Assegai

by Wilbur Smith

  While Leon used his straight razor on the dark and dense stubble that covered his jaws, Ishmael filled the galvanized-iron bath almost to the brim with hot water that smelled of woodsmoke from the fire. When Leon stepped out of it, his body glowing pinkly, Ishmael had a large towel ready for him, which he had warmed beforehand at the fire. A set of crisply ironed khakis lay on Leon’s bed and beneath it stood a pair of mosquito boots, polished to a gloss.

  A short time later, his hair combed and pomaded, Leon set off towards the circus-sized mess tent. Determined not to be late for the President’s dinner, he was half an hour early. As he passed Percy Phillips’s tent the familiar voice hailed him. ‘Leon, come in here for a minute.’

  He stooped through the fly to find Percy sitting with a glass in his hand. He waved it to indicate the empty chair across the floor from where he sat. ‘Take a pew. The President keeps a dry table. The strongest brew you’ll be offered tonight is likely to be cranberry syrup.’ He made a small moue of distaste and pointed at the bottle on the table beside Leon’s chair. ‘You’d better fortify yourself.’

  Leon poured himself two fingers of single malt Bunnahabhain whisky and topped it up with river water that had been boiled, then cooled in a porous canvas waterbag. He tasted it. ‘Elixir! I could get addicted to this stuff.’

  ‘You can’t afford it. Not yet anyway.’ Percy held out his own glass. ‘You’d better refresh me while you’re about it.’ When his glass was recharged he raised it to Leon. ‘Mud in your eye!’ he said.

  ‘Up the Rifles!’ Leon returned. They drank and savoured the fragrant liquor.

  Then Percy said, ‘By the way, did I congratulate you on your recent spectacular successes?’

  ‘I cannot recall you doing so, sir.’

  ‘Damn me, I could have sworn I did. I must be getting old.’ His eyes twinkled. They were bright blue and clear in the wrinkled, sun-baked face. ‘All right, then, listen well. I’m only going to say this once. You earned your spurs today. I’m damned proud of you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Leon was more deeply moved than he had expected to be.

  ‘In future you can drop the “sir”, and make it Percy.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Percy, just plain Percy.’

  ‘Thank you, Plain Percy.’

  They drank in companionable silence for a while. Then Percy went on, ‘I suppose you know I’ll turn sixty-five next month?’

  ‘I’d never have thought it.’

  ‘The hell you wouldn’t. You probably thought I was well over ninety.’ Leon opened his mouth to protest politely, but Percy waved him to silence.

  ‘This is probably not the time to bring up the subject, but I feel myself slowing down. The old legs are not what they once were. Nowadays every mile I walk feels like five. Two days ago I clean missed a Tommy buck at a hundred yards, a dead sitter. I need some help around here. I was thinking of taking on a partner. A junior partner. In fact, a very junior partner.’

  Leon nodded cautiously, waiting to hear more.

  Percy took the silver hunter watch from his pocket and snapped open the engraved lid, studied the dial, closed the lid, drained his glass and stood up. ‘It would never do to keep the former President of the United States of America waiting for his dinner. He enjoys his food. Pity he doesn’t feel the same way about wine. However, I’ve no doubt that we’ll survive.’

  There were ten for dinner in the big tent. Freddie Selous and Kermit had the seats of honour on each side of the President. Leon was placed at the foot of the table, in the chair furthest from his host. Teddy Roosevelt was a born raconteur. His tongue was silver, his knowledge encyclopedic, his intellect monumental, his enthusiasm infectious and his charm irresistible. He held the company spellbound as he carried them with him from one subject to another, from politics and religion to ornithology and philosophy, tropical medicine to African anthropology. Leon let the eland steak on his plate grow cold as he listened with rapt attention to the President evaluating the present international tensions in Europe. This was a subject that Penrod Ballantyne had expounded in great depth with his nephew as they had sat around the campfire on their pig-sticking forays into the veld, so it was familiar ground.

  Suddenly the President singled him out. ‘What is your opinion, Mr Courtney?’

