He came out, yawning and expectorating, and who should it be but my old acquaintance who spat on shadows. I gave him the note and said: “This is for the Rani’s hand, and no other. Take it to her, and quickly.”
He glowered from me to it and back. “What is this, and who may you be?”
“If she wishes you to know, belike she’ll tell you,” I growled, and squatted down in the archway. “But be sure, if you delay, she’ll have that empty head off your shoulders.”
He stood glaring, turning the note in his hands. Evidently it impressed him – with a red seal carrying young Lyster’s family crest, it should have done – for after an obscene inquiry about my parentage, which I ignored, he scratched himself and then loafed off, bidding the sentries keep an eye on me.
I waited, with my heart hammering, for this was the moment when things might go badly astray. Rose and I had cudgelled our brains for wording that would mean nothing to anyone but her, in case the note fell into the wrong hands. As an added precaution, we’d written it in schoolboy French, which I knew she understood. It said, simply:
One who brought perfume and a picture is here. See him alone. Trust him.
Rose had been delighted with this – he was plainly one who enjoyed intrigue for its own sake, and I’ve no doubt would have liked to sign it with a skull and crossbones. Squatting in the doorway, I couldn’t take such a light-hearted view. Assuming that Pathan blockhead took it straight to her, she’d guess who it was from fast enough – but suppose she didn’t want to see me? Suppose she thought the best way of answering the message would be to send me back in bits to Rose’s headquarters? Suppose she showed it to someone else, or it miscarried, or …
The sound of marching feet came from the gloom beyond the archway, and I got to my feet, quivering. The havildar came out of the dark, with two troopers behind him. He stopped, gave me a long, glowering look, and then jerked his head. I went forward, and he motioned me on into the courtyard beyond, falling in beside me with the two troopers behind. I wanted to ask him if he’d given the note to the Rani personally, but my tongue seemed to have shrivelled up; I’d know soon enough. As my eyes became accustomed to the gloom after the glare of the torches by the gate, I saw that we were heading across the yard, with high black walls on either side, and another torch at the far end over a doorway, guarded by two more Pathans.
“In,” growls the havildar, and I found myself in a small vaulted guard-room; I blinked in the sudden glare of oil lamps, and then my heart lurched down into my boots, for the figure peering intently towards me from the centre of the room was the little fat chamberlain whom I knew so well from Lakshmibai’s durbar.
The stupid bitch had told him who I was! There was no hope of a secret offer now – Rose’s fat-headed scheme had sprung a leak, and –
“You are the officer who brought gifts from the British Queen?” he squeaked. “The Sirkar’s envoy – Colonel Flashman?” He was squinting at me in consternation, as well he might, for I didn’t look much like the dandy staff officer he’d known. Sick and fearful, I peeled off my puggaree and pushed my hair back.
“Yes,” said I. “I’m Colonel Flashman. You must take me to the Rani, at once!”
He goggled at me, his little eyes wide in that fat face, twisting his hands nervously. And then something fluttered in the air between us – for an instant I thought it was a moth – and fell to the floor with a tiny puff of sparks. It was a cigarette, smoking on the flags; a long yellow tube with a mouthpiece.
“All in good time,” said Ignatieff’s voice, and I believe I actually cried out with shock, as I spun round to stare in horrified disbelief at the doorway. He was standing there, his hand still frozen in the act of flicking away the cigarette – Ignatieff, whom I’d supposed a thousand miles away by now, looking at me with his dreadful cold smile, and then inclining his tawny head.
“All in good time,” he repeated in English, as he came forward. He ground his heel on the fallen cigarette. “After we have resumed the … discussion? … which was so unfortunately interrupted at Balmoral.”
How I’ve survived four-score years without heart seizure I do not know. Perhaps I’m inured to the kind of shock I experienced then, with my innards surging up into my throat; I couldn’t move, but stood there with my skin crawling as he came to stand in front of me – a new Ignatieff, this, in flowered shirt and pyjamy trousers and Persian boots, and with a little gingery beard adorning his chin. But the rat-trap mouth was still the same, and that unwinking half-blue half-brown eye boring into me.
