by Wilbur Smith
“Don’t touch me,” he said, shaking him off, but he did not try to approach again.
Hagos paced around the corpse, her tail thrashing and her ears back, uttering a constant low growl that seemed to make the ground shiver.
Amber began talking to her, softly and soothingly. The refugees, Bill and the rest were still watching her from a careful distance.
“Don’t stare at her,” Amber said, loudly enough for them to hear, but still in a light singsong voice. “Please move away, but don’t turn your backs.”
The growls grew softer and Hagos’s tail stopped whipping so fast, although it kept up a regular twitch.
Amber glanced to her right. The orphan girl was still standing high on the slope, not far from where Amber had left her, still biting the side of her thumb, but in her other hand she was holding Hagos’s tether loosely at her side. Amber realized that she had freed the lioness to allow her to attack the bandit and save them from his clutches.
The lioness stopped pacing and padded across to Amber. She had to steel herself to reach out her hand. It was as if the earth and sky were holding their breath.
“Hello, my darling,” Amber said. “Hello, you beautiful beast.”
The great cat huffed and pushed her bloodstained jaws against Amber’s hand, then sat down heavily beside her and rested her chin on Amber’s lap.
“Tadesse,” Amber said. “I think you can come and get the bodies now.”
•••
They buried the bandit and the man he had killed that afternoon, and the orphan girl was adopted by the widowed mother. Amber was concerned at first—it seemed foolish for the woman to take on another mouth to feed when she had lost her husband—but she insisted. The little girl had proven she was clever and brave, the widow said; she had saved her son and avenged her murdered husband while his blood was still warm. Reluctantly Amber acquiesced.
As the priest read the prayer for the dead, Amber remained at the back of the crowd. Hagos was safely tethered at a distance, but the lioness was still unsettled, and Amber wanted to make sure they did not lose sight of each other.
Bill found his way to Amber’s side. She ignored him at first, but when he had bent forward to whisper his delight that she was safe, she moved away from him.
“You knew the bandit,” she said.
He blinked and shook his head slowly.
“I saw you,” she insisted, “talking to him only yesterday while I was out hunting with Hagos.”
Ryder must have caught sight of them for he was suddenly at her shoulder. Bill leaned away from them both slightly on his heels and Amber felt immediately safer.
“What’s this?” Ryder said.
Amber shifted a little closer to him. “Bill was talking to the bandit yesterday,” she said simply. “I saw him.”
“Well?” Ryder said to Bill.
Bill made a little humming noise and studied the sky above Ryder’s head.
“I did meet a young man yesterday while I was out walking. He said he was on a pilgrimage, searching for one of the mountain churches south of here. I told him the way to the road. Was that the same man who attacked the camp? How terrible! I’m afraid I can’t tell them apart yet.”
“Why would a pilgrim have a rifle?” Ryder asked sharply.
“To shoot game, perhaps?” Bill replied, blinking. “I am sorry. Of course I shall mention it if anything similar occurs.”
Amber glanced at Ryder. He looked faintly disgusted, but not suspicious.
“I’m surprised you could manage to give him directions, your Amharic is so bad. Geriel needs you on the second seam. You can recognize him, can’t you?” Ryder said.
Bill gave another blank smile and left. Ryder put his hand on Amber’s shoulder and she sighed. They waited until the priest had finished his prayers, then Ryder walked with her back to Hagos. The lioness sat up on her haunches as they approached and gave a wide yawn. Ryder reached down and scratched her muzzle. Hagos lifted a heavy paw and placed it on his wrist while she pushed her muzzle into his palm. Ryder was the only other person in the camp that Hagos would allow to touch her and he had, reluctantly, grown fond of her.
“Flirt,” Amber said and the lioness sneezed. Then she untied the tether and the three of them walked slowly back to Amber’s camp. After they had walked in silence a little way, Amber spoke quietly. “She did not eat him, Ryder.”
