Golden Lion

by Wilbur Smith

  The whole manic performance was so absurd that it broke the tension in the room and around the room the usual pattern of conversation, banter and furious insults resumed. After a while, the cockfights began and the saloon thinned out as patrons went outside to see the slaughter. The Buzzard and Captain Benbury were therefore left to talk in peace.

  For the next few minutes, the Buzzard ran through the story of his survival, rescue and recruitment by Prince Jahan. He described his role in the best possible light, emphasizing the degree to which his training had restored his ability to fight and giving a leering account of the concubines he had encountered in the prince’s harem.

  ‘Is that so?’ Benbury said, after the Buzzard had described the experience of coming face-to-face and body-to-body with the prince’s favourite bedmate. ‘I always heard that the only men let into these sultans’ harems, apart from the sultans themselves, were all eunuchs. I must have been misinformed. I mean, you’re not a eunuch, are you, Cochran?’

  The Buzzard fiercely denied such a preposterous suggestion and said that this was a sign of the prince’s special favour. ‘Aye, that’ll be it,’ Benbury said, though he could see the locks on the back of the mask and the ring on the neck, not to mention the way the two guards never took their eyes off the Buzzard and decided that the Earl of Cumbrae’s current status was not that of peer of the realm, but somewhere between a prisoner, a slave and a dancing bear.

  The Buzzard could sense the other man’s scepticism. He’d seen Benbury’s eyes looking at the ring and part of him had wanted to shout out, ‘Aye! They can lead me like a damn dog. What of it?’ But what good would that do? It was better that there should be a tacit agreement not to take the matter any further, for now at any rate. That being the case, it was time to change the subject.

  ‘So, Benbury, ye’ve heard my tale,’ the Buzzard said. ‘Now you tell me what brings you and your Pelican, for I presume you are still her master, tae this festering hole?’

  ‘I am indeed still proud tae call myself captain of the Pelican, Cochran,’ Benbury replied. ‘And, d’you know it occurs tae me now that my business here may be of interest tae you and profit tae us both.’

  The Buzzard leaned forward and tilted his head so that his one beady eye could focus directly on the man opposite him. ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, I am engaged in a form of speculation. D’ye ken a Portuguese gentleman by the name of Balthazar Lobo?’

  ‘I cannae say that I do.’

  ‘He is a most unusual gentleman. I’m sure I dinnae have tae tell you that for many a long year the Portuguese have had ports all along the Swahili Coast, barred tae all white men but them, from whence they’ve traded gold mined in native kingdoms deep in the interior.’

  ‘I know all about that, Benbury. Aye, and I’ve watched many a Portuguese ship sail by me, fat with the gold in her belly and damned the lack of a war against Portugal that would have given me reason tae take her.’

  ‘Very well, then, for all these years, the Portuguese have stayed in their ports and barely ventured inland. Och, they’ve set up a few trading posts here and there and missionaries have gone out looking for heathen souls tae convert, but they’ve left the actual mining of the gold tae the native folk. But yon Balthazar Lobo decided that he didnae fancy waiting for the gold tae be brought to the coast. No, he was going right inland, tae a place called the Kingdom of Manyika tae mine the damn ore for himself.’

  ‘I cannae imagine the local chiefs were happy wi’ that.’

  ‘Well, I dare say Lobo’s paid a good price for his diggings. But he started up a mine and by God there was gold in its rocks and now the man’s as rich as Croesus.’

  ‘Are you in his pay now, Benbury? Is that your business?’

  ‘Nay, he’s not paid me … not yet. But it’s my hope that he will. See, Senhor Lobo has a wee problem. He cannae find a woman tae give him a bairn.’

  ‘Maybe the problem isn’t the women.’

  ‘Aye, you’re probably right there, Cochran. But suppose a man could find a woman, ensure that she was with child and then sell her tae Lobo before her condition was apparent? Lobo would think the baby was his and he’d be truly thankful, would he not, tae the man who had brought him the mother of this wee miracle?’

  ‘Aye, that he would, and I dare say there’d be profit in his gratitude.’

