King of Kings

by Wilbur Smith

“He must have the chance to live.”

  Tadesse nodded. “It will be here. The infection has taken the rest.” He pointed at a place just above the elbow on Iyasu’s left arm. “Mr. Ryder, I have not the strength. If you can do it in one blow, it may save him.”

  “Make the arrangements, Tadesse. I shall do it.”

  Tadesse got to his feet, but Ryder stopped him.

  “Mrs. Saffy is with child. If we need more help, ask Miss Amber.”

  Tadesse considered for a moment. “We shall need more help. I will tell her.”

  •••

  Tadesse consulted with the men of the village and they brought their weapons from their homes, curved shotels were examined for sharpness and weight, while one man, Hadash, scarred from battle, brought an ax he had used to fashion the timber supports of the mine. They agreed this would be the best instrument. The blade had to cut through bone without shattering it—only an edge with the weight of this ax could be trusted. Hadash asked for half an hour to grind the edge to an ultimate sharpness. Tadesse hesitated, then told them to do it, but take no longer.

  Amber watched as the men worked the circular grindstone, sweeping the blade across it in a delicate arc. It did not spark, the metal only seemed to sigh as it found its edge. Amber joined Ryder in his hut.

  Iyasu was still unconscious and his skin had taken on a yellow hue in the lamplight. Amber carried strips of leather over one shoulder, linen over the other and fresh water in a bowl in her hands. Ryder saw her pause in the doorway, knocked back by the smell of rotting flesh, but without making a sound she came in and set out what she had brought.

  “They are nearly ready. Are you?” she said.

  “Yes. Where is Saffy?”

  “By the church with Leon. The priest is leading prayers.”

  “I am glad you came with us, al-Zahra,” Ryder said.

  She turned to look at him and he felt as if he were seeing her for the first time. He remembered her as a little girl under her father’s protection in Khartoum, begging him for treats and showing off her party dresses. His words had made her happy, and he realized he had not seen her look so since the day before she broke her engagement with Penrod. She blushed and took one of the leather strips from her shoulder and tied it tightly around the highest point of Iyasu’s arm.

  Iyasu moaned and, as if in reply, they heard a warning shout from outside. Tadesse came in first and behind him, Hadash. Hadash handed the ax to Ryder, then went at once to the head of the bed so he could hold Iyasu’s shoulders. Tadesse took hold of Iyasu’s diseased arm and drew it out at a right angle from his body. Amber leaned in and placed a thick bundle of cured hides under the arm where the blow had to fall, then took hold of Iyasu’s legs. The warrior began to fight and scream. Ryder felt the weight of the ax, then swung it above his head. Its glittering edge burned a pattern into the gloom as he shifted forward, then brought the ax down with every ounce of his weight and strength behind it. The blade sliced through flesh and bone and buried itself in the hides. Iyasu’s eyes opened and he let out one terrible moan before his eyes rolled back into his head and his jaw went slack.

  Tadesse pinched the oozing arteries of the wound together and sewed them closed, then began packing the wound with linen. Ryder stepped back.

  Amber was assisting Tadesse, watching carefully and handing him what he required. Ryder moved further away from them and sat with his back to the wall of his home, the muscles in his shoulders stinging, and watched them as they tended to the wound. As long as they were working he knew Iyasu was not yet dead.

  •••

  Ryder must have slept. He felt someone shaking his shoulder and he woke up with a start. It was Amber. She was offering him a cup, and he smelled the welcome aroma of strong coffee. The lamp had been extinguished and the hut was filled with the light of a new day. He looked about him while Amber settled herself on the floor beside him. The severed arm was gone, as was the ax. Tadesse was crouching by Iyasu, blocking Ryder’s view.

  “He is still alive,” Amber said, answering his thoughts.

  “Thank you for the coffee.”

  She pushed the hair back from her face and Ryder noticed she looked pale with fatigue.

  “Saffron is waiting for you outside with Leon. Please do not tell her I woke you.”

  He laughed. “I shall not. But you should rest yourself.”

  She drank deeply from her own cup. “Not yet. I want Tadesse to sleep for a while. When he has rested I will sleep, not before.”

