Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 2: Flashman and the Mountain of Light, Flash For Freedom!, Flashman and the Redskins
depend on that, Mr Flashman!”
The sun couldn’t have got him, not in December, and he wasn’t tight. Tactfully I asked him how the fate of India came into it, since I had no vital intelligence to take with me, and my addition to the forces of the Company, while no doubt welcome in its small way, could hardly be decisive.
“Forces of the Company my aunt’s petticoat!” snarls he. “You’re going in with the Khalsa!”
a Daghabazi=treachery.
If life has taught me anything at all, it’s how to keep my countenance in the presence of strong, authoritative men whose rightful place is in a padded cell. I’ve known a power of them, to my cost, and Alick Gardner’s a minor figure in a list that includes the likes of Bismarck, Palmerston, Lincoln, Gordon, John Charity Spring, M.A., George Custer, and the White Raja, to say nothing of my beloved mentor, Dr Arnold, and my old guv’nor (who did end his days in a blue-devil factory, bless him). Many of them men of genius, no doubt, but all sharing the delusion that they could put any proposal, however lunatic, to young Flashy and make him like it. There’s no arguing with such fellows, of course; all you can do, if you’re lucky, is nod and say: “Well, sir, that’s an interesting notion, to be sure – just before you tell me more about it, would you excuse me for a moment?” and once you’re round the corner, make for the high ground. I’ve seldom had that chance, unfortunately, and there’s nothing for it but to sit with an expression of attentive idiocy trying to figure a way out. Which is what I did with Gardner while he elaborated his monstrous suggestion.
“You’re going with the Khalsa,” says he, “to ensure its defeat. It’s doomed and damned already, thanks to Mai Jeendan – but you can make it certain.”
You see what I mean – the man was plainly must,a doolali, afflicted of Allah, too long in the hills altogether – but one doesn’t like to say so, straight out, not to a chap who affects tartan pants and has a Khyber knife across his lap. So I avoided the main point for a lesser but equally curious one.
“I don’t quite follow, Gardner, old fellow,” says I. “You say the Khalsa’s doomed … and it’s Jeendan’s doing? But … she never wanted this war, you know. She’s been working to avoid it – hocussing the Khalsa, delaying ’em, holding ’em back. They know it, too – Maka Khan told me. And now they’ve broken loose, in spite of her –”
“In spite of … why, you jackass!” cries he, glaring like the Ancient Mariner. “She started it! Don’t you understand – she’s been planning this war for months! Why? To destroy the Khalsa, of course – to see it exterminated, root and branch! Sure, she held ’em back – until the cold weather, until she’d fixed it so they have the worst possible generals, until she’d bought time for Gough! But not to avoid war, no sir! Just to make sure that when she did send ’em in, the Khalsa would get whipped five ways to Sunday! Don’t you know that?”
“Talk sense – why should she want to destroy her own army?”
“Because if she doesn’t, it will sure as hell destroy her in the end!” He fetched a deep breath. “See here … you know the Khalsa’s gotten too big for its britches, don’t you? For six years it’s been ruining the Punjab, defying government, doing as it dam’ well pleases –”
“I know all that, but –”
“Well, don’t you see, the ruling clique – Jeendan and the nobles – have had their power and fortunes wiped out, their very existence threatened? So of course they want the Khalsa crushed – and the only force on earth that can do that is John Company! That’s why they’ve been trying to provoke a war – that’s why Jawaheer wanted one! But they murdered him – and that’s another score Mai Jeendan has to settle. You remember her that night at Maian Mir, don’t you? She was sentencing the Khalsa then, Mr Flashman – now she’s executing them!”
I remembered her screaming hate at the Khalsa over Jawaheer’s body – but Gardner still wasn’t making sense. “Dammit, if the Khalsa goes under, she’ll go with it!” I protested. “She’s their queen – and you say she’s set them on! Well, if they lose, she’ll be finished, won’t she?”
He sighed, shaking his head. “Son, it won’t even take the dander out of her hair. When they lose, she’s won. Consider … Britain doesn’t want to conquer the Punjab – too much trouble. It just wants it nice and quiet, with no Khalsa running wild, and a stable Sikh government who’ll do what Hardinge tells ’em. So … when the Khalsa’s licked, your chiefs won’t annex the Punjab – no, sir! They’ll find it convenient to keep little Dalip on the throne, with Jeendan as regent – which means that she and the nobles will be riding high again, squeezing the fat out of the country just like old times – and with no Khalsa to worry about.”
“Hold on! Are you saying that this war’s a put-up job – that they know, in Simla, that Jeendan is hoping we’ll destroy her army, for her own benefit? I won’t have that! Why, it’d be collusion … conspiracy … aiding and abetting –”
“No such thing! Oh, they know in Simla what she’s after – or they suspect, leastways. But what can they do about it? Give the Khalsa free passage to Delhi?” He snorted. “Hardinge’s got to fight, whether he likes it or not! And while he may not welcome the war, there are plenty of ‘forward policy’ men like Broadfoot who do. But that doesn’t mean they’re in cahoots with Mai Jeendan – the way she’s fixed things, they don’t need to be!”
I sat silent, trying to take it in … and feeling no end of a fool. Evidently I had misjudged the lady. Oh, I’d guessed there was steel inside my drunken, avid little houri, but hardly of the temper that could slaughter scores of thousands of men just for her own political convenience and personal comfort. Mind you, what other reasons do statesmen and princes ever have for making war, when all the sham’s been stripped away? Oh, and she had her sot of a brother to avenge, to be sure. But I wondered if her calculations were right; I could spot one almighty imponderable, and I voiced it to Gardner, whether it sounded like croaking or not.
“But suppose we don’t beat the Khalsa? How can she be so sure we will? There’s a hell of a lot of ’em, and we’re spread thin … Wait, though! Maka Khan was in a great sweat in case she’d betrayed their plans of campaign! Well, has she?”
Gardner shook his head. “She’s done better than that. She’s put the conduct of the war in the hands of Lal Singh, her Wazir and lover, and Tej Singh, her commander-in-chief who’d set fire to his own mother to keep warm.” He nodded grimly. “They’ll see to it that Gough doesn’t have too much trouble.”
Suddenly I remembered Lal Singh’s words to me … “I wonder how we should acquit ourselves against such a seasoned campaigner as Sir Hugh Gough …?”
“My God,” says I, with reverence. “You mean they’re ready to … to fight a cross? To sell the pass? But … does Gough know? I mean, have they arranged with him –?”
“No, sir. That’s your part. That’s why you have to join the Khalsa.” He leaned forward, the hawk face close to mine. “You’re going to Lal Singh. By tomorrow he’ll be lying before Ferozepore with twenty thousand gorracharra. He’ll tell you his plans, and Tej Singh’s – numbers, armaments, dispositions, intentions, all of it – and you’ll carry them to Gough and Hardinge. And then … well, it should be an interesting little war … what’s the matter?”
I’d been struggling for speech during this fearful recital, but when I found words it wasn’t to protest, or argue, or scream, but to pose a profound military question:
“But … hell’s bells! Look here … they can give away plans – arrange for