He laughed. “Did you think I was going to say we should kill her? No, she was defending you—we all know that. I was going to tell you that I’ve asked Ato Gebre to cast a bell. It will serve as an alarm if anyone makes another attempt against the refugees and I will set half a dozen men to guard the camp, night and day.”
“Thank you,” she answered softly.
“Though I don’t think the bandits will attack again when this story about Hagos becomes common knowledge,” he added.
When they reached Amber’s tent, she and Ryder sat together, while Hagos dropped at their feet and huffed contentedly. Ryder noticed Amber’s typewriter on the camp table and the thick pile of typewritten pages next to it, held down with a rock to save it from the mischievous breezes of the highlands.
“How is her training going?” Ryder asked.
“Very well,” Amber said, with a sudden, dazzling smile. “She has stopped chasing game as if it is nothing but play, and is learning to wait until the game comes to her. It is fascinating to watch. I was just writing about it this morning, before—”
“The time is coming when you must release her, Amber.”
She touched her stack of typewritten pages and her shoulders slumped a little.
“I realize that. But I shall not release her, Ryder,” she said. Then she caught his look of disapproval. “No, I don’t mean to keep her either. I think she will choose when to leave. I suspect it will not be long before she decides it is time for her to find a mate. I will simply wake up one morning and she will be gone.”
“And when that time comes, will you return to camp?”
“Yes, of course.”
She spoke briskly, but Ryder knew it would not be easy for her. She had grown independent up here; to be folded back into the domestic life below would be a challenge.
“I have come to ask you if you would like me to dismiss Bill before you return. I know his attentions make you uncomfortable. And do you honestly suspect him of having something to do with the attack this morning?”
“That is kind,” she said slowly. She thought about the way he had said “no” to the gunman, as if it were an order. “But what would he get from working with shifta? It’s much more likely the man was scouting the area and pretended to be a pilgrim when he met Bill, just as he said.” She threw back her head, letting the last of the day’s sun fall over her like a blessing. “I don’t know what to say, Ryder. I don’t trust Bill and I hate the way he stares at me sometimes . . . But he is useful to you, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Ryder said simply. “I would never have been able to keep up with Menelik’s conditions this long without him, but I do not like him much either, so would be happy to give him his marching orders if that would please you, al-Zahra.”
Amber folded her arms. “It is strange. You and Patch, you give your orders, but you are never above doing the work yourselves. I’ve seen you both swinging pickaxes a thousand times. But Bill never does that.”
“He certainly has soft hands for an engineer,” Ryder agreed. “He knows his work, though, and the orders he gives are good ones.”
“Thank you, Ryder, for the offer, but when Hagos leaves I shall return to camp, and Bill may stare all he likes. I have you to protect me. You will not lose the mine because of me.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. “We would never have kept it this long without you.”
“Thank you, Ryder.”
“Very well,” he said, clearing his throat. “And another thing: can you manage without Tadesse for a week or two? I want to send him to Addis with this quarter’s load of silv
er.”
“I can. Have you forgiven him for acting as Ras Alula’s spy, Ryder?”
He stretched out his legs and sighed. “I have accepted it. And every time we make use of Rusty’s notebook, I remember it is only because of Tadesse’s quick thinking that it was not destroyed, even if he did keep it from us for a while.” He rubbed his chin. Since Tadesse had been exposed as Ras Alula’s man, the flow of information had at least run in two directions. “He tells me Ras Alula has decided to submit to Menelik. I have no doubt he will be welcomed as a prodigal in Addis. Forgiveness, though, is a difficult thing. Have you heard a certain holy man has taken up residence in the hills between here and Adowa?”
Amber blushed. “Ah, yes. That is Dan. Will you ever forgive me for releasing him, Ryder?”
“Him I will never forgive. You, al-Zahra, were forgiven long ago. I thank you for not ordering me to run Bill Peters out of the camp.”
