01 - Flashman fp-1

by George MacDonald Fraser

  He didn't take it well, but snapped to me to come in directly to dinner with him. The two Afghans, of course, wouldn't eat at an unbeliever's table, so they waited in his office, where food was brought to them. Muhammed Din reminded me that Akbar's message must be delivered only in their presence, so I contented myself by telling McNaghten that I felt as though I was loaded with explosives, but that it must wait till after dinner.

  However, as we ate I was able to give him an account of Burnes's murder and my own adventures with Gul Shah; I told it very plain and offhand, but McNaghten kept exclaiming "Good God!" all the way through, and at the tale of my tug-of-war his glasses fell into his curry.

  Mackenzie sat watching me narrowly, pulling at his fair moustache, and when I was done and McNaghten was spluttering his astonishment, Mackenzie just said: "Good work, Flash." This was praise, from him, for he was a tough, cold ramrod of a man, and reckoned the bravest in the Kabul garrison, except maybe for George Broadfoot. If he told my tale - and he would - Flashy's stock would rise to new heights, which was all to the good.

  Over the port McNaghten tried to draw me about Akbar, but I said it must wait until we joined the two Afghans; not that I minded, much, but it made McNaghten sniffy, which was always excuse enough for me. He said sarcastically that I seemed to have gone native altogether, and that I did not need to be so nice, but Mackenzie said shortly that I was right, which put His Excellency into the sulks. He muttered that it was a fine thing when important officials could be bearded by military whipper-snappers, and the sooner we got to business the better it would be.

  So we adjourned to his study, and presently Muhammed and Hamet came in, greeted the Envoy courteously, and received his cool nod in reply. He was a conceited prig, sure enough. Then I launched into Akbar's proposal.

  I can see them still: McNaughten sitting back in his cane chair, legs crossed, finger-tips 'together, staring at the ceiling; the two silent Afghans, their eyes fixed on him; and the tall, fair Mackenzie, leaning against the wall, puffing a cheroot, watching the Afghans. No one said a word as I talked, and no one moved. I wondered if McNaghten understood what I was saying; he never twitched a muscle.

  When I was finished he waited a full minute, slowly took off his glasses and polished them, and said quietly:

  "Most interesting. We must consider what the Sirdar Akbar has said. His message is of the greatest weight and importance. But of course it is not to be answered in haste. Only one thing will I say now: the Queen's Envoy cannot consider the suggestion of bloodshed contained in the offer of the head of Amenoolah Khan. That is repugnant to me." He turned to the two Afghans. "You will be tired, sirs, so we will detain you no longer. Tomorrow we will talk again."

  It was still only early evening, so he was talking rot, but the two Afghans seemed to understand diplomatic language; they bowed gravely and withdrew. McNaghten watched the door close on them; then he sprang to his feet. "Saved at the eleventh hour!" cried he.

  "Divide and conquer! Mackenzie, I had dreamed of something precisely like this." His pale, worn face was all smiles now. "I knew, I knew, that these people were incapable of keeping faith with one another. Behold me proved right!"

  Mackenzie studied his cigar. "You mean you'll accept?" "Accept?

  Of course I shall accept. This is a heaven-sent opportunity. Eight months, eh? Much can happen in that time: we may never leave Afghanistan at all, but if we do it will be with credit." He rubbed his hands and set to among the papers on his desk. "This should revive even our friend Elphinstone, eh, Mackenzie?"

  "I don't like it," says Mackenzie. "I think it's a plot." McNaghten stopped to stare at him. "A plot?" Then he laughed, short and sharp.

  "Oho, a plot! Let me alone for that - trust me for that!"

  "I don't like it a bit," says Mackenzie. "And why not, pray? Tell me why not. Isn't it logical? Akbar must be cock o' the walk, so out must go his enemies, the Douranis. He'll use us, to be sure, but it is to our own advantage."

  "There's a hole in it," says Mac. "He'll never serve as Vizier to Sujah. He's lying in that, at least."

  "What of it? I tell you, Mackenzie, it doesn't matter one per cent whether he or Sujah rules in Kabul, we shall be secured by this. Let them fight among themselves as they will; it makes us all the stronger."

