Текст книги "Cry Wolf"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

Соавторы: Wilbur Smith
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

world."

aW hat does it mean?"

"Nob Xegidmi carborundum?" Gareth grinned again as he lit the

cheroots. "It means, "Don't let the bastards grind you down"." One at

a time, they brought the other three cars down into the ravine, and

hitched them up to the vehicle on the far bank. Then with

Vicky driving, Gareth towing, and Jake and Gregorius shoving, they

hauled them up on to the level, sunbaked soil of Ethiopia. It was late

afternoon when at last they fell panting in the long shadow thrown by

Miss Wobbly's chassis, to rest and smoke and drink steaming mugs of

hastily brewed tea. Gregorius told them: "No more obstacles ahead of

us now. It's open ground all the way to the Wells," and then he smiled

at the three of them with white teeth in a smooth honey-coloured

face.

"Welcome to Ethiopia!"

"Quite frankly, old -chap, I'd much prefer to be sitting at Harry's Bar

in the rue Daunou," said Gareth soberly which is exactly what I will be

doing not long after Toffee Sagud presses a purse of gold into my

milk-white hand." Jake stood up suddenly and peered out into the

dancing heat waves that still poured from the hot earth like swirling

liquid. Then he ran quickly across to his own car and leapt up into

the turret, emerging seconds later with his binoculars.

The others stood up uneasily and watched him focus the glasses.

"Rider," said Jake.

"How many? "Gareth demanded.

"Just the one. Coming this way fast. "Gareth moved across to fetch

the Lee-Enfield and work a cartridge into the breech.

They saw him now, galloping through the dizzy heat mirage, so that at

one moment horse and rider seemed to float free of the earth, and then

sink back and swell miraculously, growing to elephantine proportions in

the heat-tortured air. Dust drifted behind the running horse and it

was only at close range that the rider came into crisp focus.

Gregorius let out a bellow like a rutting stag and raced out into the

sunshine to meet the newcomer. In a brilliant display of horsemanship

the rider reined in the big white stallion so abruptly that he plunged

and reared, cutting at the air with his fore hooves

With white robes billowing, he flung himself from the horse, and into

Gregorius's widespread arms.

The two figures joined together rapturously, the stranger suddenly

seeming small and delicate in Gregorius's arms, and the cries of

laughter and greeting high and birdlike.

Then hand in hand, looking into each other's faces, they came back to

the group that waited by the cars.

"My God, it's another girl," said Gareth with amazement, setting the

loaded rifle aside, and they all stared at the slim, dark-eyed child in

her late teens with a skin like dusky silk and immense dark eyes

fringed with long curling lashes.

"May I introduce Sara Sagud?" asked Gregorius. "She is my cousin, my

uncle's youngest daughter, and she is also without doubt the prettiest

lady in Ethiopia."

"I see what you mean," said Gareth. "Very decorative indeed." As

Gregorius, introduced each of them to her by name, the girl smiled at

them, and the long aristocratic face with the serenity of an Egyptian

princess, the delicate features and chiselled nose of a Nefertiti,

changed instantly to a sparkling childlike mischievousness.

"I knew you must cross the Awash here, it is the only place and

I came to meet you."

"She speaks English also," Gregorius pointed out proudly.

"My grandfather insists that all his children and his grand.

children learn to speak English. He is a great lover of the

English."

"You speak it well," Vicky congratulated Sara, although in fact her

English was heavily accented, and the girl turned to her,

smiling anew.

"The sisters at the convent of the Sacred Heart in Berbera taught me,"

she explained, and she examined Vicky with frank and unabashed

admiration. "You are very beautiful, Miss Camberwell, your hair is the

colour of the winter grass in the highlands," and Vicky's usual

composure was rocked.

She blushed faintly and laughed, but Sara's attention had flicked away

to the armoured cars.

"Ah, they also are beautiful nobody has spoken of anything else,

since they heard these were coming." She hoisted the skirts of her

robe up over her tight-fitting embroidered breeches, and hopped agilely

up on to the steel body of Miss Wobbly. "With these we shall throw

the

Italians back into the sea. Nothing can stand before the courage of

our warriors and these fine war machines." She flung her arms wide in

a dramatic gesture and then turned.

to Jake and Gareth. "I am honoured to be the first of all my people to

thank you."

