"Another of them!" growls he. Gorracharra, are you? Aye, the faithless rabble! And what tale have you got to tell?"
"Tale, daffadar sahib?" says I, bewildered. "Why, none! I —"
"Here's a change! Most of you have sick mothers!" At which all his louts hooted with laughter. "Well, gorrachar', ,where's your horse? Your arms? Your regiment?" He suddenly threw the mess-tin aside and slapped me across the face, back and forth. "Your honour, you cowardly scum!"
It struck the sense out of me for a moment, and I was starting to babble some nonsense about being waylaid by bandits when he hit me again.
"Robbed, were you? And they left you this?" He snatched the silver-hilted Persian knife from my boot. "Liar! You're a deserter! Like those swine there!" He jerked a thumb at the swinging corpses, and I saw that most of them were wearing some remnants of uniform. "Well, you can muster with them again, carrion! Hang him up!"
It was so brutally sudden, so impossible—I wasn't to know that for weeks they'd been hunting down deserters from half the regiments of the Khalsa, stringing them up on sight without charge, let alone trial. They were dragging me towards the trees before I recovered my wits, and there was only one way to stop them.
"Daffadar!" I shouted, "you're under arrest! For assault on a superior officer and attempted murder! I am Katte Khan, captain and aide to the Sirdar Heera Sing Topi, of Court's Division —" it was a name from months ago, the only one I could think of. "You!" I snapped at the goggling sowar holding my left arm. "Take your polluting hand away or I'll have you shot! I'll teach you to lay hands on me, you damned Povinda brigands!"
It paralysed them—as the voice of authority always does. They loosed me in a twinkling, and the daffadar, open-mouthed, even began to button his tunic. "We are not of the Povinda division —"
"Silence! Where's your officer?"
"In the village," says he, sullenly, and only half-convinced. "If you are what you say —"
"If! Give me the lie, will you?" I dropped my voice from a bellow to a whisper, which always rattles them. "Daffadar, I do not explain myself to the sweepings of the gutter! Bring your officer—jao!"
Now he was convinced. "I'll take you to him, Captain sahib —"
"You'll bring him!" I roared, and he leaped back a yard and sent one of the sowars off at the gallop, while I turned on my heel and waited with my back to them, so that they shouldn't see that I was shaking like a leaf. It had all been so quick—carefree one minute, condemned the next—that there hadn't been time for fear, but now I was fit to faint. What could I say to the officer? I cudgelled my wits—and then there was the sound of hooves, and I turned to see the coincidence riding towards me.
He was a tall, fine-looking young Sikh, his yellow tunic stained with weeks of campaigning. He reined in, demanding of the daffadar what the devil was up, swinging out of the saddle and striding towards me—and to my consternation I knew him, and any hope of maintaining my disguise vanished. For it was long odds he'd recognise me, too, and if he did … A wild thought suddenly struck me, and before he could speak I had drawn myself up, bowed, and In my best verandah manner asked him to send his men out of earshot. My style must have impressed him, for he waved them away.
"Sardul Singh," says I quietly, and he started. "I'm Flashman. You escorted me from Ferozepore to Lahore six months ago. It's vital that these men should not know I'm a British officer."
He gasped, and stepped closer, peering at me in the gathering dark. "What the devil are you doing here?"
I took a deep breath,. and prayed. "I've come from Lahore—from the Maharani. This morning I was with Raja Goolab Singh, who is now at Pettee, with his army. I was on my way to the Malki lat, with messages of the highest importance, when by ill chance these fellows took me for a deserter—thank God it's you who —"
"Wait, wait!" says he. "You are from Lahore .. on an embassy? Then, why this disguise? Why —"
"Envoys don't travel in uniform these days," says I, and pitched my tale as. urgent as I knew how. "Look, I should not tell you, but I must—there are secret negotiations in hand! I can't explain, but the whole future of the state depends on them! I must get across the river without delay—matters are at a most delicate stage, and my mess-ages —"
"Where are they?"
"Where? Eh? Oh, Lord above, they're not written. They're here!" I tapped my head, which you'll agree was an appropriate gesture.
"But you have some passport, surely?"
"No, no … I can't carry anything that might betray me. This is the most confidential affair, you see. Believe me, Sardul Singh, every moment is precious. I must cross secretly to —"
"A moment," says he, and my heart sank, for while the fine young face wasn't suspicious, it was damned keen. "If you must pass unseen, why have you come so close to our army? Why not by Hurree-ke, or south by Ferozepore?"
"Because Hardinge sahib is with the British army across from Sobraon! I had to come this way!"
"Yet you might have crossed beyond our patrols, and lost little time." He considered me, frowning. "Forgive me, but you might be a spy. There have been many, scouting our lines."
"I give you my word of honour, I'm no spy. What I say is true … and if you hold me here, you may be dooming your army to death—and mine—and your country to ruin."
By God, I was doing it purple, but my only hope was that, being a well-educated aristocrat, he must know the desperate intrigue and dealing that were woven into this war—and if he believed me, he'd be a damned bold subaltern to hamper a diplomatic courier on such a vital errand. Alas, though, subalterns' minds travel a fixed road, and his was no exception: faced with a momentous decision, my dashing escort of the Lahore road had turned into a Slave of Duty—and Safety.
"This is beyond me!" He shook his handsome head. "It may be as you say … but I cannot let you go! I have not the authority. My colonel will have to decide —"
I made a last desperate cast. "That would be fatal! If word of the negotiations gets out, they're bound to fail!"
"There is no fear of that—my colonel is a safe man. And he will know what to do." Relief was in his voice at the thought of passing the parcel to higher authority. "Yes, that will be best—I'll go to him myself, as soon as our watch is ended! You can stay here, so that if he decides to release you, it can be done without trouble, and you will have lost little time."
I tried again, urging the necessity for speed, imploring him to trust me, but it was no go. The colonel must pronounce, and so while he trotted back to his squadron post in the village, I must wait under guard of the glowering daffadar and his mates, resigned to capture. Of all the infernal luck, at the last fence! For it mattered not a bean whether his colonel believed my cock-and-bull story or not—he'd never speed me on my way without going higher still, and God alone knew where that might end. They'd hardly dare mistreat me, in view of the tale I'd told; even if they disbelieved it, they'd not be mad enough to shoot me as a spy, at this stage of the war, surely … mind you, some of those Akali fanatics were bloodthirsty enough for anything …
On such jolly reflections I settled down to wait in that dripping little camp—for it was raining heavily again—and either the colonel had gone absent without leave or Sardul spent an unconscionable time gnawing his nails in indecision, for it must have been well into the small hours before he returned. By that time, worn out with wet and despair, He had sunk into a doze, and when I came to, with Sardul shaking my shoulder, I didn't know where I was for a moment.