A Falcon Flies Part 13

Two days later, off the beach at Kilwa, Clinton Codrington exercised his ship at gunnery practice. Running out his thirty-two pounders, and firing them in broadsides which set the surface of the lagoon seething and dancing with foam and white fountains of spray. The thunder of gunfire burst against the far hills and rumbled back across the sky like cannon b.a.l.l.s rolled across a wooden deck.

The Sultan's local Governor was reduced to a quivering jelly of terror by this display of might, and had to be carried bodily into Black joke's whaler to be rowed out to a conclave with the gunboat's Captain. Clinton had the treaty forms already filled out and ready for signature when they carried the Governor aboard to team that he was heir to a kingdom to which he had never aspired, and a t.i.tle which he knew was too grandiose not to bring with it certain retribution from somebody whose name he did not dare to breathe aloud.

Admiral Kemp, sitting in his study in the magnificent mansion of Admiralty House, overlooking the wide smoky-blue haze of the Cape flats to the far mountains of the Hottentots Holland, hopefully dismissed the first reports as the wild imaginings of some crazed subordinate who had served too long in the G.o.dforsaken outpost of Port Natal, and who was suffering from the bush madness of "El Cafard" that sometimes affects a person so isolated.

Then the details began to arrive with every despatch from the north, and they were too graphic to be lightly dismissed. An armada of captured prizes was arriving in the bay of Port Natal, twenty-six sizable dhows to date, some of them loaded with slaves.

The Lieutenant-Governor of Port Natal was desperate for the Admiral's advice as to what should be done with the dhows. The slaves had been taken ash.o.r.e, released and immediately been contracted as indentured labourers to the hardy and hopeful gentlemen who were attempting to raise cotton and sugarcane in the wilderness of the Umgeni valley. The shortage of tabour was critical, the local Zulu tribesmen much preferred cattle raiding and beer drinking to agricultural labour, so the Governor would be delighted to receive as many freed slaves as the Royal Navy wished to send him. (The Admiral was not entirely certain of the difference between indentured labourers and slaves. ) However, what was the Lieutenant-Governor to do with twentysix, no, the latest figure was thirty-two captured dhows.

A further flotilla of six vessels had arrived as the Governor was dictating his report.

Two weeks later, one of the captured dhows, which had been purchased into the Colonial Service by the Lieutenant-Governor, arrived in Table Bay bearing a further batch of despatches.

One of these was from Sir John Bannerman, H. M.

Consul on the island of Zanzibar. Another was from the Sultan of Omani in person, with copies to the Foreign Secretary in London and, quite remarkably, to the Governor-General in Calcutta. The Sultan evidently believed that as the representative of the Queen of England the Governor-General would have some jurisdiction in the Indian Ocean, which was virtually his front garden.

Admiral Kemp split the seals on both packets with a queasy feeling of impending doom. Good G.o.d! " he groaned, as he began reading, and then, Oh sweet merciful Jesus, no! " And later, "It's too much, it's like some sort of nightmare! " Captain Codrington, one of the most junior post-captains on the Admiralty list, seemed to have taken powers unto himself which would have made a Wellington or a Bonaparte pause.

He had annexed to the British Crown vast African territories, which hitherto had formed part of the Sultan's dominions. With a high hand he had negotiated with various local chiefs and dignitaries of dubious t.i.tle and authority, pledging recognition and good British gold. Good G.o.d! the Admiral cried again in real anguish, What will that brighter Palmerston have to say. " As a staunch Tory, Kemp had no great opinion of the new Whig prime minister.

Since the troubles in India, the sepoy risings of a few years previously, the British government was very wary of accepting further responsibility for overseas territory and backward peoples. Their orders were specific, and Captain Codrington's recent activity went far from the essence of those orders.

The scramble for Africa was still in the future, and the spirit of the Little Englanders motivated British foreign policy, of this Admiral Kemp was very painfully aware.

Daunting as this was, yet it was far from the entire story, Kemp realized, as he read on into the Consul's despatch, his breath rasping hoa.r.s.ely, his colour rising steadily, and his eyes behind the gold-wire framed reading-gla.s.ses swimming with tears of rage and frustration.

When I get my hands on that puppy-" he promised himself.

