by Wilbur Smith
Penrod moved quickly past the harbour, where he noticed a white river steamer with most of her machinery stripped out and spread on the stone wharf for repair. Her hull and superstructure were peppered with shrapnel hits. A gang of Arab workers was busy patching and painting over the damage. A white engineer supervised them, encouraging his crew with a chorus of oaths and imprecations that carried clearly across the water in the accents of the Glasgow docks. It was obvious that it would be weeks, if not months, before the steamer was ready to sail. Penrod moved on along the river frontage of the Blue Nile towards Fort Burri and the arsenal.
As he picked his way through the alleyways, which were almost clogged with shell debris and filth, brown faces looked down at him from the windows and rickety balconies that almost met overhead. Women held up their naked infants so that he could see the swellings and bruising of scurvy, the skeletal limbs. ‘We are starving, Effendi. Give us food,’ they pleaded. Their cries alerted the beggars, who hobbled out of the gloomy depths of the alleyways to pluck at his clothing. He scattered them with a few shrewd cuts of his cane.
The guns on the parapets of Fort Burri covered the north bank of the Blue Nile, and the Dervish fortifications facing them. Penrod paused to study them, and saw that the enemy were taking few precautions. Even with the naked eye he could see figures across the river moving about in the open. Some Dervish women were washing their laundry on the riverbank and spreading it out to dry in full view of Fort Burri. They must have realized how perilously depleted was Gordon’s stock of shot and shell.
Behind Fort Burri stood the squat and ugly blockhouses of the arsenal and the munitions store. General Gordon was using them as the city granary. There were sentries at the entrance and at each revetment that supported the crumbling walls. From what Gordon had told him, even those guards and the repairs to the walls had been no match for the ingenuity of Ryder Courtney or the Egyptian officers, or whoever was to blame for the depredations in the granary. However, this was not the time to visit the arsenal or to conduct an audit of the stores. That would come later. Penrod was headed towards the sprawling complex of Ryder Courtney’s compound, which lay a short way beyond, almost on the canal that defended the city from an assault out of the southern desert.
As he approached he saw that there was unusual activity in progress on the canal banks behind the walls of the compound. This puzzled him, so he left the road and followed the towpath that ran along the embankment. At first he thought that the many men working in the canal were constructing some form of fortification. Then he realized that women were carrying bundles on their heads from the embankment into the rear gate of Courtney’s compound.
As he came closer he saw that a huge raft of river weed almost blocked the canal. It was similar to the mass of vegetation on which he and Yakub had escaped from Osman Atalan the previous day. Dozens of Arabs swarmed over the raft, clad only in loincloths and armed with scythes and sickles. They were cutting the papyrus and river weed and tying it into bundles for the women to carry away.
What the devil are they up to? He was intrigued. And how did that raft of weed get into the canal so conveniently placed for Courtney to harvest? Then the answer occurred to him. Of course! He must have captured and roped it in the main river, then used muscle power to drag it up the canal. They warned me that he is crafty.
The workers hailed Penrod respectfully, invoking Allah’s blessing on him. They looked impressed when he returned the greeting in fluent, colloquial Arabic. Although he wore no uniform, they knew his name was Abadan Riji, and that he had ridden off Osman Atalan and all his most famous aggagiers to reach Khartoum. Yakub had seen to it that all the city knew of their heroics.
When Penrod followed the line of Sudanese women through the rear gate of the compound, no one challenged him. He found himself in a large walled enclosure, which swarmed with activity. The women piled their bundles in the centre and returned to the canal for the next load. Another team was seated in groups, chattering as they picked over the cut stems and sorted them into piles. They discarded all the dead and dried-out material, and chose only that which was still green and succulent. This they sorted into the various types of vegetation. The largest heap comprised the common papyrus, but there was also water-hyacinth, and three other types of grass and reed. The nymphaea was obviously the most prized plant for it was not piled on the dusty ground like the papyrus and hyacinth but carefully packed into sacks and carried away for pulping by another team of women. They were working over a long line of stamp mortars that usually crushed dhurra into flour. The women worked in unison, thumping the heavy wooden pole they used as a pestle into the bowl-shaped mortar, pounding the water-lilies with a little water into pulp. They sang as they swayed and rocked to the rhythm of the swinging poles.
