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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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 résumé 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 artillery may be moved with ease across the South Caspian to Herat, while the cavalry move through Persia. Once we are in Persia, the British will have warning of our attempt, but by then it will be too late – far too late. We shall proceed through Kandahar and Kabul, assisted by the hatred which the Afghans owe the British, and so – to India.
“There are, by reliable report, twenty-five thousand British troops in India, and three hundred thousand native soldiers. These latter present no problem – once a successful invasion is launched, the majority of them will desert, or join in the rebellion which our presence will inspire. It is doubtful if, six months after we cross the Khyber, a single British soldier, civilian, or settlement will remain on the continent. It will have been liberated, and restored to its people. They will require our assistance, and armed presence, for an indefinite period, to guard against counter-invasion.”
At this I heard East mutter, “I’ll bet they will.” I could feel him quivering with excitement; myself, I was trying to digest the immensity of the thing. Of course, it had been a fear in India since I could remember – the Great Bear coming over the passes, but no one truly believed they’d ever have the nerve or the ability to try it. But now, here it was – simple, direct, and certain. Not the least of the coincidences of our remarkable eavesdrop was that I, who knew as much about Afghan affairs from first hand, and our weakness on the north Indian frontier, as any man living, should be one of the listeners. As I took it in, I could see it happening; yes, they could do it all right.
“That, your majesty,” Ignatieff was saying, “is an essential sketch of our purpose. We have all studied the plans in detail, as has your highness, and unless some new points have arisen from my résumé, your majesty will no doubt wish to confirm the royal assent already given.” He said it with deference, trying to hide his eagerness – your promoter anxious to get the official seal.
“Thank you, Count.” It was the weak voice again. “We have it clear. Gentlemen?” There was a pause. “It is a weighty matter. No such attempt has ever been made before. But we are confident – are we not?”
Khruleff nodded slowly. “It has always been possible. Now it is a certainty. In a stroke, we clear the British from India, and extend your majesty’s imperial … influence from the North Cape to the isle of Ceylon. No Tsar in history has achieved such an advance for our country. The troops are ample, the planning exact, the conditions ideal. The pick of Britain’s army, and of her navy, are diverted in the Crimea, and it is certain that no assistance could be rendered in India within a year. By then – we shall have supplanted England in southern Asia.”29
“And it can begin without delay?” says the Tsar’s voice.
“Immediately, majesty. By the southern route, we can be at the Khyber, with every man, gun, and item of equipment, seven months