01 - Flashman fp-1

by George MacDonald Fraser

  "I don't know," I said. "I swear to God I don't know."

  "Liar," said Gul Shah. "You were an aide to Elfistan; you must know."

  "I don't! I swear I don't!" I shouted. "I can't tell you what I don't know, can I?"

  "I am sure you can," says he, and motioning Narreeman aside he flung off his poshteen and stood in his shirt and pyjamy trousers, skull-cap on head and whip in hand. He reached out and wrenched my shirt from my back.

  I screamed as he swung the whip, and leaped as it struck me.

  God, I never knew such pain; it was like a fiery razor. He laughed and swung again and again. It was unbearable, searing bars of burning agony across my shoulders, my head swam and I shrieked and tried to hurl myself away, but the chains held me and the whip seemed to be striking into my very vitals.

  "Stop!" I remember shrieking, and over and over again. "Stop!"

  He stepped back, grinning, but all I could do was mouth and mumble at him that I knew nothing. He lifted the whip again; I couldn't face it.

  "No!" I screamed. "Not me! Hudson knows! The sergeant who was with me - I'm sure he knows! He told me he knew!" It was all I could think of to stop that hellish lashing.

  "The havildar knows, but not the officer?" says Gul. "No, Flashman, not even in the British army. I think you are lying." And the fiend set about me again, until I must have fainted from the pain, for when I came to my senses, with my back raging like a furnace, he was picking his robe from the floor.

  "You have convinced me," says he, sneering. "Such a coward as I know you to be would have told me all he knew at the first stroke. You are not brave, Flashman." But you will be even less brave soon."

  He signed to Narreeman, and she followed him up the steps. At the door he paused to mock me again.

  "Think on what I have promised you," says he. "I hope you will not go mad too soon after we begin."

  The door slammed shut, and I was left sagging in my chains, sobbing and retching. But the pain on my back was as nothing to the terror in my mind. It wasn't possible, I kept saying, they can't do it ...

  but I knew they would. For some awful reason, which I cannot define even now, a recollection came to me of how I had tortured others - oh, puny, feeble little tortures like roasting fags at school; I babbled aloud how sorry I was for tormenting them, and prayed that I might be spared, and remembered how old Arnold had once said in a sermon:

  "Call on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved."

  God, how I called; I roared like a bull calf, and got nothing back, not even echoes. I would do it again, too, in the same position, for all that I don't believe in God and never have. But I blubbered like an infant, calling on Christ to save me, swearing to reform and crying gentle Jesus meek and mild over and over again. It's a great thing, prayer. Nobody answers, but at least it stops you from thinking.

  Suddenly I was aware of people moving into the cell, and shrieked in fear, closing my eyes, but no one touched me, and when I opened them there was Hudson again, chained up beside me with his arms in the air, staring at me in horror.

  "My God, sir," says he, "what have the devils done to you?"

  "They're torturing me to death!" I roared. "Oh, dear saviour!" And I must have babbled on, for when I stopped he was praying, too, the Lord's Prayer, I think, very quietly to himself. We were the holiest jail in Afghanistan that night.

  There was no question of sleep; even if my mind had not been full of the horrors ahead, I could not have rested with my arms fettered wide above my head. Every time I sagged the rusty manacles tore cruelly at my wrists, and I would have to right myself with my legs aching from standing. My back was smarting, and I moaned a good deal; Hudson did his best to cheer me up with the kind of drivel about not being done yet and keeping one's head up which is supposed to raise the spirits in time of trouble - it has never done a damned thing for mine. All I could think of was that woman's hating eyes coming closer, and Gul smiling savagely behind her, and the knife pricking my skin and then slicing - oh, Jesus, I couldn't bear it, I would go raving mad. I said so, at the top of my voice, and Hudson says:

  "Come on, sir, we ain't dead yet."

  "You bloody idiot!" I yelled at him. "What do you know, you clod?

  They aren't going to cut your bloody pecker off! I tell you I'll have to die first! I must!"

