The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection

by George MacDonald Fraser

  “I am a father, too, you see,” says he, pacing up and down. “I understand what it must mean to a man, when his loved ones are torn from him, and used as hostages against him. Who knows? I, too, might have acted as you did. I trust I should have behaved as bravely when the time came.”

  Silly bastard, I thought, that’s all you know. I asked him what had happened to Rudi, and he said he didn’t know. They had seen him vanish through a side door in the outer cell, and had given chase, but had lost him in the castle. Presumably he knew its bolt-holes, and had got away. I didn’t care for the sound of this, but it was long odds I wouldn’t run into him again, anyway. I wasn’t planning on lingering—just long enough for the notion that was beginning to form in my mind.

  Then one of the peasants returned with a horse, and a cloak for me. I asked a few directions of Grundvig, accepted a flask and a pouch of bread and cheese, and swung into the saddle. Just the feel of the horse moving under me was heartening; I could hardly wait to be away from that beastly place and everything in it.

  Grundvig didn’t shake hands, but he waved solemnly, and then I turned the horse’s head, touched her with my heel, and clattered away across the bridge, out of the lives of Carl Gustaf, the Sons of the Volsungs, Old Uncle Tom Cobley, and all. I took the Strackenz City road, and never looked back at the cold pile of Jotunberg. I hope they all caught pneumonia.

  Chapter 9

  You would think, no doubt, that after what I had gone through, I would have no thought but to get out of Strackenz and Germany as fast as a clean pair of heels could take me. Looking back, I wonder that I had any other notion, but the truth is that I did. It’s a queer thing; while I’m the sorriest coward in moments of danger, there is no doubt that escape produces an exhilaration in me. Perhaps it is simple reaction; perhaps I become light-headed; perhaps it is that in my many aftermaths I have usually had the opportunity of some strong drink—as I had now—and that all three combine to produce a spirit of folly. God knows it isn’t courage, but I wish I had a guinea for every time I’ve come through some hellish crisis, babbling thankfully to be still alive—and then committed some idiocy which I wouldn’t dare to contemplate in a rational moment.

  And in this case I was angry, too. To be harried and bullied and exposed to awful danger—and then just cut adrift with hardly a thank-you-damn-your-eyes from a man who, but for me, would have been feeding the fishes—God, I found myself hating that shilly-shally Carl Gustaf, and that sour-faced old turd Sapten—aye, and that mealy Grundvig, with his pious maundering. I’d pay them out, by gum, would I. And it would be poetic justice, too, in a way—Bismarck had promised me a grand reward; well, I’d come out of Strackenz with something for my pains.

  And, of course, it was really safe enough. There was hardly any risk at all, for I had a certain start of several hours, and I’d know how to cover my tracks. By God, I’d show them; they’d learn that a little gratitude would have been starvation cheap. I could do their dirty work for them, and then I could just piss off, could I? They’d learn to think a little more of Harry Flashman than that, the mean bastards.

  So I reasoned, in my logical way. But the main thing was, I was sure there was no danger in what I intended. And what is there, I ask you, that a man will not dare, so long as he has a fast horse and a clear road out of town?

  The night sky was just beginning to lighten when I came to Strackenz city, with the dawn wind rustling the trees along the landstrasse. The suburbs were quiet as I cantered through, my hooves ringing on the cobbles; I skirted the old city to come to the ducal palace, where two sleepy sentries stared open-mouthed at me through the railings.

  “Oeffnen!” says I, and while one tried to present arms and dropped his musket, the other made haste to swing open the gates. I clattered through, leaving them to marvel at the sight of their new prince, whose absence must have been the talk of the duchy, arriving unkempt and unshaven at this hour of the day.

  There were more guards at the door, to whom I gave sharp orders to have a strong horse saddled and ready for me within ten minutes. I issued further instructions that no one was on any account to be allowed to leave the palace, nor was anyone to be admitted without reference to me. They saluted and stamped and fell over themselves in their hurry to obey; one flung open the doors for me, and I strode masterfully into the hall—this was going to be easy, thinks I.

