and this was a beauty—for Napier was right: on the face of it, I
So I did my damnedest to look like a greyhound in the slips, stiffening the sinews and imitating tigers—and damme if Napier wasn’t regarding me with decidedly wry amusement.
“I see that I was right in supposing the mission to be one after your own heart. I wonder,” he sounded almost jocular, “if it is perhaps rendered doubly attractive by the fact that it concerns a royal lady of… striking personality. You may not be aware, Speedy, that Sir Harry has great experience in that line. When he was employed as envoy extraordinary to the court of the Maharani of the Punjab he so far succeeded that her majesty proposed marriage. Or so Sir Henry Lawrence assured me. And I recall that on the Pekin expedition the army was consumed with jealousy of the favour shown to him by the Empress of China.” He made a curious noise which I could only interpret as a roguish chuckle. “Really, my dear Sir Harry, you should consider giving a course of lec tures at Sandhurst or Addiscombe on the subject of courtly address.”
My, wasn’t this free and easy chat, though? Could he be hinting at the unspoken thought, which had certainly been in the pious minds of Broadfoot and Elgin, [25] that I’d best secure royal co operation by galloping her into what a Frenchman of my acquain tance called a condition of swoon? Surely not? They’d been worldly, wily politicals, but this was a grave, straight-laced senior of the old school who’d never dream… and then I remembered that this same Napier, with his antique whiskers and one foot in the grave, had recently married a spanking little filly of eighteen, which had plainly influenced his outlook on commerce with the fair sex; no wonder he looked as though he’d been fed through the mangle. [26] Yes, I knew what he was thinking, the randy old rake; well, I was in no mood to appreciate his lewd levity, if that’s what it was. I said the reports of my diplomatic success had been greatly exaggerated, and that the Army had a deuce of an imagination.
“But, seriously, sir, are you sure I’m the best man for this?” Bursting with eagerness to go, you see, but voicing honest doubt. “I mean, it’s too big a thing to risk failure, I can see that, and while I’d do my level best, well… It wouldn’t do,” I burst out, “if I let you down through ignorance or inexperience of the country—”
“My dear Sir Harry,” says he, so moved by my manly modesty that he put a hand on my shoulder, “I know of no man less likely to fail, and none in whom I repose such trust,” and that, with him looking noble and Speedy muttering “Hear, hear!” was my fate signed, sealed, and shoved down the drain, and I could only await my marching orders looking resolute and wondering how I might still slide out, God only knew how, along the way to the lair of this royal Medusa.
Napier lost no time, calling in Moore to make notes and taking me flat aback by saying I must set out that same night. “It is essential you be beyond the possibility of detection before dawn. You need not go far. The guide who is to escort you to Queen Masteeat lives only a few miles hence, and will afford you a roof to rest and prepare for your journey. And to let your beard start to grow,” he added, “so that Khasim Tamwar may present a rather less European appearance.”
“That’s my nom de guerre, is it? Who am I?”
“An Indian subject of the Nizam of Hyderabad, whom you served as a diplomat in Syria and Arabia, now travelling to Galla to buy their famous horses for the Nizam’s cavalry—the Gallas ride like centaurs, by the way. You will naturally present the Nizam’s com pliments to her majesty, and…” he raised a finger for emphasis “…
“Let him be Sir Harry Flashman,” grins Speedy. “Clean-shaven, if possible. I dare say that’s what fetched the Empress of China.”
Napier chose not to be amused. “It is no light thing he will be asking her to do. Her life and her people’s lives depend upon it.” He returned to the map. “I spoke of cutting off Theodore’s retreat, and we may have to settle for that, but I am hoping for something more—a steel ring of Galla warriors round Magdala to prevent his even leaving it, to hold him there until we have forced our way through the passes. Then, if he refuses to surrender, we shall take the place by storm.” He gave me his steady look. “That steel ring is what I want of Queen Masteeat. It will be for you to persuade her.”
My innards set to partners at the prospect, but there was a ques tion to be asked.
“If she’s like any queen of my acquaintance, she’ll have to be bought. Since you tell me Magdala was a Galla place, I guess she’ll want it back. But what more?”
“The possession of Magdala is a political question, and no concern of ours. You may offer her fifty thousand dollars to invest the city. If she is unwilling to do more than harass Theodore’s retreat, you will lower the payment at your discretion.”
And if she threatens to feed my essentials to her lions, how dis creet should I be then, eh? But I kept the thought to myself.
Napier sat silent a moment, then spoke slowly. “I’m sorry, Sir Harry, but that is all the brief I can give you. Speedy has shown us her character: shrewd, formidable, but capricious, by turns amiable and ruthless, and no doubt as cruel as such despots usually are. But her present situation and ambitions are hidden from us. That she is Theodore’s mortal enemy is all we can tell with cer tainty. Yours is a task,” says he, shaking his grizzled head, “which might tax a seasoned ambassador, but I know you will succeed as you have done in the past, and then,” the old lined face lit up again with that brilliant smile, “you can do what no mere diplomat could do, by offering Queen Masteeat a soldierly skill far beyond her own commanders’, to direct the investment of Magdala and, if she wills it, lead her troops into battle!”
She ain’t going to get the chance to will it, you dear old opti mist, thinks I, ’cos supposing I get the length of seeing and persuading her, the last thing I’ll ask for is command of her rabble of bloodthirsty niggers. But of course I slapped my knee and stiffened the sinews some more, and Speedy swore that he envied me the trip. God help him, I’ve no doubt he meant it.
“With Theodore on the road from Debra Tabor to Magdala,” says he, moving to the map, “it’s my guess that Masteeat will be on the move herself, court, council, army and all, keeping an eye on his line of march. Her country lies south of Magdala, but unless I’m mistaken she’ll have come west, somewhere along the Nile [27]—see, there —between the Bechelo and Lake Tana.”
“How far are we from the Nile?” asks Napier.
“About three hundred miles, sir, but Sir Harry may have to skirt about. Still, riding steady and with not too many troubles en route, he should be there in a fortnight or thereabouts.”
“This is February the twenty-fifth,” muses Napier, “and God willing I shall have the army before Magdala by the end of March. You have four weeks, Sir Harry, in which to find Queen Masteeat, exercise your persuasive arts…'he said it with a dead straight face “… and bring her army to encircle Theodore.” He pulled out a battered half-hunter. “It will be full dark soon, and the less time you lose, the better. We took the liberty,” he went on calmly, “of counting on your help, and behind the screen yonder you will find the dress and accoutrements appropriate to Khasim Tamwar, diplomat and horse-coper of Hyderabad. You have every confidence in the guide, Speedy?”
“Absolute, sir. Uliba-Wark knows the Amhara country like a book, and just how to seek out Queen Masteeat. You couldn’t wish for a better
“Excellent,” says Napier. “I suggest we make them known to each other without delay.” And as Speedy went out: “Meanwhile, Sir Harry, perhaps while you change you can reflect on any ques tions or observations you wish to put to me. Now, Moore, tomorrow’s orders…”
The suddenness of it struck me dumb. I’d been slapped in the face before with commissions there was no avoiding, but always there had been a breathing space, of hours at least, in which to digest the thing, gather my scattered wits, fight down my dinner, and wonder how best to shirk my duty. But here, after the barest instruction, this cool old bastard was launching me to damnation with barely time to change my shirt—which was what I found myself doing a moment later in the screened corner of the tent, like a man in a nightmare, automatically donning the native clobber because there was nothing else for it, the
