Flashmans' Lady

"You coming Madagascar, you knowing someone here, right enough?"

I assured him he was wrong, and he stuck out a fat finger and says: "M'sieur Laborde."

"Who's he?" says I, playing innocent, and he grinned and cries:

"M'sieur Laborde talking you in slave place, hitting you punch in face, but then coming you cheep-cheep quiet, with dollars for give Queen, razor for shaving, how peculiaring, ain't it?" He giggled and waved a hand. "But not mattering, since you being old boy, Laborde old boy and European chum, my stars, much shake hand hollo old fellow. I understanding, being old boy also, Highgate like. And not mattering, since Queen, may she live thousand year, liking you so much. Good gracious times much! Jig-a jig jig and jolly muttons!" cries this jackanapes, making obscene gestures. "Much pleasure, hurrah. Maybe you slave five, six year, pleasing Queen"— his eyes rounded eagerly —"perhaps giving boy child with rogerings, what? Anyway, five year, you not being lost, no more, being free, marrying any fine lady, being great person like me, or someone else. All from Queen liking." He beamed happily; he had my future nicely in hand, it seemed.

"But you slave now - lost!" he added sternly. "Must working hard, not only jig-a-jig. Soldier working, much needed, keeping army best in world, spit and polish, damne, no mistake. You liking that, staying Madagascar, making fine colonel, maybe sergeant-major, shouting soldiers, left-right-left, pick 'em up, farting about like Horse Guards, quick march, just fine style. I being Highgate, long time, seeing guns Hyde Park, when little boy, at school." The smile faded from his face, and he looked crestfallen. "Little black boy, seeing soldiers, big guns, horses, tantara and galloping." He sniffed and knuckled his eye. "In London. Still raining, not half? Much tuck-shop, footballing, jolly times." He sighed. "I speaking Queen, making you great soldier, knowing latest dodges, keeping army smart like Hector and Lysander, bang-up tip-top, hey? Yes, l speaking Queen."

You may say that was how I joined the Malagassy army, and if Mr Fankanonikaka was a dooced odd recruiting agent he was also an uncommon efficient one. Before night fell I was on the ration strength, with the unique rank of sergeant-general, which I suspect was Fankanonikaka's own invention, and not inappropriate as it turned out. They quartered me in two rooms at the back of the main palace, with an orderly who spoke a little French (and spied on me night and day), and there I sat down and wept, with my head spinning, trying to figure out what to do next.

What, for that matter, could I do, in this nest of intrigue and terror, where my life depended on the whim of a diabolical despot who was undoubtedly mad, fickle, dangerous, and fiendishly cruel? (Not unlike my first governess, in a way, except that their notions of bath-time for little Harry were somewhat different.) I could only wait, helpless, for Laborde, and pray that he might have some news of Elspeth, and bring me hope of escape from this appalling pickle - and I was just reconciling myself to this unhappy prospect, when who should walk in but the man himself. I was amazed, overjoyed, and terrified all in the space of two heartbeats; he was smiling, but looking pale and breathing heavy, like a man who has just had a nasty start and survived it - which he had.

"I have just come from the Queen," says he - and he spoke in French, pretty loud. "My dear friend, I congratulate you. You have pleased her - as I hoped you would. When I was summoned, I confess"— he laughed with elaborate nonchalance —"I thought there had been some misunderstanding about my visit to you last night - that it had been reported, and false conclusions drawn—"

"Frankathingammybob knew all about it," says I. "He told me. For God's sake, is there any news—"

He cut me off with a grimace and a jerk of his head towards the door. "I believe it was on the suggestion of her majesty's secretary that I was called to audience," says he clearly. "He was much impressed by your qualifications, and wished me, as a loyal servant of the Queen's, to add my recommendations to his own. I told her what I could - that you were a distinguished officer in the British service - which does not compare, of course, to the glorious army of Madagascar - and that you were full of zeal to serve her in a military capacity." He winked heavily at me, nodding, and I cottoned on.

"But of course!" cries I, ringing tones. "It is my dearest ambition - has been for years. I don't know how many times the Duke of Wellington's said to me: `Flash, old son, you won't be a soldier till you've done time with the Malagassies. God help us if Boney had had a battalion of them at Waterloo.' And I'm beside myself with happiness at the thought of serving a monarch of such graciousness, magnanimity, and peerless beauty." If some eavesdropper was taking notes for the awful black bitch's benefit, I might as well lay it on with a shovel. "I would gladly lay down my life at her feet." There was a fair chance of that, too, if we had many gallops like that afternoon's.

Laborde looked satisfied, and launched into raptures about my good fortune, and how blessed lucky we were to have such a benevolent ruler. He couldn't say enough for her, and of course I joined in, writhing with impatience to hear what news he might have of Elspeth. He knew what he was doing, though, for while he talked he fiddled with a gourd on the table, and when he took his hand away there was a slip of paper under the vessel. I waited five minutes after he'd gone, in case of prying eyes, palmed it, and read it surreptitiously as I stretched out on the bed.

"She is safe in the house of Prince Rakota, the Queen's son" (it read). "He has bought her. Have no fear. He is only sixteen, and virtuous. You shall see her when it is safe. Meanwhile, say nothing, as you value her life, and your own. Destroy this message instantly."

So I ate the damned thing, speculating feverishly on the thought of Elspeth helpless in the hands of a nigger prince who had probably been covering every woman within reach since he was eight. Virtuous, eh? Just like his dear mama? If he was such a bloody paragon, why had he bought her - to iron his linen? Laborde must be off his head - why, when I was sixteen, I know what I'd have done if I'd seen Elspeth in a shop window with a sale ticket on her. It was too horrible to contemplate, so I went to sleep instead. After I I I , , whatever was happening to Elspeth, I'd had a trying day myself.

* * *

I Extract from the diary of Mrs Flashman, October-, 1844]

Madagaskar is the most Singular and Interesting Isle, and I count myself most fortunate to have been so kindly received here - which is due entirely to the Sagacity and Energy of my darling H., who somehow contrived most cleverly to slip ashore from Don S.'s ship and make arrangements for our Enlargement and reception. Oh, happy, happy deliverance!! I know not how he accomplished it, for I have not seen my Brave Hero since we landed, but my Love and Admiration for him know no hounds, as I shall make plain to him when once again I know the Rapture of being enfolded in his arms!

I am at present residing in the Palace of Prince Rakoota, in the capital city (whose outlandish name I cannot attempt to reproduce, but it sounds like a dinner bell being rung!), having been brought here yesterday after a journey of many Starts and Adventures. I was brought ashore from Don S.'s ship by some Black Gentlemen - so I must call them, for they are people of consequence, and indeed, everybody's black here. Don S. protested most violently, and became quite distracted, so that the black soldiers had to restrain him - but I was not much moved, for his Importunities of late had been most marked, and his conduct quite wild, and I was Heartily Sick of him. He has behaved odiously, for despite his protestations of Devotion to me, he has put me to the greatest inconvenience, very selfishly - and dear H. also, who received a horrid Graze on his person.

I shall say no more of Don S., except that I am sorry so Refined and Agreeable a gentleman should have proved so wanting in behaviour, and been a deep Disappointment to me. But while glad to be shot of him, I was a trifle Uneasy with our Black hosts, the chief of whom I did not like at all, he was so Gross and Offhand, and stared at me in a horrid, familiar fashion, and even forgot himself so far as to handle my hair, growling to his friends in their Language (although he speaks tolerable French, for I heard him), so I addressed him in that Tongue, and said: "Your behaviour to a Gentlewoman is not becoming, sir, especially in one who wears the tartan of the 42nd, but I'm sure I suspect you have no right to it, for my Uncle Dougal was in the 93rd, and I never heard from him that any persons of your Colour were mustered in the Highland Brigade, not in Glasgow in any event. But if I am wrong I'm sure I apologize. I am very hungry, and where is my Husband?"

This being received in discourteous silence, they put me in a sedan or palankeen, and brought me into the Country, although I objected strenuously and spoke quite sharply, but to no avail. I was in such distress of mind at having no word of dearest H., or knowing where I was being taken, and the people we passed came to Stare at me, which was disagreeable, although they seemed to be in some awe, and I decided that it was, that they had never seen a Lady of fair Hair and Complexion before, they are that Primitive. But I bore this Insolence with Dignity and Reserve, and boxed one of them over the lugs, after which they kept a more respectful distance. To help compose my fears I gave myself into Tranquil Contemplation of the marvels I saw en route, the Scenery being beyond description, the flowers of Brilliant Colours, and the Animal life of boundless variety and interest - especially a darling little beastie called the Eye-Eye, which is half-monkey, half-rat with the drollest wistful eyes - which I suppose is why they call it Eye-Eye, and they won't kill it. Its antics are diverting.

However, I shall write later at leisure on the Attractions of this singular countryside, when the Descriptive Muse is upon me. Also about the great city of Madagaskar, and my Introduction to his RH Prince Rakoota, by a French resident, M. La Board, who is on terms of Intimacy with the Prince. From him I learnt that dear H. has been engaged on Military Business of Importance by no less a Personage than HM The Queen of Madagaskar - and I jalouse that my darling very cleverly offered them his Services in exchange for our reception here. They, naturally, would be Eager to avail themselves of so Distinguished an Officer, which doubtless explains the Haste with which he left from the Coast, without even seeing me - which caused me some pique, although I am sure he knows best. I don't quite understand it, but M. La Board impressed on me the delicate nature of the work, and since he and the Prince are insistent that nothing must prejudice it, I resign myself with Good Humour and composure to wait and see, as a good wife should, and only hope my Hero will soon be spared from his Duties to visit me.

I am v. comfortable in the Prince's delightful Palace, and receive every Consideration and Kindness. The Prince is just a laddie, but speaks good French with a pretty hesitation, and is all amiability. He is v. black, well-grown and handsome, smiling readily, and I flatter myself he is more than a little fetched by me, but he is so young and boyish that an expression of Admiration which might be thought a little forward in a person more mature, may be excused in him as a natural youthful gallantry. He is a little shy, and has a wistful regard. I could wish that I had my proper wardrobe, for I am in some hope that, when dearest H. returns, he may take me to visit the Queen, who seems from all I have heard to be a Remarkable Person and held in great Esteem. However, if I am so Honoured, I shall make do with what I have, and rely on my natural breeding and appearance to uphold my Country's credit among these People, for as our Beloved Bard has it, the rank is but the Guinea Stamp, and I'm sure that an English Lady may move Unashamed in any Society, especially if she has the Grace and Looks to carry it off.

[End of extract —"natural breeding", indeed! And where did you come by that, miss? Paisley, like the rest of us!! - G. de R.]

It's been my experience that however strange or desperate the plight you may find yourself in, if there's nothing else for it, you just get on with the business in hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world. By various quirks of fate I've landed up as an Indian butler, a Crown Prince, a cottonfield slave-driver, a gambling-hell proprietor, and God knows what besides - all occupations from which I'd have run a mile if I'd been able. But I couldn't, so I made the best of 'em, and before I knew it I was fretting about silver polish or court precedent or how we were to get the crop in by November or whether the blackjack dealer was holding out, and almost forgetting that the real world to which I rightly belonged was still out there somewheres. Self-defence, I suppose - but it keeps you sane when by rights you ought to be sinking into madness and despair.

So when they gave me the army of Madagascar to drill and train, I simply shut my mind to the horrors of my situation and went at it like Frederick the Great with a wasp in his pants. I believe it saw me through one of the blackest periods of my life a time so confused, when I look back, that I have difficulty in placing the events of those first few weeks in their proper order, or even making much sense of them. I knew so little then about the place, and that little was so strange and horrid that it left the mind numb. Only gradually did I come to have a clear picture of that savage, mock-civilized country, with its amazing people and customs, and understand my own peculiar station in it, and begin trying to scheme a way out. At first It was just a frightening turmoil, in which I could only do what I had to do, but I'll describe it as best I can, so that you may learn about it as I did, and have the background to the astonishing events that followed.

I had the army, then, to reform and instruct, and if you think that an uncommon responsible job for the newest arrived foreign slave, remember that it was European-modelled, but that they hadn't seen a white instructor in years. There was another good reason, too, for my appointment, but I didn't find out about that until much later. Anyway, there it was, and I'm bound to say the work was as near to being a pleasure as anything could be in that place. For they were absolutely first-class, and as soon as I saw this, when I had the regiments reviewed on the great plain outside the city, I thought to myself, right, my boy, perfection is our ticket. They're good, but there's nothing easier than spending ten hours a day hounding their commanders to make 'em better. And that's what I did.

Fankanonikaka had told me I had a free hand; he came down with me to that first review, when the five regiments stationed at Antan', and the palace guard, marched past under my critical eye.

"Like changing guard, left right, boom-boom, mighty fine!" cries he. "Being best soldiers in world, not half, eh? Right turning, shouldering arms, altogether, ha-ha!" He beamed at the comic opera generals and colonels who were standing with us, puffed up with pride as they watched their battalions. "You liking greatly, Sergeant-General Flashman?"

I just grunted, had them halted, and plunged straight in among the ranks, looking for the first fault I could find. There was a black face badly shaven, so I stamped and swore and raved as though they'd just lost a battle, while the staff stared and shook, and little Fankanonikaka was ready to burst into tears.

"Soldiers?" I bellowed. "Look at that slovenly brute, tripping over his blasted beard! Has he shaved today? Has he ever shaved? Stand still, you mangy bastards, or I'll flog every second man! Slouch in front of me, will you, with your chins like a monkey's backside? I'll show you, my pretties! Oh, yes, we'll take note of this! Mr Fankanonikaka, I thought you spoke to me of an army - you weren't referring to this mouldy rabble, I suppose?"

Of course, it put them into fits. There were generals gaping and protesting and falling over their sabres, while I strode about hazing right and left-dull buttons, unpolished leather, whatever I could find. But I wouldn't let 'em touch the offending soldier - ah, no. I degraded his section commander on the spot, ordered his colonel into arrest, and scarified the staff; that's the way to get 'em hopping. And when I'd done roaring, I had the whole outfit, officers and all, marched and wheeled and turned across that square for three solid hours, and then, when they were fit to drop, I made 'em stand for forty minutes stock-still, at the present, while I ranged among them, sniffing and growling, with Fankanonikaka and the staff trotting miserably at my heels. I was careful to snarl a word of praise here and there, and t hen I singled out the unshaven chap, slapped him, told him not to do it again, pinched his ear a la Napoleon, and said I had high hopes of him. (Talk about discipline; come to old Flash and I'll learn you things they don't teach at Sandhurst.)

After that it was plain sailing. They realized they were in t Ile grip of a mad martinet, and went crazy perfecting their drill and turn-out, with their officers working 'em till they dropped, while Flashy strolled about glaring, or sat in his office yelling for lists and returns of everything under the sun. With my ready ear for languages, I picked up a little Malagassy, but for the most part transmitted my orders in I tench, which the better-educated officers understood. I built a fearsome reputation through stickling over trivialities, and set the seal on it by publicly flogging a colonel (because one of his men was late for roll-call) at the first of the great fortnightly reviews which the Queen and court attended. This shocked the officers, entertained the troops, and delighted her majesty, if the glitter in her eye was anything to go by. She sat like a brooding black idol most of the time, in her red sari and ceremonial gold crown under the striped brolly of state, but as soon as the lashing started I noticed her hand clenching at every stroke, and when the poor devil began to squeal, she grunted with satisfaction. It's a great gift, knowing the way to a woman's heart.

I was careful, though, in my disciplinary methods. I soon got a notion of who the important and influential senior officers were, and toadied 'em sickening in my bluff, soldierly way, while oppressing their subordinates most damnably, and keeping the troops in a state of terrified admiration. Given time I dare say I'd have ruined the morale of that army for good and all.

Since most of the leading aristocrats held high military rank, and took their duties seriously in a pathetically incompetent way (just like our own, really), I gradually became acquainted - not to say friendly - with the governing class, and began to see how the land lay in court, camp, city, and countryside. It was simple enough, for society was governed by a rigid caste system even stricter than that of India, although there was no religious element at all. There were eleven castes, starting at the bottom with the black Malagassy slaves; above them, in tenth place, were the white slaves, of whom there weren't many apart from me, and I was special, as I'll explain - but ain't that interesting, that a black society held white superior to black, in the slave line? We were, of course, but it didn't make much odds, since all of us were far below the ninth caste, which consisted of the general public, who had to work for a living, and included everyone from professional people and merchants right down to the free labourers and peasantry.

Then there were six castes of nobles, from the eighth to the third, and what the differences were I never found out, except that they mattered immensely. The Malagassy upper crust are fearful snobs, and put on immense airs with each other - a third-rank count or baron (these are the titles they give themselves) will be far more civil to a slave than to a sixth-rank nobleman, and the caste rules governing them are harsher even than for the lower orders. For example, a male noble can't marry a woman of superior caste; he can marry beneath himself, but he mustn't marry a slave - if he does, he's sold into slavery himself and the woman is executed. Simple, says you, they just won't marry slaves, then - but the silly bastards do, quite often, because they're crazy, like their infernal country.

The second caste consisted of the monarch's family, poor souls, and at the top came the first caste, an exclusive group of one - the Queen, who was divine, although quite what that meant wasn't clear, since they don't have gods in Madagascar. What was certain, though, was that she was the most absolute of absolute tyrants, governing solely by her own whim and caprice, which, since she was stark mad and abominably cruel, made for interesting times all round.

