Flashman at the Charge fp-4

by George MacDonald Fraser

  "Is it necessary, majesty? It is approved, after all, and I fear your majesty is over-tired already. Perhaps tomorrow… "

  "Let it be tonight," says the hidden chap, and his voice was dog-weary. "I am not as certain of my tomorrows as I once was. And the matter is of the first urgency. Pray proceed, Count."

  As the aide bowed I was aware of East craning to squint back at me. His face was a study and his lips silently framed the words: "Tsar? The Tsar?"

  Well, who else would they call majesty?28 I didn't know, but I was all ears and eyes now as Ignatieff bowed, and half-turned to the map behind him. That soft, metallic voice rang upwards from the library panelling.

  "Item Seven, the plan known as the expedition of the Indus. By your majesty's leave."

  I thought I must have misheard. Indus—that was in Northern India! What the devil did they have to do with that?

  "Clause the first," says Ignatieff. "That with the attention of the allied Powers, notably Great Britain, occupied in their invasion of your majesty's Crimean province, the opportunity arises to further the policy of eastward pacification and civilization in those unsettled countries beyond our eastern and southern borders. Clause the second, that the surest way of fulfilling this policy, and at the same time striking a vital blow at the enemy, is to destroy, by native rebellion aided by armed force, the British position on the Indian continent. Clause the third, that the time for armed invasion by your majesty's imperial forces is now ripe, and will be undertaken forthwith. Hence, the Indus expedition."

  I think I had stopped breathing; I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

  "Clause the fourth," says Ignatieff. "The invasion is to be made by an imperial force of thirty thousand men, of whom ten thousand will be Cossack cavalry. General Duhamel," and he bowed towards the bald chap, "your majesty's agent in Teheran, believes that it would be assisted if Persia could be provoked into war against Britain's ally, Turkey. Clause the fifth -"

  "Never mind the clauses," says Duhamel. "That advice has been withdrawn. Persia will remain neutral, but hostile to British interest—as she always has been."

  Ignatieff bowed again. "With your majesty's leave. It is so agreed, and likewise approved that the Afghan and Sikh powers should be enlisted against the British, in our invasion. They will understand—as will the natives of India—that our expedition is not one of conquest, but to overthrow the English and liberate India." He paused. "We shall thus be liberating the people who are the source of Britain's wealth. "

  He picked up a pointer and tapped the map, which was of Central Asia and Northern India. "We have considered five possible routes which the invasion might take. First, the three desert routes—Ust-Yurt-Khiva-Herat, or Raim-Bokhara, or Raim-Syr Daria-Tashkent. These, although preferred by General Khruleff'—at this the stout, whiskered fellow stirred in his seat—"have been abandoned because they run through the unsettled areas where we are still engaged in pacifying the Tajiks, Uzbeks and Khokandians, under the brigand leaders Yakub Beg and Izzat Kutebar. Although stinging reverses have been administered to these lawless bandits, and their stronghold of Ak Mechet occupied, they may still be strong enough to hinder the expedition's advance. The less fighting there is to do before we cross the Indian frontier the better."

  Ignatieff lowered his pointer on the map. "So the southern routes, beneath the Caspian, are preferred—either through Tabriz and Teheran, or by Herat. An immediate choice is not necessary. The point is that infantry and artillery may be moved with ease across the South Caspian to Herat, while the cavalry move through Persia. Once we are in Persia, the British will have warning of our attempt, but by then it will be too late – far too late. We shall proceed through Kandahar and Kabul, assisted by the hatred which the Afghans owe the British, and so – to India.

  "There are, by reliable report, twenty-five thousand British troops in India, and three hundred thousand native soldiers. These latter present no problem – once a successful invasion is launched, the majority of them will desert, or join in the rebellion which our presence will inspire. It is doubtful if, six months after we cross the Khyber, a single British soldier, civilian, or settlement will remain on the continent. It will have been liberated, and restored to its people. They will require our assistance, and armed presence, for an indefinite period, to guard against counter-invasion."

