Flashman and the Throne of Swords

Chapter 22

by Technomad

For once, fortune favoured us, and we came into the harbour at Kings Landing with no further trouble. With the Red Ensign and the Union Jack flying, not to mention our ship being so different from the locals' vessels in many ways, we were so clearly foreign that we were not molested as we came into harbour and dropped anchor. I would have much preferred to see Britain again, but at that moment, Kings Landing, our embassy, and especially Elspeth were good enough for me.

I hoped that Dick bloody Burton wasn't going to get any more wild ideas about sending me out of town. If he was so curious about what was going on in distant areas, he could just go himself, so now! At least, that was what I was thinking as we clambered down the boarding battens and got into the jolly-boat to go ashore. Of course, I knew that in Burton's actual presence, my resolve would fail me. Dick Burton was one of the most overpowering personalities I had ever run across, and if he fixed me with those burning black eyes of his and gave me marching orders, I'd not have the sand to disobey, still less to tell him to take his latest mad idea and go to Hell. I think he could have dominated the Duke of Wellington.

When we came ashore, I noticed that people looked hungry. I had seen that look before, at Cawnpore (1) and elsewhere. The thin, drawn look of the people brought back memories of the Mutiny, (2) and the Yanks' stupid civil war, (3) among others. I didn't care for the way they looked at us. We'd not been exactly feasting our days away, but compared to the thin, ragged people who met us, we looked plump and prosperous.

"Do you have food aboard that ship?" they asked us.

Angus looked unhappy. "No, that we dinnae. We were in ballast, and hae just enough for the crew." At this, there were some angry mutters, and I unobtrusively put my hand on the butt of my barker. Spring narrowed his eyes, and I could see his scar getting darker. That was a very bad sign.

Just then, a squad of the City Watch, in their gold cloaks, came marching down to meet us. At the sight of the soldiers, resplendent in their armour with their gold cloaks showing who they were, the people dispersed, grumbling and muttering. They were clearly unhappy, but not up to rebelling against armed representatives of authority. Yet.

I felt much safer under the protection of the Watch, and I noticed Angus was relaxing as well. Spring was growling softly, and his scar was dark, but he didn't make any aggressive moves. Like me, he had no armour on, and while he probably still had his own barker, there were more gold cloaks than he'd have had shots for. We headed up to the Red Keep, and I was very glad to be protected. The city looked to me to be in a mutinous mood, at best. And at times like that, anybody obtrusively different, as we were, can be a target of the mob's rage.

When we were within the sheltering walls of the Red Keep, we headed for our embassy. The Glasgow Lassie had been sighted from the battlements, and we were expected. At least this time I was in a reasonable approximation of proper dress. Since it was getting on toward night, the welcome we received was not as rapturous as when I'd made my way back after my captivity in the Vale of Arryn. However, our European clothes, and the fact that we were escorted by the goldcloaks, ensured that we were admitted with no problem.

Once safely in our own place, with stout oaken doors and Royal Marines between me and any ill-wishers who might be about, I felt as though a huge weight had fallen off my back, like that chap Christian in A Pilgrim's Progress (4). Having my own countrymen and –women all around me was like balm to my soul. While I've spent much of my life in foreign parts, I am an Englishman and would be happy never to stir from safe, peaceful England again for the rest of my life.

Dick Burton came in. "Ah, it's wonderful to have you back, Flash! Apparently your little voyage was longer than anticipated. What did you find out on Dragonstone?"

Reminded, I told Burton what we had found. "It seems that Stannis Baratheon's in contact, at least, with the French. We found evidence that he's been buying arms from 'em. I had some Minié balls that I'd come across there, but they were lost with most of the rest of my gear, aboard the Lady of Shallot."

As I had known it would, this rocked Dick back on his heels. The arms we'd supplied for the royal armoury were limited to "Brown Bess" muskets, which were not very accurate (5) and took round balls. More modern rifle-muskets, such as those that I'd seen in use in India and the Yanks' civil war, had much longer ranges, were much more reliable in wet weather, and were far more accurate. In trained hands, they were deadly. Our Marines' Sniders (6) were better, and faster-loading, but we did not have very many Marines.