That much you have probably gathered already, from my description of her and of the horrors I'd seen, but you have to imagine what it was like to be living at the mercy of that creature, day in day out, without hope of release. Fear spread from her like a mist, and if her court was a proper little viper's nest of intrigue and spying and plotting, it wasn't because her noble and advisers were scheming for power, but for sheer survival. They went in terror of those evil snake eyes and that flat grunting voice so rarely heard - and then usually to order arrest, torture, and horrible death. Those are easy words to write, and you probably think they're an exaggeration; they're not. That beastly slaughter I'd witnessed under the cliff at Ambohipotsy was just a piece of the regular ritual of purge and persecution and butchery which was everyday at Antan' in my time; her appetite for blood and suffering was insatiable, and all the worse because it was unpredictable.

It wouldn't have seemed so horrible, perhaps, if Madagascar had been some primitive nigger tribal state where everyone ran about naked chanting mumbo-jumbo and living in huts. Well, I remember my old chum King Gezo of Dahomey, sitting slobbering like a beast before his death-house (built of skulls, if you please) tucking into his luncheon while his fighting women chopped prisoners into bloody gobbets within a yard of him. But he was an animal, and looked like one; Ranavalona wasn't - quite.

She had not bad taste in clothes, for example, and knew enough to hang pictures on the walls, and have her banquets laid with knives and forks just so, and place-cards (Solomon was right: I saw 'em —"Serjeant-General Flatchman, Esq., yours truly" was what mine said on one occasion, in copperplate handwriting). I mean, she had carpets, and silk sheets, and a piano, and her nobles wore trousers and frock coats, and addressed their women-folk as "Mam'selle"— my God, haven't I seen a couple of her Comtesses, sitting at a palace dinner, chattering like civilized women, with silver and crystal and linen before them, ignoring the cutlery and gobbling food with their fingers, and then one turning to t'other and twittering: "Permittez-moi, chérie," and proceeding to delouse her neighbour's hair. That was Madagascar - savagery and civilization combined into a horrid comic-opera, a world turned upside down.

And at the head of the table she would sit, in a fine yellow satin gown from Paris, a feather boa stuck through her crown, pearls on her black bosom and in her long earrings, chewing on a chicken leg, holding up her goblet to be refilled, and getting drunker and drunker - for when it came to lowering the booze she could have seen a sergeants' mess under the table. It didn't show in her face; the plump black features never changed expression, only the eyes glittered in their piercing uncanny stare. She wouldn't smile; her talk would be an occasional growl to the terrified sycophants sitting beside her, and when she rose at last, wiping her sullen mouth, everyone would spring up and bow and scrape while two of her generals, perspiring, would escort her down the room and out on to the great balcony, lending her an arm if she staggered, and over the great crowd waiting in the courtyard below would fall a terrible silence - the silence of death.

I've seen her, leaning on that verandah, with her creatures about her, gazing down on the scene below; the ring of Hova guardsmen, the circle of torches flaming over the archways, the huddled groups of unfortunates, male and female, from mere striplings to old decrepit folk, cowering and waiting. They might be recaptured slaves, or fugitives hunted out of the forests and mountains, or criminals, or non-Hova tribesmen, or suspected Christians, or anyone who, under her tyranny, had merited punishment. She would look down for a long time, and then nod at one group and grunt: "Burning," and then at another, "Crucifixion," and at a third, "Boiling." And so on, through the ghastly list - starvation, or flaying alive, or dismembering, or whatever horror occurred to her monstrous taste. Then she would go inside - and next day the sentences would be carried out at Ambohipotsy in front of a cheering mob. Sometimes she attended herself, watching unmoved, and then going home to the palace to spend hours praying to her personal idols under the paintings in her reception room.

While most of her cruelties were practised on common folk and slaves, her court was far from immune. I remember at one of her levees, at which I was in humble attendance with the military, she suddenly accused a young nobleman of being a secret Christian. I've no idea whether he was or not, but there and then he was submitted to ordeal - they have any number of ingenious forms of this, including swimming rivers infested by crocodiles, but in his case they boiled up a cauldron of water, right in front of her seat, and she sat staring fixedly at his face as he tried to snatch coins out of the bubbling pot, plucking and screaming while the rest of us watched, trying not to be sick. He failed, of course - I can still see that pathetic figure writhing on the floor, clutching his scalded arm, before they carried him out and sawed him in half.

Not quite what we're accustomed to at Balmoral, you'll agree, but at least Ranavalona didn't go in for tartan carpets. Her wants were simple: just give her an ample supply of victims to mutilate and gloat over and she was happy - not that you'd have guessed it to look at her, and indeed I've heard some say that she was just plain mad and didn't know what she was doing. That's an old excuse which ordinary folk take refuge in because they don't care to believe there are people who enjoy inflicting pain. "He's mad," they'll say - but they only say it because they see a little of themselves in the tyrant, too, and want to shudder away from it quickly, like well-bred little Christians. Mad? Aye, Ranavalona was mad as a hatter, in many ways - but not where cruelty was concerned. She knew quite what she was doing, and studied to do it better, and was deeply gratified by it, and that's the professional opinion of kindly old Dr Flashy, who's a time-served bully himself.

So you see what a jolly, carefree life it was for her court, of whom I suppose I was one in my capacity of mount of the moment. It was a privileged position, as I soon realized; you recall I told you how I took pains to curry favour with the top military nobles - well, I soon discovered that the compliment was returned, slave though I was officially. They toadied me something pitiful, those black sweating faces and trembling paws in gaudy uniforms - they assumed, you see, that I only had to whisper the word in her ear and they'd be off to the pits and the cross. They needn't have fretted; I never knew one of 'em from t'other, hardly, and anyway I was too alarmed for my own safety to do anything with her damned black ear but chew it, loving-like.

You may wonder how I stuck it out; or how I could bring myself to make love to that female beast. Well, I'll tell you; if it's a choice between romping and being boiled or roasted, you can bring yourself to it, believe me. She wasn't bad-looking beneath the neck, after all, and she seemed to like me, which always helps - you may find it difficult to believe (I do myself) but there were even moments, on warm, silent afternoons, when we would be drowsing on the bed, or by her bath, and I would steal a glance along the pillow at that placid black face, comely enough with the eyes closed, and feel even a touch of affection for her. You can't hate a woman you sleep with, I suppose. Mind you, once that black eyelid lifted, and that eye was on you, it was another story.

One thing, though, I feel inclined to say in her defence, having said so much ill of her, and rightly. At least some of her excesses, especially in the persecution of Christians (I wasn't one, by the way, during my Madagascar sojourn, as I took pains to point out to anyone who'd listen), were inspired by her idol-keepers. I've said there was no religion in her country, which is true - their superstition was not on an organized basis - but there were these fellows who read omens and looked after the stones and sticks and lumps of mud which passed for household gods. (Ranavalona had two, a boar tusk and a bottle, which she used to mutter to.)

Well, the idol-keepers had helped her to the throne when she was a young woman, after her husband the king died, and his nephew, the rightful heir, had been all set to ascend the throne. The idol-keepers, in their role as augurs, had said the omens favoured Ranavalona instead, and since she at the same time was busily organizing a coup d'etat, slaughtering the unlucky nephew and all her other immediate relatives, you couldn't say the idol-keepers were wrong: they'd picked the winner. They obtained such influence with her that they even persuaded her to kill off the lovers who had helped her coup, and she relied on them for guidance ever after.

I was always very civil to them myself, with a cheery "Good morning" and a dollar or two, mangy brutes though they were, shuffling through the palace with their bits of rag and string and ribbon - which were probably idols of terrific potency, if I'd only known. They helped Ranavalona determine her policy by throwing beans on a kind of chess-board, and working out the combinations,⁴⁰ which usually resulted in massacre for someone, just like a Cabinet decision; she would admit them at all times of day - I've seen her sitting on her throne, with her girls helping her try on French slippers, while the lads crouched alongside, mumbling over their beans, and she would nod balefully at their pronouncements, take a squint at her bottle or tusk for reassurance, and pronounce sentence. They once walked in when she and I were having a bath together - deuced embarrassing it was, performing while they cast the bones, but Ranavalona didn't seem to mind a bit.

If there was any other influence in her life, apart from the mumbo jumbo men and her own mad passions, it was her only son, Prince Rakota - the chap to whom Laborde had managed to steer Elspeth. He was the heir to the throne, although he wasn't the old king's son, but the offspring of one of her lovers - whom she'd later had pulled apart, naturally. However, under Malagassy law, any children a widow may have, legitimate or not, are considered sons of her dead husband, so Rakota was next in line, and my impression was that Madagascar couldn't wait to cry "Long live the King!" You see, despite my misgivings when I'd first heard about him, he was the complete opposite of his atrocious mother - a kindly, cheerful, good-natured youth who did what he could to restrain his bloodthirsty parent. It was common knowledge that if he happened along as they were about to butcher someone on her instructions, and he told them to let the chap go, they would - and mama never said a word about it. He'd have had to spend all his time sprinting round the country shouting "Lay off!" to make much impression on the slaughter rate, but he did what he could, and the populace blessed and loved him, as you'd expect. Why Ranavalona didn't do away with him, I couldn't fathom; some fatal weakness in her character, I suppose.

However, mention of Rakota advances my tale, for about three weeks after I'd taken up my duties, I met him, and was reunited, if only briefly, with the wife of my bosom. I'd seen Laborde once or twice beforehand, when he'd figured it was safe to approach me, and pestered him to take me to Elspeth, but he'd impressed on me that it was highly dangerous, and would have to wait on a favourable opportunity. It was like this, you see: Laborde had told Rakota that Elspeth was my wife, and pleaded with him to look after her, and keep her tucked away out of sight, for if the Queen ever discovered that her new buck and favoured slave had a wife within reach - well, it would have been good night, Mrs Flashman, and probably young Harry as well. Jealous old bitch. Rakota, being a kindly lad, had agreed, so there was Elspeth snug and well cared for, not treated as a slave at all, but rather as a guest. While I, mark you, was having to pleasure that insatiable female baboon for my very life's sake. They hadn't told Elspeth that, thank God, but jollied her along with the tale that I had taken up an important military post, which was true enough.

A strange state of affairs, you'll allow - but nothing out of the way for Madagascar, and no more incredible than some of the things that I've known and heard of in my time. I was so bemused with what had happened over the past few months anyway, that I just accepted the bizarre situation; only two things worried and puzzled me. How had the Queen, who found out everything through her system of spies, which was directed by Mr Fankanonikaka, failed to get word of the golden-haired slave in her son's palace? And why - this was the real conundrum - were Laborde and Prince Rakota in such a sweat to help Elspeth and me? What was I to them, after all? I'm a suspicious brute, you see, and don't put much stock in altruistic virtue; there was some-thing up here. I was right, too.

Laborde presented me to the Prince on an afternoon when Ranavalona was safely out of the way, watching a bullfight, which was her prime hobby. It was a byword that the lighting bulls were the only living things she had any feelings for; the only times she was known to weep was when one of them died, or was badly gored in the ring. So it was deemed safe for me to take an hour off from parade, and with Fankanonikaka, Laborde, and a leading general named Count Rakohaja, I was borne out to the Prince's garden palace in the suburbs of Antan'.

Rakota received me in his throne room, where I was graciously permitted to prostrate myself before him and his Princess. They were tiny folk - he wasn't more than five feet tall, and dressed like a Spanish matador, in gold tunic and breeches, buckled shoes, and a Mexican sombrero. He was about sixteen, lively and smiling all over his round olive face; he had the beginnings of a moustache.⁴¹ His wife was much the same, a dumpy little bundle in yellow silk; if anything, her moustache was further along than his. They spoke good French, and when I'd clambered upright Rakota said he had brilliant reports of the way I was training the troops, especially the royal guardsmen.

"Sergeant-General Flashman has worked wonders with the men, and the best officers," agreed Count Rakohaja; he was a big, lean Hova aristocrat with a scar on his cheek, dressed in a coat and trousers which would have been perfect St James's, if they hadn't been made of bright green velvet. "Your highness will be enchanted to learn that he has already won the loyalty of all under his command, and has shown himself a most dependable and trustworthy officer."

Which was doing it rather too brown, but the Prince beamed on me.

"Most gratifying," says he. "Winning the confidence of the troops is the first essential in a leader. As commander-in-chief - under the sublime authority of Her Majesty, The Great Cow Who Nourishes All The World With Her Milk, of course - I congratulate you, sergeant-general, and assure you that your zeal and loyalty will be amply rewarded."

It seemed a trifle odd. I wasn't a commander, but a glorified drill instructor, and everyone knew it. However, I responded politely that I didn't doubt the troops would follow me from hell to Huddersfield and back, which seemed to please his highness, for he ordered up chocolate and we stood about sipping it from silver bowls, two-handed. (The Malagassies have no idea of quantity; there must have been a gallon of the sickly muck in each bowl, and the gurgling of the royal consumption was something to hear.)

It seemed to me that Prince and Princess were slightly nervous; he kept darting glances at Rakohaja and Fankanonikaka, and his little chubby consort, whenever she caught my eye, smiled timidly and bobbed like a charwoman seeking employment. The Prince asked me a few more questions, in an offhand way - about the quality of the lower-rank commanders, the equipment of palace pickets, the standard of marksmanship, and so on, which I answered satisfactorily, noting that he seemed specially interested in the household troops. Then he took one last gulp and belch at his chocolate, wiped his moustache on his sleeve, and says to me, with a little smile and wave:

"You are permitted to withdraw to the other end of the room," and began to talk in Malagassy to the others.

Mystified, I bowed and retreated, a door at the far end opened, and there was Elspeth, smiling radiantly, and dressed in the worst possible taste in a garden-party confection of purple taffeta - purple on a blonde, God help us - tripping towards me with her arms out. In a moment Madagascar was forgotten, with its Queen and horrors and dressed-up mountebanks; I had her in my arms, kissing her, and she was murmuring endearments in my ear. Then propriety returned, and I glanced round at the others. They were ignoring us - all except Fankanonikaka, who was having a sly peep - so I enfolded her again, inhaling her perfume while she prattled her delight at seeing me.

… for it has been so long, and while their highnesses have been kindness itself, I have been yearning for you night and day, my love. Do you like my new dress? - her highness chose it for me herself, and we think it most becoming, and it is so heavenly to have proper clothes again, after those dreadful sarongas - but we will not talk of that, and the hateful separation, and the odious behaviour of that … that man Don Solomon - but now we are rid of him, and safely here, and it is such fun - if it were not that your duties keep you from me. Oh, Harry, must they? But I must be a good wife, as I always promised, and not put myself forward where your duty is concerned, and indeed I know the separation is as cruel for you as for me - and, oh, I do miss you …

Here she embraced me again, and drew me down on to a settle - the others were deep in their own conversation, although the dumpy little Princess fluttered her fingers at us shyly, and Elspeth must rise to curtsey - even black royalty was just nuts to her, obviously - before resuming her headlong discourse. I never got a word in edgeways, as usual, but I doubt if I'd have been coherent anyway. For to my amazement, Elspeth seemed to have not a care in the world - well, I've always known she had a slate loose, and was incapable of seeing farther than her pretty nose - which reminded me to kiss it, tenderly - but this was beyond belief. We were prisoners in this heathen hell-hole, and to hear her you might have imagined it was a holiday at Brighton. Slowly it dawned on me that she had no true notion of the ghastliness of our plight, or even of what Madagascar was like at all, and as she babbled I began to understand why.

… of course, I should like to see more of the country, for the people seemed not disagreeable, but the Prince informs me that the position of foreigners here is delicate, and it is not advisable for me to be seen abroad. For you, of course, it is different, since you are employed by her majesty - oh, tell me, Harry, what she looks like, and what she says! How does she dress? Shall I be presented? Is she young and well-favoured? I should be so jealous - for she cannot fail to be attracted by the handsomest man in England! Oh, Harry, I much admire your uniform - it is quite the style!"

I'd taken advantage of the custom of the country to wear all red, with a black sash, pretty raffish, I admit. Elspeth fairly glowed at me.

"But I have so much to tell you, for the Prince and Princess have been so good, and I have the prettiest rooms, and the garden is so beautiful, and there is some very select company in the evenings - all black, of course, and a leetle outre - but most agreeable and considerate. I am most happy and interested - but when shall we go home to England, Harry? I hope it is not too long - for I sometimes feel anxiety for dear Papa, and while it is very pleasant here, it is not quite the same. But I know you will not detain us here longer than must be, for you are the kindest of husbands - but I am sure your work here will be of the greatest service to you, for it is sure to be a valuable experience. I only wish"— her lip suddenly trembled, despite her efforts to smile —"that we could be together again … in the same house … oh, Harry, darling, I miss you so!"

And the little clothhead began piping her eye, leaning on my shoulder - as though she had anything worth weeping about! It was a damned letdown, for I'd been looking forward to pouring out my woes and complaints to her, bemoaning my lot, describing the horrors of my plight- the respectable bits, anyway - and generally making her flesh creep with my anxieties. But there seemed no point now in alarming her - she'd just have done something idiotic, and with the others almost in earshot, the less I said the better. So I just patted her shoulder to cheer her up.