Captain Codrington seemed to have declared singlehanded war upon the Sultan. Yet even in his outrage the Admiral felt a p.r.i.c.kle of professional appreciation for the scope of his subordinate's operations.

There was a formidable list of over thirty separate incidents recited by H. M. Consul. The puppy had stormed fortified castles, raided ash.o.r.e to burn and destroy barrac.o.o.ns, released tens of thousands of slaves, seized slaving vessels on the high seas, burned others at their moorings, and wreaked the kind of chaos worthy of a marauding Nelson himself.

The Admiral's reluctant admiration for Codrington's technical conduct of the campaign in no way lessened his determination to exact vengeance for the disruption of his life and career that those actions presented. Nothing can save him this time. Nothing! " the Admiral rumbled, as he turned to study the Sultan's protest. This was obviously the work of a professional letter-writer, and every paragraph began and ended with incongruous and flowery enquiries after Kemp's health, between which were sandwiched cries of anguish, screams of outrage, and bitter protest against the broken promises and treaties of Her Majesty's government.

At the very end the letter-writer had not been able to resist adding a prayer for the Admiral and the Queen's prosperity and health in this life, and happiness in the one to follow. This detracted a little from the tone of injury in which the protests and demands had been couched.

The Sultan a.s.sessed his losses at over fourteen lakhs of rupees, almost a million of sterling, in plundered shipping and released slaves, and that did not take into account the irreplaceable damage to his prestige, nor the break-down of the entire trade along the coast. The confusion was such that some ports might never again be opened to the trade. The system of gathering slaves in the interior of the continent and the network of routes to the coastal ports had been so sadly disrupted that they might take years to re-open, to say nothing of the gross shortage of shipping resulting from the depredations ofEl Sheetan'.

Those ports still open to the trade were swamped with patient slaves, waiting for the dhows which were already scattered wrecks upon the reefs and beaches of the Mozambique channel, or sailing southwards under prize crews. Nothing can save him, repeated Admiral Kemp, and then paused. His own career was finished also. He realized that, and he felt the deep injustice of it. For forty years he had put not a single foot wrong, and his retirement was so close, so very close. He shook off the lethargy of despair, and began to draft his orders.

The first was to all ships of his squadron, to detach immediately and to steam in search of Black joke. In despair he realized that it might take as much as six weeks for his orders to reach his commanders, for they were scattered across two oceans. It might also take as long again for them to search out the errant gunboat in the maze of islands and bays along the Mo ambique channel.

However, when they did so, Captain Codrington was to be relieved of his command with immediate effect.

Lieutenant Denham was to take over as temporary commander, with orders to bring Black joke into Table Bay as soon as possible.

Admiral Kemp was confident that he could a.s.semble sufficient senior officers on the Cape Station to convene an immediate court-martial. It might help his own position a little if he could report to the First Lord that a savage sentence had already been handed down to Codrington.

Then there was a despatch to H. M. Consul in Zanzibar, suggesting he keep the Sultan rea.s.sured and quiescent until the situation could once more be brought under control, and until instructions could be forwarded from the Foreign Office in London regarding possible redress and compensation, although naturally at this stage, no promises or commitments were to be given the Sultan, beyond expressions of good faith and commiseration.

Then there was the onerous task of making his report to the Admiralty. There were no words to soften the actions of his subordinate, and his own responsibility.

Besides he had been a serving officer too long to make any such attempt. Yet when the bare facts were stated, even in the beloved unemotional jargon of the navy, they seemed so magnified that Admiral Kemp was himself utterly appalled, all over again. The packet-boat was delayed five hours while the Admiral completed, sealed and addressed this missive. It would be in London in less than a month.

His last despatch was addressed to the officer commanding Her Majesty's ship Black joke in person. And in it Admiral Kemp allowed himself to give expression to some of his own bitterness, taking a sour s.a.d.i.s.tic pleasure in weighing the relative effectiveness of such words as "corsair" and "pirate', or "malicious" and "irresponsible'.

He had his little masterpiece of venom written Out in five copies to be disseminated in every direction and by every available means that might most speedily bring the puppy to heel. Yet when they were sent, all he could do was wait, and that was the worst part of the affair. Uncertainty and inaction seemed to corrode his very soul.

