out for you while I am having dinner at the Cafe Royal, I really will
but truly, Toffee, you should have thought of this long ago."
"Oh, I did my dear Swales I assure you I gave it much thought." And
the Prince turned to smile at Gareth. "I thought that no one would be
foolish enough to take on his person fifteen thousand gold sovereigns
in the middle of Ethiopia and then try and get out of the country
without the Ras's personal approval and protection." They stared at
him.
"Can you imagine the delight of the shifta, the mountain bandits,
when they learned that such a rich prize was moving unprotected through
their territory?"
"They would know, of course?" murmured Jake.
"I fear that they might be informed." The Prince turned to him.
"And if we tried to go back the way we came?"
"Through the desert on foot?" the Prince smiled.
"We might use a little of the gold to buy camels," Jake suggested.
"I fancy you might find camels hard to come by, and somebody might
inform the Italians and the French of your movements to say nothing of
the Danakil tribesmen who would slit the throats of their own mothers
for a single gold sovereign." They watched the Ras send the great
sword humming six inches over the heads of the bass drummers, and then
turn a grotesque flapping pirouette.
"God!" said Gareth. "I took you at your word, Toffee. I mean word of
honour, and old school-"
"My dear Swales, these are not the playing fields of Eton, I'm
afraid."
"Still, I never thought you'd welsh."
"Oh, dear me, I am not welshing. You can have your money now this very
hour."
"All right, Prince," Jake interrupted. "Tell us what more you want
from us. Tell us, is there any way we get out of here with a safe
conduct, and our money?" The Prince smiled warmly at Jake,
leaning to pat his arm.
"Always the pragmatist. No time wasted in tearing the hair or beating
the breast, Mr. Barton."
"Shoot," said Jake.
"My father and I would be very grateful if you would work for us for a
six-month contract."
"Why six months? "demanded Gareth.
"By then all will be lost, or won."
"Go on, "Jake invited.
"For six months you will exercise your skills for us and teach us how
best to defend ourselves against a modern army. Service,
maintain and command the armoured cars."
"In return? "Jake asked.
"A princely salary for the six months, a safe conduct out of
Ethiopia, and your money guaranteed by a London bank at the end of that
time."
"What is fair wages for putting one's head on the butcher's block?
"Gareth asked bitterly.
"Double another seven thousand pounds each, "said the Prince without
hesitation, and the men on each side of him relaxed slightly and
exchanged glances.
"Each?" asked Gareth.
"Each,"agreed Lij Mikhael.
"I only wish I had my lawyer here to draw up the contract," said
Gareth.
, "Not necessary," Mikhael laughed, and shook his head and drew two
envelopes from his robes. He handed one to each of them.
"Bank-guaranteed cheques. Lloyds of London. Irrev(.)cable, I
assure you but post-dated six months ahead. Valid on the first of
February next year." The two white men examined the documents
curiously.
Carefully Jake checked the date on the bank draft 1st February,
1936 and then read the figure fourteen thousand pounds sterling only
and he grinned.
"The exact amount the precise date." He shook his head admiringly.
"You had it all figured out. Man, you were thinking weeks ahead of
us."
"Good God, Toffee," Gareth intoned mournfully. "I must say I am
appalled. Utterly appalled."
"Does that mean you refuse, Major
Swales?" Gareth glanced at Jake, and a flash of agreement passed
between them. Gareth sighed theatrically. "Well, I must say that I
did have an appointment in Madrid. They've got themselves this little
war they are working on, but-" and here he studied the bank draft
again, "but one war is very much like another. Furthermore, you have
given me some fairly powerful reasons why I should stay on." Gareth
withdrew the wallet from his inside pocket and folded the draft into
it. "However, that doesn't alter the fact that I am utterly appalled
by the way this whole business has been conducted."
"And you, Mr.
Barton?" Lij Mikhael asked.
"As my partner has just remarked fourteen thousand pounds isn't exactly
peanuts. Yes, I accept." The Prince nodded, and then his expression
changed, became bleak and savage.
"I must urge you most cogently not to attempt to leave Ethiopia before
the expiry of our agreement justice is crude but effective under my
father's administration." At that moment the gentleman under
discussion lifted the sword high above his head and then drove the
point deep into the earth between his feet. He left it there, the
blade shivering and gleaming in the firelight, and staggered wheezing
and cackling to his place between Jake and Gareth.
He flung a skinny old arm around each of them and greeted them with a
hug and an affectionate cry of "How do you do?" and Gareth cocked a
speculative eye at him.
"How would you like to learn to play gin rummy, old son?" he asked
kindly. Six months was a lot of time to while away and there might yet
be further profit in the situation, he thought.
