Flashman and the Throne of Swords

Chapter 25

by Technomad

I had a talk with Ruffian Dick as soon as I could, and he agreed with me that an unobtrusive guard on Elspeth would be an excellent idea. "I'll talk with Captain Carter. He can detail some Marines to keep an eye on her."

"I wonder if we could get some female guards, for times when she can't have men about?" I wondered aloud. "Do they have such things here?"

Burton gave me a quizzical look. "I don't know. I'll have to talk to the Hand about it." The thought was father to the deed, and we went off to seek Lord Tyrion.

We found him in his office in the Tower of the Hand, sitting there with Bronn by his side. As we were admitted, he and Bronn were both laughing like drains over one of the books we had provided him.

"My lord? Are we disturbing you?" Dick asked. Chuckling, Tyrion waved us in. "My lord? May we know what's so funny?"

"Oh, these poems about your King Arthur are hilarious! They sound like the sort of thing that little Lady Sansa would write!" snickered Tyrion. He held up a book, and I recognized it as a Westerosi-alphabet edition of Tennyson's Idyls of the King. "Listen to this! 'I was ever virgin save for thee,' this king, Arthur, moans to his unfaithful queen." He and Bronn both howled with laughter. "I wish Robert were here! He was always one for a good laugh!"

"We had a king like that once. Baelor the Blessed, we called him. He locked his sisters up in a tower, lest he be tempted by their beauty." At our startled expressions, Bronn explained: "The Targaryens married brother to sister, to keep their bloodlines pure!"

I'm a man of the world, and difficult to shock, but I must admit, that took me well aback. In my ear, Dick Burton murmured: "The Ptolemaic dynasty in Egypt did much the same." (1)

While I knew that Tyrion and his sister detested each other, I was enough aware of the fact that we were guests and strangers in a strange land to not bring up the very believable rumours about Cersei and Ser Jaime. I did think it was rum, though, that a dark-haired man like King Robert had been had had nothing but towheads by his wife. All of my own get by Elspeth had been as dark-avised as I am myself.

"Perhaps the Lady Sansa would enjoy reading those?" I ventured. In our short acquaintance, I had learned to pity the poor little chit, although human warmth is not my specialty. "You say it's the sort of thing she would write."

"I don't know, Ser Harry," Tyrion answered, all mirth wiped from his face at the mention of Lady Sansa. "When I first met her, she was very starry-eyed about noble knights and deeds of chivalry. However, I do think that what she's been through since she came here has disillusioned her rather cruelly." He shook his head. "While her naivete would not have worked well in a Queen, or the Lady of a major house, which was the other likely thing that would have become of her, I would have preferred her to learn the real facts in a less horrifying manner than she has."

"We can offer them to her and see what she does." Dismissing Lady Sansa and all to do with her for the nonce, Dick Burton fixed those piercing black eyes on Lord Tyrion. "I've heard that Lady Myrcella is to go to Dorne. Does this portend closer relations with Dorne?"

Tyrion nodded wearily. "I won't ask how you got word about that. I've learned that you British are not to be underestimated. Right now, we need Dorne on our side, and the Dornish have some good reasons to not wish us well. The Mad King's daughter-in-law was Dornish, a daughter of their ruling house. During the fall of the Targaryens, one of my father's knights, Ser Gregor Clegane, raped and killed her, and killed her two children as well. They were two years old and an infant. He presented their bodies to my lord father, as though he had done something wonderful."

Dick and I exchanged glances. We both had travelled far enough, in wild enough places, that this was nothing out of the ordinary for us. Even so, though, it reminded me of the barbarity of this place, and how very far we were from home.

"This Ser Gregor would be considered a bit out of place in British service," I finally said. "But we didn't come here to discuss poetry, or recent events. You do remember that my lady wife recently defied the king in public?"

