by Wilbur Smith
Her hair had been woven into braids that lay close to her scalp and over them she placed a headpiece formed of two finely worked strands of pearls and gold beads. One ran horizontally around her head and was linked to the other that ran from back to front, over the top of her head. A small gold and pearl brooch that matched her earrings lay at the centre of her forehead, just below her hairline, attached to both strands and holding them both in place. Finally Judith draped a shawl of white linen gauze over her head and across her shoulders as a mark of modesty. In private, she was willing to play the concubine, but in public, at least, her reputation would remain unsullied.
She rode in a carriage to the port of Mitsiwa, escorted by a troop of the emperor’s mounted guard, all dressed in their finest ceremonial uniforms, with pennants bearing the lion of Ethiopia fluttering from their lances. The carriage halted by the dockside and the guard was immediately called upon to form a perimeter around it as a flock of locals rushed to cast eyes on their nation’s heroine, scarcely able to believe that the great Judith Nazet, who had become a figure of almost mythical glory in their eyes, could possibly be here, in person amongst them. One of the guardsmen dismounted and walked to the carriage door. He opened it and pulled down a set of steps. Then he stood back, so that all could see Judith as she emerged from within.
At the very last moment, partly because she had anticipated that her arrival might draw a crowd, and partly because she wanted to give her people a reminder of the glorious victory in which they could all take pride – for many of the men had been in the army she commanded – Judith had decided to wear the sash bearing her many honours. As she stepped out into the open, the dazzling, mid-morning sunlight shone down upon her, and upon the gold, pearls, jewels and brightly enamelled and beribboned medals and awards with which she was adorned so that she seemed to sparkle and glow more like a goddess than a mortal woman. A sound rose from the crowd, less a cheer than an awed gasp. But though she smiled and waved to the people, Judith’s eyes and her heart were given to one man only.
Hal Courtney stood waiting for her at the foot of the steps. Though he was the captain of a fighting ship, he wore no badge of rank. Though he, too, was entitled to call himself a member of the Order of the Golden Lion of Ethiopia, and held the rank of a Nautonnier Knight of the Temple of the Order of St George and the Holy Grail – the band of navigators whose origins lay in the medieval Knights Templar, to which he, like his father before him, belonged – he bore no medals nor badges of honour. Instead he stood there before her, with his hair tied back with a plain black ribbon, wearing a freshly laundered white shirt, loosely tucked into his black breeches and open at the neck. The gleaming fabric billowed a little in the gentle breeze, giving occasional hints of the lean, strongly muscled torso beneath it. At Hal’s hip hung his sword, a blade of Toledo steel, below a hilt of gold and silver, with a large star sapphire on its pommel that had been given to Hal’s great-grandfather by the greatest of all Elizabethan admirals, Sir Francis Drake himself.
As she looked at her man, so filled with strength, and confidence and vigour, his face, which had looked almost stern as she first caught sight of it, broke into a grin filled with boyish glee, enthusiasm and unabashed desire.
Judith had stood firm in the heat of battle. She had held her own in the council chamber against men twice or even three times her age, who towered over her in both physical stature and hard-won reputation. Neither they, nor her enemies, had ever intimidated her. And yet now, in the presence of Hal Courtney, she felt her legs weaken beneath her, her breath quicken and she was suddenly seized by such a feeling of light-headedness that if he had not stepped forward to take her in his arms, she might easily have fallen. She let him hold her for a second, letting herself enjoy the delicious sense of helplessness, barely hearing the cheers of the crowd, or even the words that Hal was saying over the beating of her heart.
She was dimly aware that he was leading her through the mass of delirious townspeople, with guardsmen up ahead of them using their horses to force a path down to the jetty. She heard cheers for ‘El Tazar’ – the Barracuda – for that was the name by which Hal had come to be known as he preyed upon their enemy’s shipping. Then she held Hal’s hand as he guided her down the stone steps and said, ‘Be careful now, my darling,’ as she stepped onto the Golden Bough’s pinnace, an armed launch whose single sail was furled, though there was a man at every one of her eight oars and Big Daniel Fisher, Hal’s senior coxswain, was standing at the rudder.
