Название: Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 1: Flashman, Royal Flash, Flashman’s Lady
Автор: George Fraser MacDonald
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
isbn: 9780007532476
isbn:
“Make her fast, sir,” says he, and while I trussed Narreeman’s arms with the jezzailchi’s belt, Hudson stuffed a gag into her mouth. We dropped her on the straw, and Hudson says:
“Only once chance, sir. Take the sabre – the clean one – and stand guard over that dead bugger. Put your point to his throat, an’ when I open the door, tell ’em you’ll slaughter their chief unless they do as we say. They won’t see he’s a corp, in this light, an’ the bint’s silenced. Now, sir, quick.”
There could be no argument; the door was creaking under the Afridis’ hammering. I ran to Gul’s side, snatching up his sabre on the way, and stood astride him, the point on his breast. Hudson took one look round, leaped up the steps, whipped back the bolt, and regained the cell floor in a bound. The door swung open, and in surged the lads of the village.
“Halt!” roars I. “Another move, and I’ll send Gul Shah to make his peace with Shaitan! Back, you sons of owls and pigs!”
They bore up sharp, five or six of them, hairy brutes, at the head of the steps. When they saw Gul apparently helpless beneath me one lets out an oath and another a wail.
“Not another inch!” I shouted. “Or I’ll have his life!”
They stayed where they were, gaping, but for the life of me I didn’t know what to do next. Hudson spoke up, urgently.
“Horses, sir. We’re right by the gate; tell ’em to bring two – no, three ponies to the door, and then all get back to the other side o’ the yard.”
I bawled the order at them, sweating in case they didn’t do it, but they did. I suppose I looked desperate enough for anything, stripped to the waist, matted and bearded, and glaring like a lunatic. It was fear, not rage, but they weren’t to know that. There was a great jabbering among them, and then they scrambled back through the doorway; I heard them yelling and swearing out in the dark, and then a sound that was like music – the clatter of ponies’ hooves.
“Tell ’em to keep outside, sir, an’ well away,” says Hudson, and I roared it out with a will. Hudson ran to Narreeman, swung her up into his arms with an effort, and set her feet on the steps.
“Walk, damn you,” says he, and grabbing up his own sabre he pushed her up the steps, the point at her back. He disappeared through the doorway, there was a pause, and then he shouts:
“Right, sir. Come out quick, like, an’ bolt the door.”
I never obeyed an order more gladly. I left Gul Shah staring up sightlessly, and raced up the steps, pulling the door to behind me. It was only as I looked round the courtyard, at Hudson astride one pony, with Narreeman bound and writhing across the other, at the little group of Afghans across the yard, fingering their knives and muttering – only then did I realise that we had left our hostage. But Hudson was there, as usual.
“Tell ’em I’ll spill the bint’s guts all over the yard if they stir a finger. Ask ’em how their master’ll like that – an’ what he’ll do to ’em afterwards!” And he dropped his point over Narreeman’s body.
It held them, even without my repetition of the threat, and I was able to scramble aboard the third pony. The gate was before us; Hudson grabbed the bridle of Narreeman’s mount, we drove in our heels, and in a clatter of hooves we were out and away, under a glittering moon, down the path that wound from the fort’s little hill to the open plain.
When we reached the level I glanced back; Hudson was not far behind, although he was having difficulty with Narreeman, for he had to hold her across the saddle of the third beast. Behind, the ugly shape of the fort was outlined against the sky, but there was no sign of pursuit.
When he came up with me he said:
“I reckon down yonder we’ll strike the Kabul road, sir. We crossed it on the way in. Think we can chance it, sir?”
I was so trembling with reaction and excitement that I didn’t care. Of course we should have stayed off the road, but I was for anything that would get that damned cellar far behind us, so I nodded and we rode on. With luck there would be no one moving on the road at night, and anyway, only on the road could we hope to get our bearings.
We reached it before very long, and the stars showed us the eastern way. We were a good three miles from the fort now, and it seemed, if the Afridis had come out in pursuit, that they had lost us. Hudson asked me what we should do with Narreeman.
At this I came to my senses again; as I thought back to what she had been preparing to do my gorge rose, and all I wanted to do was tear her apart.
“Give her to me,” says I, dropping my reins and taking a grip on the sabre hilt.
He had one hand on her, sliding her out of the saddle; she slipped down on to the ground and wriggled up on her knees, her hands tied behind her, the gag across her mouth. She was glaring like a mad thing.
As I moved my pony round, Hudson suddenly reined into my way.
“Hold on, sir,” says he. “What are you about?”
“I’m going to cut that bitch to pieces,” says I. “Out of my way.”
“Here, now, sir,” says he. “You can’t do that.”
“Can’t I, by God?”
“Not while I’m here, sir,” says he, very quiet.
I didn’t credit my ears at first.
“It won’t do, sir,” says he. “She’s a woman. You’re not yourself, sir, what wi’ the floggin’ they gave you, an’ all. We’ll let her be, sir; cut her hands free an’ let her go.”
I started to rage at him, for a mutinous dog, but he just sat there, not to be moved, shaking his head. So in the end I gave in – it occurred to me that what he could do to Gul Shah he might easily do to me – and he jumped down and loosed her hands. She flew at him, but he tripped her up and remounted.
“Sorry, miss,” says he, “but you don’t deserve better, you know.”
She lay there, gasping and staring hate at us, a proper handsome hell-cat. It was a pity there wasn’t time and leisure, or I’d have served her as I had once before, for I was feeling more my old self again. But to linger would have been madness, so I contented myself with a few slashes at her with my long bridle, and had the satisfaction of catching her a ringing cut over the backside that sent her scurrying for the rocks. Then we turned east and drove on down the road towards India.
It was bitter cold, and I was half-naked, but there was a poshteen over the saddle, and I wrapped up in it. Hudson had another, and covered his tunic and breeches with it; between us we looked a proper pair of Bashi-Bazouks, but for Hudson’s fair hair and beard.
We camped before dawn, in a little gully, but not for long, for when the sun came up I recognised that we were in the country just west of Futtehabad, which is a bare twenty miles from Jallalabad itself. I wouldn’t feel safe till we had its walls around us, so we pushed on hard, only leaving the road when we saw dust-clouds ahead of us that indicated other travellers.
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