Once the contents of the mortars were reduced to a thick green paste, another party of women collected it in large black clay pots, and carried it through the gate of a second enclosure. Penrod was interested and followed them. No sooner had he stepped through the gate when, for the first time, he was challenged in a peremptory treble. ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’
Penrod found himself confronted by two young females, neither of whom stood much taller than his belt buckle. One was dark brunette and the other was golden blonde. One had eyes the colour of molten toffee, while the smaller girl’s were the bright blue of petunia petals. Both gazed up at him with a severe expression and pursed lips. The taller child had her fists on her hips in a pugnacious attitude. ‘You’re not allowed in here. This is a secret place.’
Penrod recovered from his surprise, gallantly lifted his hat and bowed deeply. ‘I beg your pardon, ladies, I did not mean to trespass. Please accept my apologies and allow me to introduce myself. I am Captain Penrod Ballantyne of Her Majesty’s 10th Royal Hussars. At present I am on the staff of General Gordon.’
Both girls’ expressions softened as they continued to stare at him. They were unaccustomed to being addressed in such polite terms. Furthermore, like most other women, they were not impervious to Penrod’s charms.
‘I am Saffron Benbrook, sir,’ said the taller girl, and curtsied. ‘But you may call me Saffy.’
‘Your servant, Miss Saffy.’
‘And I am Amber Benbrook, but some people call me Midget,’ said the blonde. ‘I don’t really like the name, but I suppose I am a little shorter than my sister.’
‘I agree entirely. It is not a fitting name for such a lovely young lady. If you will permit me, I shall address you as Miss Amber.’
‘How do you do?’ Amber returned his bow with a curtsy, and when she straightened up she found herself in love for the first time. It was a sensation of warmth and pressure in her chest, disturbing but not altogether unpleasant.
‘I know who you are,’ she said, just a trifle breathlessly.
‘Do you, indeed? And, pray, how is that?’
‘I heard Ryder speaking to Daddy about you.’
‘Daddy, I presume, is David Benbrook. But who is Ryder?’
‘Ryder Courtney. He said you had the finest pair of whiskers in Christendom. What happened to them?’
‘Ah!’ replied Penrod, his face suddenly touched with frost. ‘He must be a noted comedian.’
‘He is a great hunter and very, very clever.’ Saffron rushed to his defence. ‘He knows the name of every animal and bird in the world – the Latin names,’ she added portentously.
Amber was determined to wrest back Penrod’s attention from her twin. ‘Ryder says that the ladies find you dashing and gallant.’ Penrod looked slightly better pleased, until Amber went on innocently, ‘And that you agree wholeheartedly with their opinion.’
Penrod changed the topic. ‘Who is in charge here?’
‘We are,’ the twins chorused.
‘What are you doing? It looks very interesting.’
‘We are making plant curds to feed our people.’
‘I would be most grateful if you could explain the process to me.’
The twins seized upon the invitation and competed vigorously for his attention, interrupting and contradicting each other at every opportunity. Each grabbed one of Penrod’s hands and dragged him into the inner courtyard.
‘When the most succulent leaves are crushed, then they have to be filtered.’
‘To get rid of the pith and rubbish.’ There was no longer any thought of safeguarding secrets.
‘We strain it through trade cloth from Ryder’s stores.’
‘We have to squeeze it to get out all the goodness.’
Pairs of Sudanese women were pouring the green pulp into lengths of printed cloth, then twisting it between them. The juices dribbled into the huge black cast-iron pots, which stood on three legs over the smouldering cooking fires.
‘We measure the temperature – ’ Saffron brandished a large thermometer importantly.
‘ – and when it reaches seventy degrees,’ Amber cut in, ‘the protein coagulates—’
‘I am telling it,’ said Saffron, furiously. ‘I am the oldest.’