"I do. And I reiterate, she is far fitter for a crown than any lady I know of," Tyrion said, with a smile. I didn't doubt but that he was thinking of his pestilential sister. We'd discussed her enough, in the privacy of the sky cell at the Eyrie, for me to be certain that while Queen Cersei was a real beauty, she was also as poisonous as any adder, and as treacherous as Judas. I'd sooner have bedded Lucrezia Borgia than had anything of the sort to do with her. Yehonala in China, and Ranavalona in Madagascar, had cured me of any carnal inclination toward dangerous royal women. I bar paramours who can have me beheaded with a single word.

"Well, we were worried that the king might take it into his head to retaliate against her. Could we beg the loan of some of your tribesmen to see that no harm befalls her?"

Tyrion gave me a searching look. "I would think, Ser Harry, that your excellent contingent of Royal Marines would be sufficient for such a purpose."

"Yes, m'lord, but there are places they cannot go. Chella daughter of Cheyk is a woman herself, and I remember you have other women among your followers from the Mountains of the Moon." Several of them had given me some very appraising looks, as though they'd have appreciated a touch of Harry in the night, but I'd never had the opportunity or inclination to follow those up. On our way back from the Eyrie, there hadn't been privacy and I barred adultery in the Red Keep itself. Varys' little birds were everywhere, and I didn't trust that ballockless bald-headed bastard as far as I could throw him.

Tyrion looked thoughtful. "I'll talk to the clanswomen and see if any of them are interested. I'll also have a little talk with my dear, darling nephew and make it clear that if aught untoward happens to the Lady Flashman, and he's even slightly implicated, he will face consequences."

Dick Burton leaned close, giving Lord Tyrion the full benefit of his black-eyed stare. "If any harm comes to anybody attached to our embassy, you will face war with Great Britain." Tyrion's eyes went wide and he seemed to shrink a little into himself. Unlike most of his countrymen, he had some idea of just what a war with us might entail. He'd been hugely impressed with the speed with which we'd filled his order for a chain, as well as very pleased with the quality of the workmanship. He'd also talked with me, and the other British, enough to have swotted up some information on what Britain could do.

"I'll see to it that Lady Flashman is as safe as she would be in her own home," Lord Tyrion assured us. He then gave me a long look with those mismatched eyes of his. "I haven't forgotten what you've done for me, Ser Richard. A Lannister always pays his debts."

"Keep my Elspeth safe, and you can consider this debt paid," I told him.

After that, Elspeth found herself with some new companions. "Harry," she said, after a couple of days, "my new maids are very attentive, but I must say they're somewhat uncouth. I've had to teach them some of the simplest things…things I'd have expected a maid to know."

"They aren't just maids, m'dear," I explained to her. "They're tribeswomen from the Vale of Erryn, and they're there to keep you safe. They can go where men can't."

"Keep me safe? But why, Harry?"

"You remember how you faced the King down. You know what sort of poisonous little viper he is. I'd not put it past him to get some revenge." I sat down beside her and put my arm around her shoulders. "I couldn't bear it if anything happened to my Elspeth!"

"Oh, my jo," she whispered. "You always think about me! But you know, I've been taking lessons in swordplay, as we discussed earlier." She reached into the pocket of her skirt and brought out a nice little two-shot barker. "And I've a surprise at hand for anyone who'd harm me."

"That's a good idea," I said, "but just the same, you're going to be guarded. That barker wouldn't do you much good if someone came up behind you and shoved you down one of the staircases in this place."

"I knew I was taking risks, accompanying you," she purred in my ear, as her hand started wandering into places respectable matrons aren't supposed to even know about. "But I'm so glad that this time I'm able to see you in action, and to know that I've the best, bravest, most chivalrous knight in the world for my very own!"

Well, that gave me some ideas of my own…about the droit du seigneur. Soon we were passionately engaged, and afterward, I felt better about things. Houghmagandie, as Elspeth calls it when she's being more Scotch than usual, always puts me in fine fettle.


A couple of weeks later I was displeased to find that we British were expected to help see Princess Myrcella off to Dorne. "Ser Richard, Ser Harry, it is the King's will that you accompany him to the docks, to see Her Highness the Princess Myrcella Baratheon off to Dorne," said the servant who brought the news.

