Flashman Papers Omnibus

by Fraser George MacDonald

  “The barbarians! Fly for your lives! They are in the city – the streets run with blood! Everyone is dead, the Temple of Heaven is overthrown, the shops are closed!”

  I swear it’s what he said – and even the last part wasn’t true. Not a single allied soldier was in Pekin, nor even a gun threatening its walls, the Manchoo army was watching in vain … but the barbarians were coming, all right. Grant had slipped his hounds without so much as a shout, our cavalry was sweeping in from the north (the last place they might have been expected), with the Frog infantry in support – everyone got lost in the dark and went blundering about famously, but that only added to the Chinese confusion. I knew nothing of that as I listened to the uproar in the pavilion … and now footsteps were padding to my door, it was thrown open, and a eunuch came in, threw me a cloak, and jerked his thumb. I slipped it over the loose tunic and trousers that were my only clothes, and followed him out, my Mongol guard looming behind me as we made our way to the ivory saloon.

  The pavilion was in the throes of a flitting. The halls and passageways were cluttered with luggage, servants were staggering out under boxes and bundles, eunuchs fussed everywhere, maids were fluttering in silken confusion, and a stalwart young Manchoo Guards officer was barking orders and cuffing heads in an effort to bring them to order (I recognised the peremptory voice from the garden; although I didn’t know it yet, this was Jung Lu, Yehonala’s old flame and now Imperial Guards commander). Only in the ivory saloon was there comparative peace, with Yehonala looking uncommon fetching in a magnificent snow-leopard robe with a gigantic collar, sitting at ease while Little An fussed about her, and half a dozen of her ladies waited in a respectful semi-circle at the far end, all dressed for the road. She indicated that I should stand by her table, and the Mongol fell in beside me, breathing garlic.

  “Why don’t they come?” Little An was squeaking; his face was bright with sweat. “If their soldiers are north of the city, we may be cut off here! How could we escape their devil-cavalry, who speed like flying dragons? Should we not send another messenger, Orchid? What can be keeping them?”

  Yehonala stifled a yawn. “The Empress Dowager will have mislaid her eyebrow tweezers. Stop fussing, Little An – the barbarians are intent on Pekin; they won’t come here. Even if they did, Jung Lu has men on the road to bring word.”

  Little An glanced round as though he expected to see Elgin climbing in the window, and stooped to whisper. “And if Sang should come? Have you thought of that? We know who he’s after, don’t we? Suppose he were to come with riders – what case are we in to resist him, with only a handful of Guards?”

  “Sang has enough to do with the barbarians, fool! Besides, he wouldn’t dare lay hands on the Empress … or on him.” But I saw the silver nails were drumming gently on the arm of her chair.

  “You think there’s anything that madman would not dare?” An shrilled. “I tell you, Orchid Lady – the barbarians can have Pekin for him, so long as he can get his claws on –”

  “That will do, Eunuch An-te-hai.” The lovely voice had a dangerous edge. “You’re alarming my ladies, which is bad for their digestions. Another word, and you’ll stand on that table and repeat a hundred times: ‘I beg the ladies’ pardon for my unmannerly cowardice, and humbly entreat the Empress of the Western Palace to sentence me to a hundred lashes on my fat little bottom’. And she’ll do it, too.”

  That sent her ladies into great giggles, and Little An fell sullenly silent. The noises of exodus were dying away in the pavilion; a door slammed, and then there was silence. I strained my ears – if our fellows were north of the city they couldn’t be more than five miles away. Yehonala was right; they wouldn’t bother with the Summer Palace until Pekin was secure, but if I could make a break, perhaps when we set off … it would be dark …

  Brisk footsteps sounded, and the young Guards Commander strode in, halting smartly and bowing his pagoda helmet to his waist. “The Prince Kung and the Lady Dowager have decided to remain, Concubine Yi, but the others will be here in a few minutes.”

  “What can have happened to those tweezers?” says Yehonala. “And probably the sleeping pantaloons, too. Ah, well. Are the litters ready, Colonel Jung?”

