by Wilbur Smith
Maki whistled between his teeth, examining the scuffed sandy soil. “Many men, Mr. Ryder, and turning toward our camp.”
He pointed at one mark with his walking stick and the wood glimmered in the sunlight. Ryder looked at the place he was pointing. A hoof print, walked over by many barefooted men, but it was certainly a hoof print and that of a horse rather than a mule or donkey. Very few men could afford to ride horses in the highlands. Mules and asses were far more sure-footed on the leaping and plunging trails. Only princes and kings rode horses. Ryder felt his skin prickle and his mouth grew dry.
“Not bandits. A big man. A very big man,” Maki said, his voice low and serious.
“How long ago?” Ryder asked.
“A day, and they only go toward the camp. None coming back. Whoever they might be, they are still there.” Maki turned toward him again, and his words came quick and urgent. He had a wife and children at the camp too.
“Let me run on, Mr. Ryder. I swear by Mary and St. George, I will only look and then return. No matter what I see.”
Ryder did not reply, only began walking more quickly up the trail to the escarpment. Maki decided silence meant consent. He tossed his walking stick to Geriel, who caught it out of the air, and ran off ahead of them with the graceful, fluid lope of a born runner. He was soon out of sight.
Ryder and the others followed in silence. They saw the fires as they reached the summit of the next long gradual climb. When Ryder noticed the smoke, his imagination filled with horrors: Saffron dead, the camp destroyed. He had an image of little Leon face down in the river, of Amber eviscerated like the bandit in the gorge. He was about to break into a run himself, then they heard someone approaching. It was Maki. He ran up the hillside toward them and, as he came closer, Ryder tried to read his expression. He clenched his teeth to stop himself calling out for news at once.
Maki reached them, panting from his climb, bending over and breathing deeply. He reached out and put his hand on Ryder’s shoulder.
“It’s all right, Mr. Ryder. All is well! They are cooking fires. But it is Menelik himself who has come, the new emperor. He has fifty warriors camped on the escarpment, more servants with them. He himself is in the village with his guard. But why has he come?”
Ryder breathed out slowly, as if he too had been running over the narrow, rocky trails, and remembered the moment he had sat in the steamer wondering what the penalties of success in the mine could be.
“I think he has heard about our silver.”
•••
Ryder changed his clothes before going any further. Not that any of his clothes were particularly clean, but he thought it wise not to appear in camp with blood still staining his shirt. Tadesse, Maki and Geriel also washed themselves in a small, clear stream that trickled toward the valley. As Ryder washed the blood from his arms, pinking the shallow water, he tried to remember everything he had heard about Menelik. He had ruled Shoa for many years and opened up his territory to traders before any other of the regional rulers of Abyssinia. The Italians at Massowah had spoken of him as a politician, but done so in that light, smiling way a parent might speak of a precocious child. He had come to some accommodation with the French at Djibouti, and a number of Russians had traveled from the heart of their own vast empire to offer their respects.
Ryder let the sun dry his skin and stared out into the pale turquoise sky. If the people of Ethiopia had a choice between Emperor John’s young, untried son Ras Mengesha and this older man, a proven ruler, they would naturally choose Menelik, no matter what Ras Alula said. Ryder might even agree with them.
Tadesse brought him a shirt from his pack. It was a little threadbare from much washing, but it was not bloodstained.
So that’s all that I know about Menelik, Ryder thought. But what does Menelik know about me? Alula had said he was negotiating with the Italians at Wuchale. Had the Italians told him about Courtney Mine? Perhaps he came only out of curiosity, but it was a long way to come on an idle whim, and Ryder did not think Menelik was the sort of man to do anything idly.
•••
They were soon spotted by the men camped on the ridge and Ryder found himself exchanging greetings with one of Menelik’s lieutenants. The lieutenant had brought an Arab man with him as he walked toward Ryder on the trail, but as soon as he realized no need for a translator existed, he dismissed the man with a wave of his hand. Both Ryder and the lieutenant addressed each other with careful formality.