He raised his hand in farewell and left her smiling. The idea of anyone ordering Ryder to do anything was ridiculous. She reached out and scratched the lioness’s ear, eliciting a growling purr.
Hagos left her three months later. For a week she had absented herself for longer and longer periods during the day, returning to walk in circles around Amber’s camp in the evening, as if she could not make up her mind what to do. Then one morning Hagos was gone when Amber woke and she knew it was for good. She moved back into the camp with Saffron and Ryder that afternoon.
Word that Ras Mengesha and Ras Alula had gone to pay homage to Menelik in Addis reached Penrod and the Italian colonial officers in November 1894. General Arimondi, Commander of the Second Operational Corps, rolled his eyes at the news, saying it was impossible to keep up with the shifting alliances of the Ethiopian princes, and predicted Mengesha would be back and asking for favors before the end of the year. Penrod’s network of informers among the traders and his friends among the askari saw things differently. Mengesha and Alula had carried heavy stones on their shoulders as they approached the emperor. It was a formal, sacred act of submission not to be confused with more informal alliances of the past.
Penrod sent a report to Cairo detailing what he had learned and traveled to Asmara the following day to take stock of the situation. He spent some time with Captain Nazzari, observing the native battalion drills and suggesting some improvements to their bayonet training, which Nazzari approved.
“The more of that sort of work we do the better,” he said gruffly. “The brass want all of Tigray to add to their colony. Too greedy. We don’t have the men to hold it.”
Penrod was returning from the training ground when he found himself summoned to Major Toselli’s office. Pietro was holding a telegram.
“From Baratieri,” he said, waving it in the air with an elegant flourish. “The telegraph lines to Saganeiti have failed and the old man is nervous. You’ve managed to convince him rebellion is imminent.”
“It’s a possibility,” Penrod said. “Though I did not think Batha Agos would be the one to cause trouble.”
Batha Agos was the Abyssinian ruler of the area around Saganeiti, very much a client of the Italians, and no friend of Alula or Mengesha. Penrod examined the map of Eritrea and Tigray pinned to the wall of Toselli’s office. It was spotted with pins showing the positions of Italian troops and allies, forts and defensible towns. It was impossible not to notice the vast distances between them.
“No hint of trouble from your man in the town?” Penrod asked.
“None.” Pietro shrugged expansively. “I think he was planning to invite Batha to dinner this week. Still, we shall go and see for ourselves, but under cover of a route march. How quickly do you think we can manage it? It is some fifty miles, perhaps.”
“I shall get ready,” Penrod said.
•••
They were within twelve miles of the town when word reached them that Batha Agos had taken the Italian resident, a Lieutenant Sanguineti, as a hostage. Pietro at once began to negotiate for the man’s release while planning a dawn attack.
“Let me go down and take a look,” Penrod said as they stood together on high ground just outside the town, scanning the haphazard sprawl of low buildings. Toselli looked at him as if he were mad, but when Penrod presented himself in the guise of an Arab trader an hour later, he gave his consent.
Penrod walked into town alone late in the evening, his revolver hidden in the folds of his galabiyya and a rough pack of borrowed trade goods on his back. The town was very quiet. Occasional lights of cooking fires could be made out inside some of the houses, but he saw no groups of armed men. Penrod became convinced that Batha had already fled. He had not the skill or cunning to conceal a fighting force so effectively. When Penrod found the house of the Italian lieutenant, the only stone building off the deserted marketplace, he found it unguarded and simply walked in. He expected to find Sanguineti dead, but the young man was in his empty dining chamber, gagged and tied to a chair.
Penrod released him and put an end to his spluttered gratitude with a swift order to be quiet. Then he guided him back through the dark and silent streets, arriving at the Italian camp just as dawn was breaking and Pietro was giving his junior officers their orders.
Pietro stared, then burst into fits of laughter. “Who needs fifteen hundred men when you have Penrod Ballantyne?” he said to the room at large.
