Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 2: Flashman and the Mountain of Light, Flash For Freedom!, Flashman and the Redskins. George Fraser MacDonald

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СКАЧАТЬ uproar than ever, some crying that her wish was their command and she should stay where she was, others that they’d seen her before and no harm done. The older men scowled and shook their heads, but the youngsters fairly bayed for her to come out, one bold spirit even demanding that she dance for them as she had done in the past; someone started up a song about a Kashmiri girl who fluttered her trouser fringes and shook the world thereby, and then from the back of the room they began to chant “Jeendan! Jeendan!” The conservatives swore in protest at this indecent levity, and a big lean Akali with eyes like coals and hair hanging to his waist burst out of the front rank yelling that they were a pack of whore-mongers and loose-livers who had been seduced by her wiles, and that the Children of God the Immortal (meaning his own set of fanatics) would stand no more of it.

      “Aye, let her come out!” bawls he. “Let her come humbly, as befits a woman, and let her forswear her scandalous life that is a byword in the land, and appoint a Wazir of our approving – such a one as will lead us to glory against the foreigners, Afghan and English alike …”

      The rest was lost in pandemonium, some howling him down, others taking up his cry for war, Maka Khan and the spokesmen helpless before the storm of noise. The Akali, frothing at the mouth, leaped on to the front of the dais, raving at them that they were fools if they gave obedience to a woman, and a loose woman at that; let her take a suitable husband and leave men’s affairs to men, as was fitting and decent – and behind the purdah Jeendan nodded to her chief maid, draped a silver scarf over one arm, took a last look at her reflection, and walked quickly and fairly steadily round the end of the curtain.

      Speaking professionally, I’d say she wasn’t more than half-soused, but drunk or sober, she knew her business. She didn’t sidle or saunter or play any courtesan tricks, but walked a few paces and stopped, looking at the Akali. There had been a startled gasp from the mob at her appearance – well, dammit, she might as well have been stark naked, painted scarlet from the hips down and gilded across her top hamper. There was dead silence – and then the Akali stepped down from the dais like an automaton, and without another glance she continued to the throne, seated herself without haste, arranged her scarf just so on the arm-rest to cushion her elbow, leaned back comfortably with a finger to her cheek, and surveyed the gathering with a cool little smile.

      “Here are many questions to be considered at once.” Her voice was slightly slurred, but carried clearly enough. “Which will you take first, general?” She spoke past the Akali, who was glaring from side to side in uncertainty, and Maka Khan, looking as though he wished she’d stayed out of sight, drew himself up and bowed.

      “It is said, kunwari, that you would make Lal Singh Wazir. Some hold that he is no fit man –”

      “But others have bound themselves to accept my choice,” she reminded him. “Very well, it is Lal Singh.”

      This brought the Akali to life again, an arm flung out in denunciation. “Your bed-man!” he bawled. “Your paramour! Your male whore!”

      There was a yell of rage at this, and some started forward to fall on him, but she checked them with a raised finger and answered the Akali directly, in the same calm voice.

      “You would prefer a Wazir who has not been my bed-man? Then you can’t have Goolab Singh, for one. But if you wish to nominate yourself, Akali, I’ll vouch for you.”

      There was a moment’s stunned hush, followed by scandalised gasps – and then a huge bellow of laughter echoing through the great room. Insults and obscene jests were showered on the Akali, who stood mouthing and shaking his fists, the rowdies at the back began to stamp and cheer, Maka Khan and the seniors stood like men poleaxed, and then as the tumult grew the old soldier roused himself and thrust past the Akali to the foot of the dais. In spite of the din, every word reached us through that cunningly-designed spy-hole.

      “Kunwari, this is not seemly! It is to shame … to shame the durbar! I beg you to withdraw … it can wait till another day …”

      “You didn’t bid that thing withdraw, when he brayed his spite against me,” says she, indicating the Akali, and as it was seen that she was speaking, the noise died on the instant. “What are you afraid of – the truth that everyone knows? Why, Maka Khan, what an old hypocrite you are!” She was laughing at him. “Your soldiers are not children. Are you?” She raised her voice, and of course the mob roared “No!” with a vengeance, applauding her.

      “So let him have his say.” She flirted a hand at the Akali. “Then I shall have mine.”

      Maka Khan was staring in dismay, but with the others shouting at him to give way, he could only fall back, and she turned her painted smile on the Akali. “You rebuke me for my lovers – my male whores, you call them. Very well …” She looked beyond him, and the thick heavy voice was raised again. “Let every man who has never visited a brothel step forward!”

      I was lost in admiration. The most beardless innocent there wasn’t going to confess his unworldliness to his mates – and certainly not with that mocking Jezebel watching. Even Tom Brown would have hesitated before stepping forth for the honour of the old School-house. The Akali, who hadn’t the advantage of Arnold’s Christian instruction, was simply too dumbfounded to stir. She timed it well, though, looking him up and down in affected wonder before he’d collected his wits, and drawling:

      “There he stands, rooted as the Hindoo Kush! Well, at least he is honest, this wayward Child of God the Immortal. But not, I think, in a position to rebuke my frailty.”

      That was the moment when she put them in her pocket. If the laughter had been loud before, now it was thunderous – even Maka Khan’s lips twitched, and the rissaldar-major fairly stamped with delight and joined in the chorus of abuse at the Akali. All he could do was rage at her, calling her shameless and wanton, and drawing attention to her appearance, which he likened to that of a harlot plying for hire – he was a braver man than I’d have been, with those fine eyes regarding him impassively out of that cruel mask of a face. I remembered the story of the Brahmin whose nose had been sliced off because he’d rebuked her conduct; looking at her, I didn’t doubt it.

      The Akalis are a privileged sect, to be sure, and no doubt he counted on that. “Get you gone!” he bawled. “You are not decent! It offends the eye to look at you!”

      “Then turn your eyes away … while you still have them,” says she, and as he fell back a pace, silenced, she rose, keeping a firm grip of the throne to steady herself, and stood straight, posing to let them have a good view. “In my private place, I dress as you see me, to please myself. I would not have come out, but you called me. If the sight of me displeases you, say so, and I shall retire.”

      That had them roaring for her to stay, absolutely, which was just as well, for without the throne to cling to I believe she’d have measured her length on the floor. She swayed dangerously, but managed to resume her seat with dignity, and as some of the younger men startled to hustle the Akali away, she stopped them.

      “A moment. You spoke of a suitable husband for me … have you one in mind?”

The Akali was game. He flung off the hands pulling at him and growled: “Since you cannot do without a man, choose one – only let him be a sirdar,^a or a wise man, or a Child of God the Immortal!”

      “An Akali?” She stared in affected astonishment, then clapped her hands. “You are making me a proposal! Oh, but I am confused … it is not fitting, in open durbar, to a poor widow woman!” She turned her head bashfully aside, and of course the mob crowed with delight. “Ah, but no, Akali … I cannot deliver my innocence to one who admits СКАЧАТЬ