Ryder noticed that Menelik’s men carried themselves with great dignity, and each wore decorations—armbands of leather and silver, fur collars and short woolen cloaks—to demonstrate their status, but saw no sign of unnecessary show about them. They had a sort of quiet confidence that Ryder recognized and respected.
Once the initial exchanges were over, with a slight bow the lieutenant offered to accompany Ryder into camp. The offer was made with courtesy, but it was obvious it was not an offer to be refused, so Ryder found himself being led, as if he were a guest, into his own home.
Ryder took in the scene as he followed the track toward the valley floor. In the middle of the central square of the camp, in between the church and the fire pit, a chair and canopy had been set up. On the chair—the traditional wooden stool of any headman, but larger and more ornately carved—sat a man in a traditional kaftan and loose white trousers, but over his shoulders he wore a long purple cloak. He also wore a white turban—the mark of priests and aristocrats. Ryder knew then that it was Menelik himself. The canopy above his chair was of green and gold cloth, and fringed with long, silver tassels. Around him stood two or three older men, all dressed in similar fashion, though without turbans, and forming a semicircle around them were half a dozen warriors with decorated shields and modern rifles on their backs. In front of the throne, and to Menelik’s right, the log benches had been rearranged. Saffron, Amber and Patch sat along one like schoolchildren. Along the other sat the senior men of the mine. Ryder realized he could hear no signs of working coming from the valley. The lack of the usual rumble of rock being pounded and shifted gave the whole scene an unfamiliar air. Ryder could see the rest of the men and women of the camp gathered by their own huts. The women were still working at their usual tasks. The men simply sat in the shade and watched. He glanced upward. The children had been allowed to take the livestock out to graze, he noticed.
As he reached the base of the valley and followed his guides across the causeway, then up the track to the camp, he saw something else. There was a series of neat stacks of rifles piled outside the church. Ryder was quite certain they were the rifles that were normally carried by his men. He hoped that Menelik had not asked Amber to add her father’s revolver to the pile.
As Ryder walked into the camp, Menelik rose to his feet. Ryder realized the King of Shoa was much taller than he had thought, looking at him from afar. The broad set of his shoulders made him look stocky when he was seated, but as he stood up and opened out his arms, Ryder realized that Menelik had a build very much like his own: broad-shouldered and muscular, but still standing at over six feet. His skin was darker than that of the inhabitants of Tigray, but he had the narrow nose and lips of the highlanders.
Ryder could feel his wife’s gaze, but he did not dare look at her yet.
Menelik smiled. “Mr. Ryder, of Courtney Mine and Camp. In the name of our Lord, of Mary the Mother of Christ, and of Saint George, I greet you.”
Ryder stopped on the patch of bare earth between Menelik and the fire pit and bowed.
“I greet you, my lord,” he replied.
“I was told your Amharic is good. You do not need a translator to understand me?”
“I do not.”
Menelik waited for a while before he spoke again. “This is uncomfortable, is it not, Mr. Ryder? I greet you as if you are my guest, but the entire valley is yours, as you see it. To invite me, a king, to be seated would be a gross insult. If I tell you to sit, and you do, then I am usurping your authority and you are submit
ting. A puzzle indeed.” He looked amused, and cupped his chin in his hand. Then his expression changed. He became more serious, and his voice became lower.
“You have a claim on this place. That I do not deny, Mr. Ryder. But I am the King of Kings. Your authority flows through me, or you have none.”
Ryder swung his rifle from his shoulder. Menelik did not flinch; from his guards came a sudden ripple of movement, a series of clicks and snaps as they loaded their own weapons, and lifted them to their shoulders and leveled the barrels at Ryder. Ryder heard Saffron squeak, but she managed to stop herself making any other noise. Ryder could imagine her biting the inside of her lip until it bled. He could almost taste her blood, metallic and warm in his own mouth.