  A sleepy major-domo or night porter came starting out of the chair where he had been dozing; he cried out at the sight of me, and would have roused the place, but I hushed him with a word.

  “Send someone to the kitchen,” says I. “Get them to put together such cold foods as will go into a saddle-bag, and bring it here. Also some wine and a flask of spirits. Oh, and some money—bring a purse. Now, go.”

  “Your highness is riding out again?” quavers he.

  “Yes,” I snapped. “Beeilen sie sich.”

  “But, highness … I have instructions … her highness the duchess must be informed.”

  “The duchess? She’s here? Not at Strelhow?”

  “No, indeed, sir. She returned last night, after … after you were not to be found.” His eyes were round with fright. “There has been terrible concern, highness. Orders have been issued that if word came about you, her highness was to know at once.”

  I hadn’t counted on this; she ought to have been at Strelhow still, damn her. It complicated matters—or did it? I stood thinking quickly, while the major-domo hopped from one foot to the other, and made up my mind.

  “Well, I’ll tell her myself,” says I. “Now, my good fellow, do exactly as I have told you—and the less said about my return the better—understand?”

  I left him chattering obedience, and went up the great staircase four at a time, and strode along to the duchess’s apartments. There were the usual yellow-jacketed sentries at her door, stiffening to attention at the sight of me, and rolling their eyes in astonishment—wouldn’t have done for the 11th Hussars, I’ll tell you. I thumped on the panels, and after a moment a feminine voice called out sleepily: “Wer klopft?”

  “Carl Gustaf,” says I, and to the sentries: “Let no one pass.”

  There was a feminine squeaking from within, and the door opened on the pert little red-haired lady-in-waiting whom Rudi had fancied; she was staring in astonishment with one eye and rubbing the sleep out of the other—a very pretty picture of disarray, with one tit peeping out of her night-dress. It’s as well I’m leaving Strackenz, thinks I, for I wouldn’t have been a faithful husband for long.

  “Where’s your mistress?” says I, and at that moment the inner door opened, and Irma appeared, a gown pulled hastily round her shoulders.

  “What is it, Helga? Who was knock—”, and then at the sight of me she gave a little scream, swayed for a moment, and then flung herself forward into my arms. “Carl! Oh, Carl! Carl!”

  Oh, well, I might have been faithful for a while, anyway; the feel of that warm young body against mine was like an electric shock, and it was no pretence when I hugged her to me and returned the kisses that she rained on my lips and cheeks.

  “Oh, Carl!” She stared up at me, tears on her lovely face. “Oh, my dear, what has happened to your head?”

  For a moment I didn’t understand; then I remembered. My fine bald poll hadn’t had the razor over it for two or three days now, and I was sporting a fine black bristle, like an old brush. Trust a woman to hit on the least important thing!

  “Nothing, my dear darling,” says I, and smothered her lovingly. “All’s well, now that I have you again.”

  “But what has happened? Where have you been? I was mad with anxiety—” She gave a little scream. “You are wounded! Your arm—”

  “There, there, sweeting,” says I, giving her another squeeze for luck. “Set your fears at rest. It’s a scratch, nothing more.” I turned her round, murmuring endearments, and led her into her own bedchamber, away from the delighted and curious gaze of young Helga. I shut the door, and at once her questions
broke out afresh. I hushed her and sat down on the edge of the bed—it would have been splendid to curl up with her, but there wasn’t time.

  “There has been a rebellion—a plot, rather, against the duchy. Your throne, our lives, were threatened.” I cut short her cry of dismay. “It is all over—nearly over, at any rate. There is a little still to do, but thanks to the loyalty of certain of your subjects—our subjects—the worst is passed, and there is no more to fear.”

  “But … but I don’t understand,” she began, and then that beautiful face hardened. “Who was it? Those agitators—those creatures of the gutter! I knew it!”

  “Now, now,” says I soothingly, “calm yourself. It is all past; Strackenz is safe—and most of all, you are safe, my sweet.” And I wrapped her up again, most enjoyably.