  “Three horse palanquins in the court, Orchid, with the carriage for your ladies.” He was breathing hard. “I’ve sent the servants’ carts ahead, so that they won’t delay us, and had all the gates locked. It will be necessary to reach the court by the garden passage –” he pointed to the narrow arch at the far end of the room, where the ladies stood “– and from the court the Avenue of Dawn Enchantment is walled as far as the Jehol road, where I have a troop waiting.” He paused for breath, and Little An cried:

  “Why these precautions? Are the barbarians so close?”

  Jung ignored him, speaking direct to Yehonala. He was a good-looking lad, in a dense, resolute sort of way; Guards officers much the same the world over, I suppose.

  “Not the barbarians, Orchid … no. My rider at the Anting Gate has not reported. But it would be best to leave quickly, as soon as the Empress arrives. There may be … some danger in delay.”

  Little An absolutely farted in agitation and was beginning to squeal, but Yehonala cut in. “Be quiet! What is it, Jung?”

  “Perhaps nothing.” He hesitated. “I stationed my sergeant on the Pekin road, half-way. His horse came in just now – without a rider.” There was silence for a moment, then:

  “Sang!” shrills Little An. “I knew it! What did I say? Lady, there is no time to lose! We must go at once! We must –”

  “Without my son?” She was on her feet. “Jung – go and meet them. Bring them yourself – bring them, Jung, you understand?”

  He saluted and strode out, and Yehonala turned to the palpitating An and said quietly: “Every shadow is not Prince Sang, Little An. Even sergeants fall off their horses sometimes. No, be silent. Whatever has happened, your bleatings will do nothing to help.” She adjusted her fur collar. “It’s cold. Lady Willow, have them put the screen across the window.”

  As her woman pattered to obey, she paced the floor slowly, humming to herself. Outside the sound of Jung’s hoof-beats had faded, and we waited in the stillness, the air heavy with suspense. She may have found it cold, but I was sweating – whatever the possible danger, I reckoned Jung was a good judge, and he’d been a sight more worried than he let on. Little An was visibly bursting with silent terrors, in which Sang presumably had the lead role. Well, that was one I could do without … if he bowled in, I could see a pretty little scene ensuing when he recognised one of his star prisoners. Suppose I broke for it now … a bolt for the door, downstairs and into the garden … ? My skin roughened at the thought … the Mongol was at my elbow, stinking to high heaven, never taking his eyes off me –

  “Ho-hum, cheer up, Little An,” says Yehonala, pausing in her walk, and prodding him playfully in the stomach. “You need some exercise, my lad. I know – where’s my cup and ball?”

  It was lying on the table beside me, a priceless little toy of solid gold stem with a jade cup, and a gold chain attaching to the ball, which was a black pearl. She was expert in its use, but Little An was a hopeless duffer, and it was a standing joke with her to make him sweat away at it, fumbling and squealing, while her ladies went into fits.

  I picked it up and handed it to her.

  Very well, I was off-guard, preoccupied with the thought of bolting for safety, and my action was purely automatic – so much so, that she had actually taken it, with a little smile at me, and it was only the horrified realisation dawning on my own face that made her stare. Without that, my blunder might have passed unnoticed, or I might have bluffed it out … but now her eyes were blazing, Little An was shrieking – and I lunged headlong for the door, slipped on a rug on the polished floor, and came down with a crash that shook the building. The Mongol was on me before I could roll away, snarling like a bear, his great hands reaching for my throat; I thumped him once, and then like a clever lad he had his knif
e-point under my chin, climbing off me nimbly and bringing me up like a hooked fish, his free hand locked in my collar. He shot a glance at Yehonala, and asked for instructions.

  “Kill him! Kill him!” squealed Little An. “He’s a spy – a barbarian spy!” A brilliant thought struck him. “Gods! He was Sang’s prisoner! He’s a spy of Sang’s! He –”

  “Put him yonder,” says Yehonala, and the Mongol thrust me down in her chair, taking his stand behind it with his knife prodding the angle of my neck and shoulder – it beats handcuffs any day.

  “Why?” yelps Little An. “Kill him now! Aiee, Orchid, why do you hesitate? He has heard all – he knows! He must die at once, before the Empress comes! Please, Orchid! Kill him – quickly!”