  ‘Now, I’ve been trying tae find the perfect wench tae sell tae Lobo. I came here to see whether there was one tae be had in Zanzibar. But as I was listening tae your tale of yon sultan’s harem I was thinking to myself, I wonder what happens when yon sultan tires of a lassie? I’m thinking he sells her tae another man. And if that be the case, then maybe you, Cochran, could use your influence over the mighty Prince Jahan tae sell one of his lassies tae me I’d make it well worth your trouble.’

  And then a smile spread across the Buzzard’s hidden face, a grin almost as wide and leering as the one painted on his mask. For here, in the unprepossessing shape of Hamish Benbury, he saw the answer to all his problems, an end to his tribulations and the chance of a new life, freed from the prince and revenged upon Courtney.

  ‘I can do much, much better than that, Benbury. I can get you a bitch that’s got Lobo’s puppy planted in her belly. And she’ll nae cost you a penny … save the half share of her sale price to Lobo that you’ll give tae me.’

  ‘And why would I do that?’

  ‘Because this is a woman that’s worth a king’s ransom, and by God she’ll make Lobo feel like a king tae own her.’

  Then the Buzzard started talking. As he talked he drained his pot of rum, and then another, with a second bottle of wine for Benbury too. When their talking was done and their drink consumed they shook hands on their agreement, and the Buzzard walked away from the Tres Macacos with his slave and his guard beside him feeling a great deal better than when he had arrived, better indeed than at any time since the sinking of the Gull of Moray. So much so, in fact, that he looked up into the night sky and said a brief word to his Creator.

  ‘Thank you very much, you old bastard. It was about time you did me a favour.’

  he three men moved like wraiths across the rooftops of the town. Barefoot and silent as shadows, Hal, Big Daniel and Will Stanley leapt a small gap onto the flat roof of the house behind Consul Grey’s. Getting this far had not been easy. Some of the roofs they’d crossed had been covered in tiles that either clinked under hand or foot, or were treacherously loose so that now and then one would slide off with a heart-stopping grating noise. It had only been the men’s long experience up in the shrouds and yards on a rolling ship which had prevented one of them falling to their death. Yet they had got this far at least, to a vantage point perhaps five feet higher than the roof of Grey’s property.

  In contrast to the front of the property with its grand arched mahogany door, intricately carved with Islamic motifs, the rear of Grey’s house was much less richly adorned. But there were windows cut into the wall, and ledges below them. And lower down some of the windows had balconies with simple wooden balustrades. One of these would provide their way in.

  ‘Can you see him?’ Daniel whispered.

  Hal’s eyes, which had always been keen as a hawk’s, sifted the dark for Aboli. There were no lamps here away from the streets and the night sky had filled with clouds through which the moon only rarely penetrated to cast the rooftops in fleeting moments of silvery light.

  ‘Not yet,’ Hal said. He could see the sentries though: two Africans in white robes standing by the gateway in the middle of the rear wall that would provide entry to the property for tradesmen and servants. The sentries carried blunderbusses, a shrewdly chosen weapon, Hal thought, because it roared like the devil when fired, alerting everyone that there was trouble.

  Two more men were slowly pacing the roof opposite them from one side to another. None of these guards had been there when Hal and Pett had come to lunch. But then, Grey was always a man who took care to look after his own skin. He would have made
sure that if anything went wrong with the night’s dirty work, he would remain well protected.

  ‘There!’ Hal hissed. Big Daniel and Stanley crawled up beside him.

  ‘Jesus and Mary but he’s a bold sort,’ Big Daniel hissed, because there was Aboli on the roof opposite, bent low, knife in hand, moving as fast and smooth as a bird’s shadow and coming up on one of the guards from behind.

  Hal held his breath, certain the guard would turn around. That he would fire that blunderbuss. But Aboli was already on him like a leopard on an antelope. He clamped his left hand over the man’s mouth and nose and thrust the knife into his neck below the ear and Hal saw the blade protrude from the other side. Then Aboli slashed outwards through the throat and as the sentry’s legs buckled he lowered him to the floor without a sound.

  Aboli was already moving again. But the other sentry was turning now, having come to the eastern edge of the roof, and Stanley cursed under his breath.

