Flashman and the Cobra

by Robert Brightwell

  I hauled myself back onto the bed, exhausted, and tried to pull her after me for a lingering post-coital fondle, but she slipped away. A moment later I heard the door close and she was gone. I was left with nothing more than an appealing flowery scent on my body and the bed to prove that she had been there at all. There is nothing like a good rattle to pick up your spirits, and as I dropped off to sleep again I was thinking that staying with Skinner might not be so bad after all.

  To this day I do not know which of Skinner’s lovely harem it was. I watched them closely for some secret smile or favour the next day, but they all looked as cool as bedamned, often with a knowing smirk in my direction. Skinner looked pleased with himself too, which was not surprising with those girls at his beck and call. He grinned when he saw me and I am not even certain that my nocturnal visitor was one of his harem and not some native nautch dancer he had arranged on my behalf. But I did not get time to ponder that as a steady stream of visitors arrived with news that was all bad for Skinner, but more mixed for me.

  Morale in the army, particularly among the officers, was very low. Scindia’s chief minister was his father-in-law who used his daughter and other concubines to distract the prince with as much debauchery as he could. With Scindia out of the way the minister could run the country as he liked. Oh, it was a tough life being a prince in those days and it is amazing Scindia lasted until he was forty-eight. The father-in-law was a cunning weasel who had got rid of most his rivals back in ’97 when there had been a rebellion against the new ruler. He took the chance to have most of Old Patiel’s ministers rounded up and executed. Two were blown from the mouths of cannons, three had their heads crushed with tent mallets, two were poisoned and one lucky soul was blown apart by rockets, a means of execution that the father-in-law devised especially for the occasion. Since then, apart from the few times his son-in-law staggered, exhausted, from the boudoir for a rest, he had been ruling the roost. As a consequence, things were going to hell in the region. Most of the surviving men of consequence from Old Patiel’s days had wisely taken themselves off out of sight, so the only counsel the prince got was from his father-in-law.

  Meanwhile, in the army de Boigne’s successor, General Perron, was inadvertently going about destroying the army. While de Boigne had promoted on merit, Perron, who spoke poor English, showed great favouritism for French officers above all others. This caused huge resentment amongst both native officers and those of other nationalities, including the British. I found this out as various officers came to complain to Skinner over the next few days. With his mixed parentage, Skinner was seen as part of the British contingent, although I think he saw himself as Indian. He certainly had no qualms then about fighting the British if necessary; he had taken an oath to serve the Scindia family and that he would do. Skinner introduced me to the various visiting officers as Teddy Carstairs and they all greeted me warmly and showed no suspicion that I was someone else.

  I quickly realised that Skinner was highly revered in the Mahratta army, and if he said I was a loyal new recruit, no one was going to question it. A lot of the ‘British’ contingent of officers were born in India, usually of mixed parentage like Skinner. They often asked me what life was like in Britain, and most did not seem alarmed at the prospect of fighting the ‘old country’. Two did, though: a Captain Stewart, who had been born in India, and a Captain Carnegie, who had been born in Scotland and had come to India to seek his fortune. They were not comfortable at all with the thought of fighting British soldiers and sought out my views. Of course, I had no intention of fighting the British army either, but I could not attract attention by leading a revolt and so I assured them that I thought the situation would be resolved by negotiation and that there was little to worry about.

  I am bound to report that these two honourable men did resign their commissions when war came. Perron used this as an excuse to dismiss the entire British contingent including Skinner, which explains how Skinner later found himself leading his horse regiment for the British, although he always refused to fight against Scindia. But all that is later in my tale.

  One of the more interesting visitors we had in those first few weeks in Meerut was James’s brother Robert. He came down from Sardhana, the begum of Samru’s province, which was about three days’ ride away. He had set off as soon as he heard that his brother was back to hear news about their sisters and father. The begum had given him ten days’ leave and so he was only able to stay for four days with the journey time, but it was fascinating hearing them talk about their childhood. Their father had loved his wife but had wanted the best for his children and that included an education. The loss of their mother when their sisters went to school had been a terrible blow for all of them. Having had schooling, they now appreciated why their father had felt it so important, but it had forced them to become more westernised. “Mother was a Rajput princess,” explained Robert. “She had grown up knowing just one culture. She could not bend and adapt as she learned about western ways. She needed to be flexible to get the best of both worlds.”

  “You mean like the begum?” asked James Skinner, laughing. “I don’t think anybody else could be that flexible.”

  “What is the begum like?” I asked Robert. “I have heard stories about her, but you must know her well as you work for her.”

  “Nobody really knows the begum of Samru,” said Robert. “She makes herself a different person for different people; she even uses different names. For the Mahrattas, her soldiers and the Mughal court she is Begum Samru. Begum is a Muslim title meaning lady, and Samru is derived from her first husband’s name of Sombre. It reminds them that she and her first husband are accomplished warlords and that she has helped them win many battles. For Hindus living in Sardhana and elsewhere she is Farzana or Zebunissa, an impoverished nautch dancer made good and either from Kashmir or from a Mughal family. Some say she is the daughter of a Hindu dancer or sold as a slave, take your pick.”

