Flashman. George Fraser MacDonald

but in a whisper this time.

      I let him ramble for a moment, for I knew he would come round. He was a greedy little bastard, and the thought of ten thousand was like Aladdin’s cave to him. I explained how safe and simple it would be; I had thought it out when first I left the mess.

      ‘Go and borrow Reynolds’ duelling pistols, first off. Take ’em to Forrest and Tracy and offer to act as loader – you’re always into everything, and they’ll be glad to accept, and never think twice.’

      ‘Won’t they, by God?’ cried he. ‘They know I’m hellish thick with you, Flashy.’

      ‘You’re an officer and a gentleman,’ I reminded him. ‘Now who will imagine for a moment that you would stoop to such a treacherous act, eh? No, no, Tommy, it’s cut and dried. And in the morning, with the surgeon and seconds standing by, you’ll load up – carefully. Don’t tell me you can’t palm a pistol ball.’

      ‘Oh, aye,’ says he, ‘like enough. But—’

      ‘Ten thousands pounds,’ I said, and he licked his lips.

      ‘Jesus,’ he said at length. ‘Ten thousand. Phew! On your word of honour, Flash?’

      ‘Word of honour,’ I said, and lit another cheroot.

      ‘I’ll do it!’ says he. ‘My God! You’re a devil, Flash! You won’t kill him, though? I’ll have no part in murder.’

      ‘Captain Bernier will be as safe from me as I’ll be from him,’ I told him. ‘Now, cut along and see Reynolds.’

      He cut on the word. He was an active little rat, that I’ll say for him. Once committed he went in heart and soul.

      I went to my quarters, got rid of Basset who was waiting up for me, and lay down on my cot. My throat was dry and my hands were sweating as I thought of what I had done. For all the bluff front I had shown to Bryant, I was in a deathly funk. Suppose something went wrong and Bryant muffed it? It had seemed so easy in that moment of panicky thought outside the mess – fear stimulates thought, perhaps, but it may not be clear thought, because one sees the way out that one wants to see, and makes headlong for it. I thought of Bryant fumbling, or being too closely overseen, and Bernier standing up in front of me with a loaded pistol in a hand like a rock, and the muzzle pointing dead at my breast, and felt the ball tearing into me, and myself falling down screaming, and dying on the ground.

      I almost shouted out at the horror of it, and lay there blubbering in the dark room; I would have got up and run, but my legs would not let me. So I began to pray, which I had not done, I should say, since I was about eight years old. But I kept thinking of Arnold and hell – which is no doubt significant – and in the end there was nothing for it but brandy, but it might as well have been water.

      I did no sleeping that night, but listened to the clock chiming away the quarters, until dawn came, and I heard Basset approaching. I had just sense enough left to see that it wouldn’t do for him to find me red-eyed and shivering, so I made believe to sleep, snoring like an organ, and I heard him say:

      ‘If that don’t beat! Listen to ’im, sound as a babby. Isn’t he the game-cock, though?’

      And another voice, another servant’s, I suppose, replied:

      ‘Thay’s all alike, bloody fools. ’E won’t be snorin’ tomorrow mornin’, after Bernier’s done with ’im. ’E’ll be sleepin’ too sound for that.’

      Right, my lad, whoever you are, I thought, if I come through this it’ll be strange if I can’t bring you to the rings at the riding school, and we’ll see your backbone when the farrier-sergeant takes the cat to you. We’ll hear how loud you can snore yourself. And with that surge of anger I suddenly felt confidence replacing fear – Bryant would see it through, all right – and when they came for me I was at least composed, if not cheerful.

      When I am frightened, I go red in the face, not pale, as most men do, so that in me fear can pass for anger, which has been convenient more than once. Bryant tells me that I went out to the riding school that morning wattled like a turkey cock; he said the fellows made sure I was in a fury to kill Bernier. Not that they thought I had a chance, and they were quiet for once as we walked across the parade just as the trumpeter was sounding reveille.

      They had told Cardigan of the affair, of course, and some had thought he might intervene to prevent it. But when he had heard of the blow, he had simply said:

      ‘Where do they meet?’

      and gone back to sleep again, with instructions to be called at five. He did not approve of duelling – although he duelled himself in famous circumstances – but he saw that in this case the credit of the regiment would only be hurt if the affair were patched up.

      Bernier and Tracy were already there, with the surgeon, and the mist was hanging a little under the trees. Our feet thumped on the turf, which was still wet with dew, as we strode across to them, Forrest at my side, and Bryant with the pistol case beneath his arm following on with the others. About fifty yards away, under the trees by the fence, was a little knot of officers, and I saw Cardigan’s bald head above his great caped coat. He was smoking a cigar.

      Bryant and the surgeon called Bernier and me together, and Bryant asked us if we would not resolve our quarrel. Neither of us said a word; Bernier was pale, and looked fixedly over my shoulder, and in that moment I came as near to turning and running as ever I did in my life. I felt that my bowels would squirt at any moment, and my hands were shuddering beneath my cloak.

      ‘Very good, then,’ says Bryant, and went with the surgeon to a little table they had set up. He took out the pistols, and from the corner of my eye I saw him spark the flints, pour in the charges, and rummage in the shot-case. I daren’t watch him closely, and anyway Forrest came just then and led me back to my place. When I turned round again the surgeon was stopping to pick up a fallen powder flask, and Bryant was ramming home a wad in one of the barkers.

      They conferred a moment, and then Bryant paced over to Bernier and presented a pistol to him; then he came to me with the other. There was no one behind me, and as my hand closed on the butt, Bryant winked quickly. My heart came up into my mouth, and I can never hope to describe the relief that flooded through my body, tingling every limb. I was going to live.

      ‘Gentlemen, you are both determined to continue with this meeting?’ Bryant looked at each of us in turn. Bernier said: ‘Yes,’ hard and clear. I nodded.

      Bryant stepped back to be well out of the line of fire; the seconds and the surgeon took post beside him, leaving Bernier and me looking at each other about twenty paces apart. He stood sideways to me, the pistol at his side, staring straight at my face, as though choosing his spot – he could clip the pips from a card at this distance.

      ‘The pistols fire on one pressure,’ called Bryant. ‘When I drop my handkerchief you may level your pistols and fire. I shall drop it in a few seconds from now.’ And he held up the white kerchief in one hand.

      I heard the click of Bernier cocking his pistol. His eyes were steady on mine. Sold again, Bernier, I thought; you’re all in a stew about nothing. The handkerchief fell.

      Bernier’s right arm came up like a railway signal, and before I had even cocked my pistol I was looking into his barrel – a split second and it shot smoke at me and the crack of the charge was followed by something rasping across my cheek and grazing it – it was the wad. I fell back a step. Bernier was glaring at me, aghast that I was still on my feet, I suppose, and someone shouted: ‘Missed, by Jesus!’ and another cried angrily for silence.

      It was my turn, and for a moment the lust was on me to shoot the swine down where he stood. But Bryant might have lost his head, and it was no part of my design, anyway. I had it in my power now to make a name that would run through the army in a week – good old Flashy, who stole another man’s girl and took a blow from him, but was too decent to take advantage of him, even in a duel.

      They stood like statues, every eye on Bernier, waiting for me to shoot him down. I cocked