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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no go … horses are almost played out! Can’t … We’re too heavy! Throw out some weight … the food … anything!”
I looked back; they were certainly gaining now, for the pale blobs of their faces were dimly visible even through the driving snow. They couldn’t be much more than two hundred yards away, and one of ’em was shouting; I could just catch the voice, but not the words.
“Damn you!” I roared. “Russian bastards!” And fell back into the sled, scrabbling for our supplies, to hurl them out and lighten the sled. It was ridiculous – a few loaves and a couple of bottles – but out they went anyway, and not a scrap of difference did it make. The cover? If I let it go, would that help – it would cut down the wind resistance at least. I struggled with the buckles, stiff with the cold as they were, bruising my fingers and swearing feebly. There were eight of them, two to each side, and I just had the wit to undo the rear ones first, and the front ones last, whereupon the whole thing flew off, billowing away before it flopped on the snow. Perhaps it helped a trifle, but nothing like enough – they were still closing, almost imperceptibly, but closing nonetheless.
I groaned and cursed, while the freezing wind whipped at me, casting about for anything else to jettison. The furs? We’d freeze without them, and Valla didn’t have a stitch – Valla! For an instant even I was appalled – but only for an instant. There was eight stone of her if there was an ounce – her loss would lighten us splendidly! And that wasn’t all – they’d be bound to check, at least, if she came bouncing over the back. Gallant Russian gentlemen, after all, don’t abandon naked girls in the snow. It would gain us seconds, anyway, and the loss of weight would surely do the rest.
I stooped over her, fighting to balance myself in the rocking sled. She was still unconscious, wrapped in her furs, looking truly lovely with her silver hair shining in the moonlight, murmuring a little in her half-drunken sleep. I heaved her upright, keeping the fur round her as best I could, and dragged her to the back seat. She nestled against me, and even in that moment of panic I found myself kissing her goodbye – well, it seemed the least I could do. Her lips were chill, with the snow driving past us in the wind; there’ll be more than your lips cold in a moment, thinks I. At least her eyes were shut, and our pursuers would see to her before she froze.
“Good-bye, little one,” says I. “Sleep tight,” and I slipped my arm beneath her legs and bundled her over the back in one clean movement; there was a flash of white limbs as the furs fell away from her, and then she was sprawling on the snow behind us. The sled leaped forward as though a brake had been released, East yelled with alarm, and I could guess he was clinging to the reins for dear life; I gazed back at the receding dark blur where the fur lay beside Valla in the snow. She was invisible in the white confusion, but I saw the riders suddenly swerve out from the centre, a thin shout reached me, and then the leader and his immediate flankers were reining up, the riders on the wings were checking, too, but then they came on, rot them, while a little knot of the centre men halted and gathered, and I saw a couple of them swinging down from their saddles before they were lost in the snowy night.
And the dozen or so riders from the wings were losing ground, too! The lightened sled was fairly racing along. I yelled with delight, tossing my hands in the air, and scrambled forward, over the front of the sled, heaving myself up beside East on the box.
“On, Scud, on!” I shouted. “We’re leaving ’em! We’ll beat them yet!”
“What was it?” he cried. “What did you do? What did you throw out?”
“Useless baggage!” shouts I. “Never mind, man! Drive for your life!”
He shouted at the beasts, snapping the reins, and then cries:
“What baggage? We had none!” He glanced over his shoulder, at where the horsemen were dim shapes now in the distance, and his eyes fell on the sled. “Is Valla all –” and then he positively screamed. “Valla! Valla! My God!” He reeled in his seat, and I had to grab the reins as they slipped from his fingers. “You – you – no, you couldn’t! Flashman, you …”
“Hold on, you infernal fool!” I yelled. “It’s too late now!” He made a grab at the reins, and I had to sweep him back by main force, as I clutched the ribbons in one hand. “Stop it, damn you, or you’ll have us sunk as well!”
“Rein up!” he bawled, struggling with me. “Rein up – must go back! My God, Valla! You filthy, inhuman brute – oh, God!”
“You idiot!” I shouted, lunging with all my weight to keep him off. “It was her or all of us!” Divine inspiration seized me. “Have you forgotten what we’re doing, curse you? We’ve got to get to Raglan, with our news! If we don’t – what about Ignatieff and his cursed plans? By heaven, East, I don’t forget my duty, even if you do, and I tell you I’d heave a thousand Russian sluts into the snow for my country’s sake!” And ten thousand for my own, but that’s no matter. “Don’t you see – it was that or be captured? And we’ve got to get through – whatever the cost!”
It stopped him struggling for the reins, at any rate; I felt him go limp beside me, and then he was sobbing like a man in torment, feebly beating with his fist against his temple.
“Oh, my God! How could you – oh, little Valla! I’d have gone – gladly! Oh, she’ll die – freezing in that horrible waste!”
“Stop that damned babbling!” says I, stern duty personified. “Do you think I wouldn’t have gone myself? And if I had, and some accident had then happened to you, where would our mission have been? While we’re both free we double our hope of success.” I snapped the reins, blinking against the driving snow as we sped along, and then stole a glance behind – nothing but whirling snow over the empty causeway; our pursuers were lost in the distance, but they’d still be there; we daren’t check for an instant.
East was clinging to the box as we rocked along, a man stricken. He kept repeating Valla’s name over and over again, and groaning. “Oh, it’s too much! Too high a price – God, have you no pity, Flashman? Are you made of stone?”
“Where my duty’s concerned – aye!” cries I, in a fine patriotic fever. “You may thank God for it! If you’d had your way, we’d have died with Pencherjevsky, or be getting sabred to bits back yonder – and would that have served our country?” I decided a little manly rave would do no harm – not that I gave a damn what East thought, but it would keep him quiet, and stop him doing anything rash even now. “My God, East! Have you any notion what this night’s work has cost me? D’you think it won’t haunt me forever? D’you think I … I have no heart?” I dashed my knuckles across my eyes in a fine gesture. “Anyway, it’s odds she’ll be all right – they’re her people, after all, and they’ll wrap her up nice as ninepence.”
He heaved a great shuddering breath. “Oh, I pray to God it may be so! But the horror of that moment – it’s no good, Flashman – I’m not like you! I have not the iron will – I am not of your mettle!”
You’re right there, boy, thinks I, turning again to look back. Still nothing, and then through the dimness ahead there was a faint glimmer of light, growing to a cluster, and the causeway was narrowing to nothing more than a dyke, so that I had to slow the sled for fear we should pitch down the banks to the frozen sea. There was a big square fort looming up on our right, and a straggle of buildings on the left, whence the lights came; between, the road ran clear on to broad snowfields.
I snapped the whip, calling to the horses, and we drove through, never heeding a voice that called to us from the fort wall overhead. The horsemen might well have closed on us with our slowing down for the dyke, and there wasn’t a second to spare. We scudded across the snowfield, casting anxious glances behind; the ground was becoming broken ahead, with little mounds and valleys, and stunted undergrowth – once into that, with the light snow still falling to blot out our tracks, we could twist away and lose them for certain.
“Bravo!” cries I, “we’re almost there!” Behind us, Arabat and its fort were fading into the dark; the glimmer of the lights was diminishing as we breasted the first gentle