Dick and I looked him over. "Does this come from the King's Grace himself? Or is it the Hand's command?" asked Dick. I was suspicious, too. The King had reasons (at least in his own diseased mind) to dislike us, and I could think of ways for him to "get his own back" on us once we were out of the safety of our embassy.

"The King himself has commanded it so, my lord Ambassador," said the servant.

Dick dismissed him and turned to me. "I don't like the sound of this. The mood in the city is ugly these days."

"Aye, it's all of that," I said. I'd been out of the Red Keep in local clothes, exploring the town and getting a feel for it, and what I saw and heard disturbed me. The mood among the smallfolk was ugly. Food was scarce and dear, and people resented the impositions laid on them in the name of the war.

Surprisingly, Joffrey got little of the blame. Most folk hadn't seen or experienced his nasty caprices, and he was excused as being still a child and under the influence of bad counselors. Queen Cersei's arrogant attitude and lack of concern for those below her had won her no friends, though, and even though Lord Tyrion had done all he could to victual the city, many of the fools in it couldn't see past his stunted growth and called him "the Imp," or "the halfman." His having come to the city just before things had gone sour didn't help any. If he'd been a fixture for years, people mightn't have been so eager to blame him.

We British had done our best to bring in food, and as a result, were in good odour with the commons, but we were always aware that as foreigners, we were very likely scapegoats if things went really bad. An outbreak of plague or something of the sort, or serious military setbacks leading to an out-and-out siege, could see us tossed to the mob to quiet them, and Britain's wrath be damned.

The missionaries concurred with me. "People are very unhappy, Sir Richard," said David Livingstone. Behind him, some of the other God-botherers nodded. "Our congregants are grateful for our help, and glad that we can help others, but they want this trouble ended. They feel that the court revels in the Red Keep and doesn't care about their troubles."

Privately, I agreed with both Livingstone (a first for me) and with the common people. The next Westerosi noble I met who gave two pins for the smallfolk would be the first. They made the Earl of Cardigan look like a raving Jacobin.

"They may be unhappy, but we've a royal command to show ourselves at this event, and we mustn't disobey. We official folk will show up, but I'd advise all others to stay in the embassy." I was glad to hear that. I hadn't fancied having Elspeth along on this business above half.

"Growl we may, but go we must. It's not always easy in the diplomatic, is it?"


On the day the Princess was to depart, I was wearing my formal dress uniform. I was leaving my medals off, but in my red tunic, Cherrypicker pants (2), polished boots and white sola topi, I felt that I represented Britain well. Elspeth sighed to see me.

"Och, Harry, I'm glad to see you in full regimental fig again!" She gave me a very lecherous grin. "I think I first fell in love with you when I saw you for the first time, all in your handsome uniform."

"Thank you, m'dear. I know you would like to come along, but I've a very bad feeling about this situation. It feels like a thunderstorm is brewing." Actually, it felt a little too much like Kabul in '42 (3) for my taste. I'd have loved to beg off, but didn't dare do so under Dick Burton's unsparing eye. It's hell in the diplomatic, sometimes.

"I know. Just come back to me safely, will you?" We kissed passionately, and then I left. On the stairway, I ran into Dick Burton and some of the other embassy wallahs. Like me, Dick and the other military present were in full uniform, while the others were in Court dress.

"So there you are, Harry," said Dick. "Shall we go off to the durbar?" (4) I nodded, and we descended to the ground floor, where our horses waited. Mounting up, we rode out of the embassy compound to meet the royal procession.

