Jeffrey Archer - Paths Of Glory

“It’s extremely kind of you to take the trouble, sir.”

“Not at all, old fellow. His Majesty wanted you to know how delighted he is that you have agreed to lead the next expedition to Everest, and he looks forward to meeting you on your return.” Hinks gave a thin smile. “And may I say, Mallory, that those are also my sentiments, and add how much I am looking forward to your lecture.”

“Thank you, sir,” said George.

“Now I’d better leave you in peace,” the Prince said, “otherwise this show may never get off the ground.”

George bowed again as the Prince of Wales and Hinks left the room.

“You bastard Hinks,” he muttered as the door closed behind them. “But don’t imagine even for one moment that your little subterfuge will change my mind.”

“Y OUR R OYAL H IGHNESS, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my privilege as chairman of the Royal Geographical Society and the Everest Committee to introduce tonight’s guest speaker, Mr. George Mallory,” announced Sir Francis Younghusband. “Mr. Mallory was the climbing leader on the last expedition, when he reached a height of 27,550 feet-a mere 1,455 feet from the summit. Tonight, Mr. Mallory will be telling us about his experiences on that historic adventure in a lecture entitled ‘Walking Off the Map.’ Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. George Mallory.”

George was unable to speak for several minutes because the audience rose to their feet as one and applauded until he finally had to wave them down. He looked down at the front row and smiled at the man who should have been giving the memorial lecture that evening, had it not been for the injury he sustained in the war. Young returned his smile, clearly proud that his pupil was representing him. Norton, Somervell, and Odell sat beside him.

George waited for the audience to settle before he delivered his first line. “When I was recently in New York,” he began, “I was introduced as the man who had conquered Everest single-handed.” He waited for the laughter to die down before he went on, “Wrong on both counts. Although one man may end up standing alone on top of that great mountain, he could not hope to achieve such a feat without the backing of a first-class team. And by that I mean, you’d better have everything from seventy Indian mules to a General Bruce if you hope even to reach base camp.” This was the cue for the lights to go down and the first slide to appear on the screen behind him.

Forty minutes later, George was back at base camp and once again receiving rapturous applause. He felt that the lecture had gone well, but he still needed to answer questions, and feared that the wrong response could well put him back at base camp.

When he called for questions he was surprised that Hinks didn’t rise from his place, as tradition allows the secretary of the RGS to ask the first question. Instead, he remained resolutely in his place in the front row, arms folded. George selected an elderly gentleman in the second row.

“When you were stranded at 27,550 feet, sir, and saw Finch moving away from you, did you not wish at the time that you had taken a couple of oxygen cylinders along with you?”

“Not when we first set out I didn’t,” replied Mallory. “But later, when I couldn’t progress more than a few feet without having to stop for a rest, I came to the conclusion that it would be nigh on impossible to reach the summit under one’s own steam.”

He pointed to another hand.

“But wouldn’t you consider the use of oxygen to be cheating, sir?”

“I used to be of that opinion,” said George. “But that was before a colleague who shared a tent with me at 27,000 feet pointed out that you might argue that it was cheating to wear leather climbing boots or woolen mittens, or even to put a lump of sugar in your lukewarm tea, all of which undoubtedly give you a better chance of success. And let’s be honest, why travel five thousand miles if you have no hope of covering the last thousand feet.”

He selected another raised hand.

“If you hadn’t stopped to assist Mr. Odell, do you think you might have reached the top?”

“I could certainly see the top,” George replied, “because Mr. Finch was 300 feet ahead of me.” This was greeted with warm laughter. “I confess that the summit seemed to be tantalizingly close at the time, but even that can be deceptive. Never forget that on a mountain, 500 feet is not a couple of hundred yards. Far from it-it’s more likely to be over a mile. However, that experience convinced me that given enough time and the right conditions, it is possible to reach the summit.”

George answered several more questions during the next twenty minutes, without giving any hint that he had just resigned as climbing leader.

“Last question,” he said finally, with a relieved smile. He pointed to a young man near the middle of the hall, who was standing up and waving a hand, hoping to be noticed. In a voice that had not yet broken, the boy asked, “When you have conquered Everest, sir, what will be left for the likes of me?”

The whole audience burst out laughing, and Mallory recalled how nervous he had been when he had asked Captain Scott almost the same question. He looked up at the gallery, delighted to see Scott’s widow in her usual place in the front row. Thank God his decision earlier that evening meant that Ruth would no longer have to worry about suffering the same fate. Mallory looked back down at the young man and smiled. “You should read H. G. Wells, my boy. He believes that, in time, mankind will be able, like Puck, to put a circle round the earth in forty minutes, that someone will one day break the sound barrier, with consequences we have yet to comprehend, and that in your lifetime, though perhaps not in mine, a man will walk on the moon.” George smiled at the young man. “Perhaps you’ll be the first Englishman to be launched into space.”

The audience roared with laughter, and applauded again as George took his final bow. He felt confident that he’d escaped without anyone suspecting what had taken place at the committee meeting earlier that evening. He smiled down at Ruth, who was sitting in the front row, his sisters Avie and Mary on either side of her; another small triumph.

When George raised his head, he saw his oldest friend standing and applauding wildly. Within moments the rest of the audience had joined Guy Bullock and seemed quite unwilling to resume their seats, however much he gestured that they should do so.

He was about to leave the stage, but when he turned, he saw Hinks climbing the steps toward him, carrying a file. He gave Mallory a warm smile as he approached the microphone, lowered it by several inches, and waited for the applause to die down and for everyone to resume their seats before he spoke.

“Your Royal Highness, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen. Those of you who are familiar with the traditions of this historic society will be aware that it is the secretary’s privilege on these occasions to ask the lecturer the first question. I did not do so this evening, thus breaking with tradition; but only because my chairman, Sir Francis Younghusband, rewarded me with an even greater prize, that of giving the vote of thanks to our guest speaker and my dear friend, George Mallory.”

George had never heard Hinks call him by his Christian name before.

“But first, allow me to tell you about a resolution that we passed at the Everest Committee this evening in Mr. Mallory’s absence, and which we feel is something we should share with every member of this society.” Hinks opened the file, extracted a piece of paper, adjusted his spectacles and began to read. “It was unanimously agreed that we should invite Mr. George Leigh Mallory to be climbing leader for the 1924 expedition of Everest.” The audience burst into loud applause, but Hinks raised a hand to silence them, as he clearly had more to say.