  At this I heard East mutter, "I'll bet they will." I could feel him quivering with excitement; myself, I was trying to digest the immensity of the thing. Of course, it had been a fear in India since I could remember – the Great Bear coming over the passes, but no one truly believed they'd ever have the nerve or the ability to try it. But now, here it was – simple, direct, and certain. Not the least of the coincidences of our remarkable eavesdrop was that I, who knew as much about Afghan affairs from first hand, and our weakness on the north Indian frontier, as any man living, should be one of the listeners. As I took it in, I could see it happening; yes, they could do it all right.

  "That, your majesty," Ignatieff was saying, "is an essential sketch of our purpose. We have all studied the plans in detail, as has your highness, and unless some new points have arisen from my resume, your majesty will no doubt wish to confirm the royal assent already given." He said it with deference, trying to hide his eagerness – your promoter anxious to get the official seal.

  "Thank you, Count." It was the weak voice again. "We have it clear. Gentlemen?" There was a pause. "It is a weighty matter. No such attempt has ever been made before. But we are confident—are we not?"

  Khruleff nodded slowly. "It has always been possible. Now it is a certainty. In a stroke, we clear the British from India, and extend your majesty's imperial … influence from the North Cape to the isle of Ceylon. No Tsar in history has achieved such an advance for our country. The troops are ample, the planning exact, the conditions ideal. The pick of Britain's army, and of her navy, are diverted in the Crimea, and it is certain that no assistance could be rendered in India within a year. By then—we shall have supplanted England in southern Asia. "29

  "And it can begin without delay?" says the Tsar's voice.

  "Immediately, majesty. By the southern route, we can be at the Khyber, with every man, gun, and item of equipment, seven months from this night." Ignatieff was almost striking an attitude, his tawny head thrown back, one hand on the table. They waited, silently, and I heard the Tsar sigh.

  "So be it, then. Forgive us, gentlemen, for desiring to hear it in summary again, but it is a matter for second, and third thoughts, even after the resolve has been given." He coughed, wearily. "All is approved, then—and the other items, with the exception of—yes, Item Ten. It can be referred to Omsk for further study. You have our leave, gentlemen."

  At this there was a scrape of chairs, and East was kicking at me, and jabbing a finger at the door behind us. I'd been so spellbound by our enormous discovery, I'd almost forgotten where we were but, by gad, it was time we were no longer here. I edged back to the door, East crowding behind me, and then we heard Ignatieff s voice again.

  "Majesty, with permission. In connection with Item Seven—the Indian expedition—mention was made of possible diversionary schemes, to prevent by all means any premature discovery of our intentions. I mentioned, but did not elaborate, a plan for possibly deluding the enemy with a false scent."

  At this we stopped, crouched by the door. He went on:

  "Plans have been prepared, but in no considerable detail, for a spurious expedition through your Alaskan province, aimed at the British North American possessions. It was thought that if these could be brought to the attention of the British Government, in a suitably accidental manner, they would divert the enemy's attention from the eastern theatre entirely."

  "I don't like it," says Khruleff's voice. "I have seen the plan, majesty; it is over-elaborate and unnecessary."

  "There are," says Ignatieff, quite unabashed, "two British officers, at present confined in this house—prisoners from the Crimea whom I had brought here expressly fo
r the purpose. It should not be beyond our wits to ensure that they discovered the false North American plan; thereafter they would obviously attempt to escape, to warn their government of it."

  "And then?" says Duhamel.

  "They would succeed, of course. It is no distance to the Crimea—it would be arranged without their suspecting they were mere tools of our purpose. And their government would at least be distracted."

  "Too clever," says Khruleff. "Playing at spies."

  "With submission, majesty," says Ignatieff, "there would be no difficulty. I have selected these two men with care—they are ideal for our purpose. One is an agent of intelligence, taken at Silistria—a clever, dangerous fellow. Show him the hint of a design against his country, and he would fasten on it like a hawk. The other is a very different sort—a great, coarse bully of a man, all brawn and little brain; he has spent his time here lechering after every female he could find." I felt East stiffen beside me, as we listened to this infernal impudence. "But he would be necessary—for even if we permitted, and assisted their escape here, and saw that they reached the Crimea in safety they would still have to rejoin their army at Sevastopol, and we could hardly issue orders to our forces in Crimea to let them pass through. This second fellow is the kind of resourceful villain who would find a way."