  She came to stand in front of me, moving without haste, and save for the black ice of her eyes there wasn’t a trace of expression on the beautiful oval face framed in the fur collar – even in that hellish moment I couldn’t help thinking what an absolute peach she was. She flicked the golden toy in her hand, and the black pearl fell into the cup with a sharp click.

  “You speak and understand Chinese?” It was a cold whisper, and since there was no point in denial, I nodded. Ignoring An, who was gibbering for my blood, she clicked the ball into its socket again, and said the last thing I’d have expected.

  “You must have nerves like steel chains. Last night … you knew what I had told Little An, but you didn’t flinch by a hair’s breadth.”

  “I’m a soldier, Empress of the Western Palace.” I was trying not to croak with terror, for I knew that if there was any hope at all, it rested on a cool, offhand bearing – try it next time a Mongol’s honing his knife on your jugular. “My name’s Colonel – Banner Chief – Flashman, and I’m chief of intelligence to Lord Elgin, whom you call the Big Barbarian –”

  “He’s a spy!” shrieks An. “He admits it! Kill him! Give the order, Orchid Lady!”

  “Why did you never speak before?” Her voice could never sound harsh, but it was fit to freeze your ears. “Why did you lie and deceive, by silence? Are you a spy?”

  “Of course he is! He said so! He –”

  “No, I was a prisoner of Prince Sang’s, taken by treachery. When you found me, I was gagged and unable to speak. By the time I was released, I had heard so much that to have admitted my knowledge would have meant certain death.” I frowned, gave my lip a gentle chew, and then looked her in the eye, speaking soft like a man striving valiantly to conceal his emotion – you know, a kind of ruptured Galahad. “I had no wish to die … not when I had found a new reason for living.”

  For a second she didn’t take the drift – and then, d’you know, she absolutely blushed, and for the only time in our acquaintance she couldn’t meet my eye.

  “He lies!” screamed Little An, God bless him. “Orchid, he has the tongue of a snake! The lying barbarian dog! Will you let him insult you, this beast? Kill him! Think what he knows! Think what he’s done!” Keep it up, Little An, thinks I, and you’ll talk me out of this yet. She met my eye again, cold as a clam.

  “You think you will live now?” She flicked her cup and ball again – and missed.

  “Why should you kill me … when I can serve you better alive? What I’ve overheard is in no way dangerous to you … or to your son; on the contrary.” I knew I mustn’t babble in panic, but maintain a calm, measured delivery, head up, jaw firm, eyes steady, bowels dissolving. “Tomorrow the British army will be in Pekin, seeking a treaty – not with Prince Sang, or Prince I, or Sushun, but as you said yourself, ‘with an Emperor acceptable to the barbarians’. Since it’s likely that the present Emperor will die, I can think of no more acceptable successor than your own son … guided by those who love him and seek the good of China. So I’ll tell Lord Elgin – and he’ll believe me. He will also see it for himself. And believe me, Empress – if you want a friend, you’ll find none better than the Big Barbarian. Except one.”

  By jove, it was manly stuff – and true, for that matter. How she was taking it, I couldn’t tell, for her face was as mask-like as ever. Little An wasn’t buying; he’d picked his line, a singularly unattractive one, and was sticking to it. The Mongol I wasn’t sure about, but he wasn’t a voting shareholder. I sat bursting with concealed funk; should I say more … ? Yehonala flicked her cup again, and this time the ball snapped home with such finality that like a fool I came out with the first thing that entered my head.

  “Of course, you’d want to stop the death warrants for Pa-hsia-li and the others. Lord Elgin would never forgive …” I stopped dead, appalled at the thought that I was voicing a threat – and an even more frightful thought occurred: suppose Parkes was dead already? Oh, Jesus what had I said? Yehonala’s reply left me in no doubt.

  “He would never forgive Prince Sang, you mean.”

  “Yes, yes!” cries An eagerly. “That is the way! Don’t listen to this liar, Orchid! Kill him and have done! He’s a spy, who’ll take every word to the Big Barbarian, lying and poisoning him against us! What do they care for China? They hate us, mutinous slaves!” He turned on her, hissing. “And he would defame you … oh, he won’t tell them just what he’s heard! He’ll invent foul slanders, abominations, mocking your honour –”

  The temptation to bellow him down with indignant denials was strong, but I knew it wouldn’t do with this icy beauty’s eye on me, and her mouth tightening as she listened. I waited until he ran out of venom, and sighed.