He extended his arms away from his body, holding his rifle loosely in his right hand. Then, without speaking, he carried the rifle over to the pile of weaponry in front of the church. Menelik’s guards followed his movements with the muzzles of their guns. Still with both arms extending from his body, Ryder carefully placed his rifle on top of the rest. He heard Menelik give a word of command, and his men lowered their rifles.
Ryder nodded to Maki and Geriel. They followed his example and Ryder noticed Tadesse slip into an empty place next to Amber. She put her arm around his thin shoulders. Then Ryder returned to his place in front of Menelik. The King of Shoa was watching him, his head on one side and a smile twitching the corner of his mouth.
“I hope, my lord, you have enjoyed the hospitality of my family?”
Menelik stepped out from under the canopy and offered Ryder his hand. Ryder took it. The palm was warm and dry, and the grip strong.
“I have, Mr. Ryder.” He pointed toward Amber. “Miss Amber makes a chicken stew almost as good as an Abyssinian woman. And Mr. Patch has been showing me around the mine.”
“I am surprised, my lord, that the men are not working today,” Ryder said.
Menelik shrugged. “They are ashamed. Men should work in the fields or take up arms and serve their lord in battle. They will not do this labor while their emperor is in their midst. You found Ras Alula well?”
Ryder was careful not to show any sign of surprise. “He is well. He grieves for Emperor John.”
Menelik still had hold of Ryder’s hand. “He has nothing to grieve for. Emperor John died in battle defending his country. It is the best death a man might wish for.”
Ryder did not reply. Menelik studied his face for a moment more, then let his hand go.
“You wish to greet your family. Do so. We will talk more this evening. You shall sit by my side as we eat. For now, I have other duties. Word of my visit has spread, and you see, many of my people wish to have sight of me.”
Ryder turned around. One of the men from the escarpment was bringing a procession of men and women down the track—peasant farmers from the look of them. They must have come from miles around. Each carried a basket on their back or head. Offerings for their new lord. These neighbors had never visited the camp before, convinced that the mineworkers would be, like other metalworkers, infected with the evil eye. Perhaps they thought Menelik’s presence made them immune.
Ryder realized that the king was still watching him. “I look forward to our conversation, my lord,” he said, then walked swiftly toward the hut he shared with Saffron. He heard his family and friends stand and follow him. He did not look back, but as soon as they had reached the relative privacy of the interior, he spun around and caught up Saffron in his arms.
“Ryder, I thought they would shoot you!”
He buried his face in her neck, drinking in the scent of her, the softness of her skin, the warmth where her hands clasped his shoulders.
“Where is Leon?” he asked.
“One of Menelik’s servants is playing with him and the other little ones. He has so many servants! It’s all done very politely, but he frightens me. It was the same with the rifles. He made it all sound very sensible and reasonable, but it was terrifying. He just arrived and we didn’t know what to do. I offered him our house, but he has a huge tent on the escarpment. Sometimes he seems very kind, and then a moment later he has this look in his eye and I’m afraid he’ll cut my throat. I just can’t tell. Oh, I’ve been so frightened and I’m so glad you are home!”
All this was said in a muffled, whispered rush. He stroked the hair from her face, rocking her gently as if comforting a child. He put out his hand to Amber, who clasped it briefly, her blue eyes looking old with worry, then he held it out to Patch, who shook it firmly.
“He’s a clever man, Ryder,” Patch said. “No mistaking that. He wanted to know everything about the mine, and he had a fellow with him the whole time making notes.”
“Where is Tadesse?” Ryder asked.
“I sent him to our hut, Ryder,” Amber answered. “What happened?”
Ryder released his wife and sat down heavily on one of the benches in the middle of the room.
“What did Ras Alula say?” Amber asked. “How can he resist Menelik?” She pointed toward the door. “You see how he is. Mengesha and Alula can’t challenge him, and the people like the look of him.” She crossed her arms around her chest. “He certainly acts like the King of Kings, Ryder.”
“Alula knows that,” Ryder replied. “He would not admit it, though. He’s promised to leave us in peace. So now everything depends on Menelik. If he tries to take the mine from me, I swear he’ll have to kill me first.” He looked around the faces of his friends. “And another thing: Tadesse has been acting as Ras Alula’s eyes and ears here since we arrived.”