He dreaded each new arrival in Table Bay, and whenever the signal gun on the hill above the town boomed its brief feather of gunsmoke, his spirit quailed and that sour ache of dread stabbed him in his guts.

Each new despatch lengthened the toll of destruction and depredation, until at last there was a report from the culprit himself, sewn up in a package of canvas and addressed to Admiral Kemp, delivered by the prize crew of a particularly valuable dbow over eighty feet long and of a hundred-ton burden.

The tone in which Captain Codrington listed his achievements infuriated the Admiral as much as the deeds themselves. In an almost casual opening paragraph, Captain Codrington recorded the addition of some million square miles of Africa to the Empire.

He had the grace to admit that his action may have exceeded his orders, and he explained away the discrepancy winningly.

It had been my firm intention to avoid scrupulously, whilst on this service, every act of a political nature.

However, I was forced to accept the cession of the kingdoms of Elat and Telfa by the entreaties of the Sheikh and the Imam, together with that of their people, who seek refuge from the inimical and savage acts of the Sultan of Zanzibar This was hard fare to serve their Lordships, especially the First Lord, Lord Somerset, who had always grudged the use of his men and ships to fight against slavery.

However, much worse was to follow. Captain Codrington went on to lecture the Admiral and to deliver a few homilies for their Lordships" instruction. By G.o.d's providence, an Englishman with no other force than the character of his n.o.ble nation has brought to these poor people salvation. Their Lordships must pardon me for using an unfashionable argument, a sneer at the Little Englanders, "however, it is as clear to me as the African sun that G.o.d has prepared this continent for the only nation on earth that has the public virtue sufficient to govern it for its own benefit, and for the only people who take the revealed word for their moral law."

Admiral Kemp gulped as he read it, swallowed the wrong way, and was prostrated with a coughing fit from which he recovered some minutes later to read on. in all the foregoing I have been influenced by no personal Motive Or interest, by no desire of vainglory, but my endeavours have solely been to use the powers granted me to the honour of my G.o.d, my Queen and to the benefit of my country and all mankind!

The Admiral removed his reading gla.s.ses and stared at the gla.s.s case of stuffed songbirds on the wall opposite him.

To write that, he is either the world's greatest fool or a brave man or both, he decided at last.

Admiral Kemp was wrong in his estimate. In fact, Clinton Codrington was having an attack of c.o.c.kiness and self-importance occasioned by the sense of limitless power which this command had given him. He had been wielding this power for many months, and his judgement and good sense had warped. Yet he still truly believed that he was fulfilling, in this order, the will of G.o.d, his patriotic duty and the spirit of his orders from the Lords of the Admiralty.

He was also fully aware that he had demonstrated superior professional ability in carrying out a series of land and sea actions, nearly always against superior numbers, without a single reverse and with the loss of only three men killed in action and less than a dozen wounded. There was only one area in which Clinton had any reservations regarding the success of the patrol up to this time.

Huron was still on the coast, he had intelligence of her from a dozen sources. Mungo St. John was trading, paying top prices for only the best merchandise, handpicked by either himself or his mate, the bald yellow giant, Tippoo. They were taking only healthy, mature men and women fit to withstand the long voyage back around Good Hope and across the middle pa.s.sage, and there was a shortage of this type of merchandise.

For Clinton every dawn brought the hope that Black Joke would once again raise that towering pyramid of beautiful white sails, but each day the hope faded slowly with the pa.s.sage of the fierce tropical sun across the heavens, to be extinguished each night as the huge red orb plunged into the sea, and to be resurrected again with the next dawn.

Once they missed the big American clipper by a single day. She had slipped out of the bay at Lindi twenty-four hours before Black Joke's arrival, after taking on fifty prime slaves. The watchers from the beach could not be certain if she had turned north or south, for she had made her offing below the horizon, and had been lost to sight from the sh.o.r.e before coming around on to her intended course.

Clinton guessed Huron would go south, and had steamed in pursuit for three days, over an empty sea, down a seemingly deserted coast with barren anchorages before admitting that St. John had sailed away from him again, and he was forced to abandon the hunt.