"Now then, old girl," says I, "don't be a fool. What'll their highnesses think of your bleating and bawling? Wipe your nose - you're a lot better off than some, you know."

"I know. I am very foolish," says she, sniffing, and presently, when the Prince and Princess withdrew, she was all smiles again, curtseying like billy-ho, and kissing me a tender farewell. I remarked to Laborde as we returned to the palace that my wife seemed happily ignorant of my predicament, and he turned his steady eyes on me.

"It is as well, is it not? She could be a great danger to you - to both of you. The less she knows, the better."

"But in God's name, man! She'll have to find out sooner or later! What then? What when she realizes that she and I are slaves in this frightful country - that there's no hope - no escape?" I grabbed his arm - we had left our sedans at the entrance to my quarters at the rear of the palace, Fankanonikaka having parted from us at the main gate. "For the love of heaven, Laborde - there must be a way out of this! I can't go on drilling niggers and piling into that black slut for the rest of my life—"

"Your life will last no time at all if you don't control yourself!" snaps he, pulling loose. He glanced round, anxiously, then took a deep breath. "Look you - I will do whatever I can. In the meantime, you must be discreet. I do not know what can be achieved. But the Prince was pleased with you today. That may mean something. We shall see. Now I must go - and remember, be careful. Do your work, say nothing. Who knows?" He hesitated, and tapped me quickly on the arm. "We may drink cafe au lait on the Champs Elysees yet. A bientot."

And he was off, leaving me staring, mystified - but with something stirring inside me that I hadn't felt in months: hope.

It didn't stir for long, of course; it never does. You hear news, or a rumour, or an enigmatic remark like Laborde's, and your imagination takes wing with wild optimism - and then nothing happens, and your spirits plunge, only to revive for a spell, and then down again, and up and down, while time slips away almost unnoticed. I'm glad I ain't one of these cool hands who can take a balanced view, for any logical appraisal of my situation in Madagascar would have driven me to suicide. As it was, my alternate hopes and glooms were probably my salvation, as the months went by.

For it was months - six of them, although looking back it's hard to believe it was more than a few weeks. Memory may hold on to horrid incidents, but it's a great obliterator of dull, protracted misery, especially if you help it with heavy drinking. There's a fine potent aniseed liquor on Madagascar, and I sopped it up like a country parson, so between sleep and stupor I don't suppose I was in my wits more than half the time.

And as I've remarked, when needs must, you just carry on with the work in hand, so I drilled and bullied my troops, and attended the Queen when called upon, and warily enlarged my circle of acquaintances among the senior military, and cultivated Mr Fankanonikaka, and found out everything I could that might serve when the time came - if it ever did … but it must, it must! For while with every passing week my servitude in Madagascar began to seem more natural and inevitable, there would be moments of sudden violent reaction, as when I'd just seen Elspeth, or been appalled by some new atrocity of the Queen's, or the musky .wood and dust smell grew unbearable in my nostrils, and then there was nothing for it but to walk out alone on the parade ground before Antan' and stare at the distant mountains, and tell myself fiercely that Lord's was still over there somewhere with Felix bowling his slow lobs while the crowd clapped and the rooks cawed in the trees; there would be green fields, and English rain, parsons preaching, yokels ploughing, children playing, cads swearing, virgins praying, squires drinking, whores rogering, peelers patrolling - that was home, and there must be a road to it.

So I kept my eye skinned and learned … that Tamitave, while it had taken days to cover on the slave-march, was a bare hundred and forty miles away; that foreign ships put in about twice a month - for Fankanonikaka, whose office I visited a good deal, used to receive notice of them … the Samson of Toulon, the Culebra of Havana, the Alexander Hamilton of New York, the Mary Peters of Madras - I saw the names, and my heart would stop. They might only anchor in the roads, to exchange cargo - but if I could time my bolt from Antan' precisely, and reach Tamitave when a foreign vessel was in … I'd swum ashore, I could swim aboard - then let 'em try to get me on their cursed land again! How to reach Tamitave, though, ahead of pursuit? The army had some horses, poor screws, but they'd do - one to ride, three to lead for changes … oh, God, Elspeth! I must get her away, too - mustn't I? … unless I escaped and came back for her in force - by Jove, Brooke would jump at the chance of crusading against Ranavalona - if Brooke was still alive - no, I couldn't face another of his campaigns … Damn Elspeth! And so my thoughts raced, only to return to the dusty heat and grind of Antan', and the misery of existence.

There were some slight blessings, though. I became interested in my army work, and enjoyed putting the troops through their manoeuvres, teaching them complicated wheels in line, slow marches, and so forth; I became quite friendly with senior men like Rakohaja, who began more and more to treat me as an equal, and even entertained me at their homes, the patronizing monkeys. Fankanonikaka noted this and was pleased.

"Doing much fine, what? Dining nibs, much grub, happy boozing like hell, tip-top society, how-de-do so pleased to meet you, hey? I seeing you Count Rakohaja, Baron Andriama, Chancellor Vavalana, other best swells. Watching Vavalana careful, however, sly dog, peeping or tittle-tattling for Queen. So looking sharp, that's the ticket for soup, rotten rascal Vavalana, him hating old boy Fankanonikaka, hating you too, much jealousing you mounting Queen, happying her much boom-boom not above half, maybe getting boy child I don't know, Vavalana not liking that, mischief you if possible. Watch out him, I telling you. Meantime you pleasing Queen all while, hearty lovings, she admiring, ain't she just, though, ha-ha?"

And the dirty little rascal would tap his pug nose and chortle. I wasn't so sure myself, for as time went by Ranavalona's demands on me slowly diminished, and while it was a relief in one way - for at first, when I had been summoned to the palace almost every day on her majesty's service, it was so exhausting I daren't wave my hand for fear I floated away - it was worrying, too. Was she tiring of me? It was a dreadful thought, but I was reassured by the fact that she still seemed to like my company, and even began to talk to me.

Not that it was elevating chat - how were the troops? was the ration of jaka*(* Preserved fried beef, a form of pemmican.) sufficient? why did I never wear a hat? were my quarters comfortable? why did I never kill soldiers by way of punishment? had I ever seen the English queen? You must imagine her, either sitting on her throne in a European gown, with one of her girls fanning her, or reclining on her bed in her sari, propped up on one elbow, slowly grunting out her questions, fingering her long earring and never taking those black unblinking eyes from mine. Unnerving work it was, for I was in constant dread that I'd say something to offend; it didn't help that I never discovered how informed or educated she was, for she volunteered no information or opinions, only questions, and no answers seemed either to please or displease her. She would just brood silently, and then ask something else, in the same flat, muttered French.

It was impossible to guess what she thought, or even how her mind worked. Well, to give you an example, I was alone with her one day, standing by obediently while she sat on the bed gazing at Manjakatsiroa (her bottle gourd) and mumbling to herself, when she looked up at me slowly and growled:

"Does this dress please you?"

It was a white silk sarong, in fact, and became her not too badly, but of course I went into raptures about it. She listened sullenly, fidgeted a moment, and then got up, stripped the thing off, and says:

"It is yours."

Well, it wasn't my style at all, but of course I grovelled gratefully and said I couldn't do it justice, but I'd treasure it forever, make it my household idol, in fact, splendid idea … she paid not the slightest attention but sauntered over, bare as the back of my hand, to her great mirror and stared at herself. Then she turned to me, slapped her belly thoughtfully two or three times, put her hands on her hips, stared bleakly at me, and says:

"Do you like fat women?"

If the hairs on my neck crawled, d'you wonder? For if you can think of a tactful answer, I couldn't. I stood tongue-tied, the sweat starting out on me as visions of boiling pits and crucifixion flitted across my mind, and I couldn't restrain a moan of despair - which I immediately had the mother-wit to turn into a lustful growl as I advanced on her, grappling amorously and praying that actions would speak louder than words. Since she didn't press the point, I gather my answer was the right one.

Another anxiety, of course, during those long weeks, was that she would get word of Elspeth, or that my dear little wife herself would get restive and commit some folly which would attract attention. She didn't, though, and on the occasional visits I was allowed to make to the Prince's palace, she seemed as cheerful as ever - I still don't understand this, although I'll admit that Elspeth has an unusually serene and stupid disposition which can make the best of anything. She bemoaned the fact that we were kept apart, of course, and never ceased to ask me when we would be going home, but since we were never left alone together there was no opportunity to tell her the fearful truth, and it would have served no good purpose anyway. So I jollied her along, and she seemed content enough.

It was on the last visit I paid her that I saw the first signs of distress, and guessed it had at last penetrated into that beautiful fat head that Madagascar wasn't quite the holiday she imagined. She was pale, and looked as though she'd been crying, but for once we had no opportunity of a private tete-a-tete, for the occasion was a tea-party given by the Princess, and I was held in military small talk by the Prince and Rakohaja throughout. Only when I was leaving did I have a brief word with Elspeth, and she didn't say much, except to grip my hand tight, and repeat her eternal question about going home. I couldn't guess what had upset her, but I could see the tears weren't far away, so I startled her out of her glooms in the only way I know how.

"What's this, old girl?" says I, looking thunderous. Have you been flirting with that young Prince, then?"

She looked blank, but her dismals vanished at once. "Why, Harry, what can you mean? What a question to ask—"

"Is it, though?" says I grimly. "I don't know -I can see he has more than an eye to you, the presumptuous young pupyes, and you ain't discouraging him exactly, are you? I'm not well pleased, my lady -just because I can't be here all the time, is no reason for you to go setting your cap at other feIlows - oh, yes, I saw you fluttering at him when he spoke to you - and a married man, too. Anyway," I whispered, "you're far too pretty for him."

She was pink by this time - not with guilty confusion, mark you, but with pleasure at the thought that she'd stirred the passion in yet another male breast. If there was one thing that could divert the little trollop's attention, it was male admiration; she'd have stood preening herself in the track of a steam road roller if someone had so much as winked at her. I saw by her blushing protests how delighted she was, and that her unhappiness - whatever it was - had been quite forgotten. But now I was being called to the Prince, with Rakohaja at his elbow.

"No doubt we shall see you tonight, sergeant-general, at her majesty's ball," says his highness, and it seemed to me his voice was unduly shrill, and his smile a trifle glassy. "It is to be a very splendid occasion."

I knew about the Queen's dances and parties, of course, although I'd never been to one. Being officially a slave, you see, however much authority I had in the army, I occupied a curious social position. But Rakohaja put my doubt at rest.

"Sergeant-General Flashman will be present, highness." He turned his big scarred face to stare at me. "I shall bring him in my own party."

"Excellent," twitters the Prince, looking everywhere but at me. "Excellent. That will be … ah … most agreeable." I bowed myself away, wondering what this portended. I didn't have long to wait to find out.

The Queen's galas were famous affairs. They took place every two or three months, on the anniversaries of her birth, accession, marriage - or the jubilee of her first massacre, I shouldn't wonder - and were attended by the flower of Malagassy society, all in their fanciest costumes, crowding into the great courtyard before the palace, where they danced, ate, drank, and revelled all through the night. Proper orgies, from all I'd heard, so I was ready prompt enough, in full fig, when Rakohaja came for me early in the evening.

There was a great crowd of the commonalty waiting at the palace gates as we passed through, peeping to get a look at their betters, who were already whooping it up to some tune. The whole vast courtyard was ablaze with Chinese lanterns slung on chains, potted palms and even whole trees and flower-beds had been brought in for decoration, the arches of the palace front were twined with rammage and cords of tinsel, a fountain had been specially constructed in the centre of the yard, the water playing over glass jars in which were imprisoned clusters of the famous Malagassy fire-flies - brilliant little emerald green jewels which winked and fluttered through the spray with dazzling effect.

Among the trees and arbours which lined the square long tables were set, piled with delicacies, especially the local beef rice which is consumed in honour of the Queen - don't ask me why, because it's mere coarse belly fodder. The military band were on hand, pounding away at "Auprès de ma blonde", and getting most of the notes wrong; I noticed they were all half-tipsy, their black faces grinning sweatily and their uniform collars undone, while their bandmaster, resplendent in tartan dressing-gown and bowler hat, was weaving about cackling and losing his silver-rimmed spectacles. He grovelled on the ground hunting for them and waving his baton crazily, but the band played on undaunted, falling off their seats, and the row was deafening.

Mind you, if they were drunk, you could see where they'd got the idea. There must have been several hundred of the upper crust present already, each one with about a gallon of raw spirit aboard to judge by their antics; I counted four fellows in the fountain when we arrived, and any number staggering about; the greater number were standing unsteadily in groups of anything from six to sixty, making polite conversation at the tops of their voices, yelling and back-slapping, seizing glasses from the loaded trays which the servants passed among them, bawling toasts, spilling liquor all over each other, apologizing elaborately, tumbling down, and acting quite civilized on the whole.

There was the usual fantastic display of fashion - men in Arab, Turkish, Spanish, and European costume, or mixtures of all of them, women in every conceivable colour of sarong, sari, elaborate gown, and party frock. There was abundance of uniform, too, velvet, brocade, superfine, and broadcloth, with crusts of silver and gold braid, but I noticed there was more of a Spanish note than usual - black swallow-tails, cummerbunds, funnel pants, and sashes among the men, mantillas, high heels, flounced skirts, lace fans, and flowers among the women. The reason, I discovered, was that it was Rakota's coming of age, and since he favoured dago fashion the revellers were decked out in his honour. The heat from that shouting, swaying, celebrating throng came at you like a wave, with the band crowning the bedlam of noise with its incessant pounding.

"The dinner has not yet begun," says Rakohaja to me. "Shall we anticipate the others?" He led the way under the trees, where the waiters stood, most of 'em pretty flushed, and waved me and his aides to chairs. There was fine china and glass on the tables, but Rakohaja simply uncorked a bottle, pulled up his sleeve, scooped up a huge handful of beef rice, and proceeded to stuff it into his face, taking occasional pulls of liquor to help it down. Not wishing to be thought ignorant, I used my fingers on a whole chicken, and the aides, of course, ploughed in like cannibals.

Half-way through our collation the more sober of the palace attendants cleared the guests from the main square, and there was terrific plunging, tripping, swearing, and profuse apologizing as they staggered to seat themselves at the surrounding buffets. Whole tables were overturned, chaps fell into the undergrowth, women shrieked tipsily and had to be helped, crockery crashed and glass shattered, all to the accompaniment of cries of: "Ah, mam'selle, pardon my absurd clumsiness," "Permit me, sir, to assist you to your feet," "Hola, garcon, place a chair beneath madame - beneath her posterior, you clumsy rascal!"

"Delightful, is it not, Mam'selle Bomfomtabellilaba; such select company, exquisite taste and decoration," "Forgive me, madame, I am about to vomit a while," and so forth. Eventually, to a chorus of cries, smashing, retching, and polite whispers, they were all down, at various levels, and the cabaret began.

This consisted of a hundred dancing girls, in white saris, with green fire-flies bound in their hair, undulating in perfect time across the courtyard to weird nigger music; ugly little squirts for the most part, but drilled like guardsmen, and I've never seen a pantomime chorus to equal them. They swayed and weaved among each other like clockwork in the most complex patterns, and the mob, in the intervals of stuffing and swilling, rose to them in drunken appreciation. Flowers and ribbons and even plates of food were thrown, fellows clambered on the tables to applaud and yell, the ladies scattered change from their purses, and in the middle of it the military band regained consciousness as one man and began to play "Auprès de ma blonde" again. The bandmaster fell into the fountain to prolonged cheering, one of the aides at our table subsided face down in a dish of curry, General Rakohaja lit a cheroot, about twenty chaps ran in among the dancing-girls and began an impromptu waltz, the Prince and Princess made their entrance in sedans draped with cloth-of-gold and borne shoulder-high by Hova guardsmen, the whole assembly raved and staggered in loyal greeting, and at the next table a slant-eyed yellow gal with slim bare shoulders glanced lingeringly in my direction, lowered her eyelids demurely, and stuck out her tongue at me behind her fan.

Before I could respond with a courtly inclination of my head there was a sudden blare of trumpets, drowning out the hubbub; it rose in a piercing fanfare, and as it died away the entire congregation staggered to its feet with a renewed clattering of overturned chairs, breaking of dishes, subdued swearing and apology, and stood more or less silent, leaning on each other and breathing stertorously.

On the centre of the first balcony of the palace, lanterns were blazing, guardsmen were forming, and a brazen-lunged major-domo was shouting commands. Hand-maidens appeared bearing the striped umbrella, cymbals clashed, a couple of idol-keepers scurried out with their little bundles, the Silver Spear was borne forward, and here came the founder of the feast, the guest of honour, the captain of the side, imperial in her crimson gown and golden crown, to be greeted by a roar of acclamation which beat everything that had gone before. The wave of adulation beat up and echoed against the towering walls, "Manjaka, manjaka! Ranavalona, Ranavalona!" as she moved slowly forward to the balcony, her stately progress marred only by the obvious fact that she, too, was drunker than David's sow.

She swayed dangerously as she stood looking down, a couple of guardsmen lending a discreet elbow on either side, and then the band, in a triumph of instinct over intoxication, burst into the national anthem, "May the Queen Live a Thousand Years", rendered with heroic enthusiasm by the diners, most of whom seemed to be accompanying themselves by beating spoons on plates.