  ‘He won’t make it,’ Big Daniel muttered.

  Up came the blunderbuss but the guard was not fast enough and Aboli punched the knife up under his ribs into the heart then hauled the blade out and slashed it across the man’s neck before he could scream. Then Aboli was somehow holding the blunderbuss as the guard stood choking on his own blood, already dead before his legs knew it. Aboli swept behind him and laid the man down, then strode over to the edge of the roof and shrugged off the length of rope he’d had coiled like a sash across his body.

  Daniel sighed. ‘God knows I love him like a brother, but he’s deadlier than the damned pox.’

  They stood now as Aboli came to the edge of the roof and, keeping hold of one end, hurled the rope coils up to Hal who caught them before they could fly over his head. Aboli tied his end of the rope around his waist before edging out over the side and hanging full length by his hands for a moment before dropping down to a narrow ledge outside a top-floor window, where the servants’ quarters would be. If anyone within heard him now, or saw a shadow at the window, Aboli would surely be done for, they’d never get into the house, and Hal might never learn where Judith had been taken.

  ‘God be with him now,’ Big Daniel said.

  ‘Something to tie that rope to would be more useful,’ Stanley said and Hal feared his friend was right, for there was just the ledge and the window, through which a warm yellow glow seeped out into the night.

  But no sooner had the words been spoken than Aboli dropped off the ledge, landed silently on one of the small balconies a further ten feet below, then took the rope from his waist and tied it to the wooden balustrade. No light came from the tall, shuttered windows behind him.

  ‘Now it’s our turn,’ Big Daniel said, tying his end of the rope around his own waist and striding backward until the line was taut as a yardarm brace. There was nothing on that flat roof to tie off on and so Big Daniel himself would be the anchor, using all his enormous size and strength to take Hal and Stanley’s weight as they climbed across.

  ‘Are you sure you are strong enough?’ Stanley asked, half grinning.

  ‘You’ll soon know if I’m not,’ the coxswain replied.

  ‘And so will you, Danny, if that knot’s not up to scratch,’ Hal said, steeling himself for what they must now do. ‘I’ll go first,’ he said as Aboli waved his arm, gesturing at them to come across. Hal wrapped his arms and legs around the rope, for a moment hanging there like a deer strung up after the kill, Big Daniel heaving back, those great arms and oak-strong legs straining to keep the rope taut.

  ‘Off you go then, Captain,’ he growled and Hal began hauling himself out into the night, the Neptune sword hanging beneath him, the two pistols snug in the sash around his waist. There was no talking now, only concentration, muscle and sinew. Keeping his legs crossed over the rope and using them as a grapnel only, he pulled himself out along the line, high above the street below. He’d spent half his life up a mast and was entirely unafraid of falling, but if one of the remaining guards came around the back of the house, or if someone happened to look out of a rear window, then all Hal’s skill at climbing would not be enough to save him.

  Suspended in the darkness as he was, Hal could see very little around him. But he could hear the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, the barking of dogs in Zanzibar’s streets, the chirruping of crickets and away in the distance the soft sighing of the sea. He waited for a shout of alarm or crash of gunfire. But none came and then he had reached the far end of the rope, alive and undetected.

  Hal swung a leg onto the balcony and hauled himself up, scrambling over the railing to stand face-to-face with Aboli. The two men nodded at one another in recognition of their night’s work so far, then looked back across the divide to watch Will Stanley come across. Just then the cloud broke and the rooftops of Zanzibar were bathed in the moon’s cold luminescence. So too was Stanley, who froze for a heartbeat. Then he was moving fast, pulling himself along the rope hand over hand, the corded muscle of his arms glistening in the moon glow. But the sudden speed jerked the rope and Hal heard Big Daniel curse as he lost his footing and was hauled, skidding, to the edge of the roof. Stanley dropped sharply but clung on and Big Daniel, a great hulking shape in the half-light, leant back and pulled the rope straight as a spar again and his crewmate was already moving.