The sound of the drums woke Count Aldo Belli from a deep,
untroubled sleep. He lay and listened to them for a while, to the deep
monotonous rhythm like the pulse of the earth itself, and the effect
was lulling and hypnotic. Then suddenly the Count came fully awake and
the adrenalin poured hotly into his bloodstream. A month before
leaving Rome he had attended a screening of the latest Hollywood
release, Trader Horn, an African epic of wild animals and bloodthirsty
tribesmen. The sound of tribal drums had been skilfully used on the
sound track to heighten the sense of menace and suspense, and the Count
now realized that out there in the night the same terrible drums were
beating.
He came out of his bed in a single bound with a roar that woke those in
the camp who were still asleep. When Gino rushed into the tent, he
found his master standing stark-naked and wild-eyed in the centre of
his tent with the ivory-handled Beretta in one hand and the jewelled
dagger clutched in the other.
The instant the drums began beating, Luigi Castelani hurried back to
the bivouac, for he knew exactly what " reaction to expect from the
colonel. He arrived to find that the Count was fully uniformed,
had selected a bodyguard of fifty men and was on the point of embarking
in the waiting Rolls. The engine was running and the driver was as
eager to leave as his august passenger.
The Count was not at all pleased to see the bulky figure of his
Major come hurrying out of the darkness with that unmistakable
sw
aggering gait. He had hoped to get clear before Castelani could
intervene, and now he immediately went on the offensive.
"Major, I am returning to Asmara to report in person to the
General," shouted Aldo Belli, and tried to reach the Rolls, but the
Major was too nimble for him and interposed his bulk and saluted.
"My Colonel, the de fences of the wells are now complete," he reported.
"The area is secure."
"I shall report that we are being attacked in overwhelming force,"
cried the Count, and tried to duck around Castelani's right side, but
the Major anticipated the move and jumped sideways to keep belly to
belly.
"The men are dug in, and in good spirits."
"You have my permission to withdraw in good order under the enemy's
bloodthirsty assault." The
Count attempted to lull the man with the prospect of escape, and then
lunged to the left to reach the Rolls but the Major was swift as a
mamba, and again they faced each other. The entire (officer corps of
the Third Battalion, hastily dressed and alarmed by the drums in the
night, had assembled to watch this exhibition of agility as the Count
and Castelani jumped backwards and forwards like a pair of game cocks
sparring at each other. Their sentiments were heavily on the side of
their Colonel, and they would have enjoyed nothing more than the
spectacle of the retreating Rolls.
They would then have been free to follow in haste.
"I do not believe the enemy is present in any force." Castelani's
voice was raised to a level where the Count's protests were completely
drowned. "However, it is essential that the Colonel takes command in
person. If there is to be a confrontation, it will involve a value
judgement." The Major pressed forward a step at a time, until his
chest was an inch from the Colonel's and their noses almost touched.
"We are not formally at war. Your presence is essential to reinforce
our position." The Colonel was pressed to the point where he had no
choice but to fall back a pace, and the watching Officers sighed sadly.
It was an act of capitulation. The contest of wills was over and
although the Count continued to protest weakly, the Major worked him
away from the Rolls the way a good sheep dog handles its flock.
"It will be dawn in an hour," said Castelani, "and as soon as it is
light, we shall be in a position to evaluate the situation." At that
moment the drum fell silent. Up the valley in the caves, the Ras had
at last finished his dance of defiance, and to the Count the silence
was cheering. He threw one last wistful look at the Rolls, and then
let his gaze wander to the fifty heavily armed men of his bodyguard and
took a little more heart.
He squared his shoulders and drew himself erect, throwing back his
head.
"Major," he snapped. "The battalion will stand firm." He turned to
his watching officers, all of whom tried to fade into insignificance
and avoid his eyes. "Major Vita, take command of this detachment and
move forward to clear the ground. The rest of you fall in around
me."
The Colonel gave the Major and his fifty stalwarts a respectable
lead,
so that they might draw any hostile fire, and then, surrounded by a
protective screen of his reluctant juniors and prodded forward by
Luigi
Castelani, he moved cautiously along the dusty path that wound down the
slope of the valley to where' the battalion's forward elements had been
so expertly entrenched.
Phe most junior of Ras Golam's multitudinous grooms was fifteen years
of age. The previous day one of the Ras's favourite mares in his care
had snapped her halter rope while he was taking her down to the water.
She had galloped out into the desert, and the boy had followed her for
the whole of that day and half of the night, until the capricious
creature had allowed him to come up with her and grasp the trailing end
of the rope.