  "Akbar isn't to be trusted," Mac was beginning, but McNaghten pooh-poohed him.

  "You don't know one of the first rules of politics: that a man can be trusted to follow his own interest. I see perfectly well that Akbar is after undisputed power among his own people; well, who's to blame him? And I tell you, I believe you wrong Akbar Khan; in our meetings he has impressed me more than any other Afghan I have met. I judge him to be a man of his word."

  "The Douranis are probably saying that, too," says I, and had the icy spectacles turned on me for my pains. But Mackenzie took me up fast enough, and asked me what I thought.

  "I don't trust Akbar either," says I. "Mind you, I like the chap, but he ain't straight."

  "Flashman probably knows him better than we do," says Mac, and McNaghten exploded.

  "Now, really, Captain Mackenzie! I believe I can trust my own judgement, do you know? Against even that of such a distinguished diplomatist as Mr Flashman here." He snorted and sat down at his desk. "I should be interested to hear precisely what Akbar Khan has to gain by treachery towards us? What purpose his proposal can have other than that which is apparent? Well, can you tell me?"

  Mac just stubbed out his cheroot. "If I could tell you, sir, - if I could see a definite trick in all this - I'd be a happier man. Dealing with Afghans, it's what I don't see and don't understand that worries me."

  "Lunatic philosophy!" says McNaghten, and wouldn't listen to another word. He was sold on Akbar's plan, plain enough, and so determined that next morning he had Muhammed and Hamet in and signified his acceptance in writing, which they were to take back to Akbar Khan. I thought that downright foolish, for it was concrete evidence of McNaghten's part in what was, after all, a betrayal. One or two of his advisers tried to dissuade him from putting pen to paper, at least, but he wouldn't budge.

  "Trouble is the man's desperate," Mackenzie told me. "Akbar's proposal came at just the right moment, when McNaghten felt the last ray of hope was gone, and he was going to have to skulk out of Kabul with his tail between his legs. He wants to believe Akbar's offer is above board. Well, young Flash, I don't know about you, but when we go out to see Akbar tomorrow I'm taking my guns along."

  I was feeling pretty nervous about it myself, and I wasn't cheered by the sight of Elphy Bey, when McNaghten took me along to see him that afternoon. The old fellow was lying on a daybed on his verandah, while one of the garrison ladies - I forget who - was reading the Scriptures to him. He couldn't have been more pleased to see me, and was full of praise for my exploits, but he looked so old and wasted, in his night-cap and gown, that I thought, my God, what chance have we with this to command us?

  McNaghten was pretty short with him, for when Elphy heard of Akbar's plan he looked down in the mouth, and asked if McNaghten wasn't afraid of some treachery.

  "None at all," says McNaghten. "I wish you to have two regiments and two guns got ready, quickly and quietly, for the capture of Mohammed Khan's fort, where we shall met Sirdar Akbar tomorrow morning. The rest you can leave to me."

  Elphy looked unhappy about this. "It is all very uncertain," says he, fretting. "I fear they are not to be trusted, you know. It is a very strange plot, to be sure."

  "Oh, my God!" says McNaghten. "If you think so, then let us march out and fight them, and I am sure we shall beat them."

  "I can't, my dear Sir William," says old Elphy, and it was pathetic to hear his quavering voice. "The troops aren't to be counted on, you see."

  "Well, then, we must accept the Sirdar's proposals."

  Elphy fretted some more, and McNaghten was nearly beside himself with impatience. Finally he snapped out: "I understand these things better than you!" and turned on his heel, and s
tamped off the verandah.

  Elphy was much distressed, and lamented on about the sad state of affairs, and the lack of agreement. "I suppose he is right, and he does understand better than I. At least I hope so. But you must take care, Flashman; all of you must take care."

  Between him and McNaghten I felt pretty down, but evening brought my spirits up, for I went to Lady Sale's house, where there was quite a gathering of the garrison and wives, and found I was something of a lion. Mackenzie had told my story, and they were all over me. Even Lady Sale, a vinegary old dragon with a tongue like a carving knife, was civil.

  "Captain Mackenzie has given us a remarkable account of your adventures," says she. "You must be very tired; come and sit here, by me."

