Cry Wolf Part 13

"And now there comes a powerful enemy to challenge our rights as free men. An enemy so powerful, armed with such terrible weapons, that even the hearts of the warriors of Tigre and Shoo shrivelled in their b.r.e.a.s.t.s like diseased fruit." The old Ras was panting now, and a scanty sweat trickled from under the tall lion headdress and ran down the wrinkled black cheeks.

"But now, my children, powerful friends have come to stand beside us. They have brought to us weapons as powerful as those of our enemies. No longer must we fear." Jake realized suddenly what pathetic store the Ras had placed in the worn and obsolete war materials they had brought him. He talked now of meeting the mighty armies of Italy on even terms.

Abruptly, Jake felt a choking sense of guilt. He knew that a week after he left, the four armoured cars would be piles of junk. There was no man in all the Ras's following who could keep their elderly and temperamental engines running.

Even if they were brought into action before the engines expired, they would present a threat only to unsupported infantry. The moment they engaged with Italian armour they would be instantly and hopelessly out-cla.s.sed. Even the light Italian CV.3 tanks would be immune to the fire of the Vickers guns that the cars mounted, while in return the thin steel of the cars would offer no protection from the 50 men.

armour-piercing sh.e.l.l that the enemy fired. There would be no one to explain all this to the Ras and teach him how to achieve the best from the puny weapons he commanded.

Jake visualized the first and probably the last battle that Ras Golam would fight. Scorning manoeuvre and strategy, he would certainly throw in all his force armoured cars, Vickers machine guns, obsolete rifles and swords in a single frontal attack. This was the way he had fought all his battles and the way he would fight the last.

Jake Barton felt his heart go out to the gallant ancient, who stood now shouting a challenge to a modern military power, prepared to defend to the death what was his and Jake felt a curious sense of recklessness. It was a reaction that he knew well and usually it led him into positions of acute discomfort and danger.

"Forget it," he told himself firmly. "It's their war. Take the money and run. "Then suddenly he looked across the dimly lit cave to where Vicky Camberwell sat. She listened to the old Ras with misty eyes, and her expression was enchanted as she leaned her golden head close to the dark curly head of Sara Sagud, not wanting to miss a word of the translation.

Now she saw Jake watching her, and she smiled and nodded vehemently almost as though she had read his doubts.

"Leave Vicky also?" Jake wondered. "Leave them all and run with the gold?" He knew that nothing would induce Vicky to leave with them.

For her the story was here, her involvement was complete, and she would stay to the end the inevitable end.

The smart thing was to go, the dumb thin to stay and fight another man's war that was already lost before it had begun; the dumb thing was to stake twenty thousand dollars which was his share of the profits, and all his future plans, the Barton engine, and the factory to build it, against the remote chance of winning a lady who promised to be a lifetime of trouble once she was won.

never was a dab hand at doing the smart thing," Jake thought ruefully, and smiled back at Vicky.

The Ras was suddenly silent, panting with the force of his feelings and the effort of voicing them. His listeners were mesmerized also, staring at the thin-robed figure with its wild lion wig.

The Ras made a commanding gesture and one of his guards handed him the broad two-handed sword, its blade long and naked. The Ras leaned his weight upon it and commanded again, and they carried in the war drums. The Ras's ceremonial drums, pa.s.sed down to him by his father and his father before him, drums that had beaten at Magdala against Napier, at Adowa against the Italians and at a hundred other battles.

They were as tall as a man's shoulder, elaborately carved of hardwood and covered with rawhide, and the drummers took up their stance with the barrels of their drums held between their knees.

The drum with the deepest ba.s.s tone set the rhythm and the lesser drums joined in with the variations and counterpoints, a chorus that arred a man's gut and loosened his brain in his skull.

The old Ras listened to it with his head bowed over the sword, until the rhythm took a hold on him and his shoulders began to jerk and his head came up. With a leap like a white bird taking flight, he landed in the open s.p.a.ce before the drummers. The great sword whirled high above his head, and he began to dance.

Gareth took Mikhael Sagud by the sleeve and lifted his voice in compet.i.tion with the drums, and resumed at the point where he had been interrupted.

"Toffee, you were telling me about the money." Jake heard him and leaned across to catch the Prince's reply, but the Prince was silent, watching his father leap and twirl in the intricate and acrobatic dance.

"We have delivered the goods, old chap. And a deal is a deal."

"fifteen thousand sovereigns," said the Prince thoughtfully.

"That's the exact figure, "Gareth agreed.

"A dangerous sum of money," murmured the PPrince.

"Men have been killed for much less." And they made no reply.

"I think of your safety, of course," the Prince went on.

"Your safety, and my country's chances of survival. Without an engineer to maintain the cars, and a soldier to teach my men to use the new weapons we will have wasted fifteen thousand sovereigns."

"I feel very badly for you," Gareth a.s.sured him. "I'll eat my heart 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 a.s.sure 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 ba.s.s drummers, and then turn a grotesque flapping pirouette.

"G.o.d!" 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 a.s.sure you but post-dated six months ahead. Valid on the first of February next year." The two white men examined the doc.u.ments 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 G.o.d, 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 pa.s.sed 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 c.o.c.ked 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 pa.s.senger.

The Count was not at all pleased to see the bulky figure of his Major come hurrying out of the darkness with that unmistakable swaggering 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 antic.i.p.ated 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 a.s.sault." 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 a.s.sembled to watch this exhibition of agility as the Count and Castelani jumped backwards and forwards like a pair of game c.o.c.ks 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 mult.i.tudinous 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.s 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 succ.u.mbing 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.

Only the hardened few still ate and drank, argued and sang, or sat in 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 first 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.