‘Welcome aboard, ma’am,’ Big Daniel said. ‘I hope you won’t think me forward or nothing, but you’re the prettiest sight any of us have clapped eyes on in a very long time.’
‘Thank you, Daniel,’ said Judith with a happy little laugh. ‘I don’t think that’s forward at all.’ She looked around the boat and then asked Hal, ‘Where’s Aboli? I can’t believe he’d let you out of his sight on an occasion like this.’
Hal gave a huge shrug, throwing his hands up as if to suggest complete bafflement and with an exaggerated look of wide-eyed innocence replied, ‘I don’t have a clue where he’s got to. You seen him, Daniel?’
‘No, sir, can’t say as I have.’
‘Anyone?’
The crewmen shook their heads in a pantomime of ignorance and said no, they didn’t know either. It was obvious that they were up to something, but Judith was happy to play along with the game. ‘Well, I am sorry not to see him,’ she said, and then settled herself on a bench next to Hal as he ordered, ‘Cast off and take us back to the ship, please, cox’n.’
‘Aye-aye, sir,’ said Big Daniel who started barking out orders to the oarsmen to back them away from the jetty, before he swung the pinnace around and set a course to the Golden Bough which lay on the water, a couple of hundred yards or so ahead of them.
‘She looks beautiful,’ said Judith, watching Hal look towards his ship and knowing the pride that he took in her.
‘Well, the men and I did a bit of cleaning and tidying up,’ said Hal, nonchalantly.
‘Had us working our fingers to the bone, night and day for a week, more like, ma’am,’ Daniel observed.
‘Poor Daniel, I hope he wasn’t too much of a hard taskmaster,’ said Judith.
‘Oh you know what Captain Courtney’s like, ma’am. Takes after his father, so he does, likes to run a tight ship.’
The words were almost thrown away, but Judith knew Hal well enough to realize that Daniel could not have paid him a higher compliment and she gave his hand a squeeze to signal that she heard and understood it. As they drew close to the Golden Bough, Daniel ordered the men to stop rowing and ship their blades. As one, the oars were raised into a vertical position and the pinnace was brought to rest with just the lightest of touches against the larger ship. Lines were thrown down from the deck above and made fast against the pinnace’s cleats. A net was hanging down the Bough’s hull to enable those in the pinnace to climb up to the deck. Judith stood and took a pace towards the net, but Hal gently held her arm to stop her and shouted up.
‘Lower the swing, lads, nice and gently if you please.’
Judith looked up and saw a boom hanging over the side of the ship.
‘We use it to bring supplies aboard,’ said Hal. ‘But I thought we could put it to a better purpose today.’
The boom was garlanded in a profusion of vividly coloured flowers, like a horizontal, tropical maypole. From it there hung a canvas sling that had been decorated with coloured ribbons, signal flags and anything else the men could find to make it look jolly. The sling was lowered down to the pinnace and Hal helped Judith sit on it, as if on a garden swing.
‘Make sure she’s safe and sound,’ he ordered Daniel, then pecked Judith on the cheek and said, ‘I’ll see you on deck, my darling.’
Hal leaped onto the net and started clambering up it with what looked to Judith like the speed and agility of a monkey up a tree. She giggled at the thought, then held on tight to the sling as Daniel shouted, ‘Haul away!’ and s
he was lifted up into the air. By now all trace of the warrior General Nazet had disappeared and Judith was simply a young woman in love, having the time of her life. She gave a little squeal of alarm and excitement as she rose up through the air, watching Hal come to the top of the net and then spring onto the deck where he stood, surrounded by the ship’s company.
‘Three cheers for the captain’s lady!’ shouted the Bough’s veteran helmsman Ned Tyler. ‘Hip-hip!’
A great cheer rang out as Judith appeared on her swing, several feet above the level of the deck.
‘Hooray!’ the men cried, waving their hats in the air as the boom swung her over their heads.