In addition to my sabre, I'd been provided with a pair of revolvers in holsters. These weren't little pocket pieces, either. These were LeMats, with nine shots in the revolving cylinder and a center-barrel firing buckshot. If things went wrong, I'd at least have a chance at shooting my way out of trouble. I remembered doing just that as Custer's men charged against our Johnnie cavalry in the Yanks' civil war, and taking a slash or two at that yellow-maned madman as I rode for safety. (5)

King Joffrey nodded politely as we rode up and bowed to him in our saddles, and we swung in behind the main group of the courtiers. Lady Sansa, as befit his nominal fiancée, was riding beside the king, her face an unreadable mask. Just behind came Queen Cersei and Lord Tyrion. To see them, one would think that they had always worked together harmoniously, instead of being barely able to restrain themelves from fratricide. Sandor Clegane rode nearby, and I restrained a shudder at the sight of the horrible burn scars that covered half of his face. Beside him, the High Septon of the Faith lolled in a litter. He was much too fat to walk. The sun gleamed on his crystal crown. A cavalcade of assorted nobles,most of whom I'd had no reason to remember particularly, rode along. I must admit, we made a splendid sight.

The crowds we rode through were silent, but sullen. Most of their venom seemed to be directed at the royal party itself; we British were only occasionally scowled at. While that was a refreshing change from Kabul, or Meerut just before the Mutiny erupted (6), I still didn't like it. My sixth sense for danger was screaming at me, and if I could have kept one iota of my credit I'd have turned tail and spurred back for the Red Keep.

Rather to my surprise, we got to the quayside with no problems. The soldiers with us had parted the crowds to allow our little cavalcade through, and I dared hope that all would go well. We had to wait while the High Septon wheezed and croaked his way through a tedious series of prayers for the Princess Myrcella's safety, her happiness, and an uneventful voyage. Dick and I were both used to holding still and looking impressive through tiresome ceremonies, and I was glad that Isabel Burton wasn't there. I don't know that she'd have insisted on including some Catholic blessings…but I didn't know that she would have been able to refrain. On religion, she had the tenacity of a badger, and about as much sense.

Instead of a local ship, they'd chartered the Glasgow Lassie to carry the Princess. This was, at the least, an unexpected move. I nudged my horse over so that I could speak to Tyrion in relative privacy. "I'm surprised you chose a British vessel for this, m' lord," I murmured, low enough so that even those near us couldn't really hear, much less the crowd.

"Safest, I thought," Tyrion answered. "You British are not at war with anyone here. Your wonderful ships are not as bound by the wind and currents as ours are. And I heard about how you helped see off Dagon Ironmaker and his men. With my niece under your protection, I need not fear for her safety."

I had to admit that his reasoning made excellent sense. Save only for my unfortunate encounter with that madwoman Catelyn Stark and her equally-mad sister, we British were generally treated as neutrals in the civil wars racking Westeros. We'd been used as intermediaries before a few times, when the various sides needed to communicate. I had to smile to myself at the way that Tyrion, who knew me fairly well, had swallowed all that rubbish about my bravery and heroism. The only reason I'd got stuck in on that fight aboard the Glasgow Lassie was because there was nowhere I could hide or run to.

At long, long last, the High Septon finished his prayers, and Princess Myrcella bade farewell to her brothers as she boarded the ship. While poor little Prince Tommen was openly weeping, I noticed that the King seemed to be unmoved at the thought of possibly never seeing his sister again. Typical of the unfeeling little monster, I thought. Lady Sansa's face was unreadable. The Queen looked as cool as a cucumber, and I had to admire her style. She had enough stiff upper lip for a British mem-sahib.

Once the Glasgow Lassie had got steam up and was headed out to sea, we turned and headed back to the Red Keep. And not before time, thought I. Every second we'd been out of those safe stone walls, I'd been expecting an explosion. Flaunting our well-fed, well-clothed selves in front of that half-starved, discontented crowd was about as stupid as some of the shines I'd heard about the French court playing, before the Revolution.

At first, all went well, but then a woman burst through the line of soldiers on the side of the road and ran toward the king, holding up an unidentifiable bundle. Perforce, we reined in, and the woman howled something I couldn't catch.

Joffrey tried offering her money, but she waved it aside. She came closer, and I saw, with a shudder, that the bundle was a dead child. It had been dead a few days, I thought. "Bread! I don't want money! Give us bread!" she called.