"Don't mention it, my dear girl," Gareth murmured, "our pleasure, I

assure you." He refrained from asking if her father had remembered to

bring the cash with him, but asked instead,

"aAre your people waiting for us at the Wells?"

"my grandfather has come with my father and all my uncles. His

personal guard is with him, and many hundreds of others of the Harari,

together with their women and animals."

"My God," growled Jake "It sounds like a helluva reception committee."

They camped that last night of the journey on the bank of the Awash

under the spreading umbrella branches of a camel thorn tree, sitting

late and talking in the ruddy flickering glow of the fire, secure

within the square fort formed by the four hulking steel vehicles. At

last the talk died away into a weary but friendly silence, and Vicky

stood up.

"A short walk for me, and then bed." Sara stood with her. "I'll come

with you." Her fascination with and admiration for Vicky was

increasingly apparent, and she followed her out of the laager like a

faithful puppy.

Away from the camp, they squatted side by side in companionable fashion

under a night sky splendid with star shot, and Sara told Vicky

seriously, "They both desire you greatly Jake and Gareth." Vicky

laughed awkwardly again, once more discomposed by the girl's direct

manner.

"Oh, come now."

"Oh yes, when you come near them, they are like two dogs, all stiff and

walking around each other as though they will sniff each other up the

tail." Sara giggled, and Vicky had to smile with her.

"Which one will you choose, Miss Camberwell?" Sara demanded.

"Lardy, do I have to? "Vicky was still smiling.

"Oh no," Sara reassured her. "You can make love with both of them. I

would do so."

"You would? "Vicky asked.

"Yes, I would. What other way can you tell which one you like best?"

"That's true." Vicky was becoming breathless with suppressed laughter,

but fascinated by this bit of logic. The idea had a certain appeal,

she admitted to herself.

"I will make love with twenty men before I marry Gregorius. That way I

will be sure I have missed nothing, and I will not regret it when

I am old," declared the girl.

"Why twenty, Sara?" Vicky tried to keep her voice as serious as the

girl's. "Why not twenty-three or twenty-six?" Oh no," said Sara

primly. "I would not want people to think me a loose woman," and Vicky

could hold her laughter no longer.

"But you-" Sara returned to the immediate problem.

"Which of them will you try first?"

"You pick for me," Vicky invited.

"It is difficult," Sara admitted. "One is very strong and has much

warmth in his heart, the other is very beautiful and will have much

skill." She shook her head and sighed. "It is very difficult.

No, I cannot choose for you. I can only wish you much joy." The

conversation had disturbed Vicky more than she realized, and

although-she was exhausted by the long hard driven day, she could not

sleep, but lay restlessly under a single blanket on the hard sun-warmed

earth, considering the wicked and barely thinkable thoughts that the

girl had sown in her mind. So it was that she was still awake when

Sara rose from beside her and, silently as a wraith, crossed the laager

to where Gregorius lay. The girl had discarded the robe and wore only

the skintight velvet breeches, encrusted with silver embroidery. Her

body was slim and Polished as ebony in the light of the stars and the

new moon. She had small high breasts and a narrow moulded waist. She

stooped over Gregorius and instantly he rose, and hand in hand,

carrying their blankets, the pair slipped out of the laager, leaving

Vicky more disturbed than ever. She is of the desert. Once she lay

and listened to the night sound thought she heard the soft cry of a

human voice in the darkness, but it may have been only the plaintive

yelp of a Jackal. The two young Ethiopians had not returned by the

time Vicky at last fell asleep.

The radio message that Count Aldo Belli received from General De

Bono on the seventh day after leaving Asmara caused him much pain and

outrage.

"The man addresses me as an inferior," he protested to his officers. He

shook the yellow sheet from the message pad angrily before reading in a

choked voice, "I hereby directly order you"." He shook his head in

mock disbelief "No "request", no "if you please", you notice." He

crumpled the message sheet and hurled it against the canvas wall of the

headquarters tent and began pacing in a magisterial manner back and

forth, with one hand on the butt of his pistol and the other on the

handle of his dagger.

"It seems he does not understand my messages. It seems that I

must explain my position in person He thought about this with

burgeoning enthusiasm. The discomfort of the drive back to Asmara

would be greatly reduced by the superb upholstery and suspension

designed by Messrs Rolls and Royce and would be more than adequietely

offset by the quasi-civilized amenities of the town. A marble bath,

clean laundry, cool rooms with high ceilings and electric fans, the

latest newspapers from Rome, the company of the dear and kind young

hostesses at the casino all this was suddenly immensely attractive.