It ended in a furore of cheering, and her majesty retired about five seconds, I'd say, before collapsing in a heap. We hallooed her out of sight, and now that the loyal toast was drunk, so to speak, the party began in earnest. There was a concerted rush into the square, in which I found myself carried along, willy-nilly, and with the band surpassing itself, a frenzied polka was danced; I found myself partnering an enormously fat hippo of a woman in crinoline, who used me as a battering-ram to drive a way through the press, screaming like a steam whistle as she did so.

I may say that in keeping with the spirit of the evening, I had taken a fairish cargo of drink aboard myself, and it was making me feel reckless, for I kept craning over the heads of the throng in the hope of a sight of the yellow gal who had been eyeing me. Which was madness, of course, but even the thought of a jealous Ranavalona ain't proof against several pints of aniseed liquor and Malagassy champagne - besides, after months of galloping royalty I was crying out for a change, and that slender charmer would supply it splendidly - there she was, with a frog-like black partner clinging to her for support; she caught my glance as the dance swept her past and opened her eyes invitingly at me.

It was the work of a moment to kick my partner's massive legs from under her and thrust her squawking under the feet of the prancing throng; I fought my way to the sidelines, scooping the yellow gal out of her partner's drunken embrace en route, and he blundered on blindly while I bore off the prize with one arm round her lissom waist. She was shrieking with laughter as I swept her into the undergrowth - it was bedlam in there, too, for it seemed that the accepted way of sitting out a dance in Antan' was to crawl into the hushes and fornicate; half the guests appeared to be there before us, black bottoms everywhere, but I found a clear space and was just settling down, choking lustfully in the waves of scent which my lady affected, when some brute kicked me in the ribs, and there was Rakohaja standing over us.

I was about to damn his eyes heartily, but he just jerked his head and moved behind a tree, and since my yellow gal chose that moment to be sick, I lost no time in joining him, cursing my luck just the same. I was pretty unsteady on my feet, but I realized that he was cold sober; the lean black face was grim and steady, and there was something about the way he glanced either side, at the hullabaloo of the dance and the dim forms grunting and gasping in the shadows about us, that made me check my angry protest. He drew on his cheroot a moment, then, pitching it away, he took my arm and ushered me under the trees, along a narrow path, and so by a dimly-lighted passage into a little open garden space, which I guessed must be to the side of the palace proper.

It was moonlight, and the little space was full of shadows; I was about to demand to know what the dooce this was all about when I realized that there were at least two men half-hidden in the gloom, but Rakohaja paid them no attention. He crossed to a little summer-house, with a chink of light showing beneath its door, and tapped. I stood trying to get my head clear, suddenly scared; faintly in the distance I could hear the sounds of music and drunken revelry, and then the door was opened, and I was being ushered inside, blinking in the lantern-light as I stared round, panic mounting in my throat.

There were four men seated there, looking at me. To my left, in dark shirt, breeches, and boots, his face vulpine in the lantern-ray, was Laborde; next to him, solemn for once, his fat chops framed in his high collar, was Fankanonikaka; to the right, slimly elegant in his full court dress, was one of the young Malagassy nobles whom I knew by sight, although I'd hardly spoken to him, Baron Andriama. And in the centre, his handsome young face tense and strained, was Prince Rakota himself. His glance went past me as the door closed.

"No one saw you?" His voice was a hoarse whisper.

"No one," says Rakohaja behind me. "It is safe to begin."

I doubted that - I really did. Drunk or not, I can smell a conspiracy when it's pushed under my nose, and the presence of royalty and several of Madagascar's most eminent citizens notwithstanding, I knew at once that there was mischief brewing here, but Rakohaja's hand was on my shoulder, firmly guiding me to a seat, and any lingering doubt was dispelled as the Prince nodded to Laborde, who addressed me.

"There is very little time," says he, "so I shall be brief. Do you wish to return to England, in safety, with your wife?"

The honest answer to that was high treason, and the knowledge must have shown in my face, for little Fankanonikaka broke in quickly; it was a sign of his agitation that he spoke, not in fluent French, but in his bastard English.

"Not frightening, no alarms, all's well, Flashman.

Friends here, liking you, telling truth, like old boys, ain't we?"

If the Queen's own son, and her secretary and most trusted minister were in it - whatever it was - there could be no point in lying.

"Yes," says I, and the Prince sighed with relief, and broke into a torrent of Malagassy, but Laborde cut him short.

"Pardon, highness, we must not delay." He turned to me again. "The time has come to depose the Queen. All of us whom you see here are agreed on that. We are not alone; there are others, trusted friends, who are in the plot with us. We have a plan - simple, effective, and involving no bloodshed, by which her majesty will be removed from power, and his highness crowned in her place. He will give you his royal word, that in return for your faithful service in this, he will set you and your wife at liberty, and return you to your homeland." He paused; his words had come out in a swift, incisive rush, but now he spoke slowly. "Will you join us?"

Could it be a trap? Some devilish device of Ranavalona's to test my loyalty - she was fiend enough to be capable of it. Laborde's face said nothing; Fankanonikaka was nodding at me, as though willing me to agree. I glanced at the Prince, and the almost wistful expression in the fine dark eyes convinced me - nearly. I was sober enough now, and as frightened as any decent coward has any right to be; it might be dangerous to agree, but just the feel of Rakohaja's grim presence at my elbow told me it would be downright fatal to refuse.

"What d'you want me to do?" I said. For the life of me, I couldn't see why they needed me at all, unless they wanted me to strangle the black slut in her bath - the mind shuddered at the thought - no, it couldn't be that - no bloodshed, Laborde had said

"We need someone," Laborde went on, as though he'd been reading my mind, "who is in the Queen's confidence, entirely above suspicion, yet with the power so to dispose of the armed forces that they will be unable to protect her. Someone who can ensure that when the moment comes, her Hova guard regiment will not be able to intervene. Those guards within the palace can be dealt with easily - provided there is no reinforcement to assist them. That is the key to the whole plan. And you hold the key."

So many thoughts and terrors were jumbling in my mind by now that I couldn't give them coherent utterance for a moment. The prospect of freedom - of escape from that monstrous Poppaea and her ghastly country - I shivered with excitement at the thought … but Laborde must be crazy, for what could I do about her infernal soldiers? - I might be God Almighty on the drill-ground, telling them where to put their clodhopping feet, but I'd no authority beyond that. Their plot might be Al, and I was all for it, provided I was safe out of harm's way - but the thought of doing anything! One hint of suspicion in those terrible eyes

"How can I do that?" I stuttered. "I mean, I've no power. General Rakohaja here, he could order—"

"Not possible, Queen not liking, all thinking bad of General, chop undoubtedly—" Fankanonikaka waved his hands, and Rakohaja's deep voice sounded behind me.

"If I, or any other noble, attempted to move the Hova Guards more than a mile from the city, the Queen's suspicions would be instantly aroused. And I do not have to tell you what follows on her suspicions. It has been tried, once before, and General Betimseraba lingered in agony for days, without arms or legs or eyes, hanging in a buffalo skin at Ambohipotsy. He was plotting, as we are, but not so carefully. He forgot that the Queen has spies in every corner - spies that even Fankanonikaka does not know about. Yet all he did was try to detach two companies of the guard to Tamitave. Nothing was proved - but he failed the tanguin - and died."

"But … but - I can't move the Guards—"

"You have done so, twice already." It was Andriama, speaking for the first time. "Did you not give them training marches, one of two days, the other of three? Nothing was said; the Queen was undisturbed. What would excite immediate suspicion, if done by a noble of whom the Queen is jealous - and she is insanely jealous of all of us - may be easily accomplished by the sergeant-general, who is only a slave, and well beloved by the Queen."

Fankanonikaka was nodding eagerly; his lips seemed to be framing the words "jig-a jig-a jig". I was going faint at the thought of the risk I'd already run, quite unawares.

"Don't you understand?" says Laborde. "Don't you see - from the moment I saw you in the slave-market, months ago, we have been scheming, Fankanonikaka and I, to bring you to the position where you could do this thing? The Queen trusts you - because she has no reason to suspect you, who are only a lost foreigner. She thinks of you only as the slave who drills her troops - and as a lover. You know how cautiously we have proceeded - so that no hint of suspicion could attach to you; his highness has kept your wife in safety, even beyond the eyes and ears of his mother's spies. We have waited and waited - oh, long before you came to Madagascar. This is not the first time we have plotted in secret—"

"She is mad!" the Prince burst out. "You know she is mad - and terrible - a woman of blood! She is my mother - and … and … " He was shaking, twisting his hands together. "I do not seek the throne for greed, or for power! I do it to save this country - to save all of us, before she destroys us utterly, or brings down the vengeance of the world upon us! And she will - she will! The Powers will not stand by forever!" He stared from Laborde to Rakohaja and back again. "You know it! We all know it!"

I couldn't fathom this, until Laborde explained.

"You are not alone, Flashman. Only last month a brig named the Marie Laure was driven ashore near Tamitave; her master, one Jacob Heppick, an American, was taken and sold into slavery, like you. I had him bought, through friends of mine—" He snorted suddenly. "There are five European slaves whom I have bought secretly this year, to save them from worse; castaways, unfortunates, like you and your wife. They are hidden with my friends. But there have been inquiries from their governments - inquiries which the Queen has answered with insults and threats. She has even been foolish enough to abuse the few foreign traders who put in here - men have been taken from their vessels, put to forced labour, virtually enslaved. How long will France and England and America endure this?

"Even now"— he leaned forward, tapping my knee —"there is a British warship in Tamitave roads, whose commander has sent protests to the Queen. She will reject them, as she always does - and burn another hundred Christians alive to show her contempt of foreigners! How long before that one British warship is a squadron, landing an army to march on Antan' and pull her from her throne? Does she think London and Paris will endure her forever?"

And what the devil, I nearly burst out, is wrong with that? I never heard such splendid stuff in all my life-God, to think of British regiments and blue jackets storming into her beastly capital, blowing her lousy Hova rascals to blazes, stringing her up, with any luck - and then it occurred to me that these Malagassy gentlemen might not view the prospect with quite as much enthusiasm. They wouldn't relish being another British or French dominion; no, but let good King Rakota mount the throne, and behave like a civilized being, and the Powers would be happy enough to leave him and his country alone. So that was why they were in such a sweat to get rid of mama, before she provoked an invasion. But why should Laborde care - he wasn't a Malagassy? No, but he was a conniving Frog, and he didn't want the Union Jack over Antan' any more than the others did. I wasn't in the political service for nothing, you know.

"She will destroy us!" Rakota cries again. "She will bring us to war - and in her madness there is no horror she will not—"

"No, highness," says Rakohaja. "She will not - for we will not let her. This time we shall succeed."

"You understand," says Laborde, eyeing me, "what is to be done? You must send the Guards on a march to the Ankay, a mere thirty miles away. Nothing more than that. A training march, lasting three days, under their subordinate commanders, as usual."

"That will leave the Teklave and Antaware regiments at Antan'," says Rakohaja. "They will do nothing; their generals will be with us as soon as our coup is seen to be successful."

"We shall strike on the second night after the Guards have gone," says Andriama. "I shall be in attendance on the Queen. I shall have thirty men in the palace. At a given signal they will take the Queen prisoner, and dispose of her guards within the palace, if that is necessary. General Rakohaja will summon the commanders of the lesser regiments, and with Mr Fankanonikaka will proclaim the new King. It will be done within an hour - and when word of the coup reaches the Hova Guards at Ankay, it will be too late. The enthusiasm of the people will ensure our success—"

"They will rally to me," says Rakota earnestly. "They will see why I do this thing, that I will be a liberator, and—"

"Yes, highness," says Rakohaja, "you may trust us to see to all that."

I couldn't help noticing that they used Rakota pretty offhand, for their future monarch; who would rule Madagascar, I couldn't help wondering? But that was small beer-my mind was racing over this thunderclap that they'd burst on me. They weren't laggard conspirators, these lads, and I'd hardly had time to get my breath. They had it all pat - but, by jingo, it was an appalling risk! Suppose something went wrong - as it had done before, apparently? The mere thought of the vengeance Ranavalona would take set my innards quivering-and I'd be in the middle of the stew, too. I could have wept at the thought that there was a British warship, this very minute, not four days' ride away to the eastward. Was there any way I could - no, that wasn't on the cards. Suppose Laborde could bring it off? Suppose the Queen got wind of it? She had spies - I even found myself looking at Fankanonikaka, and wondering. Who knew - she might have penetrated this conspiracy already - she might be gloating up yonder, biding her time. I thought of those awful pits, and the fellow screaming before her throne, with his arm parboiled …

"Then you are with us?" says Laborde, and I realized they were all staring at me - Fankanonikaka, round-eyed, eager but scared; the Prince almost appealing, Andriama and Rakohaja grimly, Laborde with his head back, weighing me. In the silence of the little summer-house I could still hear, faintly, the sounds of the distant music. There was a foolish, useless question in my mind - but funk that I was, I had to ask it, although the answer wouldn't settle my terrors a bit.

"You're sure the Queen doesn't suspect already?" says I. "I've heard of thirty men who'll do the thing - how d'ye know there isn't a spy among 'em? Those two sentries outside—"

"One of the sentries," says Andriama, "is my brother. The other my oldest friend. The thirty whom I shall lead are men from the forests - outlaws, brigands, men under sentence of death already. They can be trusted, for if they betrayed us, they would join us in the pits."

"Neither the Queen nor Chancellor Vavalana suspects," says Rakota quickly. "I am certain of it." He fidgeted and looked at me, smiling hopefully.

"When will my wife and I be free to leave?" says I, looking him in the eye, but it was Laborde who answered.

"Three days from now. For you must send the Guards to Ankay tomorrow, and we will strike on the night of the day following. From that moment, you are free."

If I'm still alive, thinks I. I knew I was red in the face, which is a sure sign that I'm paralysed with fear - but what could I do but accept? Hadn't they cut it fine, though? Not giving old Flash much time to play 'em false, if he'd been so minded, the cunning scoundrels. Even so, they felt it would do no harm to drop a reminder in my ear, for when the Prince had said a few well-chosen words to wind up our little social gathering, and we had dispersed quietly into the dark, and I was making my way tremulously back to the courtyard, where they were still racketing fit to wake the dead, Rakohaja suddenly surged up at my elbow.

"A moment, sergeant-general, if you please." He had a cheroot going again; he glanced around, drawing on it, before continuing. "I was watching you; I do not think you are a calm man."

Heaven alone knew what could have given him that impression. To demonstrate my sang-froid I uttered a falsetto moan of inquiry.

"Calm is necessary," says the big bastard, laying a hand on my arm. "A nervous man, in your situation, might give way to fear. He might conceive, foolishly, that his interest would be best served by betraying our plot to her majesty." I started to babble, but he cut me short. "That would be fatal. Any gratitude which the Queen might feel - supposing she felt any at all - would be more than outweighed by her jealous rage on discovering that her lover had been unfaithful. Mam'selle Bomfomtabellilaba is an attractive woman, as you are aware. You seemed to be finding her so when I summoned you earlier this evening. The Queen would be most displeased with you if she heard of it."

He took my arm as we approached the courtyard. "I remember one of her earlier … favourites, who was indiscreet enough only to smile at one of her majesty's waiting-women. He never smiled again - at least, I do not think he did, but it is difficult to tell after a man's skin has been removed, inch by inch, in one piece. Shall we find something to eat? - I am quite famished."

While I can lie and dissemble with the best as a rule, I'm not much hand at conspiracy; you're too dependent on knavery other than your own. Mind you, they seemed a steady enough gang, and the one blessing was that there was little time left for anything to go wrong; if I'd had to wait days, or weeks, I don't doubt my nerve would have cracked, or I'd have given myself away. When I went on parade next dawn, having had not a wink of sleep, I was twitching like a landed fish; I'd even started guiltily when my orderly brought my shaving-water - what was behind it, eh? wasn't it suspicious that his behaviour was exactly the same as it had been for months? Did he know something? By the time I got to my office, and issued my orders of the day to my small staff of instructors, I was seeing spies everywhere, and behaving like a nervous actor in "Macbeth".

The shocking problem, as I stared at the impassive black faces of my staff and tried to keep my hands still, was to devise a sufficient excuse for sending the Guards off to Ankay. God, how had I got into this? I couldn't just order 'em off - that would excite comment for certain. They didn't need the exercise, they'd been behaving well on parade - I couldn't see any way, but I had them mustered in case, trusting the Lord would provide. And He did. The men were steady and well-turned out, as usual, but their junior officers had been at the Queen's party all night, and came on parade half-soused. Seeing my chance, I set 'em to drill their columns, and in five minutes that muster looked like the Battle of Borodino, with Hovas walking into each other, whole companies going astray, and little drunk officers staggering about shrieking and weeping. In happy inspiration I had the band paraded to accompany the drill, and since most of them were still cross-eyed and blowing into the wrong end of their instruments, the shambles was only increased.

At this I flew into a frightful passion, placed the drunker officers under arrest, harangued the parade at the top of my voice, and told them they could damn well march in full kit until they were sober and respectable again. Ankay was the place, I said; they could camp out on the plain without tents or blankets, and if one of 'em dared to get fever I'd flog him stupid. It must have sounded convincing, and presently off they went, led by the band playing three different marches at once; I watched them fade into the dusty haze and thought, well, that's my part well done - and if the whole plot goes agley, I can still plead that my actions have been perfectly normal.