  She began to tremble, and then to sob. “Oh, Carl, oh, thank God! You have really come back! Oh, my dear, I have been ready to die! I thought … I thought you were …”

  “Ah, well, you see, I wasn’t. There, there. Now dry your eyes, my darling, and listen.” She blinked at me, dabbing at her eyelashes—God, she was a beauty, in her flimsy night-rail—they seemed to be wearing them very low in Strackenz that winter, and I was beginning to come all over of a heat, what with her nearness and the scent of her hair, and the troubled adoration in her lovely eyes.

  “It is quite crushed, this—this plot,” says I. “No, hear me out—I shall explain everything in time, but for the moment you must trust me, and do precisely as I say. It is done—finished—safe, all but for a few details, which require my attention …”

  “Details? What details?”

  “There’s no time now. I must be away again.” She cried out at this. “It is only for a moment, darling—a few hours, and I shall be with you, and we’ll never be parted again—never.”

  She started to weep again, clinging to me, refusing to let me go, protesting that I would be going into danger, and all the rest of it. I tried to comfort her, and then the baggage opened her mouth on mine, and pushed her hand between my thighs, murmuring to me to stay.

  By gum, it agitated me; I wondered if I had time? No, by God, I daren’t—I had lost precious minutes already. She was stroking away, and my head was swimming with her, but I just put lust second to common sense for once, and forced her gently away.

  “You must stay here,” says I firmly. “With a strong guard on the palace and on your room itself. Oh, darling, believe me, it is vital! I would not go, but I must—and you must remember that you are a duchess, and the protector of your people—and, and all that. Now will you trust me, and believe me that I do this for the safety of Strackenz and my own darling?”

  These royal wenches are made of stern stuff, of course; tell ’em it’s for their country’s sake and they become all proudly dutiful and think they’re Joan of Arc. I gave her some more patriotism mixed with loving slush, and at last she agreed to do what she was told. I swore I’d be back in an hour or two, and hinted that we would stay in bed for a week, and at this she flung herself on me again.

  “Oh, my darling!” says she, wriggling against me. “How can I let you go?”

  “Just for a bit,” says I. “And then—ah, but I can’t stop now.” She was getting me into a fever. “No, I promise I shall take care. I won’t get hurt—and if I do, there’ll be another chap along shortly—that is, no … I mean … I shall return, my darling.” I gave her one last tremendous hug, and left her stretching out her arms to me. It was quite touching, really—she loved me, you know, and if I hadn’t been in such a damned hurry I’d have been quite sorry to leave her.

  Next door Mistress Helga had restored herself to decency, but from the flush on her cheeks I suspected she’d been listening at the door. I instructed her sternly to look after her mistress and to see that she kept to her room; then I stepped out into the passage. The sentries were stiff as ramrods; I repeated my orders that no one was to pass, either way, and set off for the clock tower.

  It wasn’t difficult to find, up another flight of the main stairs—there were two more sentries at the top, whom I sent to join Irma’s guard—and then up a spiral stairway and along a short passage to a wrought-iron gateway. Just before the gate there was a little guard-room, where I found an ensign and two sentries; the men were playing cards and the ensign was lounging in a chair, but at sight of me they were on their feet in an instant, goggling and fumbling with buttons. I lost no time.

  “Fahnrich,” says I, “there has been an attempt at a coup d’état. The duchess’s life has been threatened.”

  They stared at me aghast.

  “No time to tell you more,” I went on briskly. “The situation is in hand, but I have to leave the palace at once in order to take charge at the scene of the outbreak. You understand? Now, then, what’s your name?”

  “W-w-wessel, please your highness,” he stammered.

  “Very good, Fahnrich Wessel. Now, attend to me. For the safety of the duchess, I have already mounted a guard on her apartments. You, with your men here, will proceed there at once, and you will take command. You will permit no one—no one, you understand—to pass into her highness’s apartment until I return. Is that clear?”