At the very least he knew that if Huron had turned north, St. John was still trading, and there was always a chance of another encounter. He prayed for it every evening. It was all that he needed to make this patrol a clean sweep, so that he could fly a broom from his masthead when he sailed into Table Bay again.

This time he had the sworn and witnessed depositions of the men who had sold St. John his slaves as proof positive that Huron was trading. He did not have to rely on the equipment clause, or the dubious rights of search.

He had his proof and somehow he knew his chance would come.

The tide was running at full flow for Clinton. He was imbued with a new sense of worthiness, a new, ironclad confidence in himself and his own good fortune. He carried himself differently, chin higher, shoulders squarer, and if his gait was not yet a swagger, it was at least an a.s.sured stride. He smiled more often and when he did there was a wicked curl to his upper lip and a devilish twinkle in the pale blue eyes. He had even grown a full mustache, golden and curling that gave him a piratical air, and his crew, who had always respected his cold precise management of the ship, but felt little affection for him, now cheered him when he came back on board from one of his forays ash.o.r.e. Good old Tongs! " It was his new nickname fromHammer and Tongs'. They had never had a pet name for him before, but now they were a proud ship, proud of themselves, and proud of their twenty-seven-year-old Old Man'. Give "em h.e.l.l, Tongs! " they cheered behind him, as he led them, naked cutla.s.s in hand, over the outer stockade of a barrac.o.o.n with musket smoke swirling around his lanky figure. At "em, the Jokers! " they cheered themselves, as they leaped the gap between Black fake's rail and the deck of a slaving dhow, swinging their cutla.s.ses, pistols popping as they drove the slavers down into their own holds and battened the hatches down on them, or chased them over the side where the sharks were cruising.

They knew they were creating a legend. Tongs and his jokers sweeping the slavers from the Mozambique channel, a h.e.l.l of a story to tell the nippers back home, and a good slice of prize money to prove the tale.

It was in this mood that Black Joke sailed into Zanzibar harbour, the stronghold of the Omani Sultan, little Daniel into the lion's den. The gunners on the parapets of the fort, though they stood with the slow match burning in their hands, could not bring themselves to touch them to the huge bronze cannon as the ugly little gunboat came fussing up the Zanzibar roads.

Black Joke had her yards manned with neatly uniformed seamen. A spectacular display, geometrical white ranks of men against the backdrop of tropical anvilheaded thunder-clouds.

Her officers were in c.o.c.ked hats and full ceremonial dress, uniform, swords, white gloves and white breeches, and as she made her turn into the inner harbour, Black Joke began firing her courtesy salute, which was a signal for most of the population to head for the hills, jamming the narrow alleyways of the old city with a lamenting torrent of refugees.

The Sultan himself fled his palace, and with most of his court took refuge in the British consulate, overlooking the harbour. I am not a coward, the Sultan explained bitterly to Sir John Bannerman, "but the Captain of that ship is a madman. Allah himself does not know what he will do next."

Sir John was a large man, of large appet.i.te. He possessed a n.o.ble belly like the glacis of a mediaeval castle and full mutton-chop whiskers around a florid face, but the clear intelligent eyes, and the wide friendly mouth of a man of humanity and humour. He was a noted oriental scholar, and had written books of travel and of religious and political appraisal of the East, as well as a dozen translations of minor Arabic poets.

He was also a confirmed opponent of the slave trade, for the Zanzibar markets were held in the square below the windows of his residence and from his bedroom terrace he could watch on any morning the slaving dhows unloading their pitiful cargoes on the stone wharf they called, with cruel humour, the "Pearl Gate'.

For seven years he had patiently negotiated a series of treaties with the Sultan, each one nipping a few more twigs off the flourishing growth which he detested, but found almost impossible to prune effectively, let alone root out entirely.

In all the Sultan's territories Sir John had absolute jurisdiction only over the community of Hindu traders on the island, for they were British subjects, and Sir John published a bulletin requiring them to free all their slaves forthwith, against a penalty of Si oo for non-compliance.

His bulletin made no mention of compensation, so the most influential of the merchants sent Sir John a defiance which was the Pushtu equivalent of "The h.e.l.l with you and your bulletins'.

