Amongst the grey-green thorn trees and dense scrub goat and camel
grazed in company with gazelle and gerenuk, oryx and greater kudu.
n In the hush of noo', the column of four armoured cars came in from
the east, and the hum of their engines carried at distance to the
multitude that awaited their arrival.
Jake led, as usual, followed by Vicky, then came Gregoritis with
Sara riding in the turret of his car and the white stallion trailing
them on a long lead rein. In the rear rode Gareth. Suddenly Sara
shrieked at such a high pitch that her voice carried over the engine
noise and she pointed ahead to the low valley filled with green scrub
and taller denser trees. Jake halted the column and climbed up into
the turret.
Through his binoculars he studied the open forest, and then.
started as he discerned a horde of moving figures coming headlong on
wings of fine pale dust.
"My God," he muttered aloud. "there must be hundreds of them," and he
felt a stab of uneasiness. They looked anything but friendly.
At that moment, he was distracted by the sound of galloping hooves
close by, and Sara came dashing past him.
She was mounted bareback on the white stallion, her robes streaming and
fluttering in the sun-bright wind. She was shouting with almost
hysterical excitement as she galloped to meet the oncoming riders and
her behaviour reassured Jake a little. He signalled the column forward
once again.
The first ranks came swiftly in dust clouds, on running camels and
galloping shaggy horses. Fierce, dark-faced men in billowing robes of
dirty white, and a motley of other colours. Urging forward their
mounts with wild cries, brandishing the small round bronze and iron
studded and bossed war shields, they came racing towards the column.
As they approached, they split into two wings and tore headlong past
the startled drivers in a solid wall of moving men and animals.
Most of the men were bearded, and here and there some warrior wore
proudly a great fluffy headdress of lion mane proclaiming his valour to
the world. The manes rippled and waved on the wind as the riders drove
by, urging on their mounts with the high "Looloo" ululations so
characteristic of the Ethiopians.
The weapons they carried amazed Gareth, who as a professional dealer
recognized twenty different types and makes, each one of them a
collector's piece from the long muzzle-loading Tower muskets with the
fancy hammers over percuss ion caps, through a range of Martini Henry
carbines, which fired a heavy lead bullet in a cloud of black powder
smoke, to a wide selection of Mousers; and Schneiders, Lee-Metfords,
and obsolete models from half the arms-manufacturers of the world.
As the riders swept by, they fired these weapons into the air,
long spurts of black powder against the evening sky, and the crackle of
musketry blended with the fierce ululations of welcome.
After the first wave of riders came another of those on mules and
donkeys moving more slowly but making as much noise and immediately
after them came a swarming mob of running, howling foot soldiers,
mingled with whom were women and shrieking children, and dozens of
yelping dogs, scrawny yellow curs with long whippy tails and ridges of
standing hair running down their skeletal backbones.
As the first rank of riders turned, still loolooing and firing into the
air, to complete the encirclement of the armoured column, they ran
headlong into the following rabble and the entire congregation became a
struggling mob of men and animals.
Jake saw a mother with a child under her arm go down under the hooves
of a running camel, the child flying from her grip and rolling in the
sandy earth. Then he was past, forging ahead through a narrow path in
the sea of humanity.
Sara was keeping the path open, leading them in, riding just ahead of
Jake's car, laying about her viciously with a long quirt of hippo hide
to hold back the mob, while around her wheeled the wildly excited
riders still firing their pieces into the air, and dozens of runners
pressed in closely, trying to climb aboard the moving cars.
Gradually the press of bodies and animals built up, until at last,
following Sara, they moved slowly through the open forest that
surrounded the wells into one of the shallow but steeply sided wadis in
the broken ground beyond.
Here any further forward movement became impossible.
The wadi was choked solidly with humanity, even the steep earthen sides
and the ledges above were crowded so closely that unfortunates,
pushed by those behind, could no longer keep their Position and came
tumbling down the sheer sides on to the heads of those in the wadi
below. The cries of protest were lost in the general hubbub.
From each of the turrets, the heads of the four drivers appeared
timidly, like gophers peering out of their holes.
They made helpless signs and expressions at each other, unable to
communicate in the uproar.
Sara leaped from the back of the stallion on to the sponson of Jake's
car and began raining blows and kicks on those who were still
attempting to climb aboard the vehicle. She was enjoying herself
immensely, Jake realized, as he noticed the battle lust in her eyes and
heard the crack of her whip and the yelps of her victims. He thought
of trying to restrain her and then discarded the idea as being highly
dangerous. Instead, he looked about distractedly for some other means
to subdue the boisterous welcome and noticed for the first time the
entrances to numerous caves in the sides of the wadi.
