whitetunicked and helmeted sentries on the big double doors of the library, with their sabres drawn, and an orderly officer pacing idly about smoking a cigarette. It struck me that it wasn't safe to be gallivanting about this house in the dark—they might think I was on the East tack, spying—so I flitted on, and two minutes later was stallioning away like billy-o with my modest flower of the steppes—by jingo, she was in a fine state of passion, I remember. We had one violent bout, and then some warm wine from her little spirit lamp, and talked softly and dozed and played, and then went to it again, very slowly and wonderfully, and I can see that lovely white shape in the flickering light even now, and smell the perfume of that silver hair, and—dear me, how we old soldiers do run on.
'You must not linger too long, sweetheart,' says she, at last. 'Even drunk Cossacks don't sleep forever,' and giggled, nibbling at my chin. So I kissed her a long goodnight, with endearments, resumed my nightshirt, squeezed her bouncers again for luck, and toddled out into the cold, along her corridor, down the little stairs to the landing— and froze in icy shock against the wall on the second step, my heart going like a hammer.
There was someone on the landing. I could hear him, and then see him by the dim light from the far corridor where my Count's room lay. He was crouched by the archway, listening, a man in a nightshirt, like myself. With a wrenching inward sigh, I realized that it could only be East.
The fool had stayed awake, seen the Cossack asleep, and was now bent on his crack-brained patriotic mischief. I hissed very gently, had the satisfaction of seeing him try to leap through the wall, and then was at his side, shushing him for all I was worth. He seized me, gurgling. 'You! Flashman!' He let out a shuddering breath. 'What -? You've been … why didn't you tell me?' I wondered what the blazes he meant, until he whispered fiercely: 'Good man! Have you heard anything? Are they still there?'
The madman seemed to think I'd been on his eaves-dropping lay. Well, at least I'd be spared recriminations for fornicating with his adored object. I shook my head, he bit his lip, and then the maniac breathed in my ear: 'Come, then, quickly! Into the gallery—they're still down there!' And while I was peeping, terrified, into the dimness through the banisters, where the white sentries were still on guard, he suddenly flitted from my side across the landing. I daren't even try a loud whisper to call him back; he was fumbling with the catch of the little door in the far shadows, and I was just hesitating before bolting for bed and safety, when from our corridor sounded a cavernous yawn. Panicking, I shot across like a whippet, clutching vainly at East as he slipped through the low aperture into the gallery. Come back, come back, you mad bastard, my lips were saying, but no sound emerged, which was just as well, for with the opening of the little gallery door the clear tones of someone in the library echoed up to us. And light was filtering up through the fine screen which concealed the gallery from the floor below. If our Cossack guard was waking, and took a turn to the landing, he'd see the dim glow from the open gallery door. Gibbering silently to myself, half-way inside the little opening, I crept forward, edging the door delicately shut behind me.
East was flat on the dusty gallery floor, his feet towards me; it stank like a church in the confined space between the carved wooden screen on the one hand and the wall on the other. My head was no more than a foot from the screen; thank God it was a nearly solid affair, with only occasional carved apertures. I lay panting and terrified, hearing the voice down in the library saying in Russian:
.. so there would be no need to vary the orders at present. The establishment is large enough, and would not be affected.'
I remember those words because they were the first I heard, but for the next few moments I was too occupied with scrabbling at East's feet, and indicating to him in dumb show that the sooner we were out of this the better, to pay any heed to what they were talking about. But damn him, he wouldn't budge, but kept gesturing me to lie still and listen. So I did, and some first-rate military intelligence we overheard, too—about the appointment of a commissary-general for the Omsk region, and whether the fellow who commanded Orianburg oughtn't to be retired. Horse Guards would give their buttocks to know this, thinks I furiously, and I had just determined to slide out and leave East alone to his dangerous and useless foolery, when I became conscious of a rather tired, hoarse, but well-bred voice speaking in the library, and one word that he used froze me where I lay, ears straining:
'So that is the conclusion of our agenda? Good. We are grateful to you, gentlemen. You have laboured well, and we are well pleased with the reports you have laid before us. There is Item Seven, of course,' and the voice paused. 'Late as it is, perhaps Count Ignatieff would favour us with a resume of the essential points again.'
Ignatieff. My icy bully of the registrar's office. For no reason I felt my pulse begin to run even harder. Cautiously I turned my head, and put an eye to the nearest aperture.
Down beneath us, Pencherjevsky's fine long table was agleam with candles and littered with papers. There were five men round it. At the far end, facing us, Ignatieff was standing, very spruce and masterful in his white uniform; behind him there was the huge easel, covered with maps. On the side to his left was a stout, white- whiskered fellow in a blue uniform coat frosted with decorations—a marshal if ever I saw one. Opposite him, on Ignatieff's right, was a tall, bald, beak-nosed civilian, with his chin resting on his folded hands. At the end nearest us was a high-backed chair whose wings concealed the occupant, but I guessed he was the last speaker, for an aide seated at his side was saying:
'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