As the second cheer rang out she was lowered to a patch of deck that had been cleared to receive her. As Ned Tyler gave the third ‘Hip-hip!’, Judith let go of the sling and jumped the last few feet to the bare wood, landing with the grace and agility of an acrobat, and as she found herself again in Hal’s arms the third cheer echoed around them and grew even longer and louder as he gave her a single, all-too-short kiss whose burning intensity filled her with a thrilling sense of anticipation of what would follow that night, and a terrible frustration that she would have to wait so long.
Hal pulled himself away and said, ‘You were asking after Aboli. Perhaps this will enlighten you.’
He shouted a few words in a tongue that Judith knew was African, but could not comprehend. A few seconds later there came the reply, a loud keening cry that she instantly recognized as the start of a chant. It was answered by a mass of deep, masculine voices grunting, ‘Huh!’, followed immediately by feet stamping the deck as one. The first voice continued with the chant and, as it did, the sailors fell back to either side so that the deck in front of Judith emptied and there before her came a sight that thrilled her heart almost as much as the feel of Hal’s arms around her.
Aboli stood on the bare planking. On his head he wore a tall headdress of white crane’s feathers that seemed to increase his already magnificent height so that he resembled a giant or a jungle god rather than a mortal man. In his hand he carried a broad-bladed stabbing spear and around his neck there was a kilt of leopard’s tails.
Behind him came the Amadoda, men of his tribe who had been recruited to serve on the Golden Bough and who had swiftly proven to be as powerful and deadly at sea as they had been in the forests and open savannah that was their native land. They, too, wore crane-feather headdresses, though none was as tall or as splendid as Aboli’s, for he was their chief.
Forward they came, their voices joining with his in rich, sonorous harmonies that proclaimed their valour, their comradeship and their willingness to die for their cause. All around, the rest of the crew looked on in slack-jawed amazement, for they had never seen the Amadoda like this, in all their glory. The men came forward until they were just a few paces from Judith and Hal and their song, their foot-stamps, their grunts and their perfectly co-ordinated movements combined in a way that was part dance, part military drill and part sheer celebration of the joy and pride of being a true warrior.
Their song finished and all around burst into applause, none more than Judith, for she, too, was a daughter of Africa and even though the words they sang were not known to her, she understood the spirit in which they were sung completely. Then Aboli stepped towards her. With courtly dignity he removed his headdress and placed it on the deck beside him. Then he got down on one knee, reached out and took Judith’s right hand in his, lowered his head and kissed her hand.
It was the tribute of a born aristocrat to his queen. Judith was all but overcome with the magnificence of his gesture and as he rose to his feet again, she kept hold of his hand and said, ‘Thank you, Aboli. Thank you with all my heart,’ for she knew that he had pledged himself to her and that she could count on him, absolutely, forever.
Hal was next to take Aboli’s hand. ‘Thank you, old friend. That was magnificent.’
Aboli smiled. ‘I am a prince of the Amadoda. What else could it be?’
And so the festivities began. As morning gave way to afternoon, and afternoon to evening, food was eaten, and drink consumed, then the crew’s musicians got out their fiddles, pipes and drums and the singing and dancing began. Judith let Hal lead her out to the floor and they improvised a combination of reel and jig that seemed to match the band’s seafaring tunes well enough. Some of the native cooks and serving girls also found themselves pressed into service on the dancefloor, though Hal had made it very clear indeed that no liberties were to be taken and that any man found to have forced himself on a woman could expect a taste of the lash. Finally, as the sun went down, Hal stood on the steps leading up to the poop deck, looked out over the revellers and called for silence.
‘Right, you drunken scoundrels,’ he shouted, sounding less than entirely sober himself, ‘I have a few words to say to you all.’
He was greeted by shouts of encouragement and a few good-humoured catcalls. ‘Now, my name – my proper, formal name – is Sir Henry Courtney.’
‘It’s all right, skipper, we know who you are!’ a wag called out.
‘Good, because there’s a reason I said that, which will soon become clear. But first, let me say this: tomorrow we set sail for England!’
A huge roar of approval arose from the Anglo-Saxon contingent of the crew. ‘Of course,’ Hal went on, ‘those members of the ship’s company whose homeland lies here in Africa will be free to return to their homes. But not before we have completed one last task.