  By the time Stanley had climbed up onto the balcony, Aboli was standing by the windows, holding the dagger he had used so skilfully on the guards. Now he punched its hilt through one of the small diamonds in the leaded glass and thrust in his hand to draw the iron catch from the casement. The window swung open and Aboli sprang into the room, his knife back in a fighting grip, ready to deal with anyone who was inside.

  The room, however, was empty, but for some pieces of furniture covered in dustsheets. Hal and Stanley joined Aboli and they moved towards the door. Hal lifted the latch as slowly and quietly as he could then opened it a fraction and peered through the crack. He saw precisely what he’d been hoping for, the colonnade that ran around three sides of the building at first-floor level, looking down onto the courtyard at the centre, with rooms opening onto it. But on the fourth side, directly opposite the room where Hal and the others now stood, the rooms were much larger and there was no colonnade, for they occupied the full depth of the building and faced the courtyard with windows whose decorative iron mullions were picked out in patterns as delicate as lace. These were the finest chambers in the house and so it was reasonable to assume that Grey had reserved them for his own personal use. Indeed, Hal could see the flicker of candlelight coming from behind the windows, suggesting that Grey was still up. Damn! Hal thought. If he’s got company that could complicate things.

  Hal gestured to the other two men and they followed him out onto the colonnade. He knew that there were two more guards outside, by the main entrance, but a quick scan of the colonnade and down into the courtyard showed no sign of any armed men beyond that.

  The trio made their way around the courtyard, the soft splashing of the fountain in the pool beneath them masking the scurrying of their feet across the tiled floor, until they came to an arch shaped like an onion, within which was set a wooden door. Hal drew his sword and held it at the ready in his right hand as he raised the latch with his left. Then he shoved the door hard with his shoulder and as it flew open he sprang into the chamber, closely followed by Aboli and Stanley.

  Hal heard a high-pitched cry of alarm and there, standing before him, barely a pace away, naked but for the fuzzy hair that sprouted across his soft, heaving chest and ran over his rotund belly to his groin, was Consul Grey.

  ‘Sir Henry,’ Grey stammered, his flaccid manhood shrivelling into his pubic hair like a startled weevil retreating back into the ship’s biscuit from which it had just emerged. On the bed behind him was a naked African boy, his coffee-coloured body glistening with oil, the whites of his eyes glowing in the lamplight. In his small hand he held a riding crop, which Grey snatched off him and raised at the intruders in a pathetic show of defiance.


  ‘Consul Grey,’ Hal returned his greeting, pointing the Neptune blade at his betrayer.

  ‘Someone is coming, Gundwane,’ Aboli said. They heard feet scuffing up the stone steps and knew that Grey’s earlier shriek had alerted someone.

  There was a double rap on the door and a voice called out. ‘Consul! Is everything all right? Consul?’

  Grey looked from Aboli, to Hal, to the tip of the sword that hovered just inches from his belly button and thence to the door, his face frozen with fear and indecision.

  ‘Help me!’ he blurted. The door flew open and two robed men swept into the bedchamber, swords drawn.

  Aboli launched himself at one of them, hooking an arm around the man’s neck and dragging him backwards, whilst Hal threw up his sword to parry a slash aimed at his face. The blades sang and before the guard could strike again Stanley swept in behind him punching his knife into the man’s kidney before hacking open his throat in a spray of gore. The guard collapsed, his robes turning crimson and the tear in his throat pulsing blood across the floorboards. Then Stanley turned back to the bed and glared at the boy who clambered back under the silken coverlet and pulled it up over his head.

  Over by the door Aboli finished strangling the other guard whose swollen tongue poked out between his lips. ‘Go with Allah,’ Aboli said in a low voice, laying the corpse down gently.

  And Consul Grey wet himself. His urine stream spattered onto the floor and spilled down his leg and he was too terrified even to realize what he had done.

  ‘Where is Judith? Where did they take her?’ Hal asked him, putting his sword’s point against the consul’s bulging belly. Aboli shut the bedchamber door and stood with his back against it.

  Grey made no attempt to deny all knowledge of Judith’s abduction. He must have known it was too late for all that now. Neither, however, did he seem about to divulge all. Beads of sweat rolled down his face and his fleshy jowls trembled. But he did not talk.