That set off the crowd. Shouts of "Bread!" and "Peace!" rang out, and several stones were thrown. Other things were also being thrown, and one well-aimed blob of horse-dung hit Joffrey in the face. I wanted to laugh, but the laughter died in my throat when I saw the expression on the king's face.

Joffrey was in a killing rage. "Find who threw that! Bring him to me!" he shrieked at his guards. Obedient fools that they were, the guards tried to obey, but the mob had them vastly outnumbered. I could have told Joffrey that catching the dung-thrower was futile, but by that time, the screaming and yelling was deafening, and the crowd was surging forward, clearly eager to tear us all limb from limb.

For once, I wasn't the only one who wanted to flee. Everyone in the royal party was spurring their horses, trying to escape. The crowd was all around us, and those with swords were laying about them, trying to clear a path to safety.

The High Septon's litter was overturned, and he fell out, screaming for mercy. His crystal crown fell off his bald head, and before he could lever himself to his feet, the mob was on him. His shrieks curdled my blood. Apparently starving people don't care for the sight of a priest too fat to walk.

My horse stumbled over something, and before I could do anything, I was out and rolling on the ground myself. Scrambling to my feet, I grabbed the barkers from their holsters and began laying down a barrage of fire, sending the mobbers who'd thought me easy prey scrambling for safety, at least those who hadn't caught a bullet. LeMats are excellent weapons when one's outnumbered.

A riderless horse came running past, and I instinctively swung up into the saddle, shooting one of the mob who tried to drag me back down. Once I was mounted, I stuffed my empty barkers into my uniform tunic, hauled out my sabre, and rode as I had not done since Balaclava. That horse was one of the most contrary, stubborn animals I've ever ridden, but I can handle anything on four hooves.

For a change, luck was with me and the crowd parted before me. They'd seen what my LeMats could do, and, not knowing that I'd no more shots in them, wanted no part of me. Then, just ahead, I saw the Lady Sansa being surrounded and dragged off her horse. Her shriek echoed even above the roars and shouts of the mob.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was spurring my horse, charging down on the people who'd grabbed Lady Sansa. Leaning down, I scooped her up and spurred for the castle, my reins in my teeth and the arm that wasn't holding my bloody sabre cradling Lady Sansa close to me.

I can't tell you why I did such a thing. Normally, when Flashy is in full flight, nothing and no-one (save, maybe, Elspeth) can distract him. But the deed was done, and Lady Sansa was clinging to me like a limpet, so I urged my borrowed horse into an all-out gallop and fled for safety.

When I arrived, we were met by a crowd of castle folk. They'd seen the ruction from the battlements, and had swarmed out into the outer courtyard to help as much as they could. The soldiers were on full alert, and the battlements were manned; I could see archers and musketeers up there, ready to let fly at any of the mob that got close enough. I reined my foaming horse in and scrambled out of the saddle, gently setting Lady Sansa on her feet. Once she saw that she was really safe, she burst into a torrent of tears and grabbed me around the chest. I patted her, trying to soothe her.

Just behind me, the royal party were thundering through the gates. Joffrey, true to his nature, was squealing for the mob to be punished. I could see Tyrion had just about had enough of him. "You set your dog on them!" he shouted at his nephew. "Did you expect them just to kneel while your dog lopped off some heads?"

"You can't speak to me like that!" screamed Joffrey. "I'm a king! You can't speak that way to a king!"

Tyrion slapped him, hard. "And now I've struck a king! Did my hand fall off?"

I would have loved to watch this byplay, but the rest of the British were arriving. Dick Burton was riding a lathered gelding, with Sandor Clegane, of all people, riding pillion behind him. The rest of the British were not far behind; they'd formed up in a tight knot, and the mob had more-or-less left them alone. If I'd been a trifle less windy, I could have come back in relative safety.

Instead, I found myself hailed as a hero, yet again. "Ser Harry…I want to thank you. You saved my life." whispered Lady Sansa.