But that's small comfort to a conscience like mine. I was a prey to increasing terror all day, fretting about what Laborde and the others might be doing - there was another day and night for word of the plot to leak out, and I started at every voice and footfall. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice; no doubt they attributed my jumps, like their own, to the excesses of the previous night. There was no word from the palace, no hint of anything untoward; evening came, and I prepared to turn in early with a bottle of aniseed to quiet my dark hours.

I lay there, listening to the distant sounds of the palace, sucking at my flask, and telling myself for the thousandth time there was no reason why all shouldn't be well - why, given luck, in two days Elspeth and I would be riding down in style to Tamitave, with Rakota's blessing; then the first English ship, and home and safety, far from this hellish place. It mightn't be so bad, of course, with Ranavalona out of the way - might be financial advantage to be had - rich country, new market - trading ventures, expert advice to City merchants in return for ten per cent of the profits - not to be sneezed at. Wonder what they'd do with Good Queen Randy - exile to the southern province, likely, with a platoon of Hova bucks to keep her warm … serve her right …

The knock on my door sounded thunderously, and I came bolt upright, sweating. I heard my orderly's voice, and here he was, as I scrabbled for my boots, and behind him, the ominous figures of Hova guardsmen, bandoliers and all, their bare chests gleaming black in the lamplight. There was an under-officer, summoning me to the royal apartments; the words pierced my drowsy brain like drops of acid - oh, Christ, I was done for. I had to hold on to the edge of my cot as I pulled on my breeches; what could she want, at this hour, and why should she send a guard of soldiers, unless the worst had happened? The gaff was blown, it must be - steady, though, it might be nothing after all - I must keep a straight face, whatever it was. Panic shook me - should I try a bolt? No, that would be fatal, and my legs wouldn't answer; it was all they could do to walk steady as the officer led the way round to the front of the palace, past the broad steps - was it imagination that there seemed to be more sentries than usual? - and across the court to the Silver Palace, gleaming dimly under the rising moon, its million bells tinkling softly in the night air.

Up the stairs, along the broad corridor, with my legs like jelly and the Hova boots pounding stolidly behind me - I wasn't happy about those boots, I remembered; I'd toyed with the idea of trying 'em in sandals, but hadn't been sure how they'd stand up to long marching - ye Gods, what a thing to think about, with my life in the balance, and now the great doors were opening, the officer was waving me in, and here, in a blaze of light, was the reception room, and I was striding in and bowing automatically, while the picture was emblazoned in my mind.

She was there, black and still, on her throne. It must be midnight, surely, but damne if she wasn't wearing a taffeta afternoon dress, all blue flounces, and a hat with an ostrich plume. I came up from my bow, feeling the chill stare, but I couldn't bring myself to look at her. A couple of her girl attendants alongside, then the lean, robed figure of Vavalana the Chancellor, his head cocked, looking at me out of his crafty eyes; Fankanonikaka - I struggled for composure, but his bland black face told me nothing. And then my heart leaped sickeningly, and I almost cried out.

To one side, between two guardsmen, stood Baron Andriama. His shirt was torn, his face contorted, and his hands were bound; he seemed barely able to stand. There was a filthy mess on the floor near him - and the word shot into my mind: tanguin. She knew, then - it was all up.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see her watching me, her hand at her earring. Then she muttered something, and Vavalana shuffled forward, his staff tapping. His grizzled head and skinny black face looked curiously bird-like; he blinked at me like a cheeky old robin.

"Speak before the Queen," says he, and his voice was a gentle croak. "Why did you send the Guards to Ankay?"

I tried to look slightly puzzled, and to keep my voice steady. "May the Queen live a thousand years. I sent the Guards on a punishment march - because they were drunk and slovenly. So was the band." I frowned at him, and spoke louder. "They were not fit to be seen - I have five of their officers in arrest. Fifty miles in full kit is what they need, to teach 'em to behave like soldiers - and when they come back I'll send them out again, if they haven't learned their lesson!"

It sounded well, I think - the right touch of puzzled indignation and martial severity, although how I managed it God alone knows. Vavalana was studying me, and behind him that black face and beady eyes beneath the ostrich plume were as fixed as a stone idol's. I must not falter, or betray fear

"They were not sent away on the orders of that man?" says Vavalana, and his scrawny hand pointed at Andriama, sagging between his guards.

"Baron Andriama?" says I, bewildered. "He has no authority over the troops. Why - does he say he ordered me? He has never shown any interest in their training - he's not a soldier, even. I don't understand, Chancellor—"

"But you knew"— cries Vavalana, his finger stabbing at me —"you knew he plotted against the life of the Great Lake Supplying Water! Why else should you remove her shield, her trusted soldiers?"

I let my jaw drop in amazement, then I laughed right in his face - and for the first time saw Ranavalona startled. She jumped like a jerked puppet, for I don't suppose anyone had ever laughed aloud in her presence before.

"A plot, you say? Is this a joke, Chancellor? If so, it's in poor taste." I stopped laughing and scowled, seeing the doubt in his eyes - now's your chance, my boy, I thought, rage and indignation, carry it off for all you're worth, bluff loyal old Harry. "Who would dare plot against her majesty, or say that I knew of it?" I almost shouted the words, red in the face, and Vavalana absolutely fell back a step. Then:

"Enough!" Ranavalona took her hand from her earring. "Come here."

I stepped forward, forcing myself to look into those hypnotic eyes, my mouth dry with fear. Had the bluff worked? Did she believe me? The glazed, frozen pupils surveyed me for a full minute, then she reached out and took my hand. My spirits leaped as she held it - and then she grunted one word:

"Tanguin."

My heart lurched, and I almost fell. For it meant she didn't believe me, or at least wasn't sure, which was just as bad; she was holding my hand, sentencing me to trial by ordeal, that horrible, lunatic test of Madagascar, which gave barely a chance of survival. I heard my own teeth chattering, and then I was grovelling and pleading, protesting my loyalty, swearing she was the darlingest, loveliest queen who ever was - only the blind certainty that confession meant sure and unspeakable death stopped me from whimpering out the whole plot; for at least the tanguin gave me a slender chance, and I suppose I knew it. The sullen face didn't change. She let go my hand and gestured to the guards.

I could only crouch there while they made their beastly preparations, aware of nothing except the black, muscular hands holding the little tanguin stone and scraping it with a knife, so that the grey powdery flakes fell on to the platter on which lay the three dried scraps of chicken-skin. There it was, my poisoned death; one of the guards jerked me roughly to my feet, gripping my arms behind me; the other advanced, lifting the plate up to my face. He seized my jaw-and then paused as the Queen spoke, but it wasn't a reprieve: she was signing to one of her maids, and every-thing must wait, me with my eyes popping at that venomous offal I was going to have to swallow, while the girl scurried away and came back with a purse, from which the Queen solemnly counted twenty-four dollars into Vavalana's hand. At that final callousness, that obscene adherence to the letter of their heathen ritual, my nerve broke.

"No!" I screamed. "Let me go! I'll tell - I swear I'll tell!" By the grace of God I shouted in English, which no one except Fankanonikaka understood. "Mercy! They made me do it! I'll tell—"

My jaw was wrenched cruelly open; bestial fingers were holding it, and I choked as my mouth filled with the filthy odour of the tanguin. I struggled, gagging, but the scraps of chicken were thrust cruelly to the back of my mouth; then muscular hands clamped my jaws shut and pinched my nostrils, I struggled and heaved, trying not to swallow, my throat was on fire with that vile dust, I was choking horribly, my lungs bursting, but it was no use. I gulped agonizingly - and then I was staggering free, sobbing and trying to retch, glaring round in panic, knowing I was dying - yet even then aware of the curiosity in the watching eyes of Vavalana and the guards, and the blank indifference of the creature motionless on the throne.

I screamed, again and again, clutching at my burning throat, while the room spun giddily round me - and then the guards had seized me once more, little Fankanonikaka was jabbering at me while they forced a bowl to my lips. "Buvez! Buvez! Drinking - quickly!" and a torrent of rice-water was being poured into me, filling my mouth and nostrils, soaking my whole head; my very lungs seemed to be filling with the stuff. I swallowed and swallowed until I felt I must burst, feeling the relief as that corrosive pain was washed from my mouth - and then an agonizing convulsion gripped my stomach, and then another, and another. I was on hands and knees, crawling blindly - oh, God, if this was death it was worse than anything I'd imagined. I opened my mouth to scream, and in that moment I spewed as never before, again and again, and collapsed in a shuddering heap, wailing feebly and all but dead to the world, while the spectators gathered round to take stock.

This is the interesting part of the tanguin ordeal, you see: will the victim vomit properly? It's true - that's the test. They force that deadly poison into you, douse you with rice-water to help digestion, and await events - but it ain't enough just to be sick, you know, you must bring up the three pieces of chicken skin as well, and if you do, it's handshakes all round and a tanner from the poor box. If you don't, then you've failed the test, your guilt is established - and her majesty has endless fun disposing of you.

Delightful, ain't it? And just about as logical as the proceedings of our police courts, if rather more upsetting to the accused. At least you don't have to wait in suspense while they sift the evidence, for you're too racked and exhausted to care; I lay, coughing and whining with my eyes blurred with tears of pain, until someone seized my hair and jerked me upright, and there was Vavalana, solemnly surveying three sodden little objects on his palm, and Fankanonikaka beaming relief at his elbow, nodding at me, and I was still too dazed to take it in as the guards thrust me forward on to my knees, snuffling and blubbering before the throne.⁴²

Then followed the most astonishing thing of all. Ranavalona held out her hand, and Vavalana carefully placed eight dollars in her palm. She passed them to her maid, and he then gave her another eight, which she held out to me. I was too used up to recollect that this was the token that I'd survived the ordeal successfully, but then she made it abundantly clear. When I took the money she closed her hand round mine and leaned forward from her throne until our faces were almost touching, and to my utter disbelief I saw that there were tears in those dreadful snake eyes. Very gently she rubbed her nose against mine, and touched my face with her lips. Then she was upright again, turning her glare on the unfortunate Andriama, and hissing something in Malagassy - she may have been reminding him to wear wool next his skin, but I doubt it, for he shrieked with terror and flung himself grovelling in front of her, nuzzling at her feet while the guards fell on him and dragged him writhing towards the doors. My hair stood up shuddering on my scalp as his screams died away; a less comprehensive spew, and that would have been me wailing.

Fankanonikaka was at my elbow, and taking my cue from him I bowed unsteadily, backing out of the presence. As the doors closed on us, Ranavalona was still seated, the ostrich plume nodding as she muttered to her bottle idol; her maids were starting to mop the floor in a disconsolate way.

"Much touching, Queen loving you greatly, so pleased you puking pretty, much happy tanguin not dying!" Fankanonikaka was absolutely snivelling with sentiment as he hurried. "She never loving so deep, except royal bulls, which aren't human being. But now hurrying, much danger still, for you, for me, for all, when Andriama telling plots." He thrust me along the passages, and so to his little office, where he shot the bolt and stood gasping.

"What about Andriama? What happened?"

He rolled his eyes. "Who knowing, someone betraying, awful humbug Vavalana maybe spy keyholing, hearing somethings. Queen suspicioning Andriama, giving tanguin, he puking no good, not like you. I not there in time, no helping, like for you, with salt, little-little cascara in rice-water, making mighty sickings, jolly happy, all right and tight, I say."

No wonder I'd been sick. I could have kissed the little blighter, but he was fairly twitching with alarm.

"Andriama telling soon. Awful torturings now, worse from Spanish Inquizzing, burnings and cutting away private participles—" He shuddered, his hands over his face. "He crying about plot, me, you, Rakohaja, Laborde—"

"For God's sake, talk French!"

"—everything be knowing to Vavalana and Queen. Maybe little time yet, then clink for us, torturings too, then Tyburn jig, I'll wager! Only hope, making plot now - tonight Guards not here, marching Ankay left-right! Must telling Rakohaja, Laborde, Queen suspicioning, Andriama blowing gaff soon …

He babbled on while I tried desperately to think. He was right, of course: Malagassies are brave and tough as teak, but Andriama would never stand the horrors that Ranavalona's beauties were probably inflicting on him while we stood talking. He'd break, and soon, and we'd be dead men - by George, though, she fancied me, didn't she just, piping her eye when I survived the tanguin, the tender-hearted little bundle? Aye, and no doubt she'd weep into her pillow after I'd been flayed alive for treason, too. If we could reach Laborde or Rakohaja, could they bring off the coup at once? Where were Andriama's thirty villains? Did Rakota know what had been happening? Rakota - dear God, Elspeth! What would become of her? I pounded my fist in a fury of despair, while Fankanonikaka twittered in Malagassy and pidgin English, and suddenly I saw that there was only one way, and a slender hope at that, but it was that or unspeakable death. The Flashman gambit - when in doubt, run.

"Look, Fankanonikaka," says I, "leave this to me. I'll find Laborde and Rakohaja. But if I'm to move quickly, I must have a horse. Can you give me an order on the royal stables? They won't let me take a beast without authority. Come on, man! I can't run all over bloody Antan' on foot! Wait, though - I may need more than one. Write me an order for a dozen horses, so that I can give 'em to Laborde, or Rakohaja - they'll have to assemble those men of Andriama's somehow."

He goggled at me in consternation. "But what reason? If order say taking all horse, someone suspicioning, crying fire and Bow Street—"

"Say they're for the Guards' officers I sent marching to Ankay! Say the Queen's sorry for 'em, and they can ride back! Any damned excuse will do! Hurry, man - Andriama's probably crying uncle this instant!"

That decided him; he grabbed a quill and scribbled as I hovered at his shoulder, shuddering with impatience. The minutes were flying, and with every one my chances were growing dimmer. I pocketed the order; there was one more item I must have.

"Have you a pistol? A sword, then - I must have a weapon - in case." I hoped to heaven there'd be no in case about it, but I couldn't go unarmed. He scurried about and found one in a nearby drawing-room - only a ceremonial rapier with a curved ivory hilt and no guard, but it would have to do. As I took it an appalling thought struck me - why not cut upstairs and kill the black bitch where she sat … or sick Fankanonikaka on to do it? He fairly squealed with alarm and indignation.

"No, no, no bloodings! Gentle deposings only - great Queen, poor lady - oh, so barmy! If only she peace and quiet, ourselves not needing damn plottings, not above half! Now all to smash, kicking up rows, arrests and cruellings!" Ile wrung his hands. "You hurrying Laborde fastly, I waiting sentry, oh my stars, someone maybe nabbing, or Queen suspicioning—"

"Not a bit of it," says I. "Tell you what, though - you're a sharp hand at slipping things into chap's drinks, ain't you? Well, try and find a way of sending poor old Andriama some refreshment - put him out of his misery before he blabs, what? And don't fret, Fankanonikaka! We all old boys, jolly times together. Floreat Highgate and to hell with the Bluecoat School, hey?"

Then I was off, leaving him twittering, forcing myself to walk slowly as I descended the great staircase, past the incurious palace guardsmen, across the court and out into the street beyond. It was the small hours, but there was plenty of traffic about, for in the royal district of Antan' society folk kept late hours, and there was sure to be much dining-out and discussing of last night's orgy at the palace. They delight in scandal, you know, just like their civilized brethren and sisters. The streets were well-lit, but no one paid me any heed as I made my way past the strolling pedestrians and the sedans jogging under the trees. I had got a long cloak from Fankanonikaka, to wear over my boots and breeches and to cover my sword - for slaves didn't ought to have such things - and apart from my white face and whiskers I was just like any other passer-by.

The stables were only five minutes' walk, and I lounged about in a fever of nonchalance while the under-officer laboriously spelled out Fankanonikaka's note and looked surly. He didn't have much French, but I supplemented the written order as best I could, and since he recognized me as the sergeant-general he did what he was told.

"Two horses for me," says I, "and the other dozen for the Guards' officers out at Ankay. Send 'em out now, with a groom, and tell him to follow the Guards' track, but not to hurry. I don't want the cattle worn out, d'you see?"

"No grooms," says he, sulky-like.

"Then get one," says I, "or I'll mention you to the Queen, may she live a thousand years. Been out to Ambohipotsy lately, have you? You'll find yourself observing it from the top of the cliff, unless you look sharp - and put a water-bottle, filled, with each horse, and plenty of jaka in the saddle-bags."

I left him as pale as only a scared nigger can be, and rode at a gentle pace in the direction of Prince Rakota's palace, leading the second horse. I daren't hurry, for a mounted man was rare enough in Antan' at any time, and a hastening rider in the middle of the night would have had them hollering peeler. This is the worst of all, when every second's precious but you have to dawdle - I think of strolling terrified through the pandy lines at Lucknow with Campbell's message, or that nerve-racking wait on the steamboat wharf at Memphis with a disguised slave-girl on my elbow and the catchers at our very heels; you must idle along carelessly with your innards screaming - had Andriama talked yet? Did the Queen know it all by now? Was Fankanonikaka, perhaps, already shrieking under the knives? Were the city gates still open? They never closed 'em, as a rule; if I found them shut, that would be a sure sign that the caper was blown - heaven help us then.

Rakota's place in the suburbs stood well apart from the other houses, behind a stockade approached through a belt of small trees and bushes. I left the horses there, out of sight, breathed a silent prayer that Malagassy hacks knew enough not to stray or neigh, and set forward boldly for the front gate. There was a porter dozing under the lantern, but he let me in ready enough - they don't care much, these folk - and presently I was kicking the jigger-dubber*(* Door-keeper.) awake on the front steps, boldly announcing myself from the Silver Palace with a message for his royal highness.