  “But is she a Hindu or Muslim now?” I asked.

  “I have seen her do rights for both faiths,” replied Robert with a grin. “But it does not stop there. She was baptised as a Roman Catholic twenty-five years ago, and when she is with Christians she uses the name Joanna Noblis. She truly is all things to all men, which makes it impossible to guess her real mind.”

  “Well, that is certainly being flexible,” I said, starting to understand how this woman had survived among the warlords. “Where does she stand if there is a war between the Mahratta and the British?”

  “Oh, her army will fight for who can pay her the most for their services,” says Robert. “That will be Scindia, as Holkar cannot afford to pay for armies. He has to rely on banditry that fights for loot. She is raising another regiment now to have as many troops as possible to sell, but those recruits will never be ready to fight in time.”

  “So she serves Scindia then?” I asked.

  “She writes to both Scindia and Holkar and various other warlords besides. I think that both Holkar and Scindia are very wary of her. She has been involved in intrigues for much longer than them. She is fifty now and has been ruling on her own for over twenty years. Her power comes as much from what she knows and her influence with other warlords as from her formidable army. You can bet your last coin that she has plans for all eventualities.”

  There followed a debate on the readiness of various regiments which I will not bore you with. In fact, I will speed over the rest of my stay in Meerut, which lasted nearly three months. I was given a smart uniform of a yellow coat and red sash and a tulwar sword, but this was just for form’s sake. The tulwar swords were strange; at first I thought mine had a child’s grip as there was only room for three fingers within the guard, but they showed me that you held the forefinger wrapped around the guard for a better hold. They were razor-sharp too. James Skinner explained that most were made from better-quality Damascus steel than the Sheffield steel used by the British. While the metal was softer than the British weapons, they could be groun
d to a much finer edge, and as they did not keep hauling the blades through the throats of their scabbards in salutes, they stayed sharp. Some officers swore that their blades must taste blood every time they were unsheathed. Obviously I did not have that rule, but I can confirm that if you test the edge of your tulwar with your thumb as you would a British sword, you end up with a cut thumb.

  I was not required to do any actual soldiering. From what I could see, though, Scindia’s army was a formidable force. There were parks of artillery, which when they fired a salute on one occasion seemed very well served as they reloaded and trained the pieces quickly. The infantry marched well and could fire volleys; they seemed slightly slower to reload than British infantry, but it was hard to be sure as I had not timed either with my watch.

  Sadly none of Skinner’s harem troubled me again after that first night, which was a frustrating disappointment as I was staying in the same bungalow as those beauties. I still remembered the scent that my night-time visitor wore, but frustratingly all three of them seemed to use it. Skinner once caught me inhaling it as one of the dusky maidens served me food.

  “Carstairs, are you smelling my wife?” he asked in a voice of mock outrage.

  “I am just getting a whiff of a most enchanting scent,” I replied. I could not afford to offend Skinner, as without his help I was lost, but I could not resist a tweak at whichever of his harem had visited. As they were all present I added, “I have smelt it before around the house and it will always remind me of the exceptional hospitality you and your ladies have provided.”

  “Well, if it will stop you sniffing at my women, I will get you a bottle,” said Skinner with a wry grin.

  But he must have wondered about the wisdom of keeping a horny Flashy under the same roof as his little ménage, and two days later he led me down the road to a smaller bungalow in the officers’ quarters. “I thought it was time you had some space of your own. We are likely to be here some months yet. Will this serve?”

  It was a very pleasant little place, not as nice as my bungalow in Madras, but some of the best officers’ quarters in a garrison I have ever had, and it was about to get better.

  Skinner rang a bell and into the room walked a beautiful young woman in a red sari. The wanton look in her eye as she appraised me completely outweighed the other demure aspects of her appearance. “This is Fatimah, your new housekeeper,” Skinner announced with a grin. “She cannot cook, clean or manage a household, but you may be able to find a use for her.” And with that he left us to get acquainted.

  Chapter 16

  Skinner was wrong about us having months to wait in Meerut; well, he was wrong for me anyway. While the events that followed were terrifying at the time, looking back I think that they might have kept me alive. Fatimah made Mrs Freese look frigid. I am pretty sure I lost a stone in weight purely through fornication in my six weeks in her company. Whereas Mrs Freese had only studied the wall carvings once, this beauty had been brought up with them and countless other material besides. It was the first time I had heard of a Hindu text called the Kama Sutra, which is all about sensual pleasure. It is in Sanskrit and so I could not read it, but apparently it has one thousand, two hundred and fifty verses. My lovely Fatimah must have studied it to a level where she could have lectured on it at Cambridge, and boy wouldn’t she have packed the lecture halls.

