Flashman And The Tiger

There are chaps, I know, who when doom seems certain grit their teeth and find renewed courage in their extremity. I ain’t like that at all, but my native cowardice does take on a sort of reckless frenzy, rather like those fellows who caught the Black Death and thought, oh, well, to hell with everything, we might as well carouse and fornicate to the end, ’cos at least it’s more fun than repentance or prayer. It was in this spirit that I was able to roger that houri in Borneo during the Batang Lupar battle, whimpering fearfully the while, and do justice to Mrs Popplewell while in flight from the outraged townsfolk of Harper’s Ferry. It don’t cast out fear, but it does take your mind off it.

In my present plight, things were made easier by Willem and Kralta, who kept up the pretence that I was a willing guest, chatting amiably as we went indoors, calling for comforts and refreshments, and when we came to a late supper in the sparsely furnished dining-room, setting themselves to put me at ease—a Herculean task, you’ll allow, but they didn’t shirk. Willem pattered away cheerily, and Kralta, shrewdly guessing that nothing was more likely to put me in trim than a fine display of gleaming shoulders and rampant boobies across the board, had changed into evening rig of red velveteen stuff with jewels sparkling on her bosom and in her hair. Why not, thinks I, it’ll see you through a restless night at any rate. So I joined in their talk, stiff enough at first, but unbending to the extent of reminiscing about a campaign or two, and from their occasional exchange of glances I could see that they were thinking, aha, the brute’s coming round after all. Nothing was said about the Ischl business until we were about to part for the night, by which time I’d drunk enough to swamp my worst fears and prime me for another bout with Kralta. She’d left us to our cigars, with a cool smile for me as I drew back her chair, and when we were alone Willem says:

"Our proposal … d’you still need to sleep on it?"

"Do I have a choice?" I wondered.

"Hardly. But I’d like to think you were with me willingly—for the good cause, oh, and the fun of it!" He chuckled—gad, he was like Rudi, ruthless as cold iron but treating it as a game. "Come on, Harry—what d’you say?"

"If I say `aye'—would you trust me?"

"On your word of honour—yes." Lying bastard, but it gave me the chance to play bluff Flashy to the hilt. I sat up straight and looked him in the eye.

"Very well," says I deliberately. "I’ll give it … in return for your word of honour that all you’ve told me is gospel true."

He was on his feet like a shot, hand held out, smiling eagerly. "Done!" cries he. "On my honour! Oh, this is famous! I knew you’d come round! Here, we must certainly drink to this!" So we did, neither of us believing the other for an instant, but content with the pretence. At that, I ain’t sure that he didn’t half-believe me, for I can sound damned true-blue when I want to. We drank, and he clapped me on the shoulder, bubbling with spirits, and delivered me to my beefy watchdog, crying "Good night, old fellow! Sweet dreams!" as I was shepherded up the stairs.

The lout saw me silently into a room, which was as I’d expected—bars on the window, lock clicking behind me, and Kralta sitting up in the great four-post bed, clad in a gauzy night-rail and a look of expectation.

"Tell me he persuaded you!" cries she.

"Not for a moment, my dear," says I, shedding my coat. "You see, I knew his father, and I’d not trust either of ’em round the corner." The fine long face hardened in dismay, and she drew back against the pillows as I sat down on the side of the bed. "No, he has not persuaded me …" I leaned towards her with my wistful Flashy smile, reaching out to touch her hair "… but you have. You see, I’m a simple sort of chap, Kralta, always have been. I don’t always know a wrong ’un when I meet one, but I do know when someone’s straight." I kissed her gently on the forehead, and felt her quiver distractingly. "You’re straight as a die. And while I ain’t much on politics, or the smoky things these statesmen get up to, or even understand above half all the stuff that Willem told me … well, that don’t matter, truly." I fondled a tit with deep sincerity, and felt it harden like a blown-up football. "If you think it’s a worthy cause … well, that’s good enough for me."

Ever seen a horse weep? Nor I, but having watched the tears well in those fine blue eyes and trickle down her muzzle, and heard her whinny and bare her buck teeth in a smile of glad relief, I don’t need to. Her arms went round my neck.

"Oh … but all my deceits and lies—"