This presently produced a butler, who knew my face, but when I demanded instant audience, he cocked his frosty head disdainfully.

"Their highnesses are not returned … ah … sergeant-general. They are dining with Count Potrafanton. You can wait - on the porch."

That was a blow; I hadn't a moment to spare. I hesitated, and then saw there was nothing for it but the high hand.

"It's no matter, porter," says I, briskly. "My message is that the foreign woman who is here is to be sent to the Silver Palace immediately. The Queen wishes to see her."

If my nerves hadn't been snapping, I dare say I'd have been quite entertained at the expressions which followed each other across his wrinkled black face. I was only tenth-caste foreign rubbish, a mere slave, he was thinking; on the other hand, I was sergeant-general, with impressive if undefined power, and much more to the point, I was the Queen's current favourite and riding-master, as all the world knew. And I brought a command ostensibly from the throne itself. All this went through the woolly head - how much he'd been told by his master about the need to keep Elspeth's presence secret, I couldn't guess, but eventually he saw which way wisdom - and Ambohipotsy - lay.

"I shall inform her," says he, stiffly, "and arrange an escort."

"That won't be necessary," says I, harshly. "I have a sedan waiting beyond the gates."

Butlers are the bloody limit; he was ready to argue, so eventually I just blazed at him, and threatened if he didn't have her down and on parade in a brace of shakes, I'd march straight back to the palace and tell the Queen her son's butler had said "Snooks!" and slammed the door on me. He quivered at that, more in anger than sorrow, and then marched off, all black dignity, to fetch her. You could see he was wondering what things were coming to nowadays.

I waited, chewing my knuckles, pacing the porch, and groaning at the recollection of how long it took the bloody woman to dress. Ten to one she was peering at herself in the glass, patting her curls and making moues, while Andriama was probably blabbing, and plot, alarm, and arrest were breaking out with a vengeance; Ranavalona's tentacles might be reaching out. through the city this moment, in search of me - I stamped and cursed aloud in a fever of impatience, and then strode through the open door at the sound of a female voice. Sure enough, there she was, in cloak and bonnet, prattling her way down the stairs, and the butler carrying what looked like a hat-box, of all things. She gave a little shriek at the sight of me, but before I could frown her into silence another sound had me wheeling round, hackles rising, my hand starting towards my sword-hilt.

Through the open door I could see down the long drive to the main gate. It was dim down yonder, under the flickering lantern, but some kind of commotion was going on. There was a clatter of metal, a voice raised in command, a steady tread advancing - and into my horrified view, their steel and leather glittering in the beams cast by the front door lamps, came a file of Hova guardsmen.

I may not be good for much, but if I have a minor talent it's for finding the back door when coppers, creditors, and outraged husbands are coming in the front. I had the advantage of having my pants up and my boots on this time, and even hampered by the need to drag Elspeth along, I was going like a rat to a drainpipe before the butler even had his mouth open. Elspeth gave one shriek of astonishment as I bundled her along a passage beneath the stairs.

"Harry! Where are you going - we have left my band-box-!"

"Damn your band-box!" I snapped. "Keep quiet and run!"

I whirled round a corner; there was a corridor obviously leading to the back, and I pounded along it, my protesting helpmeet clutching her bonnet and squeaking in alarm. A startled black face popped out of a side-door; I hit it in panic and Elspeth screamed. The corridor turned at right angles; I swore and plunged into an empty room - a glimpse of a long table and dining chairs in the silent dark, and beyond, French windows. I hurtled towards them, hauling her along, and wrenched them open. We were in the garden, dim in the moon-shadows; I cocked an ear and heard - nothing.

"Harry!" She was squealing in my ear. "What are you about? Leave go my arm - I won't be hustled, do you hear?"

"You'll either be hustled or dead!" I hissed. "Silence! We are in deadly danger - do you understand? They are coming to arrest us - to kill us! For your life's sake, do as I tell you - and shut up!"

There was a path, running between high hedges; we sped along it, she demanding in breathless whispers to know what was happening: at the end I got my bearings; we were to the side of the building, in shrubbery, with the front drive round to our left, and from the hidden front door I could hear a harsh voice raised - in Malagassy, unfortunately, but I caught enough words to chill my blood. "Sergeant-general … arrest … search." I groaned softly, and Elspeth began babbling again.

"Oh, my dress is torn! Harry, it is too bad! What are you - why are we - ow!" I had clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Be quiet, you silly mort!" I whispered. "We're escaping! There are soldiers hunting us! The Queen is trying to kill me!"

She made muffled noises, and then got her mouth free. "How dare you call me that horrid word! What does it mean? Let me go this instant! You are hurting my wrist, Harry! What is this absurd nonsense about the Quee—" The shrill torrent was cut off as I imprisoned her mouth again.

"For God's sake, woman - they'll hear us!" I pulled her in close to the wall. "Keep your voice down, will you?" I took my hand away, unwisely.

"But why?" At least she had the wit to whisper. "Why are we - oh, I think you are gammoning me! Well, it is a very poor joke, Harry Flashman, and I—"

"Please, Elspeth!" I implored, shaking my fist in her face. "Ht's true, I swear! If they hear us - we're dead!"

My grimacing frenzy may have half-convinced her; at least her pretty mouth opened and closed again with a faint "Oh!" And then, as I crouched, straining my ears for any sound of the searchers, came the tiniest whisper: "But

Harry, my band-box … I glared her into silence, and then ventured a peep round the angle of the wall. There was a Hova trooper on the porch, leaning on his spear; I could hear faint sounds of talk from the hall - that damned butler giving the game away, no doubt. Suddenly from behind us, in the dark towards the hack of the house, came the crash of a shutter and a harsh voice shouting. Elspeth squeaked, I jumped, and the Hova on the porch must have heard the shout too, for he called to the hall - and here, to my horror, came an under-officer, bounding down the porch steps sword in hand, and running along the front of the house towards our corner.

There was only one thing for it. I seized Elspeth and thrust her down on her face in the deep shadow at the foot of the wall, sprawling on top of her and hissing frantically to her to keep quiet and lie still. We were only in the nick of time - he rounded the angle of the house and came to a dead stop almost on top of us, his boots spurning the gravel within a yard of Elspeth's head. For a terrible instant I thought he'd seen us - the great black figure towered above us, silhouetted against the night sky, the sword glittering in his hand, but he didn't move, and I realized he was staring towards the back of the house, listening. I could feel Elspeth palpitating beneath me, her turned face a faint white blur just beneath my own - oh, Christ, I prayed, don't let him look down! Suddenly he bawled something in Malagassy, and took a half-step forward - my blood froze as his boot descended within inches of Elspeth's face - but right on top of her hand!

She started violently beneath me - and then he must have shifted his weight, for as in a nightmare I heard a tiny crack, and her whole body shuddered. Paralysed, I waited for her scream - he must glance down now! - but a voice was shouting from the back of the house, his was bellowing right above us in reply, he plunged forward, his leg brushing my curls, and then he was gone, striding away down the path behind us into the dark, and Elspeth's breath came out in a little, shivering moan. I was afoot in an instant, hauling her upright, half-carrying her into the denser shrubbery on the lawn, knowing we hadn't an instant to lose, bundling her along and hoping to heaven she wouldn't faint. If we could get quickly through the shrubbery unobserved, moving parallel with the drive, and so come to the gate - would they have left a sentry there?

Fortunately the shrubbery screened our blundering progress entirely; we plunged through the undergrowth and fetched up gasping beneath a great clump of ferns not ten yards from the gate. Far back to our left the Hova was still on the house porch beneath the lamp; through the bushes ahead I could make out the faint gleam of the gate-lantern, but no sound, except from far behind us, where there were distant voices at the back of the house - were they coming nearer … ? I peered cautiously through the fringe of bushes towards the gate - oh, God, there was a damned great Hova, not five yards away, his spear held across his body, looking back towards the house. The light gleamed dully on his massive bare arms and chest, on his gorilla features and gleaming spearhead - my innards quailed at the sight; I couldn't hope to pass that, not with Elspeth in tow - and at that moment my loved one decided to give voice again.

"Harry!" She was hissing in my ear. "That man - that man stood on my hand! I'm sure my finger is broke!" I recall noting that it must have been indignation rather than complaint, for she added a word which frankly I didn't think she knew.

"Ssht!" I had my lips against her ear. "I know! We'll … we'll mend it presently. There's a guard on the gate - must get past him!" The voices at the back of the house were growing louder - it was now or never. "Can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk! It is my poor finger—"

"Sssht, for Christ's sake! Look, old girl - we must distract his attention, d'you see? The chap on the gate, dammit!" I wouldn't have thought I could yammer and whisper simultaneously - but then I wouldn't have thought I'd be stuck in the bushes in Madagascar plotting escape with a blonde imbecile whose mind, I'll swear, was divided evenly between her wounded finger and her lost band-box. "Yes, he's out there! Now, listen - you must count to five - five, you know - and then stand up and walk out on to the drive! Can you, dearest? - just walk out, there's a good girl! Nod, curse you!" his own rush driving it into his body. His fall wrenched the hilt from my hand, and then I was high-tailing after Elspeth, turning her into the trees, where the horses still stood patiently, cropping at the grass.

I heaved her bodily on to one of them, her skirts riding up any old how, vaulted aboard the other, and with a hand to steady her, forced the beasts out on to the road beyond. There was a tumult of hidden voices by the gate, but I knew we were clear if she didn't fall - she was always a decent horsewoman, and was clinging to the mane with her good hand. We ploughed off knee to knee, in a swaying canter that took us to the end of one road and down the next, and then I eased up. No sounds behind, and if we heard any we could gallop at need. I clasped her to me, swearing with relief, and asked how her hand was.

"Oh, it is painful!" cries she. "But Harry, what does it mean? Those dreadful people - I thought I should swoon! And my dress torn, and my finger broke, and every bone in my body shaken! Oh!" She shuddered violently. "Those fearful black soldiers! Did you … did you kill them?"

"I hope so," says I, looking back fearfully. "Here - take my cloak - muffle your head as well. If they see what you are, we're sunk!"

"But who? Why are we running? What has happened? I insist you tell me directly! Where are we going—"

"There's an English ship on the coast! We're going to reach her, but we've got to get out of this hellish city first- if the gates are closed I don't—"

"But why?" cries she, like a damn parrot, sucking her finger and trying to order her skirts, which wasn't easy, since she was astride. "Oh, this is so uncomfortable! Why are we being pursued - why should they - oh!" Her eyes widened. "What have you done, Harry? Why are they chasing you? Have you done some wrong? Oh, Harry, have you offended the Queen?"

"Not half as much as she's offended me!" I snarled. "She's a … a … monster, and if she lays hands on us we're done for. Come on, confound it!"

"But I cannot believe it! Why, of all the absurd things! When I have been so kindly treated - I am sure, whatever it is, if the Prince were to speak to her—"

I didn't quite tear my hair, but it was a near-run thing. I gripped her by the shoulders instead, and speaking as gently as I could with my teeth chattering, impressed on her that we must get out of the city quickly; that we must proceed slowly, by back streets, to the gates, but there we might have to ride for it; I would explain later

"Very good," says she. "You need not raise your voice. If you say so, Harry - but it is all extremely odd."

I'll say that for her, once she understood the urgency of the situation - and even that pea-brain must have apprehended by now that something unusual was taking place - she played up like a good 'un. She didn't take fright, or weep, or even plague me with further questions; I've known clever women, and plenty like Lakshmibai and the Silk One who were better at rough riding and desperate work, but none gamer than Elspeth when the stakes were on the blanket. She was a soldier's wife, all right; pity she hadn't married a soldier.

But if she was cool enough, I was in a ferment as we picked our way by back-roads to the city wall, and followed it round towards the great gates. By this time there were hardly any folk about, and although the sight of two riders brought some curious looks, no one molested us. But I was sure the alarm must have gone out by now - I wasn't to know that Malagassy bandobast*(* Organization.) being what it was, the last thing they'd have thought to do was close the gates. They never had, so why bother now? I could have shouted with relief when we came in view of the gate-towers, and saw the way open, with only the usual lounging sentinels and a group of loafers round a bonfire. We just held steadily forward, letting 'em see it was the sergeant-general; they stared at the horses, but that was all, and with my heart thumping we ambled through under the towers, and then trotted forward among the scattered huts on the Antan' plain.

Ahead of us the sky was lightening in the summer dawn, and my spirits with it - we were clear, free, and away! - and beyond those distant purple hills there was a British warship, and English voices, and Christian vittles, and safety behind British guns. Four days at most - if the horses I'd sent to Ankay were waiting ahead of us. In that snail-pace country, where any pursuit was sure to be on foot, no one could hope to overtake us, no alarm could outstrip us - I was ready to whoop in my saddle until I thought of that menacing presence still so close, that awful city crouching just behind us, and I shook Elspeth's bridle and sent us forward at a hand-gallop.

But our luck was still with us. We sighted the change horses just before dawn, raising the dust with the groom jogging along on the leader, and I never saw a jollier sight. They weren't the pick of the light cavalry, but they had fodder and jaka in their saddle-bags, and I knew they'd see us there, if we spelled 'em properly. Thirty miles is as far as any beast can carry me, but that would be as much as Elspeth could manage at a stretch in any event.

I dismissed the bewildered groom, and on we went at a good round trot. A small horse-herd ain't difficult to manage, if you've learned your trade in Afghanistan. My chief anxiety now was Elspeth. She'd ridden steady - and commendably silent - until now, but as we forged ahead into the empty downland, I could see the reaction at work; she was swaying in the saddle, eyes half-closed, fair hair tumbling over her face, and although I was in a sweat to push on I felt bound to swing off into a little wood to rest and eat. I lifted her out of the saddle beside a stream, and blow me if she didn't go straight off to sleep in my arms. For three hours she never stirred, while I kept a weather eye on the plain, but saw no sign of pursuit.

She was all demands and chatter again, though, when she awoke, and while we chewed our jaka, and I bathed her finger - which wasn't broke, but badly bruised - I tried to explain what had happened. D'you know, of all the astonishing things that had occurred since we'd left England, I still feel that that conversation was the most incredible of all. I mean, explaining anything to Elspeth is always middling tough - but there was something unreal, as I look back, about sitting opposite her, in a Madagascar wood, while she stared round-eyed in her torn, soiled evening dress with her finger in a splint, listening to me describing why we were fleeing for our lives from an unspeakable black despot whom I'd been plotting to depose. Not that I blame her for being sceptical, mind you; it was the form her scepticism took which had me clutching my head.

At first she just didn't believe a word of it; it was quite contrary, she said, to what she had seen of Madagascar, and to prove the point she produced, from the recesses of her under-clothing, a small and battered notebook from which she proceeded to read me her "impressions" of the country - so help me, it was all about bloody butterflies and wild flowers and Malagassy curtain materials and what she'd had for dinner. It was at this point that it dawned on me that the conclusion I'd formed on my visits to her at Rakota's palace had been absolutely sound - she'd spent six months in the place without having any notion of what it was really like. Well, I knew she was mutton-headed, but this beat all, and so I told her.

"I cannot see that," says she. "The Prince and Princess were all politeness and consideration, and you assured me that all was well, so why should I think otherwise?"

I was still explaining, and being harangued, when we took the road again, and for the best part of the day, which took us to the eastern edge of the downs, near Angavo, where we camped in another wood. By that time I had finally got it into her head what a hell of a place Madagascar was, and what a hideous fate we were escaping; you'd have thought that would have reduced her to terrified silence, but then, you don't know my Elspeth.

She was shocked - not a bit scared, apparently, just plain indignant. It was deplorable, and ought not to be allowed, was how she saw it; why had we (by which I took it she meant Her Britannic Majesty) taken no steps to prevent such misgovernment, and what was the Church thinking about? It was quite disgusting - I just sat munching jaka, but I couldn't help, listening to her, being reminded of that old harridan Lady Sale, tapping her mittened fingers while the jezzail bullets whistled round her on the Kabul retreat, and demanding acidly why something was not done about it. Aye, it's comical in its way - and yet, when you've seen the memsahibs pursing their lips and raising indignant brows in the face of dangers and horrors that set their men-folk shaking, you begin to understand why there's all the pink on the map. It's vicarage morality, nursery discipline, and a thorough sense of propriety and sanitation that have done it - and when they've gone, and the memsahibs with them, why, the map won't be pink any longer.

The one thing Elspeth couldn't accept, though, was that the outrageous condition of Madagascar was Ranavalona's fault. Queens, in her conception of affairs, did not behave in that way at all; the mother of Prince Rakota ("a most genteel and obliging young man") would never have countenanced such things. No, it could only be that she was badly advised, and kept in ignorance, no doubt, by her ministers. She had been civil enough to me, surely? - this was asked in an artless way which I knew of old. I said, well, she was pretty plain and ill-natured from the little I'd seen of her, but of course I'd hardly exchanged a word with her (which, you'll note, was true; I said nothing of bathing and piano-playing). Elspeth sighed contentedly at this, and then after a moment said softly:

"Have you missed me, Harry?"