  "They haven't done it yet, sir," says he. "Nor they won't. While I was up yonder I see that half them Afridis have gone off - to join up wi'

  the others at Jallalabad, I reckon - an' there ain't above half a dozen left, besides your friend and the woman. If I can just ..."

  I didn't heed him; I was too done up to think of anything except what they would do to me - when? The night wore away, and except for one visit at noon next day, when the jezzailchi came to give us some water and food, no one came near us before evening. They left us in our chains, hanging like stuck pigs, and my legs seemed to be on fire one minute and numb the next. I heard Hudson muttering to himself from time to time, as though he was working at something, but I never minded; then, just when the light was beginning to fade, I heard him gasp with pain, and exclaim: "Done it, by God!"

  I turned to look, and my heart bounded like a stag. He was standing with only his left arm still up in the shackle; the right one, bloody to the elbow, was hanging at his side.

  He shook his head, fiercely, and I was silent. He worked his right hand and arm for a moment, and then reached up to the other shackle; the wrist-pieces were kept apart by a bar, but the fastening of the manacles was just a simple bolt. He worked at it for a moment, and it fell open. He was free.

  He came over to me, an ear cocked towards the door. "If I let you loose, sir, can you stand?" I didn't know if I could, but I nodded, and two minutes later I was crouched on the floor, groaning with the pain in my shoulders and legs that had been cramped in one position so long. He massaged my joints, and swore softly over the weals that Gul Shah's whip had left.

  "Filthy nigger bastard," says he. "Look'ee, sir, we've got to look sharp they don't take us unawares. When they come in we've got to be standing up, with the chains on our wrists, pretendin' we're still trussed up, like."

  "What then?" says I.

  "Why, sir, they'll think we're helpless, won't they? We can take

  'em by surprise."

  "Much good that'll do," says I. "You say there's half a dozen apart from Gul Shah."

  "They won't all come," says he. "For God's sake, sir, it's our only hope."

  I didn't think it was much of one, and said so. Hudson said, well, it was better than being sliced up by that Afghan tart, wasn't it, begging my pardon, sir, and I couldn't disagree. But I guessed we would only get slaughtered for our pains, at best.

  "Well," says he, "we can make a bloody good fight of it. We can die like Englishmen, 'stead of like dogs."

  "What difference does it make whether you die like an Englishman or like a bloody Eskimo?" says I, and he just stared at me and then went on chafing my arms. Pretty soon I could stand and move as well as ever, but we took care to stay close by the chains, and it was as well we did. Suddenly there was a shuffling at the door, and we barely had time to take our positions, hands up on the shackles, when it was thrown back.

  "Leave it to me, sir," whispered Hudson, and then drooped in his fetters. I did the same, letting my head hang but watching the door out of the corner of my eye.

  There were three of them, and my heart sank. First came Gul Shah, with the big jezzailchi carrying a torch, and behind was the smaller figure of Narreeman. All my terrors came rushing back as they descended the steps.

  "It is time, Flashman,", says Gul Shah, sticking his sneering face up to mine. "Wake up, you dog, and prepare for your last love play."

  And he laughed and struck me across the face. I staggered, but held right to the chains. Hudson never moved a muscle.

  "Now, my precious," says Gul to Narreeman. "He is here, and he is yours." She came forward to his side, and the big jezzailchi, having placed th
e torch, came on her other side, grinning like a satyr. He stood about a yard in front of Hudson, but his eyes were fixed on me.

  The woman Narreeman had no veil now; she was turbanned and cloaked, and her face was like stone. Then she smiled, and it was like a tigress showing its teeth; she hissed something to Gul Shah, and held out her hand towards the dagger at his belt.

  Fear had me gripped, or I would have let go the chains and rushed blindly past them. Gul put his hand on his hilt, and slowly, for my benefit, began to slide the blade from its sheath.

  Hudson struck. His right hand shot down to the big jezzailchi's waist band, there was a gleam of steel, a gasp, and then a hideous shriek as Hudson drove the man's own dagger to the hilt in his belly.