Exhausted by the long chase and chilled by the cold night wind,
the boy had huddled down on her neck and allowed the mare to pick her
own way back to the water holes. He was half asleep, clinging by
instinct alone to the mare's mane, when a short while before dawn she
wandered into the perimeter of the Italian base.
A nervous sentry had challenged loudly, and the startled animal had
plunged into a full run through the outskirts of the camp. Now,
fully awake, the boy had clung to the galloping horse, and seen the
lines of parked trucks and military tents looming out of the
darkness.
He had seen the stacked rifles, and recognize the shape of the helmet
of another sentry who had challenged again as they passed through the
outer lines.
Peering back under his own arm he had seen the flash of the rifle shot
and heard the crack of the bullet pass his bowed head, and he urged the
horse on with heels and knees.
By the time the groom reached the deep wadi, the Ras's following was at
last succumbing to the effects of a full night's festivities.
Many of them had drifted away to find a place to sleep, others had
merely huddled down in their robes and slept where they had eaten.
tejnumbed silence about the fires watching the womenfolk begin to
prepare the morning meal.
The boy flung himself off the mare at the entrance to the caves,
ducked under the arms of the sentries who would have restrained him and
ran into the crowded, smoky and dimly lit interior. He was gabbling
with fright and importance, the words tumbling over each other and
making no sense until Lij Mikhael caught him by the upper arms and
shook him to restore his senses.
Then the story he told made sense, and rang with urgent conviction.
Those within earshot shouted it to those further back, and within
seconds the story, distorted and garbled, had flashed through the
gathering and was running wildly through the whole encampment.
The sleepers awakened, every man armed and every woman and child
curious and voluble. They streamed out of the caves and from the rough
tents and shelters in the narrow ravines. Without command, moving like
a shoal of fish without a leader but with as ingle purpose, laughing
sceptic ally or shouting speculation and comment and query, brandishing
shields and ancient firearms, the women clutching their infants, and
the older children dancing around them or darting ahead, the shapeless
mob streamed out of the broken ground and down into the saucer-shaped
valley of the wells.
In the caves, Lij Mikhael was still explaining the boy's story to the
foreigners, and arguing the details and implications with them and his
father. It was Jake Barton who realized the danger.
"If the Italians have sent in a unit to grab the wells, then it's a
calculated act of war. They'll be looking for trouble, Prince.
You'd best forbid any of your men to go down there, until we have sized
up Xhe situation properly." It was too late, far too late. In the
fi
rst faint glimmer of dawn, when the light plays weird tricks on a
man's eyes, the Italian sentries peering over their parapets saw a wall
of humanity swarming out of the dark and broken ground, and heard the
rising hubbub of hundreds of excited voices.
When the drumming had begun, many of the black shirts were huddled
below the firing step of their trenches, swaddled in their greatcoats
and sleeping the exhausted sleep of men who had travelled all the
previous day, and worked all the night.
The non-commissioned officers kicked and pulled them to their feet, and
shoved them to their positions along the parapet. From here they
peered, befuddled with sleep, down into the valley.
With the exception of Luigi Castelani, not a single man in the Third
Battalion had ever faced an armed enemy, and now after an infinity of
nerve-tearing waiting, at last the experience was upon them in the dark
before the dawn when a man's vitality is at its lowest ebb.
Their bodies were chilled and their brains unclear. In the uncertain
light, the mob that poured into the valley was as numerous as the sands
of the desert, each figure as large as a giant and as ferocious as a
marauding lion.
It was in this moment that Colonel Aldo Belli, panting with exertion
and nervous strain, stepped out of the narrow communication trench on
to the firing platform of the forward line of emplacements. The
Sergeant in command of the trench recognized him instantly and let out
a cry of relief.
"my Colonel, thank God you have come." And forgetful of rank and
position he seized the Count's arm. Aldo Belli was so busy trying to
fight off the man's sweaty and importunate clutches that it was some
seconds before he actually glanced down into the darkened valley then
his bowels turned to jelly and his legs seemed to buckle under him.
"Merciful Mother of God," he wailed. "All is lost. They are upon us.
With clumsy fingers he unbuckled the flap of his holster and as he fell
to his knees he drew the pistol.
"Fire!" he screamed. "Open fire!" And crouching down well below the
level of the parapet, he emptied the Beretta straight upwards into the
dawn sky.
Manning the Italian parapets were over four hundred combatants; of
these over three hundred and fifty were riflemen, armed with
magazine-loaded bolt-action weapons, while another sixty men in teams
of five serviced the cunningly placed machine guns.