Looking at her, sitting in the dusk with the green leaves behind her, in her dusty gown, with the tangled gold hair framing that lovely face, so serene in its stupidity, I suddenly realized there was only one sensible way to answer her. What with the shock and haste and fear of our flight it absolutely hadn't occurred to me until that moment. And afterwards, lying in the grass, while she stroked my cheek, it seemed the most natural thing - as if this wasn't Madagascar at all, with dreadful danger behind and unknown hardship before - in that blissful moment I dreamed of the very first time, under the trees by the Clyde, on just such a golden evening, and when I spoke of it she began to cry at last, and clung to me.

"You will bring us there again - home," says she. "You are so brave and strong and good, and keep me safe. Do you know," she wiped her eyes, looking solemn, "I never saw you fight before? Oh, I knew, to be sure, from the newspapers, and what everyone said - that you were a hero, I mean - but I did not know how it was. Women cannot, you know. Now I have seen you, sword in hand - you are rather terrible, you know, Harry - and so quick!" She gave a little shiver. "Not many women are lucky enough to see how brave their husbands are - and I have the bravest, best man in the whole world." She kissed me on the forehead, her cheek against mine.

I thought of her finger, under that crushing boot, of the way she'd stood up in the bushes and walked straight out, of the bruising ride from Antan', of all she'd endured since Singapore - and I didn't feel ashamed, exactly, because you know it ain't my line. But I felt my eyes sting, and I lifted her chin with my hand.

"Old girl," says I, "you're a trump."

"Oh, no!" says she, wide-eyed. "I am very silly, and weak, and … and not a trump at all! Feckless, Papa says. But I love to be your `old girl' "— she snuggled her head down on my chest —"and to think that you like me a little, too … better than you like the horrid Queen of Madagascar, or Mrs Leo Lade, or those Chinese ladies we saw in Singapore, or Kitty Stevens, or - my dearest, whatever is the matter?"

"Who the hell," roars I, "is Kitty Stevens?"

"Oh, do you not remember? That slim, dark girl with the poor complexion and soulful eyes she thinks so becoming - although how she supposes that mere staring will make her attractive I cannot think - you danced with her twice at the Cavalry Ball, and assisted her to negus at the buffet …

We were off again before dawn, crossing the Angavo Pass which leads to the upland Ankay Plain, going warily because I knew the Hova Guard regiment which I'd sent out couldn't be far away. I kept casting north, and we must have outflanked them, for we saw not a soul until the Mangaro ford, where the villagers turned out in force to stare at us as we crossed the river with our little herd. It was level going then until the jungle closed in and the mountains began, but we were making slower time than I'd hoped for; it began to look like a five-day trek instead of four, but I wasn't much concerned. All that mattered was that we should keep ahead of pursuit; the frigate would still be there. I was sure of this because it was bound to wait for an answer to the protest which, according to Laborde, had only reached the Queen a couple of days ago. Her answer, even if she'd sent it at once, would take more than a week to reach Tamitave, so if we kept up our pace we'd be there with time in hand.

I kept telling myself this on the third day, when our rate slowed to a walk with the long, twisting climb up the red rutted track that led into the great mountains. Here we were walled in by forest on either hand, with only that tortuous path for a guide. I knew it because I'd been flogged over it in the slave-coffle, and I had to gulp down my fears as we approached each bend - suppose we met someone, in this place where we couldn't take to our heels, where to stray ten yards from the path would be certain death by wandering starvation? Suppose the path petered out, or had been overgrown? Suppose swift Hova runners overtook us?

I was in a fever of anxiety - not made any easier by the childish pleasure Elspeth seemed to be taking in our journey. She was forever clapping her hands and exclaiming at the saucer-eyed white monkeys who peered at us, or the lace-plumed birds that fluttered among the creepers; even the hideous water-snakes which cruised the streams, with their heads poking out, excited her - she barred the spiders, though, great marbled monsters as big as my hand, scuttling on webs the size of blankets. And once she fled in terror from a sight which had our horses neighing and bucking in the narrow way - a troop of great apes, bounding across the path in leaps of incredible length, both feet together.⁴³ We watched them crash into the under-growth, and not for the first time I cursed the luck that I hadn't even a clasp-knife with me for defence, for God knew what else might be lurking in that dark, cavernous forest. Elspeth wished she had her sketch-book.

There's forty miles of that forest, but thanks to good Queen Ranavalona we didn't have to cross it all, as you would today. The jungle track runs clear across towards Andevoranto, whence you travel up the coast to Tamitave, but in 1845 there was a short-cut - the Queen's buffalo road, cut straight through the hilly jungle to the coastal plain. This was the track, hacked out by thousands of slaves, which I'd seen on the way up; we reached it on the fourth day, a great avenue through the green, with the mountain mist hanging over it in wraiths. It was eerie and foreboding, but at least it was flat, and with half our beasts already abandoned in exhaustion, I was glad of the easier going.

It's strange, as I look back on that remarkable journey, that it wasn't nearly as punishing as it might have been. Elspeth still swears that she quite enjoyed it; I dare say if I hadn't been so apprehensive - about our beasts foundering, or losing our way if the mist settled down, or being overtaken by pursuers (although I knew there was scant chance of that), or how we were going to make our final dash to the frigate - I might have marvelled that we came through it so easily. But we did; our luck held through hill and jungle, we hardly saw a native the whole way, and on the fourth afternoon we were trotting down through the strange little conical hillocks that line the sandy coastal plain, with nothing ahead of us but a few scattered villages and easy level going until we should come to Tamitave.

Of course, I should have been on my guard. I should have known it had gone too smooth. I should have remembered the horror that lay no great way behind, and the mad hatred and bloodlust of that evil woman. I should have thought of the soldier's first rule, to put yourself in the enemy's shoes and ask what you would do. If I'd been that terrible bitch, and my ingrate lover had tried to ruin me, cut up my guardsmen, and lit out for the coast - what would I have done, given unlimited power and a maniac's vengeance to slake? Sent out my fleetest couriers, over plain and jungle and mountain, to carry the alarm, rouse the garrisons, cut off escape - that's what I'd have done. How far can good runners travel in a day - forty miles over rough going? Say four days, perhaps five, from Antan' to the coast. We were approaching Tamitave on the evening of the fourth day.

Aye, I should have been on my guard - but when you're within the last lap of safety, when all has gone far better than you'd dared hope, when you've seen the Tamitave track and know that the coast is only a few scant miles away over the low hills, when you have the gamest, loveliest girl in the world riding knee to knee with you, that eager idiot smile on her face and her tits bouncing famously, when the dark terrors have receded behind you - above all, when you've hardly slept in four nights and are fit to topple from the saddle with sheer weariness … then hope can fuddle your wits a little, and you let the last of your rations slip from your hand, and the dusk begins to swim round you, and your head is on the turf and you slip down the long slide into unconsciousness - until someone miles away is shaking you, and yelping urgently in your ear, and you come awake in bleary alarm, staring wildly about you in the dawn. "Harry! Oh, Harry - quickly! Look, look!"

She had me by the wrist, tugging me to my feet. Where was I? - yes, this was the little hollow we'd camped in, there were the horses, the first ray of dawn was just peeping over the low downs to the east, but Elspeth was pulling me t'other way, to the lip of the hollow, pointing.

"Look, Harry - yonder! Who are those people?"

I stared back, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes - the distant mountains were in a wall of mist, and on the rolling land between there were long trails of fog hanging on the slopes. Nothing else - no! there was movement on the crest a mile behind us, figures of men coming into plain view, a dozen - twenty perhaps, in an irregular line abreast. I felt an awful clutch at my heart as I stared, disbelieving what I saw, for they were advancing at a slow trot, in an ominously disciplined fashion; I recognized that gait, even as I took in the first twinkle of steel along the line and made out the white streaks of the bandoliers - I'd taught 'em how to advance in skirmishing order myself, hadn't I? But it was impossible …

"It can't be!" I heard my voice cracking. "They're Hova guardsmen!"

If any confirmation were needed it came in the faint, wailing yell drifting on the dawn air, as they came jogging down the slope to the plain.

"I thought I had better rouse you, Harry," Elspeth was saying, but by then I was leaping for the horses, yelling to her to get aboard. She was still babbling questions as I bundled her up bareback, and flung myself on to a second mount. I slashed at the three other beasts remaining to us, and as they fled neighing from the hollow I spared another wild glance back; three-quarters of a mile away the skirmishing line was coming steadily towards us, cutting the distance at frightening speed. God, how had they done it on foot in the time? Where had they come from, for that matter?

Interesting questions, to which I still don't know the answer, and they didn't occupy me above a split second just then. In the nick of time I stifled my coward's instinct to gallop wildly away from them, and surveyed the ground ahead of us. Two, perhaps three miles due east, across rolling sandy plain, was the crest from which, I was pretty sure, we'd look down on the shore; there was the Tamitave track a mile or so to our right, with a few villagers already on it. I struggled to clear my wits - if we rode straight ahead we ought to come out just above the Tamitave fort, north of the town proper - the frigate would be lying in the roads - Christ, how were we going to reach her, for there'd be no time to stop and scheme, with these devils on our heels. I looked again; they were well out on the plain by now, and coming on fast … I gripped Elspeth's wrist.

"Follow me close! Ride steady, watch your footing, and for God's sake don't slip! They can't catch us if we keep up a round canter, but if we tumble we're done!"

She was pale as a sheet, but she nodded and for once didn't ask me who these strange gentlemen were, or what they wanted, or if her hair was disarranged. I wheeled and set off down the slope, with her close behind, and the yell as they saw us turn was clear enough now; a savage hunting cry that had me digging in my heels despite myself. We drummed down the hill, and I forced myself not to look back until we'd crossed the little valley and come to the next crest - we'd gained on them, but they were still coming, and I gulped and gestured furiously to Elspeth to keep up.

I'd have to count up all the battles I've been in to tell you how often I've fled in panic, and I've made a few other strategic withdrawals, too, but this was as horrid as any. There was the time Scud East and I went tearing along the Arrow of Arabat in a sled with the Cossacks behind us, and the jolly little jaunt I had with Colonel Sebastian Moran in the ammunition cart after Isandhlwana, with the Udloko Zulus on our tail - and couldn't they cover the ground, just? But in the present case the snag was that very shortly we were going to reach the sea, and unless our embarkation went smoothly - God, the frigate must be there! … I stole another look over my shoulder - we were a clear mile ahead now, surely, but there they were still, just appearing on a crest and streaming over it in fine style.

I took a look at our horses; they weren't labouring, but they weren't fit to enter the St Leger either. Would they last? Suppose one went lame - why the blazes hadn't I thought to drive the spare beasts ahead? But it was too late now.

"Come on," says I, and Elspeth gave me a trembling look and kicked in her heels, clinging to the mane. The last slope was half a mile ahead; as we dropped our pace for the ascent I looked back again, but there was nothing in sight for a good mile.

"We'll do it yet!" I shouted, and we covered the last few yards to the top through slippery sand, the sun blazed in our eyes as we reached the crest, the breeze was suddenly stiff in our faces - and there below us, down a long sandy slope, was the spreading panorama of beach and blue water, with the surf foaming not a mile away. Far off to the right was Tamitave town, the smoke rising in thin trails above the thatched roofs; closer, but still to the right, was the fort, a massive circular stone tower, with its flag a-flutter, and its outer wooden palisade; there were white-coated troops, about a platoon strong, marching towards it from the town, and looking down from our point of vantage I could see great activity in the central square of the fort itself, and round the gun emplacements on its wall.

The sun was shining straight towards us out of a blue, cloudless sky, the rays coming over a thick bank of mist which mantled the surface of the sea a mile off-shore. A beautiful sight, the coral strand with its palms, the gulls wheeling, the gentle roll of bright blue sea - there was only one thing missing. From golden beach to pearly bank of mist, from pale clear distance in the north to the vague smokiness of the town waterfront to the south, the sea was as bare as a miser's table. There was no British frigate in Tamitave roads. There wasn't even a blasted bumboat. And behind us, as I turned my frantic gaze in their direction, the Hovas were just coming in sight on the hillside a scant mile away.

I can't recall whether I screamed aloud or not; I may well have done, but if I did it was a poor expression of the sick despair that engulfed me in that moment. I know the thought that was in my mind, as I pounded my knee with my fist in an anguish of rage, fear, and disappointment, was: "But it must be there! It has to wait for her message!" and then Elspeth was turning solemn blue eyes on me and asking:

"But Harry, where is the ship? You said it would be here—" And then, putting two and two together, I suppose, she added: "Whatever shall we do now?"

It was a question which had occurred to me, as I stared palsied from the empty sea in front to our pursuers behind - they had halted on the far crest, which was an irony, if you like. They could crawl on their bellies towards us now, for all it mattered - we were trapped, helpless, with nothing to do but wait until they came up with us at their leisure, to seize and drag us back to the abominable fate that would be waiting for us in Antan'. I could picture those snakelike eyes, the steaming pits at Ambohipotsy, the bodies turning in the air from the top of the cliff, the blood-curdling shriek of the mob - I realized I was babbling out a flood of oaths, as I stared vainly round for an escape which I knew wasn't there.

Elspeth was clutching my hand, white-faced - and then, because it was the only way to go, I was urging her down the slope to our left, towards a long grove of palms which began about two furlongs from the fort and ran away into the distance along the coastline northwards. That's one thing about a sound cowardly instinct - it turns you directly to cover, however poor and useless it may be. They'd find us there in no time, but if we could reach the trees undetected from the fort, we might at least be able to flee north - to what? There was nothing for us yonder except blind flight until we dropped from exhaustion, or our horses foundered, or those black hounds came up with us, and I knew it, but it was better than stopping where we were to be run down like sheep.

"Oh, Harry!" Elspeth was wailing in my rear as we thundered down the slope, but I didn't check; another minute would have us in the shelter of the grove, if no one in the fort saw us first. Crouched over my beast's neck, I stole a look down towards the stone battlements at the foot of the hill - Elspeth's voice behind me rose in a sudden scream, I whirled in my seat, and to my amazement saw that she was hauling in her mount by the mane. I yelled to her to ride, cursing her for an idiot, but she was pointing seaward, crying out, and I wrestled my brute to a slithering halt, staring where she pointed - and, d'you know, I couldn't blame her.

Out in the roads something was moving in that rolling bank of mist. At first it was just a shadow, towering in the downy radiance of the fog; then a long black spar was jutting out, and behind it masts and rigging were taking shape. In disbelief I heard the faint, unmistakable squeal of sheaves as she came into view, a tall, slim ship under topsails, drifting slowly out of the mist, turning before my eyes, showing her broad, white-striped side - her ports were up, there were guns out, men moving on the decks, and from her mizzen trailed a flag - blue, white, red - dear God, she was a Frog warship - and there, to her right, another shadow was breaking clear, another ship, turning as the first had done, another Frenchie, guns, colours and all!

Elspeth was beside me, I was hugging her almost out of her seat as we watched them spellbound, our flight, the fort, pursuit all forgotten - she yelped in my ear as a third shadow loomed up in the wake of the ships, and this time it was the real thing, no error, and I found myself choking tears of joy, for that was the dear old Union Jack at the truck of the frigate which came gliding out on to the blue water.

I was shouting, God knows what, and Elsepth was clapping her hands, and then a gun boomed suddenly from the fort, only a few hundred yards away, and a white plume of smoke billowed up from the battlements. The three ships were standing in towards the fort; the leading Frog tacked with a cracking of canvas, and suddenly its whole side exploded in a thunder of flame and smoke, there was a series of tremendous crashes from the fort as the broadsides struck home - and here came her two consorts, each in turn letting fly while sea and sky echoed to the roar of their cannonade, a mighty pall of grey smoke eddying around them as they put about and came running in again.⁴⁴

It was a badly-aimed shot screaming overhead that reminded me we were in the direct line of fire. I yelled to Elspeth, and we careered down to the trees, crashing into the thickets and sliding from our mounts to stare at the extraordinary scene being played out in the bay.

"Harry - why are they shooting? Do you suppose they are come to rescue us?" She was clutching my hand, all agog. "Will they know we are here? Should we not wave, or light a fire, or some such thing? Will you not call to them, my love?"

This, with forty guns blazing away not a quarter of a mile off, for the fort was firing back as well; the leading Frog was almost at point-blank range. Clouds of dust and smoke surged up from the fort wall; the Frog seemed to stagger in the water, and Elspeth shrieked as his foretop sagged and then fell slowly into the smoke, with a wreckage of sail and cordage. In came the second ship, letting off her broadside any old how in lubberly, garlic-eating fashion, and the fort thumped her handsomely in reply, serve her right. My God, thinks I, are the Crapauds going to be beat? For the second Frog lost her mizzen top and sheered away blind with the spars littering her poop - and then in came the British frigate, and while I ain't got much use for our navy people, as a rule, I'll allow that she showed up well in front of the foreigners, for she ran in steady and silent, biding her time, while the fort hammered at her and the splinters flew from her bulwarks.

Through the clear air we could see every detail - the leadsman in the chains swinging away, the white-shirted tars on her decks, the blue-coated officers on the quarter-deck, even a little midshipman in the rigging with his telescope trained on the fort. Silently she bore in until I was sure she must run aground, and then a voice called from the poop, there was a rush of men and a flapping of canvas, she wore round, and every gun crashed out as one in a deafening inferno of sound. The wave of the broadside hit us in a blast of air, the fort battlements seemed to vanish in smoke and dust and flying fragments - but when all cleared, there the fort still stood, and her guns banging irregularly in reply.