  There was a silence, and then Duhamel says: "I must agree with Khruleff, majesty. It is not necessary, and might even be dangerous. The British are not fools; they smell a rat as soon as anyone. These false plans, these clever stratagems – they can excite suspicion and recoil on the plotter. Our Indus scheme is soundly based; it needs no pretty folly of this kind."

  "So." The Tsar's voice was a hoarse murmur. "The opinion is against you, Count. Let your British officers sleep undisturbed. But we thank you for your zeal in the matter, even so. And now, gentlemen, we have worked long enough –"

  East was bundling me on to the dark landing before the voice had finished speaking. We closed the door gently, and tip-toed across towards our passage even as we heard the library doors opening down in the hall. I peeped round the corner; the Cossack was snoring away again, and we scuttled silently past him and into East's room. I sank down, shaking, on to his bed, while he fumbled at the candle, muttering furiously till he got it lit. His face was as white as a sheet – but he remembered to muffle the mouth of the hidden speaking-tube with his pillow.

  "My God, Flashman," says he, when he had got his wind back. We were staring helplessly at each other. "What are we to do?"

  "What can we do?" says I.

  "We did hear aright – didn't we?" says he. "They're going for India – while our back's turned? A Russian army over the Khyber – a rebellion! Good God – is the thing possible?"

  I thought of '42, and the Afghans – and what they could do with a Russian army to help them. "Aye," says I. "It's possible all right."

  "I knew we were right to watch and listen!" cries he. "I knew it! But I never dreamed—this is the most appalling thing!" He slapped his hands and paced about. "Look—we've got to do something! We've got to get away—somehow! They must have news of this at Sevastopol. Raglan's there; he's the commander—if we could get this to him, and London, there'd be time—to try to prepare, at least. Send troops out—increase the north-west garrisons—perhaps even an expedition into Persia, or Afghanistan -"

  "There isn't time," says I. "You heard them—seven months from tonight they'll be on the edge of the Punjab with thirty thousand men, and God knows how many Afghans ready to join in for a slap at us and the loot of India. It would take a month to get word to England, twice as long again to assemble an army—if that's possible, which I doubt—and then it's four months to India -"

  "But that's in time just in time!" cries he. "If only we can get away—at once!"

  "Well, we can't," says I. "The thing's not possible."

  "We've got to make it possible!" says he, feverishly. "Look—look at this, will you?" And he snatched a book from his bureau: it was some kind of geography or guide, in Russian script—that hideous lettering that always made me think of black magic recipes for conjuring the Devil. "See here; this map. Now, I've pieced this together over the past few months, just by listening and using my wits, and I've a fair notion where we are, although Starotorsk ain't shown on this map; too small. But I reckon we're about here, in this empty space—perhaps fifty miles from Ekaterinoslav, and thirty from Alexandrovsk, see? It startled me, I tell you; I'd thought we were miles farther inland."

  "So did I," says I. "You're sure you're right?—they must have brought me a hell of a long way round, then."

  "Of course—that's their way! They'll never do anything straight, I tell you. Confuse, disturb, upset—that's their book of common prayer! But don't you see—we're not much above a hundred miles from the north end of the Crimea—maybe only a couple of hundred from Raglan at Sevastopol!"

  "With a couple of Russian armies in between," I pointed out. "Anyway, how could we get away from here?"

  "Steal a sled at night—horses. If we went fast enough, we could get changes at the post stations on the way, as long as we kept ahead of pursuit. Don't you see, man—it must be possible!" His eyes were shining fiercely. "Ignatieff was planning for us to do this very thing! My God, why did they turn him down! Think of it—if he had had his way, they'd be helping us to escape with their bogus information, never dreaming we had the real plans! Of all the cursed luck!"