If Stannis Baratheon had a good supply of French rifle-muskets, he could attack Kings Landing with a much greater chance of success than if the Kings Landing garrison had the only firearms in Westeros. Of course, training men up to use those weapons would take some time, but learning to load and fire a muzzle-loader, even a flintlock like Brown Bess, is much less involved and time-consuming than learning to use the medieval weapons that had been all the locals knew about.

"That is not good news," Dick finally said. He was sometimes a master of understatement. "We're backing Joffrey, not least because with his regime in Queer Street, we can control things here. The Master of Coin has been talking with bankers from Britain, about re-financing the government. If Stannis or Renly take the Iron Throne, all that weary work'll be to do again."

I hadn't heard about Renly. "What? Has Renly raised his banner and made a claim for the throne?" At Dick's silent nod, I couldn't help asking: "What basis does he have for a claim? Is he claiming that Stannis is illegitimate, the way Stannis says that Joffrey and his sibs are?"

"As nearly as we can tell, his claim is based on the fact that he wants to be King of the Seven Kingdoms. Younger brothers of kings are often very jealous of their royal siblings, and we think that pretty-boy Renly let his self-love overtake his prudence."

"He'll have a hard time of it, unless someone's been running him guns as well!" Inwardly, I cursed my flapping tongue, and hoped desperately that Dick wouldn't take it into his head to send me off to investigate things at Renly's court. I'd only just got back, and a spell of relative peace and quiet in Kings Landing was, in my opinion, just what the doctor ordered.

"What else did you see in Dragonstone? And what went wrong that you couldn't get back to Kings Landing, quick-sharp?" asked Dick.

I debated what to say. While I knew that Dick Burton had seen some queer things in his travels, I didn't know how much, if any, stock he put in the supernatural. Many of my pious countrymen loved going to seances, thinking that they were going to be communicating with the dead, but I had never had any truck with such foolishness. That said, I did think something odd was going on with Melisandre, and if there was any threat of that, Dick needed to know.

"Well," I started, "Stannis is very much under the thumb of a priestess of the god R'hllor. Her name's Melisandre, and while I normally put no stock in hocus-pocus, I saw her do some very uncanny things. Stannis has declared himself a convert to her faith, and has gone so far as to ban the worship of the Seven in his domains. I couldn't get out of Dragonstone itself to talk with the local folk, but from what little I saw, many of them are not happy at all with this development."

"Hmmm. We might be able to use this against Stannis. It's a foolish king, or one who's very sure of his ground, that tampers with his subjects' religion," Burton mused. "Even Henry VIII had to deal with the 'Pilgrimage of Grace,' and nearly had to face a French invasion, after he renounced obedience to the Pope. (7) And with the disadvantages he already labours under, being officially an attainted rebel, the timing on this couldn't be worse. D'you think he expects to receive aid from Myr or Asshai or the other Free Cities?"

That thought hadn't occurred to me. "I didn't see any sign of that, but as I've said, I wasn't let roam around too freely. It might be that Captain Spring's crew know more than we did. They spent time in the town."

"Ah, yes, Captain Spring's crew. The Lady of Shallot showed up here, long enough to claim that they'd lost you and Captain Spring after being forced off course by a storm and making a landing north of the Wall to make repairs."

"That much is true. We…Captain Spring and I…had gone off looking for game to supplement our supplies. We'd not anticipated being from home for so long, and had had to leave Dragonstone suddenly. The wild folk north of the Wall captured us. When they let us go, the Lady of Shallot had gone." I gave Dick a quizzy look. "Where are they now?"

"They put in here long enough to re-supply, then they were for London as fast as they could go. I'd've detained 'em here, but didn't have the authority, and someone…I suspect Ser Janos Slynt…was well-paid to clear them to sail."

"Lucky for them," I commented. Secretly, I rejoiced. With the people he was currently angriest at back in our world, I would bet that John Charity bloody Spring would be off after them like a hound after a fox. And I'd be shut of him, at long, long last! If I'd not been quite so tired, I'd have wanted to do a hornpipe of joy.