  Ryder stood and patted her on the shoulder then went outside, his coffee cup still in his hands, warming them in the morning chill. His wife sprang up like a cat from her place by the path to the water, carrying Leon on her hip, and flung herself against his chest. He caught her and lifted her face, kissing her hard. Leon struggled between them. Saffron set him down and he toddled off bravely in pursuit of a chicken.

  “Ryder, we’ve had news from Ato Asfaw’s people. He has gone to buy cattle at the market in Adrigat. They sent word and sent us three sheep and a great cask of honey. That is his son Fassil’s doing, I think.”

  “A generous gift.”

  “A proper gift,” Saffron said, releasing herself and smoothing down her skirts. “You have saved Iyasu’s life.”

  He finished his coffee and she took the mug from him. “Saffy, we don’t know if he will live yet, and if anyone saved him it was Tadesse.”

  “Pah!” she said. Saffron would never believe her husband was anything less than the hero and savior of any situation in which he found himself.

  “Well, you saved Tadesse, so it’s the same thing anyway. The men didn’t know what to do with the arm so they put it in a box and gave it to the priest. He prayed over it, which everyone felt was the right thing, and then took it off somewhere.”

  They sat together on the log benches in front of the church. Ryder wanted to go to the mine and see what progress they were making. He needed to talk to Patch and the senior workers about timber, and discuss what repairs were needed on the flumes, which led their precious water through the works. He also wanted to be sure he was in the village when Ato Asfaw arrived.

  “Ryder, did Iyasu really say that Emperor John is dead?” Saffron whispered.

  “He did.”

  “Then who will rule? His only son is already dead! Was Emperor John killed fighting the Italians? It will be much more difficult to get things from Massowah if war has broken out.”

  Ryder looked out across the flowing valley, up the hillside to the plateau where they had first noticed Iyasu yesterday, and beyond the purple peaks marching toward Adrigat and Axum. He could feel success, just beyond his reach, like an itch in his blood. If they could only improve the process of extracting the silver from the ore, the painful trickle of treasure would become a steady stream. He just needed more time, another mining engineer to replace Dan. He wondered if Iyasu was the harbinger of some greater danger approaching, something that would sweep them and all their workings away.

  Saffron tapped his shoulder and pointed across the river. “Look, Ato Asfaw is coming.”

  •••

  For two days they watched and waited to see if Iyasu would live or die, then on the third morning he opened his eyes and recognized his father. Tadesse ordered the women to make a teff porridge with his own mix of herbs and flowers added to it, and fed this to Iyasu with a horn spoon, like a mother bird feeds her first chicks.

  When the workers had returned from the mine and the families ate their evening meal, Ryder was invited to Iyasu’s bedside to hear his story.

  Iyasu was supported on a pile of straw-stuffed pillows. His skin was dusty and gray, but he recognized Ryder and smiled at him. Ato Asfaw got to his feet as Ryder came in and embraced him.

  “A stool for Mr. Ryder, Tadesse, my boy. Here, just next to mine.” Asfaw’s eyes widened and he covered his mouth with his hand. “Father, forgive me! I am inviting you to sit in your own house!”

  Ryder laughed. “While Iyasu is h
ere, my friend, it is your house.”

  Tadesse brought the stool and the two men sat, while Tadesse crouched on the other side of Iyasu’s bed, watching like a hawk.

  “Good evening, Mr. Ryder,” Iyasu said. “Are you well?”

  “Thanks be to God, I am well. And you?”

  “Thanks be to God, I am well.” Iyasu sighed and moved slightly, then winced as his stump brushed against the pillows on which he lay. Tadesse jumped up with a scowl and moved the pillows and coverings to make him more comfortable.

  “It is too soon to talk,” Tadesse said sullenly. “You should open your mouth for food and water, and that only.”

  Ryder thought Tadesse might be right, but he was desperate for news.

  “Peace, little brother,” Iyasu said weakly. “You know this must be told.”

  Tadesse gave a quick nod, then dropped again into his watchful crouch. Iyasu shifted his gaze back to his father and Ryder.