  "Well, they did turn him down," says I. "And it's no go. You talk of stealing a sled—how far d'you think we'd get, with Pencherjevsky's Cossacks on our tail? You can't hide sleigh-tracks, you know—not on land as flat as your hat. Even if you could, they know exactly where we'd go—there's only one route"—and I pointed at his map—"through the neck of the Crimean peninsula at—what's it called? Armyansk. They'd overhaul us long before we got there."

  "No, they wouldn't," says he, grinning—the same sly, fag grin of fifteen years ago. "Because we won't go that way. There's another road to the Crimea—I got it from this book, but they'd never dream we knew of it. Look, now, old Flashy friend, and learn the advantages of studying geography. See how the Crimean peninsula is joined to mainland Russia—just a narrow isthmus, eh? Now look east a little way along the coast—what d'ye see?"

  "A town called Yenitchi, " says I. "But if you're thinking of pinching a boat, you're mad -"

  "Boat nothing," says he. "What d'ye see in the sea, south of Yenitchi?"

  "A streak of fly-dung," says I, impatiently. "Now, Scud -"

  "That's what it looks like," says he triumphantly. "But it ain't. That, my boy, is the Arrow of Arabat—a causeway, not more than half a mile across, without even a road on it, that runs from Yenitchi a clear sixty miles through the sea of Azov to Arabat in the Crimea—and from there it's a bare hundred miles across to Sevastopol! Don't you see, man? No one ever uses it, according to this book, except a few dromedary caravans in summer. Why, the Russians hardly know it exists, even! All we need is one night of snow, here, to cover our traces, and while they're chasing us towards the isthmus, we're tearing down to Yenitchi, along the causeway to Arabat, and then westward ho to Sevastopol -"

  "Through the bloody Russian army!" cries I.

  "Through whoever you please! Can't you see—no one will be looking for us there! They've no telegraph, anyway, in this benighted country—we both speak enough Russian to pass! Heavens, we speak it better than most moujiks, I'll swear. It's the way, Flashman—the only way!"

  I didn't like this one bit. Don't misunderstand me—I'm as true-blue a Briton as the next man, and I'm not unwilling to serve the old place in return for my pay, provided it don't entail too much discomfort or expense. But I draw the line where my hide is concerned—among the many things I'm not prepared to do for my country is die, especially at the end of a rope trailing from a Cossack's saddle, or with his lance up my innards. The thought of abandoning this snug retreat, where I was feeding full, drinking well, and rogering my captivity happily away, and going careering off
through the snow-fast Russian wilderness, with those devils howling after me—and all so that we could report this crazy scheme to Raglan! It was mad. Anyway, what did I care for India? I'd sooner we had it than the Russians, of course, and if the intelligence could have been conveyed safely to Raglan (who'd have promptly forgotten it, or sent an army to Greenland by mistake, like as not) I'd have done it like a shot. But I draw the line at risks that aren't necessary to my own well-being. That's why I'm eighty years old today, while Scud East has been mouldering underground at Cawnpore this forty-odd years.

  But I couldn't say this to him, of course. So I looked profound, and anxious, and shook my head. "Can't be done, Scud. Look now; you don't know much about this Arrow causeway, except what's in that book. Who's to say it's open in winter—or that it's still there? Might have been washed away. Who knows what guards they may have at either end? How do we get through the Crimea to Sevastopol? I've done a bit of travelling in disguise, you know, in Afghanistan and Germany … and, oh, lots of places, and it's a sight harder than you'd think. And in Russia—where everyone has to show his damned ticket every few miles—we'd never manage it. But"—I stilled his protest with a stern finger—"I'd chance that, of course, if it wasn't an absolute certainty that we'd be nabbed before we'd got halfway to this Yenitchi place. Even if we got clear away from here—which would be next to impossible—they would ride us down in few hours. It's hopeless, you see."

  "I know that!" he cried. "I can count, too! But I tell you we've got to try! It's a chance in a million that we've found out this infernal piece of Russian treachery! We must try to use it, to warn Raglan and the people at home! What have we got to lose, except our lives?"