Sir John, with his one good foot, personally kicked in the merchant's door, dragged him out from under his charpoy bed, dropped him to his knees with a fullblooded round-house punch, chained him around the neck and marched him through the city streets to the consulate and locked him in the wine cellar until the fine was paid and the slaves" manumission papers signed.

There had been no further defiance and no takers for the Hindu merchant's subsequent, privately circulated offer to pay another Sioo to anybody who would stick a knife between Sir John's ribs during one of his evening promenades through the old city. Thus it was that Sir John was still bluff and hale as he stood on his terrace puffing a cigar, his only indisposition was the gouty foot thrust into a carpet slipper. He watched the little black-hulled gunboat coming up the channel. She behaves like a flagship, he smiled indulgently, and beside him, Said the Sultan of Zanzibar, hissed like a faulty steam valve. El Sheetan! " His wrinkled turkey neck turned bright red with impotent anger, his bony nose beaked like that of an unhappy parrot. "He sails here, into my harbour, and my gunners stand by their cannons like dead men.

He who has beggared me, who has plunged my empire into ruins, what does he dare here? " The answer that Clinton "Tongs" Codrington would have given him was quite simple. He was carrying out to the letter the orders given him in Cape Town many months previously by Admiral Kemp, the Commander of the South Atlantic and Indian Ocean Squadron. You are further requested and required to take advantage of the first opportunity to call into the harbour of Zanzibar, where you will accord to his Royal Highness the Sultan of Omani full honours, while taking the advice of Her Majesty's Consul, Sir John Bannerman, as to reinforcing existing treaties between His Royal Highness and Her Britannic Majesty's Government."

Which, being translated, was an instruction to show the Union Jack against a background of thirty-two pounder cannons, and by doing so remind the Sultan of his commitments under the various treaties. To teach the naughty old beggar to mind his P's and Q's, " as Clinton explained cheerfully to Lieutenant Denham with a twirl of his new golden mustache. I would have thought, sir, that the lesson had already been given', Denham answered darkly. Not at all, Clinton demurred.

"The treaties with the new sultans on the mainland no longer affect the Zanzibar fellow. We still have to ginger this old boy up a little."

Sir John Bannerman limped up on to Black Joke's deck, favouring his gouty foot and c.o.c.ked a lively eye at the young naval officer who stepped forward to greet him.

Well, sir, you have been busy indeed, he murmured.

My G.o.d, the fellow was little more than a boy, a freshfaced youngster, despite the c.o.c.ked hat and mustache.

It was difficult to believe that he had created such havoc with this tiny ship.

They shook hands, and Bannerman found himself liking the boy, despite the turmoil that he brought into the Consul's normally tranquil existence.

A gla.s.s of madeira, sir? " Clinton suggested. d.a.m.ned decent of you, I must say."

In the small cabin, Bannerman mopped his streaming face, and came directly to business. By G.o.d, you've put the cat amongst the pigeons, he wagged his big head. I don't see. . . "Now, listen to me, Bannerman snapped, "and I'll explain to you the facts of life as they apply to eastern Africa in general, and Zanzibar in particular."

Half an hour later, Clinton had lost much of his newfound b.u.mptiousness.

What should we do? " he asked. Do? innerman asked. "What we do is take full advantage of the situation which you have precipitated, before these idiots in Whitehall come stumbling in. Thanks to you the Sultan is at last in a mood to sign the treaty I have been after for five years. I'll trade a handful of these utterly illegal, untenable treaties that you have made with non-existent states and mythical princes for one that will truss the old goat up the way I've wanted him for years. "Excuse me, Sir John, Clinton looked slightly perplexed, "from what, you said earlier, I understood that you heartily disapproved of my recent actions. "On the contrary, " Sir John grinned at him expansively, you have stirred my blood, and made me proud to be an Englishman again. I say, do you have a little more of the madeira? " He raised the gla.s.s to Clinton. "My hearty congratulations, Captain Codrington. I only wish that I could do something to save you from the fate that so certainly awaits you, once the Admiralty and Lord Palmerston catch up with you. " Sir John drank half the gla.s.s, smacked his lips, "Jolly good stuff, he nodded, set the gla.s.s aside and went on briskly, "Now, we have to work fast and get the Sultan to sign an iron-clad treaty, before Whitehall rushes in with apologies and protestations of good faith which will put to naught all the fine work you have done to date. Something tells me that won't be very long, he added lugubriously, and then more brightly, "You could have your ship's guns run out whilst we are ash.o.r.e. Do wear your sword. Oh, and one other thing, don't take your eyes off the old goat while I do the talking. There is already talk about your eyes, that extraordinary colour of blue, don't you know, and the Sultan has heard about them already. As you probably know, they now call you "El Sheetan" on this coast, and the Sultan is a man who sets great store by djinns and the occult."