  That I was not a dry, desiccated shadow of my former self towards the end of March was some kind of miracle. When Skinner asked me to accompany him on a trip to a place called Oojeine, I welcomed the opportunity to recover my strength and did not enquire as to the purpose until I joined him outside the garrison stables. I was surprised to find nearly a hundred other men from Meerut also waiting to set off. Looking around, I saw that all the European and native officers from all the regiments were present together with virtually all the non-commissioned officers from corporal or jemadar upwards. Like me they were all in uniform and most had a brace of pistols tucked into their belts as well as their swords. Skinner appeared and, mounting his horse, he gestured for me, as the commander of his bodyguard, to ride alongside.

  “What is happening?” I asked him.

  “Scindia and his father-in-law are planning to kill General Perron and his European staff at a meeting they are having in a place called Oojeine. But all of his officers, corporals and sergeants are going there to make sure this doesn’t happen,” he replied calmly.

  “You mean I am going to be in the same place as Scindia, the man who wants my, I mean my friend Flashman’s head?” I whispered hoarsely at him so that we could not be overheard.

  “Don’t worry, there will be over three hundred officers and men by the time they have been gathered from all the regiments. You will be lost in the crowd, and if you stayed behind you would have aroused suspicion. Scindia has spies in all the army camps. Anyway,” he grinned, “you look like you could do with a rest from Fatimah. Now you understand how Scindia’s father-in-law can distract him from government.”

  “Why do they want Perron dead just before they are about to go to war?”

  “Probably because the father-in-law wants the army under his control to help him consolidate power. Palace politics is a dirty business.” He looked over his shoulder to check that the rest of the company were following in good order. “Perron has been out of favour for a while in court; there is no trust between him and Scindia. Recently they summoned him for a meeting and then kept him waiting for hours while they flew kites of all things. Now he has been summoned to a council meeting, but someone has tipped him off that Scindia has hired five hundred Pathan warriors to kill those who attend.”

  “Five hundred to kill just one man?”

  “All of the European officers have been invited to the meeting, including you and me. They plan to kill us all and then leave one of their men in command of the other Indian officers.”

  So while I was thinking I was safe and busy rogering myself away to exhaustion, others were plotting to kill me and around thirty other Europeans or half-Europeans in the army. It made no sense as these were among the most experienced officers they had and all would be needed if it came to war.

  “Do we have enough to fight off five hundred Pathans?”

  “Look around us: everyone will sell their lives dearly. But I doubt it will come to that. Scindia is not stupid enough to kill all his officers and non-commissioned officers just before a war.”

  Killing any of his officers just before a war seemed daft to me as it would destroy the morale of the army, but as we rode our band increased with the men from other regiments and so did my confidence. Unsurprisingly Scindia was not popular amongst his men, at least this group of them, and they were all sure that it would not come to a fight.

  The council meeting, or durbar as they called it, was held outside the town. They would normally be held in a palace or large tents, but because of the numbers involved this time it was out in the open. Despite my apprehension I wanted a glimpse of the man who had been so keen to arrange my death, although I made a point of staying amongst a crowd of tall junior officers as we approached. A long, expensive carpet had been laid out on the grass. At one end of it under a richly embroidered canopy was a throne in the centre of a row of chairs for other dignitaries. Sitting on the grass down the far side of the carpet were five hundred of the most evil-looking villains I had ever seen, who were scowling malignantly at us as we approached. Skinner went to sit with leaders down at the front while many of our party started ostentatiously loosening swords in scabbards and checking the priming in pistols as they sat down. Your correspondent was searching around for likely escape routes if fighting erupted while sitting himself in the middle of the thickest group of soldiers.

  It took five minutes for everyone to settle down. Suddenly a crowd of richly dressed people appeared from behind the throne and started to take their seats. The man I took to be Scindia, dressed in extravagant silks and cloth of gold, sat down in the central throne. Next to him sat what appeared to be
a clean-shaven dwarf with a turban and plainer robes. On his other side sat an older man who seemed to be continuing a heated argument with Scindia as they took their places. The man next to me told me that this was Surjee Rao, the father-in-law. I was starting to get very uneasy as from the body language it seemed that the father-in-law was urging restraint, and losing the argument. Scindia was looking petulant and angry. He waved the old man aside and glared imperiously in our direction.

  “General Perron,” Scindia barked, “I believe I commanded just you and your European officers to attend this durbar.” I heard the words clearly, and if I missed any of the Hindi I could hear the translator turning the words into French for the general.

  The general rose slowly from a chair that had originally been set for him nearest the Pathans and which some of his officers had moved closer to the centre of our group. “I brought my entourage in accordance with the custom agreed by myself and your great uncle.” He spoke clearly and without a hint of fear.

  Heated whispered debate resumed between Scindia and his father-in-law but suddenly the dwarf spoke. “You fool, they will kill us all if you do.” The voice was sharp and while the face had a prominent nose that could have been a man’s the voice was undoubtedly that of a woman.