Cry Wolf

by Wilbur Smith

Amongst the grey-green thorn trees and dense scrub goat and camel

  grazed in company with gazelle and gerenuk, oryx and greater kudu.

  n In the hush of noo', the column of four armoured cars came in from

  the east, and the hum of their engines carried at distance to the

  multitude that awaited their arrival.

  Jake led, as usual, followed by Vicky, then came Gregoritis with

  Sara riding in the turret of his car and the white stallion trailing

  them on a long lead rein. In the rear rode Gareth. Suddenly Sara

  shrieked at such a high pitch that her voice carried over the engine

  noise and she pointed ahead to the low valley filled with green scrub

  and taller denser trees. Jake halted the column and climbed up into

  the turret.

  Through his binoculars he studied the open forest, and then.

  started as he discerned a horde of moving figures coming headlong on

  wings of fine pale dust.

  "My God," he muttered aloud. "there must be hundreds of them," and he

  felt a stab of uneasiness. They looked anything but friendly.

  At that moment, he was distracted by the sound of galloping hooves

  close by, and Sara came dashing past him.

  She was mounted bareback on the white stallion, her robes streaming and

  fluttering in the sun-bright wind. She was shouting with almost

  hysterical excitement as she galloped to meet the oncoming riders and

  her behaviour reassured Jake a little. He signalled the column forward

  once again.

  The first ranks came swiftly in dust clouds, on running camels and

  galloping shaggy horses. Fierce, dark-faced men in billowing robes of

  dirty white, and a motley of other colours. Urging forward their

  mounts with wild cries, brandishing the small round bronze and iron

  studded and bossed war shields, they came racing towards the column.

  As they approached, they split into two wings and tore headlong past

  the startled drivers in a solid wall of moving men and animals.

  Most of the men were bearded, and here and there some warrior wore

  proudly a great fluffy headdress of lion mane proclaiming his valour to

  the world. The manes rippled and waved on the wind as the riders drove

  by, urging on their mounts with the high "Looloo" ululations so

  characteristic of the Ethiopians.

  The weapons they carried amazed Gareth, who as a professional dealer

  recognized twenty different types and makes, each one of them a

  collector's piece from the long muzzle-loading Tower muskets with the

  fancy hammers over percuss ion caps, through a range of Martini Henry

  carbines, which fired a heavy lead bullet in a cloud of black powder

  smoke, to a wide selection of Mousers; and Schneiders, Lee-Metfords,

  and obsolete models from half the arms-manufacturers of the world.

  As the riders swept by, they fired these weapons into the air,

  long spurts of black powder against the evening sky, and the crackle of

  musketry blended with the fierce ululations of welcome.

  After the first wave of riders came another of those on mules and

  donkeys moving more slowly but making as much noise and immediately

  after them came a swarming mob of running, howling foot soldiers,

  mingled with whom were women and shrieking children, and dozens of

  yelping dogs, scrawny yellow curs with long whippy tails and ridges of

  standing hair running down their skeletal backbones.

  As the first rank of riders turned, still loolooing and firing into the

  air, to complete the encirclement of the armoured column, they ran

  headlong into the following rabble and the entire congregation became a

  struggling mob of men and animals.

  Jake saw a mother with a child under her arm go down under the hooves

  of a running camel, the child flying from her grip and rolling in the

  sandy earth. Then he was past, forging ahead through a narrow path in

  the sea of humanity.

  Sara was keeping the path open, leading them in, riding just ahead of

  Jake's car, laying about her viciously with a long quirt of hippo hide

  to hold back the mob, while around her wheeled the wildly excited

  riders still firing their pieces into the air, and dozens of runners

  pressed in closely, trying to climb aboard the moving cars.

  Gradually the press of bodies and animals built up, until at last,

  following Sara, they moved slowly through the open forest that

  surrounded the wells into one of the shallow but steeply sided wadis in

  the broken ground beyond.

  Here any further forward movement became impossible.

  The wadi was choked solidly with humanity, even the steep earthen sides

  and the ledges above were crowded so closely that unfortunates,

  pushed by those behind, could no longer keep their Position and came

  tumbling down the sheer sides on to the heads of those in the wadi

  below. The cries of protest were lost in the general hubbub.