Travelling with John Charity Spring was like having a cobra in one's bedclothes. Even when he was most quiescent, the other side of him was never far away. While he had reasons (good and otherwise) to wish me ill, his grievance against his absconding crew was much newer and rawer. And he had seen them leaving us behind, to Heaven-only-knew-what fate, as a personal insult. If I knew Spring, he'd travel back to our world, and then to the ends of the earth, to avenge himself a hundredfold on every last one of 'em. And serves 'em jolly well right, says I.

I yawned, and Dick took pity on me. "I think you need some sleep, Flash. I'll expect a complete report on all you learned while you were gone, both on Dragonstone and in the north, but that'll wait a few days. Right now, I'll let you go off to bed." With that, he left, and a servant led me back to my quarters.

Elspeth was sprawled out asleep, looking like a slumbering angel. Carefully, I crept on in, anticipating the squeal of joy when she awoke to find me home. Cuddling up to her, revelling in her clean smell, I drifted off to a well-deserved sleep.

Sure enough, when Elspeth awoke, she was more overjoyed than our children ever were on Christmas morning, to find that Father Christmas had been by in the dark of the night. I awoke to find her setting about me in a way you'd never expect of a long-married Society matron. I happily lay back and let her work her wicked will on me.

When we were both happily exhausted, I lay back and let Elspeth prattle to me about what had been happening in Kings Landing. The more I heard, the more ominous the situation sounded. The city was very short on food, and even cats, dogs and rats were becoming increasingly scarce. There were dark rumours about what went into the bowls of brown (a sort of stew) served down in the lower parts of Flea Bottom, and I made a mental note to stay out of that part of town until the situation improved.

Apparently, the Crown wasn't even trying to get the city re-victualled. I could hardly believe their stupidity. While the nobles feasted in the Red Keep, the people outside were getting hungrier and hungrier. I hoped that Stannis Baratheon, Renly Baratheon or Robb Stark didn't get wind of the real situation in the capital. If they had agents in town who had the wit to spread the rumour that their masters' victory would mean an end to the food shortage, that would be more than enough to ensure that the Iron Throne changed hands. And we British would be stuck trying to make up to new rulers, who would owe us much less than the incumbent regime, and had no reason to love us.

In the next few days, I saw more and more signs that the Throne's hold on the city was increasingly shaky. The gold-cloaked city guardsmen were only able to patrol in large groups, and more than once I heard sounds of fighting in the distance, from my safe perch on the embassy's battlements. The people I could see looked wan and drawn, and gave us British very hostile looks. The more I saw, the more minded I was of the days before the Mutiny. I felt like I would with a storm brewing.

Once a large crowd formed, marching to the closed gates of the Red Keep and yelling for bread. I expected the Kingsguard and the gold cloaks to break it up, but instead, who should appear on the battlements over the gate but King Joffrey himself? Dick Burton was with me, and we watched intently to see what the lad would do.

I expected some sort of conciliatory speech, or promises that the Crown would do all it could to bring in food from outside the city. Never, in a thousand years, would I have expected what that damned tow-headed twelve-year-old tyrant did. He brought up a crossbow, leveled it and began sending bolt after bolt into the crowd. "You want bread, do you?" I heard him yell. "What do you think I am, some sort of baker?"

"The damned fool!" I heard Dick Burton snarl. "He's likely to whip that mob up into storming the Red Keep!" I agreed with Dick, and hoped against hope that the people would realise that we British had no hand in what their rulers did. I couldn't believe that there were no adults in a position to control that boy. If he'd been a son of mine, I'd have thrashed him senseless for his temerity.

However, luck was with the King, that time. His quarrels were well-aimed, and he'd knocked down several of the most vocal leaders of the mob. Between seeing their leaders cut down, and the sight of the goldcloaks forming up on the parapets with bows, the mob apparently lost heart, dispersing back to their alleys. I noticed that the corpses of the ones the King had shot were taken away, and I hoped that didn't mean the rumours of cannibalism I had heard were true.