Sir John's predictions as to the imminent arrival of tiding's from higher sources was almost clairvoyant, for as he spoke H. M. sloop Penguin, with urgent despatches on board for Sir John Bannerman, for the Sultan, and for Captain Codrington, was on a fair wind, which, if it held, would bring her into Zanzibar harbour within the next two days. Time was shorter than even Sir John believed.

With some trepidation, the Sultan had moved back into his palace. He had only half believed Sir John's a.s.surances, but, on the other hand, the palace was half a mile from the harbour where that evil black ship was displaying its formidable broadside of carronades, while the consulate was on the harbour front, or the front line of fire, depending on how one looked at it.

On Sir John's advice Clinton had come ash.o.r.e with a bodyguard of a dozen picked seamen, who could be trusted to resist the temptations of the old city's redlight area, the grog and the women that seamen dream of. It was dusk when the party plunged into the labyrinth of narrow alleys, where the balconies almost met overhead, led by Sir John who despite his game leg set a good pace, picking his way around heaps of noisome garbage and avoiding the puddles in the uneven paving that looked like a cold minestrone soup and smelled a great deal higher.

He chatted affably with Clinton, pointing out the various sites and buildings of interest, relating the island's history and giving a quick perceptive character-sketch of the Sultan and the more important men in his empire, including those unfortunate new princes who had signed Clinton's blank treaty forms. That's one thing, Sir John. I wouldn't want anything to happen to them, Clinton cut in for the first time. "I hope they won't be victimized for having, well, how can one say, for having seceded from the Sultan's empire-Torlom hope."

Sir John waggled his head. "Not one of them will be alive by Ramadan. The old goat has a nasty streak. "Couldn't we put a clause in the new treaty to protect them? "We could, but it would be a waste of paper and ink."

Sir John clapped his shoulder. "Your concern is misplaced. The finest collection of ruffians, rogues and a.s.sa.s.sins south of the equator, or north of it, for that matter. One of the side benefits of the whole business, getting rid of that lot. Old goat will have a lovely time, compensate him for the loss of face when he straps their heads or hands them the cup of datura tea. Ghastly death, datura. poisoning. Oh, by the way, you must look at these gates. " They had reached the front of the palace. One of the most magnificent examples of craftsmanship on the island."

The ma.s.sive teak doors were fifteen feet high, intricately carved, but in accordance with Moslem law the carvings depicted neither human nor animal figures.

They were the only impressive feature of the drab square building with its blank walls relieved by the wooden balconies high above street level, shuttered against the night air and the gaze of the curious.

The gates swung open at their approach, and the palace guards armed with ancient jezails were the first living beings they had seen since leaving the harbour. The city was still deserted, and cowering under the menace of Black Joke's guns.

Clinton noticed, since Sir John had mentioned it, that the guards averted their gaze as he pa.s.sed, one of them actually covering his face with the loose tail of his turban. So the business of the eyes was true. He was not sure whether to feel insulted or amused. You must see these. " Sir John stopped him in the cavernous ante-chamber lit with guttering oil lamps suspended in heavy bra.s.s chandeliers from a ceiling lost in the gloom. "The heaviest recorded specimens in the world, one of them over three-hundred-pounds weighc They were a pair of African elephant tusks, suspended on the stone wall with retaining bands of copper, two incredible curves of ancient ivory, as thick as a girl's waist, taller than a man could reach, with hardly any taper from hilt to b unt tip, , earning with the l.u.s.tre of precious porcelain.