From a number of these dark openings now poured a body of men,
wearing a semblance of uniform jodhpurs and baggy khaki tunics, their
chests crossed with bandoliers of ammunition, put teed calves and bare
feet, high turbans bound around their heads and Mauser rifles swinging
heartily, the butts used as clubs. They were every bit as enthusiastic
as Sara, but considerably more successful in their attempts to quieten
the crowd.
"My grandfather's guards," Sara explained to Jake, still panting and
grinning happily from her recent exertions. "I am sorry, Jake, but
sometimes my people get excited."
"Yeah," said Jake. "So I noticed."
With gun butts rising and falling the guards cleared a space around the
four laden vehicles, and the noise dropped in volume until it was
equivalent to a medium-sized avalanche. The four drivers climbed
warily down and came together in a defensive group in the small stretch
of open ground before the caves. Vicky Camberwell placed herself
strategically between Jake and Gareth and behind the lanky robed figure
of Gregorius and she felt even more secure when Sara slipped up beside
her and took her hand.
"Please do not worry," she whispered. "We are all your friends."
"You could have fooled me, honey." Vicky smiled back at her, and
squeezed the slim brown hand. At that moment a procession emerged from
the caves, headed by four coal-black priests of the Coptic Christian
; Church in their gaudy robes, chanting in Amharic, swinging incense and
carrying ornate, if crudely wrought bronze crosses.
Immediately after the priests followed a figure so tall and thin as to
appear a caricature of the human shape. A long flowing sham ma of
yellow and red stripes hung loosely on the gaunt frame. There was the
suggestion of legs as long and as thin as those of an ostrich beneath
the skirts of the robe as he strode forward, and the man's dark head
was completely bald of hair no beard or eyebrows just a round
glistening pate.
His eyes were completely enclosed in a web of deep wrinkles and fleshy
folds of old dried-out skin. The mouth was utterly toothless,
so that the jaw seemed to be collapsible, folding the face in half like
the bellows of a concertina.
He gave an impression of vast age that was offset immediately by the
youthful spring in his step and the twinkle in the black birdlike eyes,
and yet Gareth realized that he could not be less than eighty years
old.
Gregorius hurried forward and knelt briefly for the old man's blessing,
while Sara whispered to the group.
"This is my grandfather, Ras Golam" she explained. "He speaks no
English, but he is a great nobleman and a mighty warrior the bravest in
all Ethiopia." The Ras ran a lively eye over the group and selected
Gareth Swales, resplendent in Thorn-proof tweeds. He leapt forward
redolent of powerful native tobacco, woodsmoke, and other heady
odours.
"How do you do?" shouted the Ras, his only words of English.
"My grandfather is a great lover of the English," explained
Gregorius, as Gareth struggled in the Ras's embrace. "That is why all
his sons and grandsons are sent to England."
"He has a decoration which even makes him an English milord," Sara told
them proudly, and pointed to her grandfather's chest where nestled a
star of gaudy enamel and shiny paste chips.
Noticing the gesture, the Ras released Gareth and invited them to
admire the decoration, and, on his other breast, a rosette of tricolour
silk in the centre of which was a framed miniature of the old Queen
Victoria herself.
"Tremendous, old boy absolutely tremendous" Gareth agreed, as he
re-adjusted the lapels of his jacket and smoothed back his hair.
"When he was a young man, my grandfather did a great service to the
Queen and that is why he is now an English milord," Sara explained, and
then she broke off to listen to her grandfather, and to translate. "My
grandfather welcomes you to Ethiopia, and says that he is proud to
embrace such a distinguished English gentleman. He has heard from my
father of your fame s a warrior, that you bear the great
Queen's medal for courage-"
"Actually, it was Georgie Five's gong,"
Gareth demurred modestly.
At that moment, the dignified figure of Lij Mikhael Sagud stepped from
the entrance of the cave behind the Ras.
"My father recognizes only one English monarch, my dear Swales,"
he explained quietly. "It is useless to try and convince him that she
has passed away." He shook hands with all three of them, with a quick
word of welcome for Jake and Vicky before turning back to listen to
the
Ras again.
"My father asks if you have brought your medal he wishes you to wear it
when you and he ride into battle side by side against the enemy," and
Gareth's expression changed.
"Now hold on there, old fellow," he protested. Gareth had no intention
of riding into another battle in his life, but the moment had passed
and the Ras was shouting orders to his guard.
In response, they clambered aboard the armoured cars, and began
unloading the wooden cases of weapons and ammunition which they stacked
in the clearing before the caves, beating back the eager crowds that
pressed forward.