The frigate was tacking away neatly, but neither she nor the injured Frogs looked like coming in again - the appalling thought struck me that they might be sheering off, and I couldn't restrain myself at such cowardly behaviour.

"Come back, you sons of bitches!" I roared, fairly dancing up and down. "Damnation, they're only a parcel of niggers! Lay into them, rot you! It's what you're paid for!" "But, see, Harry!" squeaks Elspeth, pointing. "Look, my love, they are coming! See - the boats!"

Sure enough, there were longboats creeping out from behind the Frogs, and another from the British ship. As the three vessels stood to again, firing at the fort, the smaller boats came heading in for the shore, packed with men - they were going to storm the fort, under the covering guns of the squadron. I found I was dancing and blaspheming with excitement - for this must be our chance! We must run to them when they got ashore - I ploughed back through the fronds, staring at the hill behind, to see how our Hova friends were doing - and there they were, dropping down from the crest beind us, making for the landward side of the fort. They were running any old how, but an under-officer was shouting in the rear, and it seemed to me he was pointing towards our grove. Yes, some of the Hovas were checking - he was sending them in our direction - damn the black villain, didn't he know where his duty lay, with foreign vessels attacking his b--y island?

"What shall we do, Harry?" Elspeth was at my elbow. "Should we not hasten to the beach? It may be dangerous to linger."

She ain't quite the fool she looks, you know - but fortunately neither am I. The boats were into the surf, only a moment from the shore; the temptation to run towards them was almost more than a respectable poltroon could bear - but if we broke cover too soon, with three hundred yards of naked sand between us and the spot where the nearest Frog boat would touch, we'd be within easy musket-shot from the fort to our right. We must lie up in the grove until the landing-party had got up the beach and rushed the fort - that would keep the black musketeers busy, and it would be safe to race for the boats, waving a white flag - I was tearing away at Elspeth's petticoat, hushing her squeals of protest, peering back through the undergrowth at the approaching Hovas. There were three of 'em, trotting towards the grove, with their officer far behind waving them on; the leading one was almost into the trees, looking stupid, turning to seek instructions from his fellows; then the flat, brutal face turned in our direction, and he began to pick his way into the grove, his spear balanced, his face turning this way and that.

I hissed to Elspeth and drew her towards the seaward side of the grove, under a thicket, listening for everything at once - the steady boom and crash of gunfire, the faint shouts from the fort walls, the slow crunch of the Hova's feet on the floor of the grove. He seemed to be moving away north behind us - and then Elspeth put her lips to my ear and whispered:

"Oh, Harry, do not move, I pray! There is another of those natives quite close!"

I turned my head, and almost gave birth. On the other side of our thicket, visible through the fronds, was a black shape, not ten yards away - and at that moment the first Hova gave a startled yell, there was a frantic neighing - Jesus, I'd forgotten our horses, and the brute must have walked into them! The black shape through the thicket began to run - away from us, mercifully, a crackle of musketry sounded from the beach, and I remembered my dear little woman's timely suggestion, and decided we should linger no longer.

"Run!" I hissed, and we broke out of the trees, and went haring for the shore. There was a shout from behind, a whisp! in the air overhead, and a spear went skidding along the soft sand before us. Elspeth shrieked, we raced on; the boats were being beached, and already armed men were charging towards the fort - Frog sailors in striped jerseys, with a little chap ahead waving a sabre and making pronouncements about la gloire, no doubt, as the grape from the walls kicked up the sand among him and his party.

"Help!" I roared, stumbling and waving Elspeth's shift. "We're friends! Halloo, mes amis! Nous sommes Anglais, pour l'amour de Dieu! Don't shoot! Vive la France!"

They didn't pay us the slightest heed, being engaged by that time in hacking a way through the fort's outer wooden palisade. We stumbled out of the soft sand to firmer going, making for the boats, all of which were beached just above the surf. I looked back, but the Hovas were nowhere to be seen, clever lads; I pushed Elspeth, and we veered away to be out of shot from the fort; the beach ahead was alive with running figures by now, French and British, storming ahead and cheering. There was the dooce of a dogfight going on at the outer palisade, white and striped jerseys on one side, black skins on t'other, cutlasses and spears flashing, musketry crackling from the inner fort and being answered from our people farther down the beach. Then there were sounds of British cheering and cries of excited Frogs, and through the smoke I could see they were up to the inner wall, clambering up on each other's shoulders, popping away with pistols, obviously racing to see which should be up first, French or British.

Good luck to you, my lads, thinks I, for I'm tired. At the same moment, Elspeth cries:

"Oh, Harry, Harry, darling Harry!" and clung to me. "Do you think," she whispered faintly, "that we might sit down now?" With that she went into a dead swoon, and we sank to the wet sand in each other's arms, between the boats and the landing party. I was too tuckered and dizzy to do anything except sit there, holding her, while the battle raged at the top of the beach, and I thought, by Jove, we're clear at last, and soon I'll be able to sleep …

"You, sir!" cries a voice. "Yes, you - what are you about, sir? Great Scott! - is that a woman you have there?"

A party of British sailors, carrying empty stretchers, were racing across our front to the fort, and with them this red-faced chap with a gold strip on his coat, who'd checked to pop his eyes at us. He was waving a sword and pistol. I yelled to him above the din of firing that we were escaped prisoners of the Malagassies, but he only went redder than ever.

"What's that you say? You're not with the landing party? Then get off the beach, sir - get off this minute! You've no business here! This is a naval operation! What's that, bos'un? - I'm coming, blast you! On, you men!"

He scampered off, brandishing his weapons, but I didn't care. I knew I was too done to carry Elspeth down to the boats a hundred yards off, but we were out of effective musket shot of the fort, so I was content to sit and wait until someone should have time to attend to us. They were all busy enough at the moment, in all conscience; the ground before the palisade was littered with dead and crawling wounded, and through the breaches they'd broken I could see them spiking the guns while the scaling parties were still trying to get up the thirty-foot wall behind. They had ladders, crowded with tars and matelots, their steel flashing in the smoke at the top of the wall, where the defenders were slashing and firing away.

Above the crashing musketry there was a sudden cheer; the big black-and-white Malagassy flag on the fort wall was toppling down on its broken staff, but a Malagassy on the battlements caught it as it fell; the fighting boiled around him, but at that moment a returning stretcher party charged across my line of vision, bearing stricken men back to the boats, so I didn't see what happened to him.

Still no one paid any mind to Elspeth and me; we were slightly out of the main traffic up and down the beach, and although one party of Frog sailors stopped to stare curiously at us, they were soon chivvied away by a bawling officer. I tried to raise her, but she was still slumped unconscious against my breast, and I was labouring away when I saw that the landing party were beginning to fall back from the fort. The walking wounded came hobbling first, supported by their mates, and then the main parties all jumbled up together, British and French, with the petty officers swearing and bawling orders as the men tried to find their right divisions. They were squabbling and jostling in great disorder, the British tars cursing the Frogs, and the Frogs grimacing and gesticulating back.

I called out for assistance, but it was like talking in a madhouse - and then over all the trampling and babble the distant guns from the ships began to boom again, and shot whistled overhead to crash into the fort, for our rearguard was clear now, skirmishing away in goodish order, exchanging musket fire with the battlements which they'd failed to overcome. All they seemed to have captured was the Malagassy flag; in among the retiring skirmishers, with the enemy shot peppering them, a disorderly mob of French and English seamen were absolutely at blows with each other for possession of the confounded thing, with cries of "Ah, voleurs!" and "Belay, you sod!", the Frogs kicking and the Britons lashing out with their fists, while two of their officers tried to part them.

Finally the English officer, a great lanky fellow with his trouser leg half torn off and a bloody bandage round his knee, succeeded in wrenching the banner away, but the Frog officer, who was about four feet tall, grabbed an end of it, and they came stumbling down in my direction, yelling at each other in their respective lingoes, with their crews joining in.

"You shall not have it!" cries the Frog. "Render it to me, monsieur, this instant!"

"Sheer off, you greasy half-pint!" roars John Bull. "You take your paw away directly, or you'll get what for!"

"Sacred English thief! It fell to my men, I tell you! It is a prize of France!"

"Will you leave off, you Frog-eating ape? Damme, if you and your cowardly jackanapes had fought as hard as you squeal we'd have had that fort by now! Let go, d'ye hear?"

"Ah, you resist me, do you?" cries the Frog, who came about up to the Englishman's elbow. "It is sufficient, this! Release it, this flag, or I shall pistol you!"

"Give over, rot you!" They were almost on top of us by now, the sturdy Saxon holding the flag above his head and the tiny Frog clinging to it and hacking at his shins. "I'll cast anchor in you, you prancing swab, if- Good God, that's a woman!" His jaw dropped as he caught sight of me at his feet, with Elspeth in my arms. He stared, speechless, oblivious of the Frenchman, who was now drumming at his chest with tiny fists, eyes tight shut.

"If you've a moment," says I, "I'd be obliged if you'd assist my wife to your boats. We're British, and we've escaped from captivity in the interior."

I had to repeat it before he took it in, with a variety of oaths, while the Frog, who had stopped drumming, glared suspiciously.

"What does he say, then?" cries he. "Does he conspire, the rascal? Ah, but I shall have the flag - death of the devil, what is this? A woman, beneath our feet, then?"

I explained to him, in French, and he goggled and removed his hat.

"A lady? An English lady? Incredible! But a lady so beautiful, by example, and in a condition of swoon! Ah, but the poor little! Medecin-major Narcejac! Medecin-major Narcejac! Come quickly - and do you, sir, be calm?" He was fairly dancing in agitation. "Attend, you others, and guard madame!"

They were all crowding round, gaping, and while a Frog sawbones knelt beside Elspeth, whose eyelids were fluttering, a couple of tars helped me up, and the English officer demanding to know who I was, I told him, and he said, not Flashman of Afghanistan, surely, and I said, the very same, and he said, well, he was damned, and he was Kennedy, second of the frigate Conway, and proud to meet me. During this the little Frog officer was hopping excitedly, informing me that he was Lieutenant Boudancourt, of the Zelee, that madame would receive every comfort, and sal volatile, that the entire French marine was at her service, name of a name, and he, Boudancourt who spoke, would personally supervise her tranquil removal without delay

"Avast there, Crapaud!" roars Kennedy. "What's he saying? Jenkins, Russell! The lady's British, an' she'll come in a British boat, by God! Can you walk, marm?"

Elspeth, supported by the Frog doctor, was still so faint, either from fatigue or all this male attention, that she could only gesture limply, and Boudancourt squawked his indignation at Kennedy.

"Do not raise the voice above the half, if you please! Ah, but see, you have returned madame to a decline!"

"Shut your trap!" cries Kennedy, and then, to a seaman who was tugging at his sleeve, "What the hell is it now?"

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, Mister Heseltine's compliments, an' the blacks is makin' a sally, looks like, sir."

He was pointing up the beach: sure enough, black figures in white loin-cloths were emerging through the broken palisade, braving the shot from the ships and our rear-guard's musketry. Some of them were firing towards us; there was the alarming swish of bullets overhead.

"Hell and damnation!" cries Kennedy. "Frogs, women, an' niggers! It's too bad! Mister Cliff, I'll be obliged if you'll get those men off the beach! Cover 'em, sharpshooters! Russell, run to the boat - tell Mister Partridge to load the two-pounder with grape and let 'em have it if they come within range! Fall back, there! Get off the beach!"

Boudancourt was yelling similar instructions to his own people; among them, the médecin-major and a matelot were helping Elspeth down to the nearest boat.

"Well, go with her, you fool!" cries Kennedy to me. "You know what these bloody Frogs are like, don't you?" He was limping along on his injured leg, the Malagassy flag trailing from his hand, little Boudancourt snapping at his heels.

"Ah, but a moment, monsieur! You forget, I think, that you still carry that which is the rightful property of Madame la Republique! Be pleased to yield me that flag!"

"I'll be damned if I do!"

"Villain, do you defy me still? You shall not leave this shore alive!"

"Shove off, you little squirt!"

I could hear their squabbling above the din as I reached the gunwale of the French boat, with men floundering about her knee-deep in water. Elspeth was being helped to the stern-sheets through a jabbering, groaning, shouting crowd of Frenchmen - some were standing in the bows, firing up the beach, others were preparing to shove off, there were wounded crying or lying silent against the thwarts, a midshipman was yelling shrill orders to the men at the sweeps. There was a deafening explosion as the British cutter nearby fired her bow-gun; the Malagassies were streaming out of the fort in numbers now, skirmishing down the beach, taking pot-shots - they'd be forming up for a charge in a moment - and Kennedy and Boudancourt, the last men off the beach, were splashing through the shallows, tugging at the flag and yelling abuse at each other.

"Let go, God rot your boots!"

"English bully, you shall not escape!"

I think of them sometimes, when I hear idiot politicians blathering about "entente cordiale"— Kennedy shaking his fist, Boudancourt blue in the face, with that dirty, useless piece of calico stretched taut between them. And I'm proud to think that in that critical moment, with confusion all around and disaster imminent, my diplomatic skill asserted itself to save the day - for I believe they'd have been there yet if I hadn't snatched a knife from the belt of a matelot beside me and slashed at the flag, cursing hysterically. It didn't do more than tear it slightly, but that was enough - the thing parted with a rending sound, Kennedy swore, Boudancourt shrieked, and we scrambled aboard as the bow-chasers roared for the last time and the boats ground over the shingle and wallowed in the surf.

"Assassin!" cries Boudancourt, brandishing his half.

"Pimp!" roars Kennedy, from the neighbouring boat.

That was how we came away from Madagascar. More than a score of French and British dead it cost, that mismanaged, lunatic operation,⁴⁵ but since it saved my life and Elspeth's by sheer chance, you'll forgive me if I don't complain. All that I could think, as I huddled beside her in the stern, my head swimming with fatigue and my body one great throbbing ache, was - by Jove, we're clear. Mad black queens, Solomon, Brooke, Hovas, head-hunters, Chink hatchetmen, poison darts, boiling pits, skull ships, tanguin poison - they're all gone, and we're pulling across blue water, my girl and I, to a ship that'll take us home …

"Pardon, monsieur," Boudancourt, beside me, was frowning at the piece of sodden flag in his hands. "Can you say," says he, pointing at the black script on it, "what these words signify?"

I couldn't read 'em, of course, but I'd learned enough of Malagassy heraldry to know what they were.

"That says `Ranavalona'," I told him. "She's the queen of that bloody island, and you can thank your stars you'll never get closer to her than this. I could tell you—" I was going on, but I felt Elspeth stir against me and thought, no, least said soonest mended. I glanced at her; she was awake, all right, but she wasn't listening. Her eyes appeared to be demurely downcast, which I couldn't fathom until I noticed that her dress was so torn that her bare legs were uncovered, and every libidinous Frog face in that boat was leering in her direction. And didn't she know it, though? By George, thinks I, that's how this whole confounded business started, because this simpering slut allowed herself to be ogled by lewd fellows

"D'ye mind?" says I to Boudancourt, and taking the torn banner from his hand I disposed it decently across her knees, scowling at the disgruntled Frogs. She looked at me, all innocent wonder, and then smiled and snuggled up to my shoulder.

"Why, Harry," sighs she. "You take such good care of me."

* * *

[Final extract from the journal of Mrs Flashman, July -, 1845]

… to be sure it is very tiresome to be parted again so soon from my dear, dear H., especially after the Cruel Separation which we have endured, and just at a time when we supposed we could enjoy the repose and comfort of each other's company in Blissful Peace at last, and in the safety of Old England. But H.E. the Governor at Mauritius was quite determined that H. must go to India, for it seems that there is growing turmoil there among the Seekh people, and that homeward bound regiments have had to be sent back again, and every Officer of proved experience is required in case of war.⁴⁶ So of course my darling, being on the Active List, must be despatched to Bombay, not without Vigorous Protest on his part, and he even went so far as to threaten to send in his Papers, and quit the Service altogether, but this they would not permit at all.

So I am left lamenting, like Lord Ullin's daughter, or was it her father, I don't perfectly remember which, while the Husband of my Bosom returns to his Duty, and indeed I hope he takes care with the Seekhs, who appear to be most disagreeable. My only Consolation is the knowledge that my dearest would rather far have accompanied me home himself, and it was this Dear Concern and Affection for me that caused him to resist so fiercely when they said he must go to India (and indeed he grew quite violent on the subject, and called H.E. the Governor many unpleasant things which I shan't set down, they were so shocking). But I could never have him forsake the Path of Honour, which he loves so well, for my sake, and there really was no reason why he should, for I am extremely comfortable and well taken care of aboard the good ship Zelee, whose commander, Captain Feiseck, has been so obliging as to offer me passage to Toulon, rather than await an Indiaman. He is most Agreeable and Attentive, with the most polished manners and full of consideration to me, as are all his officers, especially Lieutenants Homard and St Just and Delincourt and Ambrée and dear little Boudancourt and even the Midshipmen …

[End of extract- Humbug, vanity and affectation to the last! And a very proper wifely concern, indeed!!! - G. de R.]

(On this note of impatience from its original editor, the manuscript of the sixth packet of the Flashman Papers comes to an end.)