, You have not hunted these beasts? " Clinton shook his head, he had never even seen one of them but the huge teeth impressed him none the less. Before my foot, I shot them in India and in Africa. No other sport to beat that, incredible animals. " He patted one of the tusks. "The Sultan killed this one when he was a young man, with a jezail! But there aren't any monsters like that around any more, more's the pity.

Come along, mustn't keep the old goat waiting."

They went on through half a dozen chambers, each of them Aladdin's caves of rare treasures, carved jade, beautifully worked ivory carvings, a palm tree and suspended moon, the symbol of Mohamed, in solid gold, carpets of silk and thread of gold and silver, a collection of fifty priceless Korans in silver and golden containers set with precious and semiprecious stones. Look at that shiner! Sir John stopped again, and pointed out a native cut diamond in the hilt of an Arabian scimitar.

The diamond was cushion-shaped and a little out of true, but burning with a weird blue and icy fire even in the semi-dark. "Legend says the sword was Saladin's I doubt it, but the stone is one hundred and fifty-five carats. I weighed it myself. " And then as he took Clinton's arm and stumped off again, "Old goat is rich as Croesus. He has been milking rupees out of the mainland for forty years, and his father for fifty years before that. Ten rupees for every slave, ten for every kilo of ivory, G.o.d knows how much for copra and gum-copal concessions."

Clinton saw instantly why Sir John called him the old goat. The resemblance was startlin& from the white, pointed beard and square yellow teeth to the mournful Roman nose and elongated ears.

He took one look at Clinton, catching his eye for a split part of a second, before he looked away hurriedly, blanching visibly, as he waved his two visitors to the piles of velvet and silk cushions. Keep the old beady eye on him, " Sir John counselled aside, "and don't eat anything! He indicated the display of sweetmeats and -sugared cakes on the bronze trays. "If they aren't poisoned, they'll probably turn your stomach anyway. It's going to be a long night."

The prediction was accurate, the talk went on hour after tedious hour, in flowing Arabic hyperbole and flowery diplomacy, that concealed the hard bargaining.

Clinton understood not a word. He forced himself not to fidget, though his b.u.t.tocks and legs soon lost all feeling from the unusual position on the cushions, yet he maintained a stern expression and kept his gaze fixed on the Sultan's wrinkled and whiskered visage. Sir John a.s.sured him later that it had helped greatly to shorten the negotiations, yet it seemed a hill round of eternity before Sir John and the Sultan were exchanging polite fixed smiles and deep bows of agreement.

There was a triumphant gleam in Sir John's eye, as he strode out of the palace, and he took Clinton's arm affectionately. Whatever happens to you, my dear fellow, generations unborn will have reason to bless your name. We have done it, you and I. The old goat has agreed. The trade will wither and die out within the next few years now."

On the walk back through the narrow streets, Sir John was as lively and cheerful as a man returning from a convivial party rather than the bargaining table. His servants were still waiting his coming, and all the lamps in the consulate were burning.

Clinton would have liked immediately to go back aboard his ship, but Sir John restrained him with an arm about his shoulder, as he called for his Hindu butler to bring champagne. On the silver tray with the green bottle and crystal gla.s.ses was a small package in st.i.tched and sealed canvas. While the uniformed butler poured the champagne, Sir John handed Clinton the package. This came in earlier on a trading dhow. I did not have the opportunity to deliver it to you before we left for the palace."

Clinton accepted it warily, and read the addressCaptain Clinton Codrington, Officer Commanding Her Majesty's Ship Black Joke. Please forward to H. M.

Consul at Zanzibar to await collection."

The address was repeated in French, and Clinton felt a quick thrill kindle his blood as he recognized the bold round script in which the package was addressed. It took an effort to restrain himself from ripping the package open immediately.

However, Sir John was handing him a gla.s.s of wine, and Clinton suffered through the toasts, the loyal toast to the Queen, and that ironical one to the Sultan and the new treaty, before he blurted out, "Excuse me, Sir John, I believe this to be a communication of importance, and the Consul waved him into his study and closed the door after him to give Clinton privacy.

On the leather top of the marquetry desk, Clinton slit the seals and st.i.tching of the package with a silver knife from the Consul's desk set. From it fell a thick sheaf of closely written notepaper, and a woman's earring of paste and silver, the twin to the one that Clinton wore under his shirt against his chest.