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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causeway gradually narrowed to perhaps half a mile, so that it was like driving along a very broad raised road, with the ground falling away sharply on either side to the snow-covered frozen waters of Azov and the Sivache lagoon; the salty charnel reek was awful, and even the horses didn’t like it, tossing their heads and pulling awkwardly, so that I had to look sharp to manage them. We passed two empty post-stations, East and I exchanging at each one, and after about four hours he took the reins for what we hoped would be the last spell into Arabat.
I climbed into the back of the sled and made all the fastenings secure as we started off again, and was preparing to curl up on the back seat when Valla stirred sleepily in the darkness, murmuring “Harr-ee?” as she stretched restlessly in her pile of furs on the floor. I knelt down beside her and took her hand, but when I spoke to her she just mumbled and turned over; the laudanum and brandy still had her pretty well foxed, and there was no sense to be got out of her. It struck me she might be conscious enough to enjoy some company, though, so I slipped a hand beneath the furs and encountered warm, plump flesh; the touch of it sent the blood pumping in my head.
“Valla, my love,” I whispered, just to be respectable; I could smell the sweet musky perfume of her skin, even over the brandy. I stroked her belly, and she moaned softly, and when I felt upwards and cupped her breast she turned towards me, her lips wet against my cheek. I was shaking as I put my mouth on hers, and then in a trice I was under the rugs, wallowing away like a sailor on shore leave, and half-drunk as she was she clung to me passionately. It was an astonishing business, for the furs were crackling with electricity, shocking me into unprecedented efforts – I thought I knew everything in the galloping line, but I’ll swear there’s no more alarming way of doing it than under a pile of skins in a sled skimming through the freezing Russian night; it’s like performing on a bed of fire-crackers.
Engrossing as the novelty was, it was also exhausting, and I must have dozed off afterwards with Valla purring in her unconsciousness beside me. And then I became dimly conscious that the sled was slowing down, and gliding to a halt; I sat up, wondering what the blazes was wrong, buttoning myself hastily, and then I heard East jump down. I stuck my head out; he was standing by the sled, his head cocked, listening.
“Hush!” says he, sharply. “Do you hear anything?”
It crossed my mind that he’d overheard the heaving and crackling of my contortions with Valla, but his next words drove that idea out of my head, and implanted a new and disturbing one.
“Behind us,” says he. “Listen!”
I scrambled out on to the snow, and we stood there, in the silent moonlight, straining our ears. At first there was nothing but the gentle sigh of the wind, the restless movement of the horses, and our own hearts thumping in the stillness – and then? Was there the tiniest murmur from somewhere back on the causeway, an indistinct but regular sound, softly up and down, up and down? I felt the hairs rise on my neck – it couldn’t be wolves, not here, but what was it, then? We stared back along the causeway; it was very narrow now, only a couple of hundred yards across, but we had just come on to a stretch where it began to swerve gently towards the east, and it was difficult to make out anything in the gloom beyond the bend about a quarter of a mile behind us. Snow was falling gently, brushing our faces.
“I thought I heard …” Scud said slowly. “But perhaps I was wrong.”
“Whatever it is, or isn’t, there’s no sense waiting here for it!” says I. “How far d’you reckon we are from Arabat?”
“Six miles, perhaps – surely not much more. Once there, we should be all right. According to that book of mine, there are little hills and gullies beyond the town, and we can lose ourselves in ’em if we want to, so …”
“The devil with dallying here, then!” cries I, in a fine stew. “Why the deuce are we wasting time, man? Let’s be off from this blasted place, where there’s nowhere to hide! Up on the box with you!”
“You’re right, of course,” says he. “I just … Hark, though! what’s that?”
I listened, gulping – and there was a sound, a sound that I knew all too well. Very faintly, somewhere behind us, there was a gentle but now distinct drumming, and a tiny tinkling with it. There were horsemen on the causeway!
“Quick!” I shouted. “They’re after us! Hurry, man – move those horses!”
He tumbled up on to the box, and as I swung myself on to the runner-mounting he cracked his whip and we slid forward across the snow. I clung to the side of the sled, peering back fearfully through the thin snow-fall, trying to make out if anything was showing beyond the bend in the causeway. We increased speed, and with the hiss of the runners it was impossible to listen for that frightening tell-tale sound.
“It may be just other travellers some distance back!” cries Scud from the box. “No one could be pursuing us!”
“Travellers at this time of night?” says I. “For God’s sake, man, hurry those beasts!”
We were gathering speed now, cracking along at a good clip, and I was just about to swing myself under the cover – but I paused for another look back along the causeway, and what I saw nearly made me loose my hold. Very dimly through the falling flakes, I could just make out the causeway bend, and there, moving out on to the straight on this side of it, was a dark, indistinct mass – too big and irregular to be anything like a sled. And then the moonlight caught a score of twinkling slivers in the gloom, and I yelled at East in panic:
“It’s cavalry – horsemen! They’re after us, man!”
At the same time they must have seen us, for a muffled cry reached my ears, and now I could see the mass was indeed made up of separate pieces – a whole troop of them, coming on at a steady hand-gallop, and even as I watched they lengthened their stride, closing the distance. East was flogging at the horses, and the sled swayed and shuddered as we tore along – were they gaining on us? I clung there, trying to measure the distance, but I couldn’t be sure; perhaps terror was colouring my judgment, making me see what I wanted to see, but so far as I could judge it looked as though we were holding our own for the moment.
“Faster!” I bawled to East. “Faster, man, or they’ll have us!”
If only the bloody ass hadn’t halted to listen – if only we hadn’t wasted that precious hour dozing at Yenitchi! I couldn’t begin to guess who these people were, or how they had got after us – but there they were, scudding along behind as fast as they could ride – four hundred yards, five hundred? Maybe five or more – I couldn’t see whether they were hussars or dragoons or what, but I had a feeling they were heavies. Pray God they might be! I swung under the covers and threw myself on to the back seat, peering out through the window-flap. No, they weren’t closing the distance – not yet. They were fanned out on the causeway as far as they could – good riding, that, for in column the rear files would have been ploughing into the churned snow of the men in front. Trust Russian cavalry to know about that.
But if they weren’t gaining, they weren’t dropping back, either. There was nothing in it – it’s a queer thing, but where a horseman can easily overhaul a coach, or even a racing phaeton, a good sled on firm snow is another matter entirely. A horse with a load on his back makes heavy weather in snow, but unladen they can spank a sled along at nearly full gallop.
But how long could our beasts keep up their present pace? They were far from fresh – on the other hand, our pursuers didn’t look too chipper, either. I watched them, my heart in my mouth, through the falling snow – was it getting thicker? By God, it was! If it really set in, and we could hold them as far as Arabat, we might be able to lose them – and even as the thought crossed my mind I felt the pace of the sled slacken just a little. I stared back at the distant horsemen, my throat dry, fixing on the centre man until my eyes ached and he seemed to be swimming mistily before me. He was just a vague blur – no, I could make out the shape of his head now – they were gaining, ever so little, but still gaining, creeping gradually up behind, yard by yard.
I couldn’t stand it. I plunged to the side of the sled,