  As the fellow dropped Hudson tried to spring at Gul Shah, but he struck against Narreeman and they both went sprawling. Gul leaped back, snatching at his sabre, and I let go my chains and threw myself out of harm's way. Gul swore and aimed a cut at me, but he was wild and hit the swinging chains; in that moment Hudson had scrambled to the dying jezzailchi, grabbed the sabre from his waist, and was bounding up the steps to the door. For a moment I thought he was deserting me, but when he reached the doorway it was to slam the door to and shoot the inside bolt. Then he turned, sabre in hand, and Gul, who had sprung to pursue him, halted at, the foot of the steps. For a moment the four ? of us were stock still, and then Gul bawls out:

  "Mahmud! Shadman! Idderao, juldi!"

  "Watch the woman!" sings out Hudson, and I saw Narreeman in the act of snatching up the bloody dagger he had dropped. She was still on hands and knees, and with one step I caught her a flying kick in the middle that flung her breathless against the wall. Out of the tail of my eye I saw Hudson spring down the steps, sabre whirling, and then I had thrown myself at Narreeman, catching her a blow on the head as she tried to rise, and grabbing her wrists. As the steel clashed behind me, and the door re-echoed to pounding from outside, I dragged her arms behind her back and held them, twisting for all I was worth.

  "You bitch!" I roared at her, and wrenched so that she screamed and went down, pinned beneath me. I held her so, got my knee on the small of her back, and looked round for Hudson.

  He and Gul were going at it like Trojans in the middle of the cell.

  Thank God they teach good swordsmanship in the cavalry,(21) even to lancers, for Gul was as active as a panther, his point and edge whirling everywhere while he shouted oaths and threats and bawled to his rascals to break in. The door was too stout for them, though. Hudson fought coolly, as if he was in the gymnasium, guarding every thrust and sweep, then shuffling in and lunging so that Gul had to leap back to save his skin. I stayed where I was, for I daren't leave that hell-cat for a second, and if I had Gul might have had an instant to take a swipe at me.

  Suddenly he rushed Hudson, slashing right and left, and the lancer broke ground; that was what Gul wanted, and he sprang for the steps, intent on getting to the door. Hudson was right on his heels, though, and Gul had to swing round halfway up the steps to avoid being run through from behind. He swerved outside Hudson's thrust, slipped on the steps, and for a moment they were locked, half-lying on the stairway. Gul was up like a rubber ball, swinging up his sabre for a cut at Hudson, who was caught all a-sprawl; the sabre flashed down, ringing on the stone and striking sparks, and the force of the blow made Gul overbalance. For a moment he was crouched over Hudson, and before he could recover I saw a glittering point rise out of the centre of his back; he gave a choked, awful cry, straightened up, his head hanging back, and crashed down the steps to the cell floor. He lay there writhing, mouth gaping and eyes glaring; then he was still.

  Hudson scrambled down the steps, his sabre red to the forte. I let out a yell of triumph.

  "Bravo, Hudson! Bravo, shabash!"

  He took one look at Gul, dropped his sabre, and to my amazement began to pull the dead man out of the middle of the floor to the shadowy side of the cellar. He laid him flat on his back, then hurried over to me.

  "Make her fast, sir," says he, and while I trussed Narreeman's arms with the jezzailchi's belt, Hudson stuffed a gag into her mouth.

  We dropped her on the straw, and Hudson says:

  "Only once chance, sir. Take the sabre - the clean one -and stand guard over that dead bugger. Put your point to his throat, an' when I open the door, tell 'em you'll slaughter their chief unless they do as we say. They won't see he's a corpse, in this light, an' the bint's silenced.

  Now, sir, quick."

  There could be no argument; the door was creaking under the Afridis' hammering. I ran to Gul's side, snatching up his sabre on the way, and stood astride him, the point on his breast. Hudson took one look round, leaped up the steps, whipped back the bolt, and regained the cell floor in a bound. The door swung open, and in surged the lads of the village.

  "Halt!" roars I. "Another move, and I'll send Gul Shah to make his peace with Shaitan! Back, you sons of owls and pigs!"