Now the priests came forward to bless the cars and weapons of war,
and Sara took the opportunity to pull Vicky away and lead her
unobtrusively to one of the caves.
"My servants will bring you water to bathe," she whispered. "You must
look beautiful for the feast. Perhaps we will decide which one it will
be tonight." As night fell, so "the entire following of Ras
Golarri gathered in the main wadi, those ranking highest or with most
push managing to find seating in the large central cave while the
others filled the valley with row upon row of seated and robed
figures.
The whole scene was lit by leaping bonfires.
The fires reflected against the night sky with a faint orange glow
which Major Luigi Castelani noticed at a distance of twenty kilometres
from the Wells.
He halted the column and climbed up on the roof of the leading truck to
study this phenomenon, uncertain at first if the light of the fires was
some freak afterglow of the sunset, but soon realizing that this was
not the case.
He jumped down and snapped at the driver, "Wait for me," before
striding rapidly back along the long column of tall canvas-covered
trucks to where the command car stood at the centre.
"My Colonel." Castelani saluted the sulking figure of the Count who
slumped on the rear seat of the Rolls with one hand thrust into the
front of his unbuttoned tunic, much like the defeated Napoleon
to his pride and self-esteem inflicted by the General. He had
temporarily withdrawn from the vulgar world, and he did not even look
up as Castelani made his report.
"Do what you think correct in the circumstances," he muttered without
interest. "Only make certain we have control of the Wells before
dawn," and the Count turned his head away, wondering if
Mussolini had yet received his cable.
What Castelani thought correct in the circumstances was to darken the
column immediately and put his entire battalion in a state of instant
readiness. No lights were to be shown in any circumstances,
and a rigorous silence was imposed. The column now advanced at little
more than a walking speed, with each driver personally warned that
engine noise was not to exceed idling volume. All the men had been
alerted and rode now in silence with loaded weapons and tense nerves.
When at last the Eritrean guides pointed out to Castelani the shallow
forested valley below them, there was sufficient light from the sliver
of silver moon overhead for Castelani to survey the ground with the eye
of an old professional.
Within ten minutes, he had planned his dispositions, decided where to
hold his motor pool and main bivouac, where to site his machine guns,
place his mortars and lay his rifle trenches. The Colonel grunted his
agreement without even looking up, and quietly the Major gave the
orders which would put into effect his plans and keep the battalion
working all night.
"And the first man who drops a shovel or sneezes I will strangle with
his own guts," he warned, as he g
lanced apprehensively at the faint
glow that emanated from amongst the low dark hills beyond the
Wells.
In the main cave, the air was so thick and warm and moist that it lay
upon the company like a wet woollen blanket. In the uneven light of
the fires it was impossible to see from one end to the other of the
cavernous room, with its rough earthen wall and columns. The restless
body of guests and servants flitted through the smoky gloom like
wraiths. Every once in a while there would be the terrified bellows of
an ox from the wadi outside. the main entrance of the cave. The
bellows would cease abruptly as the blackman swung his long two-handled
sword and the carcass fell with a thud that seemed to reverberate
through the cavern. A vast shout of approval greeted the fall of the
beast, and a dozen eager assistants flayed the hide, hacked the flesh
into bloody strips and piled them on to huge platters of baked clay.
The servants staggered into the cave, bearing the laden platters of
steaming, quivering meat. The guests fell upon it, men and women
alike, snatching up the bleeding flesh, taking an end between their
teeth, pulling it tight with one hand and hacking free a bite-sized
piece with a knife grasped in the other. The flashing blade passed a
mere fraction from the end of the diner's nose and warm blood trickled
unheeded down the chin, as the lump was swallowed with a single
convulsive heave of the throat.
Each mouthful was washed down into the belly with a swig of the fiery
Ethiopian tej - a brew made from wild honey, a liquid the colour of
golden amber, with the impact of a charging buffalo bull.
Gareth Swales sat between the old Ras and Lij Mikhael in the place of
honour, while Jake and Vicky were a dozen places farther away amongst
the lesser notables. In deference to the appetite and tastes of
foreigners, they were offered, in place of raw beef, an endless
succession of bubbling pots containing the fiery casseroles of beef,
lamb, chicken and game that are known under the inclusive title of
wat.
These highly spiced, peppery but delicious concoctions were spooned out
on to thin sheets of unleavened bread and rolled into a cigar shape
before eating.
Lij Mikhael warned his guests against the tea and instead offered
Bollinger champagne, wrapped in wet sacking to lower its temperature.
There was also pinch bottle Haig, London Dry Gin, and a vast array of