Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 4: Flashman and the Dragon, Flashman on the March, Flashman and the Tiger. George Fraser MacDonald
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the mandarin assured us that water would be brought to us, and as we rode on he chatted amiably to Parkes and me, telling us he’d been in command of the garrison we’d defeated at Sinho.
“As you can see.” He touched the button on his hat; it was white, not red. “I was also degraded by losing my peacock feather,” he added, grinning like a corpse, and Parkes and I made sounds of commiseration. “Oh, it is no matter!” cries he. “Lost honours can be regained. As Confucius says: Be patient, and at last the mulberry leaf will become a silk robe.”
I remember the proverb, because it was just then that I chanced to look round. The six Dragoons had been riding immediately behind Parkes and me since we set out, in double file, but I’d paid ’em no special heed, and it was only as I glanced idly back that I saw one of them was watching me – staring at me, dammit, with the oddest fixed grin. He was a typical burly Heavy with a face as red as his coat under the pith helmet, and I was just about to ask what the devil he meant by it when his grin broadened – and in that moment I knew him, and knew that he knew me. It was the Irishman who’d been beside me when Moyes was killed.
I must have gaped like an idiot … and then I was facing front again, chilled with horror. This was the man who’d seen me grovelling to Sam Collinson, my abject companion in shame – and here he was, riding at my shoulder like bloody Nemesis, no doubt on the point of denouncing me to the world as a poltroon – it’s a great thing to have a conscience as guilty as mine, I can tell you; it always makes you fear far more than the worst. My God! And yet – it couldn’t be! the Irishman had been a sergeant of the 44th; this was a trooper of Dragoon Guards. I must be mistaken; he hadn’t been staring at me at all – he must have been grinning at some joke of his mate’s, when I’d caught his eye, and my terrified imagination was doing the rest –
“Where the hell d’you think you’re goin’, Nolan?” It was the Dragoon corporal, just behind. “Keep in file!”
Nolan! That had been the name Moyes had spoken – oh, God, it was him, right enough.
I daren’t look round; I’d give myself away for certain. I must just ride on, chatting to Parkes as though nothing had happened, and God knows what I said, or how much farther we rode, for I was aware of nothing except that my cowardly sins had found me out at last. You may think I was in a great stew over nothing – what had the great Flashy to fear from the memory of a mere lout of a trooper, after all? A hell of a deal, says I, as you’ll see.
But if I was in a state of nervous funk for the rest of the day, I remember the business we did well enough. At Tang-chao, we met the great Prince I, the Emperor’s cousin, a tall, skinny crow of a Manchoo in gorgeous green robes, with all his nails cased; he looked at us as if we were dirt, and when Parkes said we hoped the arrangements agreed for Elgin’s entry to Pekin were still satisfactory to their side, he hissed like an angry cat.
“Nothing can be discussed until the barbarian leader has withdrawn his presumptuous request for an audience with the Son of Heaven, and begged our pardon! He does not come to Pekin!”
Parkes, to my surprise, just smiled at him as though he were a child and said they must really talk about something important. Elgin was going to Pekin, and the Emperor would receive him. Now, then …
At this Prince I went wild, spitting curses, calling Parkes a foreign cur and reptile and I don’t know what, and Parkes just smiled away and said Elgin would be there, and that was that. And in this way the time passed until (it’s a fact) six o’clock, when Prince I had cursed himself hoarse. Then Parkes got up, repeated for the four hundredth time that Elgin was going to Pekin – and suddenly Prince I said, very well, with a thousand cavalry, as agreed. Then in double time he and Parkes settled the wording of a proclamation informing the public that peace and harmony were the order of the day, and we retired to the quarters that had been prepared for us, and had dinner.
“Who said the Chinese were negotiators!” scoffs Parkes. “The man’s a fool and a fraud.”
“He caved in very suddenly,” says Loch. “D’you trust him?”
“No, but I don’t need to. Their goose is cooked, Loch, and they know it, and because they can’t abide it, they squeal like children in a tantrum. And if he goes back on his word tomorrow, it doesn’t matter – because the Big Barbarian is going to Pekin, anyway.”
It was arranged that in the morning, while De Normann and Bowlby (who wanted some copy for his rag) would stay in Tang-chao with Anderson and the sowars, the rest of us would return to the army, Parkes and Loch to report to Elgin, Walker and I to guide them to the camp site. The others turned in early, except for Parkes, who had invited one of the lesser mandarins over for a chat, so I retired to the verandah to rehearse my anxieties for the umpteenth time, able to sweat and curse in private at last.
Nolan knew me. What would he say – what could he say? Suppose he told the shameful truth, would anyone believe him? Never. But why should he say anything – dammit, he’d grovelled, too … I went all through my horrid fears again and again, pacing in the dark little garden away from the house, chewing my cheroot fiercely. What would he say –
“A foine evenin’, colonel,” was what, in fact, he said, and I spun round with an oath. There he was, by the low wall at the garden foot – standing respectfully to attention, rot him, the trooper out for an evening stroll, greeting his superior with all decorum. I choked back a raging question, and forced myself to say nonchalantly:
“Why, I didn’t see you there, my man. Yes, a fine evening.”
I hoped to God it was too shadowy for him to see me trembling. I lit another cheroot, and he moved forward a step.
“Beg pardon, sorr … don’t ye remember me?”
I had myself in hand now. “What? You’re one of the dragoons, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sorr. I mean afore that, sorr.” He had one of those soft, whiny, nut-at-ahl Irish brogues which I find especially detestable. “Whin I wuz in the 44th – afore dey posted me to the Heavies. Shure, an’ it’s just a month since – I think ye mind foine.”
“Sorry, my boy,” says I pleasantly, my heart hammering. “I don’t know much of the 44th, and I certainly don’t know you.” I gave him a nod. “Good-night.”
I was turning away when his voice stopped me, suddenly soft and hard together. “Oh, but ye do, sorr. An’ I know you. An’ we both know where it wuz. At Tang-ku, when Moyes got kilt.”
What should an innocent man say to that? I’ll tell you: he turns sharp, frowning, bewildered. “When who was killed? What the devil are you talking about? Are you drunk, man?”
“No, sorr, I’m not drunk! Nor I wuzn’t drunk then! You wuz in the yard at Tang-ku whin they made us bow down to yon Chink bastard –”
“Silence! You’re drunker than David’s sow! You’re raving! Now, look here, my lad – you cut along to your billet and I’ll say no more –”
“Oh, but ye will! Ye will dat!” He was shaking with excitement. “But first ye’ll listen! For I know, ye see, an’ I can say plenty more –”
“How dare you!” I forced myself to bark. “You insolent rascal! I don’t know what you’re talking about, or what your game is, but another word from you and I’ll get you a bloody back for your damned insolence, d’ye hear?” I towered, outraged, glaring like a colonel. “I’m a patient man, Nolan, but …”
It was out before I knew it, and he saw the blunder as soon as I did. The eyes bulged with triumph in his crimson face.
“Whut’s dat? Nolan, d’ye say? An’ if ye don’t know me, how the hell d’ye know me name, den?”
In fact, I’d heard his corporal use it that day, but in my panic I remembered only Moyes at the grog-cart. I was speechless, and he rattled on excitedly:
“It wuz you! By the Virgin, it wuz you in that yard, crawlin’ wid the rest