  Leon was dismayed as every head turned to him expectantly. His first instinct was to escape by replying that he had little interest in the subject and that he did not feel qualified to express an opinion, but then he rallied himself. ‘Well, sir, you will excuse me for looking at this from a British point of view. I believe that the danger lies in the imperial aspirations of Germany and Austria. This, with the proliferation of exclusive treaties between numerous states that is now taking place across Europe. These alliances are complex but they all make provision for mutual protection and support in the event of conflict with an outsider. That could trigger a domino effect if the junior partner in such an alliance blundered into confrontation with its neighbour and called upon its more powerful ally to intervene.’

  Roosevelt blinked. He had not expected such a weighty response. ‘Examples, please,’ he snapped.

  ‘We believe that the British Empire can only be held together by a powerful Royal Navy. Kaiser Wilhelm the Second has made no secret of his intention to build the German Navy into the most powerful force in the world. Our empire is threatened by this. We have been forced into concluding treaties with other nations in Europe, such as Belgium, France and Serbia. Germany has treaties with Austria and Turkey, a Muslim nation. In 1905 when tension rose between Morocco and France, our new strategic partner, it precipitated a crisis across all of North Africa. Because of its alliance with Turkey, Germany was obliged to intervene against France. France is our ally, therefore we were obliged to intervene on her behalf. It was a chain effect. Only intense diplomatic negotiation and a mountain of luck averted war.’

  Leon saw the expressions on the faces of his audience turning to respect, and was encouraged to continue. He made a deprecatory gesture. ‘It seems to me that the world is teetering on the brink of the abyss. There are wheels within wheels, and countless threads in the web, as I know you, Mr President, of all people, will be aware.’

  Roosevelt folded his arms across his chest. ‘A wise head on young shoulders. You must dine with us again tomorrow evening. I would like your views on racial divisions and tensions in Africa. But now to more important affairs. My son likes to hunt with you. He tells me that the two of you have made plans to build upon your recent triumphs with elephant and rhinoceros.’

  ‘I am delighted that Kermit wishes to continue hunting with me, sir. I enjoy his company immensely.’

  ‘What is your next quarry to be?’

  ‘My head tracker has discovered the lair of a very large crocodile. Would a specimen like that be of interest to the Smithsonian?’

  ‘By all means. But that shouldn’t take too long, if you know where the croc’s holed up. After that what are your plans?’

  ‘Kermit wants to take a good lion.’

  ‘Cheeky young devil!’ He punched Kermit’s shoulder playfully. ‘Not content with beating me at jumbo and rhino, now you want to make it three in a row!’ The company laughed with him and Teddy Roosevelt went on, ‘Okay, buddy, you’re on! Shall we have ten dollars on it?’ The two of them shook hands to seal the bet and then the President said, ‘If it’s to be lions, we are fortunate to have the world’s leading expert on the subject right here with us.’ He turned from his son to the handsome greybeard at his other side. ‘Perhaps, Selous, you would be good enough to give us some hints on how to go about it. In particular I’m interested in hearing you talk about the warning signals a lion gives the hunter before it charges. Can you describe them for us, and tell us what it’s like to face such a charge?’

  Selous laid down his knife and fork. ‘Colonel, I have the greatest respect and admiration for the lion. Apart from his regal bearing, his strength is such that he can carry th
e carcass of a bullock in his jaws as he leaps over the six-foot fence of a cattle pen. His jaws are so formidable that they can crush the hardest bone as though it were chalk. He is swift as death. When he attacks, his first burst of speed covers the ground at forty miles an hour.’

  With his soft but authoritative voice Selous kept them enthralled for almost an hour until the President interrupted him. ‘Thank you. I want to make an early start tomorrow, so if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m off to bed.’

  Leon walked with Percy as they made their way back to their tents. ‘I’m impressed, Leon, with your political acumen, although I detected tones of your uncle Penrod in what you had to say tonight. I think Teddy Roosevelt was also impressed. It seems to me that you’ve managed to set both feet securely on the ladder to the stars. Just as long as you don’t get his son bitten by a lion. Remember Frederick Selous’s advice. They’re devilishly dangerous creatures. When the lion lays back his ears and flicks his tail straight up it’s the signal that he’s going to charge, and you’d better be ready to shoot straight.’ They had reached Percy’s tent. ‘Good night,’ Percy said, stooped through the fly and let the canvas flap drop.

