budge. Ah!” And he fell back, panting.

  “Rot you, it’s crushing my guts out!” I cried. “Oh, God – I know my spine’s gone – I can feel it! I’m –”

  “Silence!” he hissed, and I could see he was listening, staring back towards Arabat. “Oh, no! Flashman – they’re coming! I can hear the horsemen on the snow!” He flung himself at the sled, pushing futilely. “Oh, give me strength, God, please! Please!” He strove, thrusting at the sled, and groaning: “I can’t … I can’t shift it! Oh, God, what shall I do?”

  “Push, or dig, or anything, curse you!” I cried. “Get me loose, for God’s sake! What are you doing, man? What is it?” For he was standing up now, staring back over the mouth of the gully towards Arabat; for half a minute he stood motionless, while I babbled and pawed at the wreck, and then he looked down at me, and his voice was steady.

  “It’s no go, old fellow. I know I can’t move it. And they’re coming. I can just see them, dimly – but they’re heading this way.” He dropped on one knee. “Flashman – I’m sorry. I’ll have to leave you. I can hide – get away – reach Raglan. Oh, my dear comrade – if I could give my life, I would, but –”

  “Rot you!” cries I. “My God, you can’t leave me! Push the bloody thing – help me, man! I’m dying!”

  “Oh, God!” he said. “This is agony! First Valla – now you! But I must get the news through – you know I must. You have shown me the way of duty, old chap – depend upon it, I shan’t fail! And I’ll tell them – when I get home! Tell them how you gave … But I must go!”

  “Scud,” says I, babbling, “for the love of –”

  “Hush,” says he, clapping a hand over my lips, “don’t distress yourself – there’s no time! I’ll get there – one of the horses will serve, and if not – you remember the Big Side run by Brownsover, when we were boys? I finished, you know – I’ll finish again, Flash, for your sake! They shan’t catch me! Trust an old Rugby hare to distance a Russian pack – I will, and I’ll hear you hallooing me on! I’ll do it – for you, and for Valla – for both your sacrifices!”

  “Damn Valla and you, too!” I squealed feebly. “You can’t go! You can’t leave me! Anyway, she’s a bloody Russian! I’m British, you swine! Help me, Scud!”

  But I don’t think he so much as heard me. He bent forward, and kissed me on the forehead, and I felt one of his manly bloody tears on my brow. “Good-bye, dear old fellow,” says he. “God bless you!”

  And then he was ploughing away over the snow, to where the near-side horse was standing; he pulled the traces free of its head, and hurried off, pulling it along into the underbrush, with me bleating after him.

  “Scud! For pity’s sake, don’t desert me! You can’t – not your old school-fellow, you callous son-of-a-bitch! Please, stop, come back! I’m dying, damn you! I order you – I’m your superior officer! Scud! Please! Help me!”

  But he was gone, and I was pinned, weeping, beneath that appalling weight, with the snow falling on my face, and the cold striking into my vitals. I would die, freezing horribly – unless they found me – oh, God, how would I die then? I struggled feebly, the pain lancing at my side, and then I heard the soft thumping of hooves on the snow, and a shout, and those cursed Russian voices, muffled from the mouth of the gully.

  “Paslusha-tyeh! Ah, tam – skorah!”a

  The jingle of harness was close now, and the pad of hooves – a horse neighed on the other side of the sled, and I squeezed my eyes shut, moaning. At any moment I expected to feel the agony of a lance-point skewering into my chest; then there was the snorting of a horse almost directly over my face, and I shrieked and opened my eyes. Two horsemen were sitting looking down on me, fur-wrapped figures with those stringy Cossack caps pulled down over their brows; fierce moustached faces peering at me.

  “Help!” I croaked. “Pamagityeh, pajalsta!”b

  One of them leaned forward. “On syer-yaznuh ranyin,”c says he, and they both laughed, as at a good joke. Then, to my horror, the speaker drew his nagaika from his saddlebow, doubled it back, and leaned down over me.

  “Nyeh zashta,”d says he, leering. His hand went up, I tried in vain to jerk my head aside, a searing pain seemed to cleave my skull, and then the dark sky rushed in on me.

  * * *

  a “Listen! Ah there – quickly!”

  b “Help, please!”

  c “He is badly hurt.”

  d “Not at all.”

  Chapter 6

  I suppose my life has been full of poetic justice – an expression customarily used by Holy Joes to cloak the vindictive pleasure they feel when some enterprising fellow fetches himself a cropper. They are the kind who’ll say unctuously that I was properly hoist with my own petard at Arabat, and serve the bastard right. I’m inclined to agree; East would never have abandoned me if I hadn’t heaved Valla out of the sled in the first place. He’d have stuck by me and the Christian old school code, and let his military duty go hang. But my treatment of his beloved made it easy for him to forget the ties of comradeship and brotherly love, and do his duty; all his pious protestations about leaving me were really hypocritical moonshine, spouted out to salve his own conscience.

  I know my Easts and Tom Browns, you see. They’re never happy unless their morality is being tried in the furnace, and they can feel they’re doing the right, Christian thing
– and never mind the consequences to anyone else. Selfish brutes. Damned unreliable it makes ’em, too. On the other hand, you can always count on me. I’d have got the news through to Raglan out of pure cowardice and self-love, and to hell with East and Valla both; but your pious Scud had to have a grudge to pay off before he’d abandon me. Odd, ain’t it? They’ll do for us yet, with their sentiment and morality.

  In the meantime he had done for me, handsomely. If you’re one of the aforementioned who take satisfaction in seeing the wicked go arse over tip into the pit which they have digged, you’ll relish the situation of old Flashy, a half-healed crack in his head, a broken rib crudely strapped up with rawhide, lousy after a week in a filthy cell under Fort Arabat, and with his belly muscles fluttering in the presence of Captain Count Nicholas Pavlovitch Ignatieff.

  They had hauled me into the guard-room, and there he was, the inevitable cigarette clamped between his teeth, those terrible hypnotic blue-brown eyes regarding me with no more emotion than a snake’s. For a full minute he stared at me, the smoke escaping in tiny wreaths from his lips, and then without a change of expression he lashed me across the face with his gloves, back and forth, while I struggled feebly between my Cossack guards, trying to duck my head from his blows.

  “Don’t!” I cried. “Don’t, please! Pajalsta! I’m a prisoner! You’ve no right to … to treat me so! I’m a British officer … please! I’m wounded … for God’s sake, stop!”

  He gave me one last swipe, and then looked at his gloves, weighing them in his hand. Then, in that icy whisper, he said: “Burn those,” and dropped them at the feet of the aide who stood beside him.

  “You,” he said to me, and his voice was all the more deadly for not bearing the slightest trace of heat or emotion, “plead for mercy. You need expect none. You are forsworn – a betrayer of the vilest kind. You were treated with every consideration, with kindness even, by a man who turned to you in his hour of need, laying on you the most solemn obligation to protect his daughter. You repaid him by abducting her, by trying to escape, and by abandoning her to her death. You …”