Cry Wolf - Smith Wilbur - Страница 38
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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
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