  From each of the turrets, the heads of the four drivers appeared

  timidly, like gophers peering out of their holes.

  They made helpless signs and expressions at each other, unable to

  communicate in the uproar.

  Sara leaped from the back of the stallion on to the sponson of Jake's

  car and began raining blows and kicks on those who were still

  attempting to climb aboard the vehicle. She was enjoying herself

  immensely, Jake realized, as he noticed the battle lust in her eyes and

  heard the crack of her whip and the yelps of her victims. He thought

  of trying to restrain her and then discarded the idea as being highly

  dangerous. Instead, he looked about distractedly for some other means

  to subdue the boisterous welcome and noticed for the first time the

  entrances to numerous caves in the sides of the wadi.

  From a number of these dark openings now poured a body of men,

  wearing a semblance of uniform jodhpurs and baggy khaki tunics, their

  chests crossed with bandoliers of ammunition, put teed calves and bare

  feet, high turbans bound around their heads and Mauser rifles swinging

  heartily, the butts used as clubs. They were every bit as enthusiastic

  as Sara, but considerably more successful in their attempts to quieten

  the crowd.

  "My grandfather's guards," Sara explained to Jake, still panting and

  grinning happily from her recent exertions. "I am sorry, Jake, but

  sometimes my people get excited."

  "Yeah," said Jake. "So I noticed."

  With gun butts rising and falling the guards cleared a space around the

  four laden vehicles, and the noise dropped in volume until it was

  equivalent to a medium-sized avalanche. The four drivers climbed

  warily down and came together in a defensive group in the small stretch

  of open ground before the caves. Vicky Camberwell placed herself

  strategically between Jake and Gareth and behind the lanky robed figure

  of Gregorius and she felt even more secure when Sara slipped up beside

  her and took her hand.

  "Please do not worry," she whispered. "We are all your friends."

  "You could have fooled me, honey." Vicky smiled back at her, and

  squeezed the slim brown hand. At that moment a procession emerged from

  the caves, headed by four coal-black priests of the Coptic Christian

 
; Church in their gaudy robes, chanting in Amharic, swinging incense and

  carrying ornate, if crudely wrought bronze crosses.

  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 g
lanced 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

  wraiths. Every once in a while there would be the terrified bellows of

  an ox from the wadi outside. the main entrance of the cave. The

  bellows would cease abruptly as the blackman swung his long two-handled

  sword and the carcass fell with a thud that seemed to reverberate

  through the cavern. A vast shout of approval greeted the fall of the

  beast, and a dozen eager assistants flayed the hide, hacked the flesh

  into bloody strips and piled them on to huge platters of baked clay.

  The servants staggered into the cave, bearing the laden platters of

  steaming, quivering meat. The guests fell upon it, men and women

  alike, snatching up the bleeding flesh, taking an end between their

  teeth, pulling it tight with one hand and hacking free a bite-sized

  piece with a knife grasped in the other. The flashing blade passed a

  mere fraction from the end of the diner's nose and warm blood trickled

  unheeded down the chin, as the lump was swallowed with a single

  convulsive heave of the throat.

  Each mouthful was washed down into the belly with a swig of the fiery

  Ethiopian tej - a brew made from wild honey, a liquid the colour of

  golden amber, with the impact of a charging buffalo bull.

  Gareth Swales sat between the old Ras and Lij Mikhael in the place of

  honour, while Jake and Vicky were a dozen places farther away amongst

  the lesser notables. In deference to the appetite and tastes of

  foreigners, they were offered, in place of raw beef, an endless

  succession of bubbling pots containing the fiery casseroles of beef,

  lamb, chicken and game that are known under the inclusive title of

  wat.

  These highly spiced, peppery but delicious concoctions were spooned out

  on to thin sheets of unleavened bread and rolled into a cigar shape

  before eating.

  Lij Mikhael warned his guests against the tea and instead offered

  Bollinger champagne, wrapped in wet sacking to lower its temperature.

  There was also pinch bottle Haig, London Dry Gin, and a vast array of