  “There speaks the jealous eunuch,” says I, and gave her just a hint of my wistful Flashy smile. “What can he know, Orchid Lady?”

  Those were my bolts shot, diplomatic and romantic, and if they didn’t hold … I could try shooting feet first out of the chair and diving for the door, but I rather fancied the expert at my back would be ready for that. I waited, while she clicked her infernal toy again, and then she turned abruptly away, signing Little An to follow her out of earshot. At the end of the room her ladies stood agog, twittering at this sensation. While she and An conferred, my watchdog and I fell into conversation.

  “Lift the point a little, soldier, will you?”

  “Shut up, pig.”

  Whether our friendship would have ripened, or what conclusion Yehonala and An would have reached, I can only guess, for it was at that moment that we were interrupted. One second all was still, and then there was a confused tumult from the garden, a babble of voices with a man shouting and women crying out closer at hand; distant yells and the sound of approaching hoof-beats; feet running in the house itself, and then the door was flung open and a tiny boy rushed into the room. He was the complete little mandarin, button hat and dragon robe and all, and at the sight of Yehonala he screamed with delight and raced towards her, arms out – only to stop abruptly and make a very slow, deep bow which was never completed, for she had swept him up, kissing him, crying out, and hugging him to her cheek. Then there were women in the room, three of them – a tall, bonny Manchoo girl with scared eyes, in a sable hat and cloak, and two other ladies, one of them squealing in alarm. From the fact that everyone in the room except Yehonala and my Mongol (trust him) dropped to their knees and knocked head, I knew this could only be the Empress Sakota, and the little boy, who was demanding shrilly to be let down so that he could show Yehonala his new watch with the little bell (the damnedest things stick in your memory) must be the heir to the throne, Tungchi.

  They were all crying out at once, but before any sense could be made of it there was a yell and a clang of steel from the front of the house, a stentorian voice roaring to knock the bastard down but not to kill him, and noises to suggest that this was being done, not without difficulty. Then the Empress Sakota went into hysterics, covering her ears and shrilling wildly, her ladies stood appalled and helpless until Yehonala slapped her soundly, pushing her towards her own ladies who bore her in a screaming scrimmage to the end of the room. One of Sakota’s females swooned, the other was sobbing that the Prince General was here … and booted feet were striding up the passage, the
half-open door was thrown back to the wall, and General Sang-kol-in-sen stood on the threshold.

  It had happened more quickly than it takes to tell. I doubt if a minute had elapsed since the Mongol told me to shut up – and now for a second the room was still as death, except for the subdued sobbing of the Empress, and the little prince’s shrill voice:

  “See – when I push it, it rings! It rings!” He pulled at Yehonala’s sleeve. “See, mama – it rings!”

  She had set him down, but now she picked him up again and handed him to Little An, who had turned a pale green, but took the boy and was turning away at Yehonala’s quiet word when Sang roared “Wait!” and advanced a couple of paces into the room. He was in full fig of tin belly and mailed legs, with a fur cloak hanging from his shoulders, his dragon helmet under one arm and his shaven skull gleaming like a moon. Two wiry Tartar troopers were at his back, and I think it was the sight of them that made my Mongol withdraw his knife and step clear of my chair, his hand resting on his sabre-hilt. I sat still; I’m nobody’s fool.

  Yehonala stood perfectly still in the centre of the room, facing Sang who had halted about ten feet away. His basilisk stare moved from Little An to her, and he gave her a curt nod.

  “All harmony, Yi Concubine. I have –”

  “All harmony, Lord Sang,” says she quietly, “but you forget her Imperial Highness is in the room.”

  He grunted, and ducked his head towards the distant women. “Her Imperial Highness’s pardon. My business is with his Highness the Son of the Son of Heaven. His sacred presence is required in Pekin. The Prince I commands it.”

  “His Highness is going to Jehol,” says she. “The Emperor commands it.”

  Her tone rather than the words made his face crimson, and I saw the cords of his bull neck stiffen in anger, but instead of howling, as usual, he gave a contemptuous snort.