Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 3: Flashman at the Charge, Flashman in the Great Game, Flashman and the Angel of the Lord. George Fraser MacDonald
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better judgment. Do you understand me?”
Well, I understood the words, but what the hell Lucan was expected to make of them, I couldn’t see. Told to advance, to attack the enemy, and yet to act defensively. But it was nothing to me; I repeated the order, word for word, making sure Airey could hear me, and then went over the bluff after Lew.
It was as steep as hell’s half acre, like a seaside sandcliff shot across by grassy ridges. At any other time I’d have picked my way down nice and leisurely, but with Raglan and the rest looking down, and in full view of our cavalry in the plain, I’d no choice but to go hell-for-leather. Besides, I wasn’t going to let that cocky little pimp Nolan distance me – I may not be proud of much, but I fancied myself against any galloper in the army, and was determined to overtake him before he reached Lucan. So down I went, with the game little mare under me skipping like a mountain goat, sliding on her haunches, careering headlong, and myself clinging on with my knees aching and my hands on the mane, jolting and swaying wildly, and in the tail of my eye Lew’s red cap jerking crazily on the escarpment below.
I was the better horseman. He wasn’t twenty yards out on the level when I touched the bottom and went after him like a bolt, yelling to him to hold on. He heard me, and reined up, cursing, and demanding to know what was the matter. “On with you!” cries I, as I came alongside, and as we galloped I shouted my message.
He couldn’t make it out, but had to pluck the note from his glove and squint at it while he rode. “What the hell does it mean in the first place?” cries he. “It says here, ‘advance rapidly to the front’. Well, God love us, the guns ain’t in front; they’re in flank front if they’re anywhere.”
“Search me,” I shouted. “But he says Look-on is to act defensively, and undertake nothing against his better judgment. So there!”
“Defensive?” cries Lew. “Defensive be damned! He must have said offensive – how the hell could he attack defensively? And this order says nothin’ about Lucan’s better judgment. For one thing, he’s got no more judgment than Mulligan’s bull pup!”
“Well, that’s what Raglan said!” I shouted. “You’re bound to deliver it.”
“Ah, damn them all, what a set of old women!” He dug in his spurs, head down, shouting across to me as we raced towards the rear squadrons of the Heavies. “They don’t know their minds from one minute to the next. I tell ye, Flash, that ould ninny Raglan will hinder the cavalry at all costs – an’ Lucan’s not a whit better. What do they think horse-soldiers are for? Well, Lucan shall have his order, and be damned to them!”
I eased up as we shot through the ranks of the Greys, letting him go ahead; he went streaking through the Heavies, and across the intervening space towards the Lights. I’d no wish to be dragged into the discussion that would inevitably ensue with Lucan, who had to have every order explained to him three times at least. But I supposed I ought to be on hand, so I cantered easily up to the 4th Lights, and there was George Paget again, wanting to know what was up.
“You’re advancing shortly,” says I, and “Damned high time, too,” says he. “Got a cheroot, Flash? – I haven’t a weed to my name.”
I gave him one, and he squinted at me. “You’re looking peaky,” says he. “Anything wrong?”
“Bowels,” says I. “Damn all Russian champagne. Where’s Lord Look-on?”
He pointed, and I saw Lucan out ahead of the Lights, with some galloper beside him, and Nolan just reining up. Lew was saluting, and handing him the paper, and while Lucan pored over it I looked about me.
It was drowsy and close down here on the plain after the breezy heights of the Sapoune; hardly a breath of wind, and the flies buzzing round the horses’ heads, and the heavy smell of dung and leather. I suddenly realized I was damned tired, and my belly wouldn’t lie quiet again; I grunted in reply to George’s questions, and took stock of the Brigade, squirming uncomfortably in my saddle – there were the Cherrypickers in front, all very spruce in blue and pink with their pelisses trailing; to their right the mortar-board helmets and blue tunics of the 17th, with their lances at rest and the little red point plumes hanging limp; to their right again, not far from where Lucan was sitting, the 13th Lights, with the great Lord Cardigan himself out to the fore, sitting very aloof and alone and affecting not to notice Lucan and Nolan, who weren’t above twenty yards from him.
Suddenly I was aware of Lucan’s voice raised, and trotted away from George in that direction; it looked as though Lew would need some help in getting the message into his lordship’s thick skull. I saw Lucan look in my direction, and just at that moment, as I was passing the 17th, someone called out:
“Hollo, there’s old Flashy! Now we’ll see some fun! What’s the row, Flash?”
This sort of thing happens when one is generally admired; I replied with a nonchalant wave of the hand, and sang out: “Tally-ho, you fellows! You’ll have all the fun you want presently,” at which they laughed, and I saw Tubby Morris grinning across at me.
And then I heard Lucan’s voice, clear as a bugle. “Guns, sir? What guns, may I ask? I can see no guns.”
He was looking up the valley, his hand shading his eyes, and when I looked, by God, you couldn’t see the redoubt where the Ruskis had been limbering up to haul the guns away – just the long slope of Causeway Heights, and the Russian infantry uncomfortably close.
“Where, sir?” cries Lucan. “What guns do you mean?”
I could see Lew’s face working; he was scarlet with fury, and his hand was shaking as he came up by Lucan’s shoulder, pointing along the line of the Causeway.
“There, my lord – there, you see, are the guns! There’s your enemy!”
He brayed it out, as though he was addressing a dirty trooper, and Lucan stiffened as though he’d been hit. He looked as though he would lose his temper, but then he commanded himself, and Lew wheeled abruptly away and cantered off, making straight for me where I was sitting to the right of the 17th. He was shaking with passion, and as he drew abreast of me he rasped out:
“The bloody fool! Does he want to sit on his great fat arse all day and every day?”
“Lew,” says I, pretty sharp, “did you tell him he was to act defensively and at his own discretion?”
“Tell him?” says he, bearing his teeth in a savage grin. “By Christ, I told him three times over! As if that bastard needs telling to act defensively – he’s capable of nothing else! Well, he’s got his bloody orders – now let’s see how he carries them out!”
And with that he went over to Tubby Morris, and I thought, well, that’s that – now for the Sapoune, home and beauty, and let ’em chase to their hearts content down here. And I was just wheeling my horse, when from behind me I heard Lucan’s voice.
“Colonel Flashman!” He was sitting with Cardigan, before the 13th Lights. “Come over here, if you please!”
Now what, thinks I, and my belly gave a great windy twinge as I trotted over towards them. Lucan was snapping at him impatiently, as I drew alongside:
“I know, I know, but there it is. Lord Raglan’s order is quite positive, and we must obey it.”
“Oh, vewy well,” says Cardigan, damned ill-humoured; his voice was a mere croak, no doubt with his roupy chest, or over-boozing on his yacht. He flicked a glance at me, and looked away, sniffing; Lucan addressed me.
“You will accompany Lord Cardigan,” says he. “In the event that communication is needed, he must have a galloper.”
I stared horrified, hardly taking in Cardigan’s comment: “I envisage no necessity for Colonel Fwashman’s pwesence, or for communication with your lordship.”
“Indeed, sir,” says I, “Lord Raglan will need me … I dare not wait any longer … with your lordship’s permission, I –”
“You