  Leon and Kermit lay side by side on the riverbank behind a thin screen of reeds that Manyoro and Loikot had built the previous afternoon. The two Masai trackers lay close behind them. They had been waiting since dawn for Manyoro’s crocodile to show itself. There were peep holes in the screen through which they had a view over the algae-green pool. It was almost two hundred yards to the far bank, which was shaded by a forest of tall pod mahogany trees, their branches festooned with serpentine lianas and hung with the nests of bright yellow weaver birds. The males hung upside-down under the nests they had woven, vibrating their wings and chittering excitedly to attract a watching female to fly down and take up residence. Watching their antics passed the time for Leon, but Kermit was already beginning to fidget.

  Manyoro had positioned the hide on top of the steep bank directly above the game trail that ran down through the reed beds to the water’s edge. There were few places around the pool that afforded such easy access to the water. The hunters had moved into the hide while it was still dark, and as the light strengthened, Manyoro pointed out to Leon where the crocodile had hidden under the bank by burrowing into the soft mud below the surface. It had wriggled and squirmed until it had stirred the bottom ooze into a porridge, then lain motionless and allowed the fine mud to settle again over its head and back. The only trace of its presence was the regular chicken-wire outline in the mud that adumbrated its scaly back. Leon could barely make out the shape of its head and the two prominent projections in the skull that held its eyes.

  It had taken both himself and Manyoro some time to point out the indistinct shape of the great body to Kermit. When at last he located it Kermit, with his usual impetuosity, had decided to fire immediately at the hazy outline of the head. It had taken many minutes of whispered argument before Leon was able to persuade him that even the Winchester, despite Lusima’s blessing, would not be able to drive a soft-nosed bullet through three feet of water without being stopped dead, as if by a brick wall.

  It was now almost noon, and in the heat, herds of antelope and zebra had come to drink at the three other watering points around the pool, but nothing had approached the one that the crocodile had staked out. Kermit was becoming more restless by the minute: he was on the point of rebellion and would soon demand to shoot, Leon thought.

  Leon’s luck held. He spotted movement on their left flank. He touched Kermit’s arm and pointed with his chin at the small group of Grevy’s zebra emerging from the trees and making their way timidly down the game path towards the waterhole. Kermit perked up. ‘Perhaps we’re going to see some action at last,’ he murmured, and touched Big Medicine’s stock.

  The Grevy’s is the largest member of the horse family, larger even than a Percheron carthorse. With good reason its alternative name is the Imperial Zebra. The stallion that led them stood five feet high at the shoulder and probably weighed close to a thousand pounds. The herd moved with the utmost caution, as do all prey animals when they are aware that predators may be guarding the water. They took only a few paces before stopping to search all around for any sign of danger, then coming on a few more paces.

  Kermit watched their approach with eager anticipation. Big Medicine was loaded and lay in front of him propped on a saddle bag that gave him a steady rest. At last the leading stallion stepped gingerly on to the pathway that had been cut into the bank by the hoofs of the thousands of thirsty animals that had come before him, and went down it to the narrow beach. He stood at the water’s edge and made another long scrutiny of the banks around him. At last he made the fateful decision: he lowered his head and sank his velvety black muzzle into the water. As soon as he began to drink the rest of the herd followed him down the path, jostling each other in their eagerness to reach the water.

  That was the moment the crocodile had waited for so patiently. He used his tail to propel himself upwards, bursting out of the mud and through the surface of the pool in a sparkling cloud of spray. The men on the bank recoiled instinctively, shocked by the size of the monstrous reptile, the speed and violence of the attack.

  ‘God, he must be twenty feet long!’ Kermit gasped.