“I have been anticipating this meeting,” says he, “ever since I learned of your mission to India – did you know, I heard about it before you did yourself?” He gave a chilly little smile – he could never resist bragging, this one. “The secret deliberations of the astute Lord Palmerston are not as secret as he supposes. And it has been a fool’s errand, has it not? But never so foolish as now. You should have been thankful to escape me … twice? … but you come blundering back a third time. Very well.” The gotch eye seemed to harden with a brilliant light. “You will not have long to regret it.”
With an effort I got my voice back, damned shaky though it was.
“I’ve nothing to say to you!” cries I, as truculently as I could, and turned on the little chamberlain. “My business is with the Rani Lakshmibai – not with this … this renegade! I demand to see her at once! Tell her –”
Ignatieff’s hand smashed across my mouth, sending me staggering, but his voice didn’t rise by a fraction. “That will not be necessary,” says he, and the little chamberlain dithered submissively. “Her highness is not to be troubled for a mere spy. I shall deal with this jackal myself.”
“In a pig’s eye you will!” I blustered. “I’m an envoy from Sir Hugh Rose, to the Rani – not to any hole-and-corner Russian bully! You’ll hinder me at your peril! Damn you, let me loose!” I roared as the two troopers suddenly grabbed my elbows. “I’m a staff officer! You can’t touch me – I’m –”
“Staff officer! Envoy!” Ignatieff’s words came out in that raging icy whisper that took me back to the nightmare of that verminous dungeon beneath Fort Arabat. “You crawl here in your filthy disguise, like the spy you are, and claim to be treated as an emissary? If that is what you are, why did you not come in uniform, under a flag, in open day?” His face was frozen in fury, and then the brute hit me again. “I shall tell you – because you are a dishonoured liar, whose word no one would trust! Treachery and deceit are your trade – or is it assassination this time?” His hand shot out and whipped the revolver from my waist.
“It’s a lie!” I shouted. “Send to Sir Hugh Rose – he’ll tell you!” I was appealing to the chamberlain. “You know me, man – tell the Rani! I demand it!”
But he just stood gaping, waiting for Ignatieff, whose sudden anger had died as quickly as it came.
“Since Sir Hugh Rose has not honoured us with a parley, there is no reason why we should address him,” says he softly. “We have to deal only with a night prowler.” He gestured to the troopers. “Take him down.”
“You’ve no authority!” I roared. “I’m not answerable to you, you Russian swine! Let me go!” They were dragging me forward by main strength, while I bawled to the chamberlain, pleading with him to tell the Rani. They ran me through a doorway, and down a flight of stone steps, with Ignatieff following, the chamberlain twittering in front of him. I struggled in panic, for it was plain that the brute was going to prevent the Rani hearing of my arrival until after he’d done … I nearly threw up in terror, for the troopers were hauling me across the floor to an enormous wheel like a cable drum, set perpendicular above ground level. There were manacles dangling from it, and fetters attached to the stone floor beneath it – Jesus! They had racked Murray to death in this very fort, Ilderim had said, and now they flung me against the hellish contraption, one grinning trooper pinning me bodily while the other snapped the floor-chains round my ankles. I yelled and swore, the chamberlain sank down
fearfully on the bottom step, and Ignatieff lit another cigarette.
“So much would not be necessary if I only sought information,” says he, in that dreadful metallic whisper. “With such a coward as you, the threat is sufficient. But you are going to tell me why you are here, what treachery you intended, and for what purpose you wished to see her highness. And when I am satisfied that you have told me everything –” he stepped close up to me, that awful eye staring into mine, and concluded in Russian, for my benefit alone “– the racking will continue until you are dead.” He signed to the troopers, and stepped back.