  “I have been with Emperor John for two years,” he said, “under the flag of Ras Alula of Tigray. Last year he led us close to the Italians, but John and Alula are wise men. They saw the Italians were dug in firmly in their places in Saahati and we had not men nor guns to push them back into the sea. John heard rumors that Menelik of Shoa was offering to make war on our flank.” He paused and Ryder watched while Tadesse poured tej from an earthenware jug into a cup and lifted it to Iyasu’s lips. While he drank, Asfaw spoke.

  “You know of King Menelik, Mr. Ryder?”

  Ryder nodded. “He has made his kingdom within Ethiopia into a great power, but he seems like a careful man.”

  Iyasu closed his eyes for a moment and began speaking again.

  “Emperor John was very unhappy. He has been less than himself since his eldest son died. We heard he had talked of giving up the throne itself, but his advisers, Ras Alula among them, told him he could not abandon his sacred duty. He seemed to grow strong again, and walked among us with his head held high. He stood above us and proclaimed a war against the dervishes. ‘Their attacks against the northern border can no longer be endured,’ he said. ‘They must be beaten out of our territory like the dogs they are.’” Iyasu smiled. “His words warmed our hearts and lifted us. We marched to Metemma and we attacked in great fury. Ras Alula led us on the flank and though we had warned them of our coming, they could not withstand us.”

  “They are brave fighters,” Ryder said. “I have seen the dervishes attack and it is like a flood or a firestorm. Few can withstand them.”

  Iyasu’s eyes sparkled. “They are best at a charge; they do not like to defend a position. And you have not seen the Ethiopians fight, Mr. Ryder. With our princes and our emperor among us, we can make the dervishes squeal and cry like children.”

  Ryder imagined the battle, the tearing of flesh, the spears of the Abyssinians and arrows of the dervishes, the rifles each had won from European armies by trade or plunder, an ancient and a modern war unfolding in one place and between two armies who had no fear of death, devoted to their leaders. It must have been a terrible slaughter.

  “We had them. We cut them down like straw. Then . . . Then it was as if a terrible curse fell on us. From the middle of the battle came a dervish in a green turban mounted on a black charger, an animal that must have been sired by the devil himself. He galloped through us and not one of our shots or spears could touch him. In his right hand he held a blade, bloodied from tip to hilt, and in the other, held high so we could all see it, he held the head of Emperor John.”

  Ryder thought he knew who that particular dervish was. Osman Atalan. The warlord who had held Amber and Penrod captive, who still held his own sister-in-law, Rebecca Benbrook, as his concubine.

  Tadesse spooned more of the tej between Iyasu’s lips.

  “Enough.” Iyasu pushed him gently away and turned his head back toward Asfaw and Ryder. “It broke our spirit. To see that devil holding the good emperor’s head by his hair. Our warriors collapsed. The dervishes were inflamed and in that moment the battle turned and we were scattered.” He touched the binding on his chest. “I took this wound in the moments after I saw it, and this—” he touched his thigh—“within a minute more. Where a moment before I had been fighting with my brothers, now I was floundering among their corpses. One man rushed at me and I managed to raise my shield against his blow, then another came from my left and sliced through my wrist. I thought they were my last moments on earth. But then I thought of my home and my father, and I wrapped my wound with the cloth of one of my fellows. I tried to reach Ras Alula, but night came. I fell to the ground, and when I woke, my only company was the dead. The army had fled.”

  The fire behind them crackled.

  “How came you here?” Ryder asked at last.

  “I walked one day, then another. I did not know where the army had gone and I thought only of my home. I met a shepherd who washed my wounds and would have had me stay with him, but after one day of rest, I felt stronger and walked on. Then the pain began to grow in my wrist, and I knew the wound was going bad. But I thought I could still outpace the hurt of it.”

  “Does Ras Alula still live?” Ryder asked. “Who now is emperor?”

  Iyasu’s eyes fluttered closed again. “I do not know,” he whispered.

  “Enough,” Tadesse said. “He must sleep, Mr. Ryder.”

  Ryder placed his hand on the boy’s chest. “Rest now, Iyasu. And thank you for your news and the pain you took to tell it. Ato Asfaw, will you speak of these things with me? I think I must see Ras Alula in Axum. If he lives, he will be there.”