‘As many of you know, my father, Sir Francis Courtney, along with the help of many of you here, captured many ships, sailing under Dutch and other flags—’
‘Damn cheese-heads!’ someone shouted, to great approval from his mates.
‘—and from these prizes he took a very large amount of gold, silver and other valuables. We are going to go and recover that treasure and all of you – every last one – will get his share, fair and square, according to his length of service and seniority. And I can promise …’ Hal had to raise his voice over the babble of cheers and excited chatter, ‘that not a man-jack of you will walk away with less than fifty pounds, at the very least!’
Hal grinned at the cheers his promise provoked, then raised his hand for silence again. ‘You all fully deserve your reward. No man could ask for better, braver, more loyal crewmates than you have been to me. You’ve proved your worth as sailors and fighters a hundred times over. You have pledged yourselves to me and now I make this pledge to you. I am going to lead you back home and give you all you need to lead a fine life when you get there. But first, gentlemen, I wish to propose a toast. Would you please raise your glasses to the woman that I will be taking back to my home, there to become my wife, my beloved Judith. Men, I give you: the future Lady Courtney!’
When the toast had been drunk, along with several more proposed from various members of the crew, Hal and Judith were finally free to retire together to his quarters. Being the creation of a wealthy aristocrat, the Golden Bough did not lack for creature comforts. There was not a battleship in the Royal Navy that housed its skipper more comfortably than the cabin provided for the Bough’s master. An elegantly carved desk provided the perfect place for the captain to keep his logbook up to date, while fine Persian carpets were enough to make guests feel that they were in the drawing room of a gentlemanly country house or London pied-à-terre, rather than the lower deck of an ocean-going sailing ship.
‘I have made one significant improvement to our sleeping arrangements since you last sailed on the Bough,’ said Hal as he paused outside the door to his cabin. ‘It kept the ship’s carpenter busy for a good week. Now, close your eyes …’
Judith did as she was told as Hal opened the cabin door then took her hand and led her into his personal domain. She took a few more blind steps until he said, ‘Stop!’ and a moment later, ‘You can open your eyes now.’
Before her hung a sleeping cot, but this was twice the width of a normal berth and hung from four hooks instead of the usual two
. Diaphanous white gauze curtains were gathered round the ropes on each corner, and a coverlet of silk damask whose pale grey and silver pattern glimmered in the light from the stern windows lay over sheets and pillows of finest Egyptian cotton.
‘Hal, it’s so beautiful,’ Judith gasped.
‘I found the linen aboard a dhow we captured,’ Hal said with a grin. ‘The captain said it was bound for a sheikh’s harem. I told him I had a better use for it.’
‘Oh, really?’ said Judith, teasingly. ‘And what use in particular did you have in—’
She never had the chance to finish her question, for Hal simply picked her up and deposited her on the silken bedcover, thinking how wise he had been to make the carpenter test the hooks from which the cot was suspended to make sure they could handle any conceivable strain.
hen the Buzzard had first sailed north to seek his fortune in the service of the Arab invasion of Ethiopia, caring not a jot for the religious or political issues at stake but choosing the side he believed most likely to pay him best, he barely spoke a word of Arabic. He considered it an ugly tongue, one beneath his dignity. He soon realized, however, that his ignorance was a great disadvantage since men around him could converse without him having the first idea what they were saying. So he began to study the language. His endeavours had continued during his convalescence so that it was now no difficulty for him to comprehend the Maharajah Sadiq Khan Jahan when the latter said, ‘I must congratulate you, your lordship, on your remarkable recovery. I confess, I had not believed you would ever rise from your bed. But now just look at you.’
In his pomp, the Buzzard had been a master of sly condescension and insincere compliments and he was not inclined to believe that the haughty figure before him meant a single one of his honeyed words. The contrast between the Indian prince in his silk and gold-threaded finery, dripping with more jewels than a king’s mistress, and the Buzzard, a decrepit, one-armed Caliban, with his skin like pork crackling and a face uglier than any gargoyle ever sculpted was simply too great to be bridged by words. But the Buzzard was a beggar and could not afford to be a chooser, so he gave a little nod of his head and wheezed, ‘You’re too kind, your royal highness.’