Furthermore, it would be an opportunity to supervise the curing and

packaging of the hunting trophies he had so far accumulated. He was

anxious that the lion skins were correctly handled and the numerous

bullet holes were properly patched. The further prospect of reminding

the General of his background, upbringing and political expendability

also had much appeal.

"Gino," he bellowed abruptly, and the Sergeant dashed into the tent,

automatically focusing his camera.

"Not now! Not now!" The Count waved the camera aside testily.

"We are going back to Asmara for conference with the General. Inform

my driver accordingly." Twenty-four hours later, the Count returned

from Asmara in a mood of bile and thunder. The interview with

General

De Bono had been one of the low points in the Count's entire life. He

had not believed that the General was serious in his threat to remove

him from his command and pack him off ignobly back to Rome until the

General had actually begun dictating the order to his smirking aide

de-camp, Captain Crespi.

The threat still hung over the Count's handsome curly head. He had

just twelve hours to reach and secure the Wells of Chaldi or a

second-class cabin on the troopship GaribaLdi, sailing five days later

from Massawa for Napoli, had been reserved for him by the General.

Count Aldo Belli had sent a long and eloquent cable to Benito

Mussolini, describing the General's atrocious behaviour, and had

returned in high pique to his battalion completely unaware that the

General had anticipated his cable, intercepted it and quietly

suppressed it.

Major Castelani did not take the order to advance seriously,

expecting at any moment the counter-order to be given, so it was with a

sense of disbelief and rising jubilation that he found himself actually

aboard the leading truck, grinding the last dusty miles through rolling

landscape towards the setting sun and the Wells of Chaldi.

The heavy rainfall precipitated by the bulk of the Ethiopian massif was

shed from the high ground by millions of cascades and runners,

pouring down into the valleys and the lowlands. The greater bulk of

this surface water found its devious way at last into the great

drainage system of the Sud marshes and from there into the Nile

River,

flowing northwards into Egypt and the Mediterranean Sea.

A smaller portion of the water found its way into blind rivers like the

Awash, or simply streamed down and sank Without trace in the soft sandy

soils of the savannah and desert.

One set of exceptional geological circumstances that altered this

general rule was the impervious sheet of schist that stretched out from

the foot of the mountains and ran in a shallow saucer below the red

earth of the plain. Runoff water from the highlands was contained and

channelled by this layer, and formed a long narrow underground

reservoir stretching out like a finger from the base of the Sardi

Gorge, sixty miles into the dry hot savannah.

Closer to the mountains, the water ran deep, hundreds of feet below the

earth's surface, but farther out, the slope of the land combined with

the raised lip of the schist layer forced the water up to within

forty-five feet of the surface.

Thousands of years ago the area had been the grazing grounds of large

concentrations of wild elephant. These indefatigable borers for water

had detected the presence of this subterranean lake. With tusk and

hoof they had dug down and reached the surface of the water.

Hunters had long since exterminated the elephant herds, but their wells

had been kept open by other animals, wild ass, oryx, camel, and, of

course, by man who had annihilated the elephant.

Now the wells, a dozen or more in an area of two or three square miles,

were deep excavations into the bloodred earth. The sides of the wells

were tiered by narrow worn paths that wound down so steeply that

sunlight seldom penetrated to the level of the water.

The water itself was highly mineralized, so that it had a milky green

appearance and a rank metallic taste, but nevertheless it had supported

vast quantities of life over the centuries. And the vegetation in the

area, with its developed root systems, drew sustenance from the deep

water and grew more densely and greenly than anywhere else on the dry

bleak savannah.

Beyond the wells, in the direction of the mountains, was an area of

confused broken ground, steep but shallow wadis and square hillocks so

low as to be virtually only mounds of dense red laterite. Over the

ages, the shepherds and hunters who frequented the wells had burrowed

into the sides of ravine and hillock, so that they were now honeycombed

with caves and tunnels.

It was as though nature had declared a peace upon the wells. Here man

and animal came together in wary truce that was seldom violated.

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

and, before Gareth could avoid it, enfolded him in an embrace that was

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

returning from Moscow. Aldo Belli had not yet recovered from the shock

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 glanced 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