The officers around the camp table joined in the laughter, then quieted as Pietro put one polished boot on his camp stool and quietly asked for the lieutenant’s report. Penrod listened too, leaning against one of the tent poles with his arms crossed.
“I asked Batha why he had turned against us, for Italy is a great power,” the man stuttered. “He said Ethiopia is greater, and though one may recover from the bite of the black snake, the bite of the white snake is always fatal.”
“A child’s riddle!” one of the Italian officers, fresh off the boat from Naples, said loudly.
Pietro looked at Penrod. “What do you think, Ballantyne?”
“Batha goes where the wind blows. And he seems to think it is blowing in Menelik’s direction. Where might he strike? Where could he attempt to win some easy victory against Italian forces?”
Pietro’s face darkened. “But we have complete control of the region.” Nevertheless he stared hard at the maps laid out across the table in front of him. “Halai. It is a small fort to the north with only one company under Captain Castellazzi. It is vulnerable.”
“Surely Batha will just run away into the hills?” said a junior officer rather plaintively.
“I shall not risk another slaughter there,” Pietro said. “We march for Halai in an hour.”
•••
When Penrod wrote his next report from Adrigat, the officers were dizzy with twin successes against Batha’s men at Halai in December and Mengesha’s forces at Coatit the following month, ignoring the fact both leaders had managed to escape the Italians with most of their forces intact.
Baratieri acted as if Tigray had already been added to the colony of Eritrea and sent a rather pompous document to the government in Rome demanding the funds and personnel necessary to occupy and settle the land. Lucio wrote discreetly to Penrod asking his opinion and Penrod replied that the campaign had resembled a man striking his sword through the water and declaring himself king of the sea. Baratieri was summoned to Italy to consult in person, and, according to the few newspapers that reached Adrigat, was treated as a conquering hero. Penrod received glowing praise for his reports from London and Cairo, and was told to advise or assist the Italians as he saw fit. Penrod was glad to be keeping his own government informed while being of use to his Italian friends, though he felt their successes in the field were tempting them to act with a dangerous lack of caution. The forward movement of the Italian troops was also drawing him nearer to Courtney Mine. He could feel the proximity of Amber Benbrook like an electric charge in the air.
“It is no good, my friend. You must either go, or go mad. And if you go mad, then
your friend Lucio will blame me. And you know how important he is these days, always standing close to the king, we are told. So go.”
Pietro and Penrod were playing cards together at company headquarters, confined by the thundering afternoon rains. Penrod gathered the cards and began to shuffle them, enjoying the ripple of colors as he turned, split and reformed the pack.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
Pietro leaned back and crossed his legs, watching how Penrod handled the cards with pleasure.
“You do. You are my friend, but you are also the officer of a foreign power. Did you really think I would not take steps to find out a little about you before we got so friendly? You know as well as I do that your former fiancée, the acclaimed Miss Amber Benbrook, is living somewhere in the hills to the west of here. I see you looking in that direction as if she might appear at any moment. I see how you look through the crowds at the market in case she has come into town for supplies. You probably also know that she killed a lioness and brought up its cub, before releasing it back into the wild, and that she is regarded as something of a saint for the help she has given to the starving of the region during the poor harvests of recent years. Also that her brother-in-law is now on the verge of becoming as rich as a king from his silver mine, but still lives in a wooden hut.”
Penrod spoke very quietly. “My relationship with Miss Benbrook is ancient history.”
He began to deal quickly, spinning the cards across the table with a sharp flick.
Pietro raised his eyebrows. “Yet you still carry the watch she gave you.”
Penrod paused with his deal and looked up.
“I looked at the engraving one day while you were training with the company,” Pietro admitted. “Perhaps I should be an intelligence officer.”
Penrod said nothing. Pietro had the good sense not to pursue the subject further, and soon found it required all his concentration not to lose his entire pay to his English friend.