I hadn't really meant to, but I knew how to play my part. "All in a day's work for a British soldier, m'lady," I said. She finally let go, looking up at me with wide wondering eyes. If she'd been older, and things had been different in other ways, I'd have wondered about making an assignation with her, but she was twelve or so and the King's fiancee, so that was no go. Not to mention, Elspeth was close by.

Speaking of Elspeth, she had seen the whole thing from the tower on top of our embassy, and had come running. She threw herself on me, sobbing. "Oh, ma jo! I thought I'd lost ye when your horse went down! But then I saw ye grab that other horse…and ye saved the Lady Sansa, tae boot! I'd no' trade ye for Sir Galahad!"

The rest of the British were now staring at me, gaping like fresh-caught fish. "Sir Harry, is this true?" asked one of the undersecretaries. "Did you really save the Lady Sansa from the mob?"

"He did, m'lord," said one of the local folk who'd also seen the whole thing. "It was like nothing I've ever seen in my life! His horse went down, but he rolled to his feet, pulled those 'barkers' from their holsters, and started shooting with both hands at once!" I'd learned that little trick from Wild Bill Hickok, and for a second, I wondered what he would have thought.

"And then he grabbed a horse that was running by, swung up into the saddle like an acrobat, and swooped down to snatch the Lady Sansa!" said another. "It was like one of the songs about gallant knights rescuing maidens!"

Sandor Clegane came over. "I'd like to thank you for saving my horse. I've been with Stranger for a long time, and I'd really miss him if something happened to him," he told me. He stuck out his hand, and wrung my fin like he really meant it. "I'd also like to thank you for saving the little bird." He looked at Lady Sansa, which startled me. I'd not have thought those two had anything that could bring them together.

A little way away, Queen Cersei and Lord Tyrion were giving orders to their underlings to try to bring the situation under control. For all that they hated each other sincerely, they worked together smoothly, which I thought was at least one good omen for the side we'd been ordered to back. If Joffrey had been in actual command, the Northmen or Stannis Baratheon would have had victory all but in the bag.

After a bath and a change of clothes, I went up onto the battlements to see what was going on. A lot of the town was in flames, and I could see the goldcloaks and whitecloaks fighting the mob here and there. Lord Tyrion was up there, too, and he was pretty clearly troubled.

"There are places out there that I really do not want to see burn," he told me. "Your ambassador was nice enough to loan us the use of some of your excellent Royal Marines to help get the city back under control."

"Our government supports King Joffrey," I assured him. I didn't say, because he was quite clever enough to suss it out on his own, that if Joffrey's regime looked like it was heading for the rocks, we'd throw our support behind Stannis, Renly or Robb in a heartbeat.


[1] The Ptolemaic dynasty was the last one to rule Egypt. Its best-known monarch, Cleopatra VII, was the queen who was involved with Julius Caesar and Marc Antony. They followed prior Egyptian custom by marrying within the family, since the blood of the Pharaoh was too sacred to be mixed with mortals.

[2] Flashman's first regiment, the 11th Light Dragoons, (later known as the 11th Hussars) was known as "Cherrypickers," from an incident in the Napoleonic Wars.

[3] See Flashman for the details. The British Army had occupied Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan, in 1842, but the locals rose against them and drove them out. Only Flashman and one other Englishman made it safely back to British-held territory; the others were killed or captured.

[4] A durbar is an Indian word for the court of a ruler. It was used indiscriminately by the British in India for royal events at the courts of the local rajahs, maharajahs, and other potentates. It could refer to the room where audiences were held, or to the court in general.

[5] This is referenced in the second part of Flashman and the Redskins. Flashman served on both sides in the US Civil War, and apparently played an important role in several pivotal events, but the packet of the Papers that details this service has not yet come to light. Despite their having been on opposite sides at the time they first met, Custer held Flashman no grudge.

[6] When the Sepoy Mutiny broke out, Flashman was at Meerut, posing as an Afghan cavalryman in the army of the East India Company. He witnessed the events that led to the outbreak of mutiny, but dismissed their importance until violence actually erupted. See Flashman in the Great Game.