  I pooh-poohed the adventures, of course, but was told to hold my tongue. "We have little enough to our credit," says Lady Sale, "so we must make the most of what we have. You, at least, have behaved with courage and common sense, which is more than can be said for some older heads among us."

  She meant poor old Elphy, of course, and she and the other ladies lost no time in taking his character to pieces. They did not think much of McNaghten either, and I was surprised at the viciousness of their opinions. It was only later that I understood that they were really frightened women; they had cause to be.

  However, everyone seemed to enjoy slanging Elphy and the Envoy, and it was quite a jolly party. I left about mid-night; it was snowing, and bright moonlight, and as I walked to my billet I found myself thinking of Christmas-time in England, and the coach-ride back from Rugby when the half ended, and warm brandy-punch in the hall, and the roaring fire in the dining-room grate with Father and his cronies talking and laughing and warming their backsides. I wished I was there, with my young wife, and Tat the thought of. her my innards tightened. By God, I hadn't had a woman in weeks and there was nothing to be had in the cantonments. That was something I would speedily put right after we had finished our business with Akbar in the morning, and things were back to normal. Perhaps it was reaction from listening to those whining females, but it seemed to me as I went to sleep that McNaghten was probably right, and our plot with Akbar was all for the best.

  I was up before dawn, and dressed in my Afghan clothes; it was easier to hide a brace of pistols beneath them than in a uniform. I buckled on my sword, and rode over to the gate where McNaghten and Mackenzie were already waiting, with a few native troopers; McNaghten, in his frock coat and top hat, was sitting a mule and damning the eyes of a Bombay Cavalry cornet; it seemed the escort was not ready, and Brigadier Shelton had not yet assembled the troops who were to overpower the Douranis.

  "You may tell the Brigadier there is never anything ready or right where he is concerned," McNaghten was saying. "It is all of a piece; we are surrounded by military incompetents; well, it won't do. I shall go out to the meeting, and Shelton must have his troops ready to advance within the half hour. Must, I say! Is that understood?"

  The cornet scuttled off, and McNaghten blew his nose and swore to Mackenzie he would wait no longer. Mac urged him to hold on at least till there was some sign that Shelton was moving, but McNaghten said:

  "Oh, he is probably in his bed still. But I've sent word to Le Geyt; he will see the thing attended to. Ah, here are Trevor and Lawrence; now gentlemen, there has been time enough wasted. Forward!"

  I didn't like this. The plan had been that Akbar and the chiefs, including the Douranis, should be assembled near Mohammed's Fort, which was less than a quarter of a mile from the cantonment gates.

  Once McNaghten and Akbar had greeted each other, Shelton was to emerge from the cantonment at speed, and the Douranis would be surrounded and overcome between our troops and the other chiefs. But Shelton wasn't ready, we didn't even have an escort, and it seemed to me that the five of us and the native troopers - who were only half a dozen or so strong - might have an uncomfortable time before Shelton came on the scene.

  Young Lawrence thought so, too, for he asked McNaghten as we trotted through the gate if it would not be better to wait; McNaghten snapped his head off and said we could simply talk to Akbar until Shelton emerged, when the thing would be done.

  "Suppose there's treachery?" says Lawrence. "We'd be better to have the troops ready to move at the signal."

  "I can't wait any longer!" cries McNaghten, and he was shaking, but whether with fear or cold or excitement I didn't know. And I heard him mutter to Lawrence that he knew there might be treachery, but what could he do? We must just hope Akbar would keep faith with us.

  Anyway, McNaghten would rather risk his own life than be disgraced by scuttling hangdog out of Kabul.

  "Success will save our honour," says he, "and make up for all the rest."

  We rode out across the snowy meadow towards the canal. It was a sparkling clear morning, bitterly cold; Kabul City lay straight ahead, grey and silent; to our left Kabul River wound its oily way beneath the low banks, and beyond it the great Bala Hissar fort seemed to crouch like a watchdog over the white fields. We rode in silence now, our hooves crunching the snow; from the four in front of me the white trails of breath rose over their shoulders. Everything was very quiet.