“For Christ’s sake, Ignatieff!” I screamed. “You can’t do this! I’m a British officer, a white man – let me go, you bastard! Please – in God’s name, I’ll tell you!” I felt the drum turn behind me as the troopers put their weight on the lever, drawing my arms taut above my head. “No, no! Let me go, you foul swine! I’m a gentleman, damn you – for pity’s sake! We’ve had tea with the Queen! No, please –”
There was a clank from the huge wheel, and the chains wrenched at my wrists and ankles, sending shoots of pain through my arm and thigh muscles. I howled at the top of my voice as the wheel turned, stretching me to what seemed the limit of endurance, and Ignatieff stepped closer again.
“Why did you come?” says he.
“Let me go! You vile bloody dog, you!” Behind him I saw that the chamberlain was on his feet, white with horror. “Run!” I yelled. “Run, you stupid fat sod! Get your mistress – quickly!” But he seemed rooted to the spot, and then the drum clanked again, and an excruciating agony flamed through my biceps and shoulders, as though they were being hauled out of my body (which, of course, they were). I tried to scream again, but nothing came out, and then his devil’s face was next to mine again, and I was babbling:
“Don’t – don’t, for Jesus’ sake! I’ll tell you – I’ll tell you!” And even through the red mist of pain I knew that once I did, I was a dead man. But I couldn’t bear it – I had to talk – and then inspiration came through the agony, and I let my head loll sideways, with a groan that died away. If only I could buy a moment’s time – if only the chamberlain would run for help – if only Ignatieff would believe I’d fainted, and I could keep up the pretence with my whole body shrieking in pain. His palm slapped across my face, and I couldn’t restrain a cry. His hand went up to the troopers, and I gasped:
“No – I’ll tell you! Don’t let them turn it again! I swear it’s the truth – only don’t let them do it again – oh, God, please, not again!”
“Well?” says he, and I knew I couldn’t delay any longer. I couldn’t bear another turn.
“General Rose –” My voice seemed to be a whisper from miles away. “I’m on his staff – he sent me – to see the Rani – please, it’s the God’s truth! Oh, make them let me down!”
“Go on,” says that dreadful voice. “What was your message?”
“I was to ask her …” I was staring into his horrible eye, seeing it through a blur of tears, and then somewhere in the obscured distance behind him there was a movement, at the top of the steps, and as I blinked my vision was suddenly clear, and my voice broke into a shuddering sigh of relief, and I let my head fall back. For the door at the top of the steps was open, with my red-coated guard sergeant, that wonderful, bearded genius of a Pathan who spat on shadows, holding it back, and a white figure was stepping through, stopping abruptly, staring down at us. I had always thought she was beautiful, but at that moment Lakshmibai looked like an angel pavilioned in splendour.
I was in such anguish that it was even an effort to keep my eyes open, so I didn’t, but I heard her cry of astonishment, and then the chamberlain babbling, and Ignatieff swinging round. And then, believe it or not, what she said, in a voice shrill with anger, was:
“Stop that at once! Stop it, do you hear?”
for all the world like a young school-mistress coming into class and catching little Johnny piddling in the ink-well. I’ll swear she stamped as she said it, and even at the time, half-fainting with pain that I was, I thought it sounded ridiculous; and then suddenly with an agonising jerk that made me cry out, the fearful traction on my limbs was relaxed, and I was sagging against the wheel, trying to stop my tortured legs from buckling under me. But I’m proud to say I still had my wits about me.
“You won’t get anything out of me!” I groaned. “You Russian hound – I’ll die first!” I fluttered an eye open to see how this was received, but she was too busy choking back her fury as she confronted Ignatieff.
“This is by your order?” Lord, it was a lovely voice. “Do you know who this is?”
I’ll say this for him, he faced her without so much as a blink – indeed, he even tossed his blasted cigarette aside in deference before giving his little bow to her.
“It is a spy, highness, who stole into your city in disguise – as you can see.”
“It is a British officer!” She was blazing, trembling from her white head-veil all down her shapely sari-wrapped body to her little pearled sandals. “An envoy of the Sirkar, who brings a message for me. For me!” And she stamped again. “Where is it?”
