'Why did we permit him to make love, then? Oh, such a question! Because of his fine shape and handsome head, you think, and the promise of a great baz-baz*(*An indelicate synonym for virility.)—oh, whiskered little harlot, have you no blushes? What—because he was fearful, and we women know that nothing so drives out a man's fear as passion and delight with a beautiful darling? That is an old wisdom, true—is it the poet Firdausi who says 'The making of life in the shadow of death is the blissful oblivion …'?'
'Stuff and nonsense, beautiful darling,' says I, wolfing away. 'The poet Flashman says that a good gallop needs no philosophic excuse. You're a lusty little baggage, young Silk One, and that's all about it. Here, leave that animal a moment, and give us a kiss.'
'You enjoy your kefir?' says she.
'The blazes with the kefir,' says I, putting down my spoon. 'Here a minute, and I'll show you.'
She nuzzled the kitten, watching me thoughtfully. 'And if Yakub should return?'
'Blazes with him, too. Come here, can't you?'
But she slipped quickly out of harm's way, and stood slim and white and graceful, cradling the kitten and smiling at it.
'You were right, curious tiny leopard—you and Firdausi both. He is much braver now—and he is so very strong, with his great powerful arms and thighs, like the black djinn in the story of es-Sinbad of the sea—he is no longer safe with delicate ladies such as we. He might harm us.' And with that mocking smile she went quickly round the fountain, before I could stop her. 'Tell me, angliski,' she said, looking back, but not stopping. 'You who speak Persian and know so much of our country—have you ever heard of the Old Man of the Mountains?'
'No, by jove, I don't think I have,' says I. 'Come back and tell me about him.'
'After tonight—when the work has been done,' says she, teasing. 'Perhaps then I shall tell you.'
'But I want to know now.'
'Be content,' says she. 'You are a different man from the fearful fellow who came here seeking Yakub an hour ago. Remember the Persian saying: 'Lick up the honey, stranger, and ask no questions'.'
And then she was gone, leaving me grinning foolishly after her, and cursing her perversity in a good- humoured way. But, do you know, she was right? I couldn't account for it, but for some reason I felt full of buck and appetite and great good humour, and I couldn't even remember feeling doubts or fears or anything -much—of course, I knew there was nothing like a good lively female for putting a chap in trim, as her man Firdausi had apparently pointed out. Clever lads, these Persian poets. But I couldn't recall ever feeling so much the better for it —a new man, in fact, as she'd said.
Now, you who know me may find what I've just written, and what I am about to tell you, extremely strange, coming from me at such a time. But as I've said before, there's nothing in these memoirs that isn't gospel true, and you must just take my word for it. My memory's clear, even if my understanding isn't always perfect, and I'm in no doubt of what happened on that day, or on the night that followed.
I went striding back down the valley, then, singing 'A-hunting we will go', if I remember rightly, and was just in time to see Yakub and Kutebar return from their meeting with Buzurg Khan in a fine rage: the overlord had refused to risk any of his people in what he, the shirking recreant, regarded as a lost hope. I couldn't believe such poltroonery, myself, and said so, loudly. But there it was: the business was up to us and our five thousand sabres, and when Yakub jumped on a pile of camel bales in the valley market, and told the mob it was do or die by themselves for the honour of Old Khokand, and explained how we were going to assault the beach that night and blow up the powder-ships, the whole splendid crowd rose to him as a man. There was just a sea of faces, yellow and brown, slit-eyed and hook-nosed, bald-pated and scalp-locked or turbaned and hairy, all yelling and laughing and waving their sabres, with the wilder spirits cracking off their pistols and racing their ponies round the outskirts of the crowd in an ecstasy of excitement, churning up the dust and whooping like Arapahoes.
And when Kutebar, to a storm of applause, took his place beside Yakub, and thundered in his huge voice: 'North, south, east, and west—where shall you find the Kirgiz? By the silver hand of Alexander, they are here!' the whole place exploded in wild cheering, and they crowded round the two leaders, promising ten Russian dead for every one of ours, and I thought, why not give 'em a bit of civilized comfort, too, so I jumped up myself, roaring 'Hear, hear!', and when they stopped to listen I gave it to them, straight and manly.