  We came to the canal bridge, and just beyond it was the slope running down from Mohammed's Fort beside the river. The slope was dotted with Afghans; in the centre, where a blue Bokhara carpet was spread on the snow, was a knot of chieftains with Akbar in their midst.

  Their followers waited at a distance, but I reckoned there must be fifty men in view - Barukzis, Gilzais, Douranis, yes, by God, and Ghazis.(17) That was a nasty sight. We're mad, I thought, riding into this; why, even if Shelton advances at the double, we could have our throats cut before he's half way here.

  I looked back over my shoulder to the cantonment, but there was no sign of Shelton's soldiers. Mind you, at this stage that was just as well.

  We rode to the foot of the slope, and what I was shivering with was not the cold.

  Akbar rode down to meet us, on a black charger, and himself very spruce in a steel back-and-breast like a cuirassier, with his spiked helmet wrapped about with a green turban. He was all smiles and called out greetings to McNaghten; Sultan Jan and the chiefs behind were all looking as jovial as Father Christmas, and nodding and bowing towards us.

  "This looks damned unhealthy," muttered Mackenzie. The chiefs were advancing straight to us, but the other Afghans, on the slopes on either side, seemed to me to be edging forward. I gulped down my fear, but there was nothing for it but to go on now; Akbar and McNaghten had met, and were shaking hands in the saddle.

  One of the native troopers had been leading a lovely little white mare, which he now took forward, and McNaghten presented it to Akbar, who received it with delight. Seeing him so cheerful, I tried to tell myself it was all right - the plot was laid, McNaghten knew what he was doing. I really had nothing to fear. The Afghans were round us now, anyway, but they seemed friendly enough still; only Mackenzie showed, by the cock of his head and his cold eye, that he was ready to drop his hand on his pistol butt at the first sign of a false move.

  "Well, well," cries Akbar. "Shall we dismount?" We did, and Akbar led McNaghten on to the carpet. Lawrence was right at their heels, and looking pretty wary; he must have said something, for Akbar laughed and called out:

  "Lawrence Sahib need not be nervous. We're all friends here."

  I found myself with old Muhammed Din beside me, bowing and greeting me, and I noticed that Mackenzie and Trevor, too, were being engaged in friendly conversation. It was all so pally that I could have sworn there was something up, but McNaghten seemed to have regained his confidence and was chatting away smoothly to Akbar.

  Something told me not to stand still, but to keep on the move; I walked towards McNaghten, to hear what was passing between him and Akbar, and the ring of Afghans seemed to draw closer to the carpet.

  "You'll observe also that I'm wearing the gift of pistols received from Lawrence Sahib," Akbar was saying. "Ah, there is Flashman.

>   Come up, old friend, and let me see you. McLoten Sahib, let me tell you that Flashman is my favourite guest."

  "When he comes from you, prince," says McNaghten, "he is my favourite messenger."

  "Ah, yes," says Akbar, flashing his smile. "He is a prince of messengers." Then he turned to look McNaghten in the eye, and said:

  "I understand that the message he bore found favour in your excellency's sight?" The buzz of voices around us died away, and it seemed that everyone was suddenly watching McNaghten. He seemed to sense it, but he nodded in reply to Akbar.

  "It is agreed, then?" says Akbar.

  "It is agreed," says McNaghten, and Akbar stared him full in the face for a few seconds, and then suddenly threw himself forward, clapping his arms round McNaghten's body and pinning his hands to his sides.

  "Take them!" he shouted, and I saw Lawrence, who had been just behind McNaghten, seized by two Afghans at his elbows. Mackenzie's cry of surprise sounded beside me, and he started forward towards McNaghten, but one of the Barukzis jumped between, waving a pistol.

  Trevor ran at Akbar, but they wrestled him down before he had gone a yard.

  I take some pride when I think back to that moment; while the others started forward instinctively to aid McNaghten, I alone kept my head. This was no place for Flashman, and I saw only one way out. I had been walking towards Akbar and McNaghten, remember, and as soon as I saw the Sirdar move I bounded ahead, not at him, but past him, and so close that my sleeve brushed his back. Just beyond him, on the edge of the carpet, stood the little white mare which McNaghten had brought as a gift; there was a groom at her head, but I was too fast for him.