  They bore up sharp, five or six of them, hairy brutes, at the head of the steps. When they saw Gul apparently help-less beneath me one lets out an oath and another a wail. "Not another inch!" I shouted. "Or I'll have his life!" They stayed where they were, gaping, but for the life of me I didn't know what to do next. Hudson spoke up, urgently.

  "Horses, sir. We're right by the gate; tell 'em to bring two - no, three ponies to the door, and then all get back to the other side o' the yard."

  I bawled the order at them, sweating in case they didn't do it, but they did. I suppose I looked desperate enough for anything, stripped to the waist, matted and bearded, and glaring like a lunatic. It was fear, not rage, but they weren't to know that. There was a great jabbering among them, and then they scrambled back through the doorway; I heard them yelling and swearing out in the dark, and then a sound that was like music - the clatter of ponies' hooves.

  "Tell 'em to keep outside, sir, an' well away," says Hudson, and I roared it out with a will. Hudson ran to Narreeman, swung her up into his arms with an effort, and set her feet on the steps.

  "Walk, damn you," says he, and grabbing up his own sabre he pushed her up the steps, the point at her back. He disappeared through the doorway, there was a pause, and then he shouts:

  "Right, sir. Come out quick, like, an' bolt the door."

  I never obeyed an order more gladly. I left Gul Shah staring up sightlessly, and raced up the steps, pulling the door to behind me. It was only as I looked round the courtyard, at Hudson astride one pony, with Narreeman bound and writhing across the other, at the little group of Afghans across the yard, fingering their knives and muttering

  - only then did I realise that we had left our hostage. But Hudson was there, as usual.

  "Tell 'em I'll spill the bint's guts all over the yard if they stir a finger. Ask 'em how their master'll like that - an' what he'll do to 'em afterwards!" And he dropped his point over Narreeman's body.

  It held them, even without my repetition of the threat, and I was able to scramble aboard the third pony. The gate was before us; Hudson grabbed the bridle of Narreeman's mount, we drove in our heels, and in a clatter of hooves we were out and away, under a glittering moon, down the path that wound from the fort's little hill to the open plain.

  When we reached the level I glanced back; Hudson was not far behind, although he was having difficulty with Narreeman, for he had to hold her across the saddle of the third beast. Behind, the ugly shape of the fort was outlined against the sky, but there was no sign of pursuit.

  When he came up with me he said:

  "I reckon down yonder we'll strike the Kabul road, sir. We crossed it on the way in. Think we can chance it, sir?"

  I was so trembling with reaction and excitement that I didn't care. Of course we should have stayed off the road, but I was for anything that would get that damned cellar far behind us, so I nodded and we rode on. With luck there would be no one moving on the road at night, and any-way, only on the road could we hope to get our bearings.

  We r
eached it before very long, and the stars showed us the eastern way. We were a good three miles from the fort now, and it seemed, if the Afridis had come out in pursuit, that they had lost us. Hudson asked me what we should do with Narreeman.

  At this I came to my senses again; as I thought back to what she had been preparing to do my gorge rose, and all I wanted to do was tear her apart.

  "Give her to me," says I, dropping my reins and taking a grip on the sabre hilt.

  He had one hand on her, sliding her out of the saddle; she slipped down on to the ground and wriggled up on her knees, her hands tied behind her, the gag across her mouth. She was glaring like a mad thing.

  As I moved my pony round, Hudson suddenly reined into my way.

  "Hold on, sir," says he. "What are you about?" "I'm going to cut that bitch to pieces," says I. "Out of my way."

  "Here, now, sir," says he. "You can't do that." "Can't I, by God?"

  "Not while I'm here, sir," says he, very quiet. I didn't credit my ears at first.

  "It won't do, sir," says he. "She's a woman. You're not yourself, sir, what wi' the floggin' they gave you, an' all. We'll let her be, sir; cut her hands free an' let her go."

  I started to rage at him, for a mutinous dog, but he just sat there, not to be moved, shaking his head. So in the end I gave in - it occurred to me that what he could do to Gul Shah he might easily do to me - and he jumped down and loosed her hands. She flew at him, but he tripped her up and remounted.