'That's the spirit, you fellows!' I told them. 'I second what these two fine associates of mine have told you, I roared,and have only this to add. We're going to blow these bloody Russians from Hell to Huddersfield—and I'm the chap who can do it, let me tell you! So I shall detain you no longer, my good friends—and Tajiks, and niggers, and what-not—but only ask you to be upstanding and give a rousing British cheer for the honour of the dear old Schoolhouse—hip, hip, hip, hurrah!'
And didn't they cheer, too? Best speech I ever made, I remember thinking, and Yakub clapped me on the. back, grinning all over, and said by the beard of Mohammed, if we had proposed a march on Moscow every man jack would have been in his saddle that minute, riding west. I believed him, too, and said it was a damned good idea, but he said no, the powder ships were enough for just now, and I must take pains to instruct the band of assistants whom he'd told off to help me with the rockets when we got to the beach.
So I got them together—and Ko Dali's daughter was there, too, lovely girl and so attentive, all in black, now, shirt, pyjamys, boots and turban, very business-like. And I lectured them about Congreves—it was remarkable how well I remembered each detail about assembling the firing-frame and half-pipes, and adjusting the range-screws and everything; the excellent fellows took it all in, spitting and exclaiming with excitement, and you could see that even if they weren't the kind to get elected to the Royal Society for their mechanical aptitude, their hearts were in the right place. I tried to get Ko Dali's daughter aside afterwards for some special instruction, but she excused herself, so I went off to the grindstone merchant to get a sabre sharpened, and got Kutebar to find me a few rounds for my German revolver.
'The only thing that irks me,' I told him, 'is that we are going to be stuck in some stuffy go-down, blazing away with rockets, while Yakub and the others have got the best of the evening. Damn it, Izzat, I want to put this steel across a few Ruski necks—there's a wall-eyed rascal called Ignatieff, now, have I told you about him? Two rounds from this pop-gun into his midriff, and then a foot of sabre through his throat—that's all he needs. By gad, I'm thirsty tonight, I tell you.'
'It is a good thirst,' says he approvingly. 'But think, angliski, of the countless hundreds infidel pigs—your pardon, when I say infidels, I mean Ruskis—whom we shall send to the bottom of Aral with these fine ra-kets. Is that not worthy work for a warrior?'
'Oh, I daresay,' I grumbled. 'But it ain't the same as jamming a sword in their guts and watching 'em wriggle. That's my sort, now. I say, have I ever told you about Balaclava?'
I didn't know when I'd felt so blood-lusty, and it got worse as the evening wore on. By the time we saddled up I was full of hate against a vague figure who was Ignatieff in a Cossack hat with the Tsar's eagle across the front of his shirt; I wanted to settle him, gorily and painfully, and all the way on our ride across the Kizil Kum in the gathering dark I was dreaming fine nightmares in which I despatched him. But from time to time I felt quite jolly, too, and sang a few snatches of 'The Leather Bottel' and 'John Peel' and other popular favourites, while the riders grinned and nudged each other, and Kutebar muttered that I was surely bewitched. And all the way the Silk One rode knee to knee with me—not so close that I could give her a squeeze, unfortunately, and silent most of the time, although she seemed to be watching me closely. Well, what girl doesn't—especially when she's just had her first taste of Flashy? I recalled it fondly, and promised myself I would continue her education, for she deserved it, the dear child—but not until I'd satisfied my yearning for slaughter of Russians. That was the main thing, and by the time we had trotted silently into the scrubby wood that lies a bare half-mile from Fort Raim, I was fairly dribbling to be at them.
It took a good hour in the cold dark to bring all the riders quietly into the safety of the wood, each man holding his horse's nostrils or blanketing its head, while I fidgeted with impatience. It was the waiting that infuriated me, when we could have been down on the beach killing Russians, and I spoke pretty sharp to Yakub Beg about it when he emerged out of the shadows, very brave in spiked helmet and red cloak, to say that we should move when the moon hid behind the cloud bank.
