Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 4: Flashman and the Dragon, Flashman on the March, Flashman and the Tiger. George Fraser MacDonald

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СКАЧАТЬ hurry, for it took us not into Nanking, but into the heart of the vast army of Golden Lions, commanded by General Lee Hsiu-chen, the Loyal Prince, and the man I had come to see. I had mixed feelings about meeting him; great men are chancy, and best viewed from a distance as the parade goes by.

      And didn’t this one have a parade of his own, just! Mile after mile of outposts and lines and bivouacs, swarming with orderly mobs of red coats and white straw coolie hats; parks of artillery, laagers of store-wagons and equipment carts; great encampments for the separate corps – the Youths, the Earths, the Waters, the Women, who are respectively the light infantry and scout battalions, the sappers and builders, the river navy, and the female regiments, who alone were a hundred thousand strong. I looked on those anthills of disciplined humanity, covering the ground into the hazy distance, and thought: Palmerston, you should see this. God knows about their quality, although they look well, but for weight of numbers they’ll be bad to beat. Take on the Russians, or the Frogs, or the Yankees, if you like, but don’t tangle with this, because you’ll never come to the end of them.¹¹

      Well, I was wrong, as you know. A dreamy young Scot and a crazy American between them brought the Great Kingdom of Heavenly Peace down in bloody wreck in the end. But I wouldn’t have bet on it that day below Nanking. And this wasn’t the half of them; the rest were still out yonder, murdering Imps.

      When we were clearly coming to the centre of the camp, I decided it was time to announce myself as an English gentleman seeking General Lee. That cleared our way to a cluster of head-quarter tents, where I made myself known to an officer outside the biggest marquee of all, with stalwart bowmen in fur caps and steel breastplates standing guard, a golden lion standard at its canopy, and yellow ribbons fluttering from its evaes. He told me to wait, and I turned to Szu-Zhan, asking her to act as my sponsor. She shook her head.

      “No. Go in alone. He will not wish to see me.”

      “He will when I tell him that it’s thanks to you I’m here,” says I. “Come on, tall girl! I need you to speak up for me.”

      She shook her head again. “Better you speak to him alone. Don’t worry, he will understand what you say.” She glanced round at the six wise men, who were studying their orderly surroundings with contempt, and spitting over the edge of the cart. “You’ll get no credit from this company, fan-qui.”

      Something in her voice made me look closer – she’d been calling me “Halli’”, not “fan-qui” for days now. Her eyes seemed bigger, and suddenly I realised, before she turned her head away sharply, it was because there were tears in them.

      “For God’s sake!” says I, stepping up. “Here, come down this minute! Come down, I say!”

      She slipped over the edge of the cart and leaned against it with that artless elegance that could make me come all over of a heat, and looked sullenly down at me. “What the devil’s the matter?” says I. “Why won’t you come in?”

      “It is not fitting,” says she stubbornly, and brushed a hand over her eyes, the bangles tinkling.

      “Not fitting? What stuff! Why … Here!” A thought struck me. “It’s not … anything you’ve done, is it? You’re not … wanted … for being a bandit, I mean?”

      She stared, and then laughed her great deep laugh, with her head back, the steel collar shaking above her bosom. Gad, but she was fine to see – so tall and strong and beautiful. “No, Halli’, I am not … wanted.” She shrugged impatiently. “But I would rather stay here. I’ll wait.”

      Well, the darlings have their own reasons, so when the officer returned I went in alone, and was conducted through a long canvas passage ending in a heavy cloth of gold curtain. He drew it back … and I stepped from the world into the Kingdom of Heavenly Peace.

      It was downright eery. One moment the noise and bustle of the camp, and now the dead silence of a spacious tent that was walled and roofed and even carpeted in yellow silk; filtered light illuminated it in a golden haze; the furniture was gilt, and the young clerk writing at a gold table was all clad in yellow satin. He put down his brush and rose, addressing me in good Pekinese:

      “Mr Fleming?” He called it Fremming. “The gentleman from the Missionaries of London?” I said I was, and that I wished to see General Lee Hsiu-chen (whom I was imagining as Timoor the Tartar, all bulk and belly in a fur cloak and huge moustachios).

      He indicated a chair and slipped out, returning a moment later in a brilliant scarlet silk jacket – the effect of that glaring splash of colour in the soft golden radiance absolutely made me blink. I rose, waiting to be ushered.

      “Please to sit,” says he. “This is not ceremonial dress.”

      He sat down behind the table, folded his hands, and looked at me – and as I stared at the lean, youthful face with its tight lips and stretched skin, and met the gaze of the intent dark eyes, I realised with shock that this slim youngster (I could give him several years, easy) must be the famous Loyal Prince himself. I tried to conceal my astonishment, while he regarded me impassively.

      “We are honoured,” says he. His voice was soft and high-pitched. “You were expected some days ago. Perhaps you have had a troublesome journey?”

      Still taken aback, I told him about the river ambush, and how Szu-Zhan and her friends had brought me across country.

      “You were fortunate,” says he coolly. “The tall woman and her brigands have been useful auxiliaries in the past, but they are pagans and we prefer not to rely on such people.”

      Not encouraging, but I told him, slightly embarrassed, that I’d promised her two hundred taels, which I didn’t have, and he continued to regard me without expression.

      “My treasurer will supply you,” says he, and at this point in our happy chat a servant entered with tea and tiny cups. Lee poured in ceremonious silence, and the trickle of the tea sounded like a thundering torrent. For no good reason, I was sweating; there was something not canny about this yellow silken cave with the scarlet-coated young deaths-head asking if I would care for distilled water on the side. Then we sat sipping in the stillness for about a week, and my belly gurgling like the town drains. At last he set down his cup and asked quietly:

      “Will the Powers welcome our army at Shanghai?”

      I damned near swallowed my cup. If he handled his army as briskly as his diplomacy, it was a wonder there was an Imp soldier left in China by now. He waited until I had done hawking and coughing, and fixed me with those cold dark eyes.

      “It is essential that they should.” He spoke in the flat, dispassionate tone of a lecturer. “The war in China is foregone. The dragon will die, and we shall have killed it. The will of the people, inspired by God’s holy truth, must prevail, and in the place of the old, corrupt China, a new nation will be born – the Taiping. To achieve this, we do not need European help, but European compliance. The Powers in effect control the Treaty Ports; the use of one of them, Shanghai, will enable us to end the war so much the sooner.”

      Well, that was what Bruce had said, and what we, in our neutrality, were reluctant to grant, because it would put a fire-cracker under Pekin’s backside and Grant would have to fight all the way to the capital against an Imperial Government who’d feel (rightly) that we’d betrayed ’em to the Taipings.

      “We are aware,” he went on, “that Britain has a treaty with the Emperor and recognises his government, while not acknowledging even СКАЧАТЬ