‘Only by one hour,’ Amber retorted, and gabbled out the rest of the explanation. ‘Then we sieve off the curds and make them into bricks and dry them in the sun.’ She pointed triumphantly at the long trestle tables laden with square blocks set out upon them in neat rows. This was what Penrod had eaten for breakfast, and he remembered David’s warning that there was precious little else.
‘We call it green-cake. You can taste some if you like.’ Amber broke off a morsel and stood on tiptoe to place it between his lips.
‘Scrumptious!’ Penrod exclaimed, and swallowed manfully.
‘Have some more.’
‘Excellent, but enough for now. Your father says it is even tastier with Worcestershire Sauce,’ he said hurriedly, forestalling delivery of the next mouthful, which was already on its way in Amber’s grubby little hand. ‘How much green-cake can you make in a day?’
‘Not enough to feed everybody. Just enough for ourselves and our own people.’
The efficacy of the green-cakes was apparent. Unlike the rest of the malnourished populace, none of the inhabitants of the compound was showing signs of starvation. In fact, the twins were blooming. Then he remembered his brief meeting with their elder sister that morning. Nothing wrong with her either. He smiled at the memory, and the two children took it as a sign of his approval and smiled with him.
Penrod realized that he now had staunch allies in the Courtney stronghold. ‘You really are two very clever young ladies,’ he said. ‘I would be most obliged if you were to show me around the rest of the compound. I hear that there are all sorts of fascinating things here.’
‘Would you like to see the animals?’ cried Amber.
‘The monkeys?’ said Saffron.
‘The bongos?’
‘Everything,’ agreed Penrod. ‘I would like to see everything.’
It was soon apparent that the twins were the favourites of everyone and that they had the run of the Courtney compound. They were particular friends and intimates of Ali the animal-keeper. It was only with the greatest difficulty that the old man prevented himself grinning with delight as soon as he laid eyes on them. They led Penrod from cage to cage, calling to the animals by name and feeding them by hand when they responded.
‘They didn’t like the green-cake at all when we first tried to feed them with it, but now they all love it. Just look how they gobble it up.’ Amber pointed.
‘What about dhurra? They must like that too?’ Penrod set a bait for her.
‘Oh, I suppose they do,’ Saffron cut in, ‘but there isn’t enough for the people, let alone the animals.’
‘We only get a cupful a day,’ Amber confirmed.
‘I thought your friend Ryder had plenty of dhurra and that he was selling it.’
‘Oh, yes! He had a whole boatload. But General Gordon took it all from him. Ryder was furious.’
Penrod was grateful that the girls’ innocent disclosures virtually guaranteed that, despite the general’s suspicions, Courtney was not guilty of the theft of grain from the arsenal. He had no reason to feel any warmth for the man, especially after his remarks about Penrod’s whiskers and his good opinion of himself, but he was an Englishman and it would have been distasteful for Penrod to have to confirm Gordon’s suspicions.
‘I would very much like to meet your friend Ryder,’ he suggested tentatively. ‘Would you introduce me?’
‘Oh, yes! Come with us.’
They dragged him from the menagerie, and across an inner courtyard until they reached a small door at the far end. The twins let go of his hands and raced each other to the door. They threw it open and burst into the room beyond. Penrod stepped up close behind them and, from the doorway, surveyed the room swiftly.
It was obviously both an office and the private living quarters of the owner of the compound. A massive pair of elephant tusks were mounted on the far wall, the largest Penrod had ever seen. The other walls were covered with magnificently woven Persian carpets, and dozens of murky yellowing photographs in dark wooden frames. More carpets covered the floors, and in a curtained recess, a large angareb bed was spread with golden leopardskins, dappled with black rosettes. The chairs and the massive desk were hewn from polished native teak. The bookcases held rows of leatherbound journals, and scientific books on flora and fauna. A row of rifles and muzzle-loading guns stood in a rack between the curves of the thick yellow tusks. Penrod’s gaze slid over this untidy masculine display, then riveted on the couple who stood in the middle of the room. Even the tumultuous twins were frozen with shock at the sight.
Man and woman were locked in a passionate embrace, oblivious to everything and everyone around them. Saffron broke the silence with a wail of accusation: ‘She’s kissing him! Becky is kissing Ryder on his mouth!’