Our informants had a hard time getting in to report to us, but when they did, they said that things were coming to a head. "There's a lot of resentment out there against the nobles," one of them told us. "People who are suspected of hoarding food, or just look like they're fatter than they should be, run a real risk of being grabbed and tortured to make them tell where their hidden food stores are."

"Sounds like Jerusalem, when the Romans besieged it in the Jewish War," Dick Burton commented. "Are there any leading spirits out there? Is anybody preaching open rebellion?"

"None that I've seen, Ser Richard. So far, it's mainly been muttering in corners. If someone did start to stand out from the crowd and preach rebellion, though, he'd probably get a lot of followers." After Dick thanked the man and allowed him to go to our refectory and eat with our contigent of Marines, he turned to me.

"Flash, have you seen anything of Lord Tyrion? You're on good terms with him, as I recall." I had to shake my head.

"I've hardly seen him, and when we do cross paths, he's got things he's doing. I don't like to presume on his time, particularly since he's got that Caligula of a nephew of his to keep under control, somehow." And that was nothing but the truth. Tyrion looked careworn, and we'd hardly had time to do more than exchange greetings.

Dick looked thoughtful. "I wonder if the Crown would be interested in re-victualling Kings Landing from our world? We've got access to plenty of food, and could keep the people here eating." He scowled. "Between ourselves, Flash," he went on in Arabic, to foil eavesdroppers, "I'd as soon let Joffrey and the fools who're propping him up lie in the beds they've been made, and be damn'd to them, but until I get instructions otherwise from London, our policy is to back the current regime."

I could see why. If "King" Stannis, "King" Renly, or "King in the North" Robb Stark took power, our influence would likely be gone, or at best much reduced. None of the claimant kings had any reason to love us British, and in Stannis' case, the French might find themselves in favour with the Iron Throne.

Other than that he was steadily winning victories against the royal forces, we knew little of Robb Stark. My encounter with his dreadful mother did not give me reasons for sunny optimism about establishing good relations with a Stark king. And nobody at all knew much about Renly, other than that he was the old king's younger brother, very handsome, and unmarried. I had heard speculations that he was an invert (8) but we had no proof, other than the fact that he was unmarried despite being a prize catch for any ambitious noble lass or her mama.

I sighed. "Looks like it's Hobson's choice for us, doesn't it, Dick?" He gave an answering sigh, and I asked: "Since we've no good choices to make, how about sharing a drink with me and talking about the places we've been?" Dick was quite amenable, and soon we were toasting each other in Arbor gold wine and telling stories.


[1] The Siege of Cawnpore was one of the major events of the Indian Mutiny of 1857. The British and pro-British locals of the Kanpur area were unprepared for the uprising, and were besieged in an improvised entrenchment for twenty days. Before their surrender, they suffered great privation.

[2] Flashman had been at several sieges during the Mutiny, at Cawnpore (escaping the ensuing massacre through sheer luck) and Lucknow.

[3] Flashman had been deeply involved in the US Civil War, serving on both sides, and had apparently spent time in one of the military prisons operated by one or the other side. While Andersonville was in a class by itself, the others were not much better. The full account of Flashman's activities in that war has not yet come to light.

[4] A Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan, was a 17th-century allegorical novel. With its pious message, it enjoyed great popularity in the 19th century, being mentioned by, among others, Mark Twain in Huckleberry Finn.

[5] "Brown Bess" was much less accurate than the rifled muzzle-loaders in use by the 1850s, and less reliable in wet or damp weather.

[6] Snider-Enfield rifles were breechloading adaptations of the previously-issued Enfield muzzle-loading rifle. They were similar in many ways to the Trapdoor Springfield.

[7] Henry VIII's renunciation of obedience to Rome did not go over well with large sections of the English populace. The "Pilgrimage of Grace" was an uprising in Yorkshire, where the Tudor dynasty had never been popular, ostensibly intended to overthrow the King's ministers, not the King himself.

[8] An "invert" was a term used at the time to denote a homosexual man. The term "homosexual" did not come into use until later.