  “Why—why, yes, your highness. But our post here—the crown jewels …”

  “There is a jewel, infinitely more precious to us all, to be guarded,” says I portentously. “Now, take your men and go quickly.”

  “Of course, highness … on the instant.” He hesitated. “But, pardon, highness—it is the first order of the palace guard that never shall the jewels be left unwatched. These are explicit instructions …”

  “Fahnrich Wessel,” says I, “do you wish to be a lieutenant some day? Or would you prefer to be a private? I know the sacred value of the regalia as well as you, but there are times when even jewels are unimportant.” (I couldn’t think of one, offhand, but it sounded well.) “So, off with you. I take full responsibility. Indeed, I’ll do better. Give me the keys, and I shall carry them myself.”

  That settled it. He clicked his heels, squeaked at his men, and sent them off at the double. He took the keys from his own belt, and passed them to me as though they were red-hot; then he gathered up his sabre and cap and was off, but I called him back.

  “Wessel,” says I, in a softer voice. “You are not married?”

  “No, highness.”

  “But you are perhaps a lover?”

  He went pink. “Highness, I …”

  “You understand, I think.” I frowned and forced a smile together—one of those grimaces of the strong man moved—and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Take care of her for me, won’t you?”

  He was one of those very young, intense creatures of the kind you see addressing heaven in the background of pictures showing Napoleon crossing the Alps in dancing pumps; he went red with emotion.40

  “With my life, highness,” says he, gulping, and he snatched my hand, kissed it, and sped away.

  Well, that was Ensign Wessel taken care of. He’d cut the whole bloody German army to bits before he let anyone near Irma. Likewise, and more important, he didn’t doubt his prince for a minute. Ah, the ideals of youth, I thought, as I sorted out the keys.

  There were three of them; one to the ironwork gate, a second to the door beyond it, and a third to the little cage, shrouded in velvet, which stood on a table in the centre of the small jewel-room. It was so easy I could have cheered. There was a valise in the guard-room, and I laid it open beside the table and went to work.

  God, what a haul it was! There were the rings, the staff of sovereignty, the diamond-and-emerald gold chain, the duchess’s collar, and the two crowns—they didn’t have to be bent, after all. The Sword of State I left behind, as too unwieldy, but there were a couple of necklaces I hadn’t seen before and a jewelled casket, so in they went.

  I was sweating, not with exertion but excitement, as I shut the valise and strapped it up; it weighed about a ton, and suddenly I was asking myself: where was I going to fence th
is collection? Oh, well, time to worry about that when I was safe over the border, and back in England or France. Thank God the only name Sapten and Co. knew me by was Thomas Arnold—they were welcome to call at his tombstone if they felt like it, and ask for their money back. They had no way of tracing me, even if they dared—for if they ever did ferret me out, what could they do that wouldn’t cause an unholy international scandal? But they’d never even know where to look in England—I was safe as houses.

  Aye—once I’d got away: time was flying. It was full dawn outside by now. I locked the cage, arranged its velvet cover, locked the door and the gate, and set off down the stairs, lugging my bag with me. I emerged cautiously at the head of the grand staircase—thanks to my sending the sentries away there wasn’t a soul in sight. I stole down, and was tip-toeing towards the head of the last flight when I heard footsteps along the passage. Quickly I thrust the valise behind the base of a statue; I was just in time. Old Schwerin, the Chief Minister, still with his nightcap on and a robe-de-chambre flapping round his ankles, was hobbling along towards me, with a little knot of attendants fussing in his wake.

  He was in a tremendous taking, of course; I thought the old ass would have a seizure. Forcing myself not to panic at the delay, I stilled his questions with the same recital of tommy-rot that I’d served up to Irma and the ensign—well, I say I stilled them, but he babbled on, demanding details and explanations, and eventually I only shut him up by taking a strong line, insisting on the need for haste on my part—I had to get back to the scene of the action at once, I told him.

  “Oh, God!” groans he, and sank down on a sofa. “Oh, the unhappy country! What shall we do?”