Saffron gasped and Amber bit her lip and turned away as Ryder told them what had happened in Axum, and Alula’s insistence that Tadesse remain with them. As he finished he saw the boy himself in the doorway. He held a small canvas-wrapped package in his hands. Ryder would not look at him. Tadesse glanced around him, seeing the disappointed looks of the two women and Patch’s hunched shoulders.
“Mr. Ryder?” he said softly, holding out the package. Ryder did not take it or speak to him. “When Mr. Rusty was killed, and I prepared his body for the grave, I saw his notebook was gone.”
“I asked Dan about it after the trial,” Patch said, confused. “He said he’d destroyed it.”
Tadesse shook his head. “He tried. He hid it under rocks in one of the water channels. I found it before the channel filled.”
Ryder’s eyes widened and he snatched the package from Tadesse’s hands. He removed the canvas wrapping and flicked through the pages of the thick notebook. It was filled with sketches and careful notes, all Rusty’s missing genius neatly caught on the page. Ryder felt a surge of hope. This might be it. The missing piece that would turn the trickle of silver he had managed to extract from the mountain into a steady stream. Deciphering the notes might take weeks, but it would be worth it. He looked up at the faces surrounding him, then back at Tadesse.
“You kept this from me?”
Tadesse shrunk away from him. “I believed the mine would kill you all, Mr. Ryder. I thought you had to leave to save your family. I believed the work cursed.”
Ryder could barely contain his rage, but Saffron put her hand on his thigh and leaned forward.
“You don’t believe that any longer, Tadesse?”
The boy shook his head.
“Why not?”
He began to weep. Ryder had never seen the boy give any sign of deep emotion before and he felt his rage retreat, at least enough to allow him to listen to his words.
“In Axum, I tried to save a man who was beyond saving. When he breathed his last, his family cursed me as a witch. I told Geriel and Maki and they said to me: ‘Do not mind them, little brother. They are ignorant people.’ And I thought: they are good men, though they work in your mine. Ato Gebre, who made the stamp for your ingots, is kind, though he has worked metal all his life. I thought perhaps I have been an ignorant person. I will not betray you again, Mr. Ryder.”
Saffron glanced between the boy and her husband.
&nbs
p; “Tadesse, go now,” she said. “Such things are not forgotten in a moment, but I hear you, and I do not forget the good you have done here.”
The boy nodded and slipped away. When he was gone, Patch put out his hand and Ryder handed him the notebook. He thumbed through the pages and whistled.
“This could change everything. If Menelik gives us the chance to make use of it.”
Ryder felt a touch on his shoulder. Saffron was offering him a horn beaker of tulla. He drank it down and she took her place next to him.
“Ryder, try and forgive Tadesse,” she said. “For me.”
“For you, Saffy, I will try.”
Amber and Patch had taken their places now around the central fire pit. Ryder felt the tulla warming his blood and Saffron’s slim arm snake over his shoulder, the touch of her fingers on his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the promise of her comfort. Patch was frowning and scratching the scarring on his face. Ryder knew by now it was a sign he wanted to ask something, but didn’t think he was going to like the answer.
“What is it, Patch?” he asked.
“Just how much silver is Menelik going to want? We’ve just handed everything we have to Ras Alula,” Patch answered.
Ryder always forgot that most Europeans had no idea how business was conducted in Africa. They expected to pay official taxes, buy permits and permissions. They never realized that in a land of kings and princes, a world of warriors and vast distances, it was a matter of friendships and patronage, an infinitely complex system of influence and favors. Ryder had always known that some of his silver would be spent buying those favors and earning that status. But it was a fragile system. The rivalries of princes and kings in danger of breaking out into new violence could tear the whole web apart and leave them with nothing.
“And we have earned Alula’s friendship with them,” Ryder said. “But if we are going to survive here now Emperor John is dead, we’re going to need to come to some sort of arrangement with Menelik too.”