Ryder Courtney and Rebecca Benbrook sprang apart guiltily, then stood, frozen, staring at the group in the doorway. Rebecca turned ice pale and her eyes seemed to fill her face as she looked at Penrod. He cut her a mockingly appreciative salute. ‘We meet again so soon, Miss Benbrook.’
Rebecca dropped her gaze to the floor and now her cheeks turned the bright crimson of live coals. Her mortification was so intense that she felt dizzy and swayed on her feet. Then, with an enormous effort, she rallied. Without looking at either man she rushed forward and seized her little sisters by the wrists. ‘You horrible children! How many times have you been told to knock before you enter a room?’
She dragged them out of the open door, and Saffron’s voice receded in the distance: ‘You were kissing him. I hate you. I’ll never speak to you again. You were kissing Ryder.’
The two men faced each other as though neither had heard the sisterly accusations of betrayal. ‘Mr Courtney, I presume. I hope my visit has not come at an inconvenient time.’
‘Captain Ballantyne, sir. I heard that you arrived in our lovely city late last night. Your fame precedes you.’
‘So it appears,’ Penrod conceded. ‘Though for the life of me I know not how.’
‘Simple enough, I assure you.’ Ryder was relieved that there was to be no heavy-handed banter regarding the romantic episode that Ballantyne had witnessed – it might have led to an outbreak of hostilities. ‘Your outrider, Yakub of the Jaalin, is the intimate friend of the nursemaid of the Benbrook twins and a stalwart of their household, a good lady by the name of Nazeera. Her busy tongue is one of her most apparent failings.’
‘Aha! Now I understand. Perhaps you were even expecting my visit.’
‘It comes as no great surprise,’ Ryder admitted. ‘I understand that General Gordon, may all his enterprises flourish, has some questions for me regarding the dhurra missing from the arsenal.’
Penrod inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘I see you keep yourself well informed.’ He was appraising Ryder Courtney with a penetrating gaze, cloaked by a disarming smile as they sparred.
‘I try to keep abreast of affairs.’ Ryder was not at all disarmed by the smile, and his own ga
ze was just as shrewd. ‘But please do come in, my dear fellow. It is perhaps a little early, but may I offer you a cigar and a glass of first-rate Cognac?’
‘I was convinced those two marvellous commodities no longer existed in this naughty world.’ Penrod moved across to the chair Ryder indicated.
When their cigars were drawing evenly they regarded each other over their charged glasses. Ryder gave the toast: ‘I congratulate you on your speedy journey from Cairo.’
‘I wish I were already on my way back.’
‘Khartoum is hardly a spa,’ Ryder agreed. They sipped the brandy and talked guardedly, still sounding each other out. Ryder knew Penrod by sight and reputation so there were no real surprises for him.
Penrod learnt swiftly that he had not been misinformed, and that Ryder was a formidable character, tough, quick and resilient. He was also good-looking in a rugged, forthright style. No wonder the lovely Miss Benbrook had shown herself susceptible to his advances. I wonder just how susceptible. It might be amusing to test her commitment to this fellow, man to man and hand to hand, so to speak. Penrod smiled urbanely, masking the glint of steel in his eyes. He dearly loved a contest, pitting his skills and wits against another, especially if a handsome prize were at stake. There was more to it than that. The nubile Miss Benbrook’s involvement with Ryder Courtney added a new dimension to the sharp attraction he had previously felt towards her. It seemed that, despite appearances, she was not made of ice, that there were depths beneath the surface, which might be fascinating to plumb. He was amused by his own choice of metaphor.
‘You mentioned the missing dhurra,’ Penrod broached the subject again.
Ryder nodded. ‘I have a proprietary interest in that shipment,’ he said. ‘It once belonged to me. It was transported at great expense and no little hardship several hundred miles down the river, then commandeered, some might even say stolen, by the redoubtable Chinese Gordon the minute I landed it safely in Khartoum.’ He fell silent and brooded on the injustice.
‘Naturally you have not the faintest notion what happened to it once it passed out of your hands?’ Penrod suggested delicately.