Ignatieff pulled the note from his girdle, and handed it to her without a word. She read it, and then folded it deliberately, and looked him in the face.
“Sher Khan tells me he had orders to deliver it into my hands alone.” She was holding in her anger still, with an effort. “But seeing him with it, you asked what it might be, and the fool gave it you. And having read it, you dared to question this man without my leave –”
“It was a suspicious message, highness,” says Ignatieff, dead level. “And this man was obviously a spy –”
“You bloody liar!” croaks I. “You knew damned well what I was! Don’t listen to him, Lakshmi – highness – the swine’s got it in for me! He was trying to murder me, out of spite!”
She gave me one look, and then fronted Ignatieff again. “Spy or not, it is I who rule here. Sometimes I think you forget it, Count Ignatieff.” She faced him eye to eye for a long moment, and then turned away from him. She looked at me, and then away, and we all waited, in dead silence. Finally she said quietly:
“I shall see to this man, and decide what is to be done with him.” She turned to Ignatieff. “You may go, Count.”
He bowed, and said: “I regret if I have offended your highness. If I have done so, it was out of zeal for the cause we both serve – your highness’s government –” he paused – “and my imperial master’s. I would be failing in my duty to both if I did not remind you that this man is a most dangerous and notorious British agent, and that –”
“I know very well who and what he is,” says she quietly, and at that the gotch-eyed son-of-a-bitch said no more, but bowed again and took himself off, with the two troopers sidling hastily after him, salaaming nervously as they passed her. They clattered up the steps behind Ignatieff, and Sher Khan closed the door after them, and that left the four of us, all cosy as ninepence – Lakshmibai standing like a glimmering white statue, the little chamberlain twitching in anxious silence, Sher Khan on the door, and H. Flashman, Esq., doing his celebrated imitation of a Protestant martyr. Damned uncomfortable, too, but something told me grateful babblement wouldn’t be in order, so I said as steadily as I could:
“Thank you, your highness. Forgive me if I don’t make my bow, but in the circumstances …”
Very gallant, you see, but the truth was that fiery pains were still shooting through my arms and legs, and it was all I could do to keep from gasping and groaning. She was standing looking at me, quite expressionless, so I added hopefully:
“If your havildar would release me …”
But she didn’t move a muscle, and I felt a sudden thrill of unease under the steady gaze of those dark eyes, the whites so clear against her dusky skin. What the hell was she up to, keeping me strung up on this bloody machine, and not so much as a glimmer of a smile, or recognition even? I palpitated while she stood, watching me and think
ing, and then she came up within a yard of me, and spoke, in a flat hard voice.
“What did he want to know from you?”
The tone took my breath away, but I held my head up. “He wanted to know my business with your highness.”
Her glance went to the chains on my wrists, then back to my face.
“And did you tell him?”
“Of course not.” I thought a brave smile mightn’t be out of place, so I tried one. “I like people to ask me questions – politely.”
She turned her head towards the little chamberlain.
“Is this true?”
He puffed and flapped his arms, all eagerness. “Indeed, exalted highness! Not a word did the colonel sahib say – not even under the cruel torture! He did not even cry out – much … oh, he is an officer sahib, of course, and –”
Poor little bastard was hoping to butter his bread on the right side, of course, but I wasn’t sure he was backing a winner here; she was still looking at me as if I was some carcase on a butcher’s slab. The chilling thought struck me that it probably wasn’t the first time she’d contemplated some poor devil in my situation … God, perhaps even Murray … and then she turned her head and called to Sher Khan, and he came tumbling down the steps double quick, while the sweat broke out on me. Surely she wasn’t going to order him to –
“Release him,” says she, and I near fainted with relief. She watched impassively while he unclamped me, and I took a few staggering and damned painful steps, catching at that hellish wheel for support. Then:
“Bring him,” says she curtly. “I shall question him myself,” and without another word she turned and walked up the steps, out of the dungeon, and with the little chamberlain bobbing nervously behind her, and Sher Khan spitting and grunting as he assisted me to follow.
The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection Page 286