  The stallion was heavy, but this brute was four or five times heavier. Despite this difference the zebra’s hoofs were anchored on solid ground and all his power was in his legs. The crocodile’s were small, bent and weak. All its strength was in its tail. In a straight tug-of-war the zebra would have the advantage. The croc had to get him into deeper water where his hoofs would find no purchase. There, the croc’s massive tail would give it an overwhelming advantage.

  It did not attempt to seize the stallion in its jaws and try to drag it in, but swung its head like a battle club. With all that weight and power behind the blow it was so fast that the eye could barely follow it. The hideous horny skull crashed into the side of the zebra’s head, breaking bone and stunning him. He fell on his side in four feet of water, legs kicking convulsively above the surface, thrashing head from side to side as he started to drown. Now the croc surged forward, seized the zebra’s muzzle in its jaws and dragged him into the deep water. It began a series of barrel rolls, churning the water to foam, wringing the zebra’s neck as though he were a chicken, at the same time disorientating and drowning him. The crocodile kept rolling until the last glimmer of life had been extinguished in the striped body, then released its grip and backed away.

  Twenty yards offshore, it hung on the surface, watching the body of the dead zebra for any last signs of life. The body floated almost completely submerged, with only one back leg sticking above the surface, pointing skywards. The crocodile was fully broadside to the hunters, with only the top of its back and the upper half of its head exposed. The head was rendered all the more hideous by its fixed, sardonic grin.

  Kermit was stretched prone behind the saddle bag with the rifle tucked into his shoulder, and his cheek pressed to the stock’s comb. His left eye was tight shut and the right was narrowed with concentration, levelled behind the gun sights.

  Leon leaned closer to him. ‘Aim for the corner of his smile, exactly at water level, under the eye.’ The last words were still on his lips when the Winchester roared. Watching through the binoculars Leon saw the tiny splash as the bullet flicked the surface directly under the wicked little eye, then went on to smash into the croc’s head.

  ‘Perfect!’ Leon shouted, as he jumped to his feet.

  ‘Piga!’ Manyoro sang out. ‘He is hit!’

  ‘Ngwenya kufa! The crocodile is dead!’ Loikot shrieked with laughter as he sprang to his feet and launched into a wild, leaping dance. The crocodile hurled its entire body high out of the water, thrashing the surface with its tail in a series of gigantic convulsions. It snapped its jaws, then again leaped high out of the water and fell back with a mighty splash, spinning over and over, its tail kicking up waves that broke heavil
y against the beach.

  ‘Ngwenya kufa!’ the men on the bank exulted, as the crocodile’s death frenzy reached a crescendo.

  Abruptly the massive body froze, the tail arched and went rigid, and the crocodile lay motionless on the surface for moment, then sank, disappearing beneath the green waters.

  ‘We’re going to lose him!’ Kermit shouted anxiously, and hopped on one leg as he pulled off his boots.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Leon grabbed him.

  ‘I’m going to pull him out.’

  Kermit struggled to free himself, but Leon held him easily. ‘Listen, you idiot, you go into that water and the croc’s grandpapa will be waiting to meet you.’

  ‘But we’re going to lose him! I have to fish him out!’

  ‘No, you don’t! Manyoro and Loikot will wait here until tomorrow when the croc will have blown up with gas and floated to the surface. Then you and I will come back and put ropes on it.’

  Kermit quietened down a little. ‘He’s going to be washed away downstream.’

  ‘The river is no longer flowing. This is a blind pool. Your croc ain’t going anywhere, chum.’

  It was late afternoon, and they were sitting under the fly of Leon’s tent, drinking tea and endlessly going over the details of the crocodile hunt, when there was an excited stir and a hubbub ran through the encampment, indicating the imminent return of the President. Kermit jumped up. ‘Come on!’ he said to Leon. ‘Let’s go see what my old man’s bagged.’ He strode away, but turned back. ‘Don’t say anything about the croc. He won’t believe it until he sees it.’

  Teddy Roosevelt rode into camp, and they were there to greet him when he dismounted and tossed the reins to a syce. He smiled when he saw Kermit, and there was a triumphant twinkle in the eyes behind the steel-rimmed spectacles.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ Kermit called. ‘Did you have a good day?’

  ‘Not bad. I opened the lion account.’