  The older man stood up. “I am glad you go, and yes, let us speak. I know Tadesse will care for my son while we talk.”

  They went out into the gathering night.

  Ryder reached Axum three days later and news of his coming had obviously traveled ahead of him. As he reached the final crest and looked down onto the plain where the town nestled on the golden, crop-covered plateau between the astonishing sugarloaf mountains of red and purple, a party of warriors was already on its way to meet him. They were high-caste, Ryder could tell that even at this distance by the glimmer of silver decorating their hide shields, and the skins—leopard and lion—they wore across their shoulders. Some, Ryder noticed, carried rifles and wore cartridge belts. Others still held the tall, flat-bladed spears that had been the weapon of the Abyssinian warrior since the time of the Queen of Sheba.

  Ryder called a halt. He traveled with only two pack mules, and for their protection against bandits, he brought Geriel and Maki. Ryder did not want to make any grand display, and every move he made, including waiting here, high above the town, was designed to convey only respect and friendship. They had brought the first dozen silver ingots from the mine with them in offering, and four fat sheep ambled alongside their little caravan. Ryder had calculated the gift carefully. To bring too little would be insulting—Alula was governor of the entire region and his authority should be recognized—but too much would look like arrogance. Ryder also brought Tadesse, who had volunteered his services to the wounded among Ras Alula’s followers. Saffron had wanted to come, of course, but the new pregnancy was making her sick and in the end even she agreed that the trip to Axum would be too much.

  The warriors reached them in the heat of the early afternoon and Ryder exchanged formal greetings with them, asked for news of Alula and offered his gifts. The warriors gave them no news, of course, but accepted the gifts with dignified approval and told them that a compound in Axum belonging to the Ras himself was being prepared for them. The prince asked them to visit him during the evening.

  Ryder had visited Axum many times as a trader, but it never failed to astonish him. The houses were the usual thatched round huts of wood or stone, arranged in compounds, and a wide, open area in the middle of the town served as a marketplace most mornings, shaded by fig and acacia trees. But Axum was more than a provincial city. This had been the capital of one of the greatest African empires, and the Axumite rulers who had held sway here for
five hundred years had left their monuments behind them. Huge carved granite columns marked their tombs, rearing up to a height of eighty feet, like the great obelisks of ancient Egypt. To the west of the town stood the ruins of a great palace, bleached and worn, where the local people said the Queen of Sheba herself had once lived.

  Ryder counted dozens of wounded men watching from doorways or lying insensible in the shade before they reached the compound Alula had selected for them. He saw the tight, worried expression on Tadesse’s face and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “You must do what you can, Tadesse, but do not try and save them all. Begin with those that can be saved, not the ones who are most sick. Do you understand me? We shall say Geriel and Maki are your brothers. They will go with you and make sure that your decisions are respected.”

  “Thank you,” the boy said quietly. “But it is not necessary, I have friends here.”

  He had slipped away before Ryder had time to argue, so Geriel and Maki led the animals to the compound set aside for them.

  •••

  The night was drawing in and cooking fires had been lit outside several of the doorways. The atmosphere was dark: an uneasy mix of confusion and defeat as Ryder made his way to meet Ras Alula. The audience chamber itself was in a large, stone-built hall, and when Ryder entered he saw a group of men, the senior advisers of Ras Alula, gathered at the far end. They were men of mature years, and though they were dressed in the same simple white robes, kaftans and trousers all the men of the region wore, the small details of their clothing, ornaments on their shoulders and silver fittings at their hips marked them as an elite group. As Ryder entered they fell silent and parted to reveal Ras Alula seated on a raised platform against the far wall. He was a man in his late fifties, short and stocky, with a long straight nose and his skin a deep bronze. His beard was more white than black and his face deeply lined, but no one could mistake the sense of physical power he exuded. He was wearing an embroidered kaftan of purple and green, chased around the throat and wrists with gold thread. The stool on which he sat was upholstered in purple and decorated with silver trimmings, including a cascade of silver bells. His shield, also decorated with silver, was propped up against this throne on his left and his rifle leaned within reach of his right hand.