.

will endure her forever?”

      And what the d---l, I nearly burst out, is wrong with that? I never heard such splendid stuff in all my life – G-d, 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 b----rd, 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.”

^a Preserved fried beef, a form of pemmican.

       Chapter 12

      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. G-d, how had I got into this? I couldn’t just order ’em off – that would excite comment for certain. They