King of Kings

by Wilbur Smith

  •••

  The guard was changed and Amber was brought bread and fresh stew. She ate hungrily then told the servant she needed to relieve herself. The servant consulted with Bill, then returned with a rope. It was tied around her waist, but was long enough to give her some privacy in the undergrowth fifty yards from the camp. She squatted in the darkness. The scrub gave way to trees and thorn bushes in front of her in the pale moonlight. She let the servant lead her back, knowing now where she’d find cover that might conceal her as she fled.

  Her chance came only a few hours later. It was a still night and the moon was heavy and clear in the star-spattered sky. She had curled up on the ground with a woolen rug over her, and made her breathing soft and regular. Slowly all noise of activity in the camp ceased. A hurricane lamp had been lit and set close by her. She half opened her eyes. Her guard was still standing by her, but he was leaning against his spear as if it was a crutch and his face was angled away from her. She was almost sure he was sleeping where he stood.

  She had considered trying to shift out of the light cautiously, quietly, but once they had set the lamp next to her she had decided the only chance would be to move quickly, and try and lose herself in the darkness before her captors had a chance to react. Her heart began to thud in her chest.

  Do it now, she urged herself silently. Images of rifles and spear points, ropes and blood flashed across her mind’s eye, but she tightened her muscles and refused to think of them. She thought of her father, her sisters, Ryder and Penrod. She asked them to help her be brave, then she sprang to her feet and threw herself into the darkness.

  “She runs!” The shout went up the moment she moved, even as she dashed headlong into the stand of acacia and blue gum trees where she’d been roped and led a few hours before. She realized that the warning cry had contained no note of surprise or alarm. A lamp appeared almost directly in front of her, dazzling her. She darted to her left and heard laughter. Another light. Her stomach twisted and she felt a sick and bitter fear run through her, which seemed to thicken her blood and slow her limbs. This was a game. They were playing with her.

  “Not this way, little one!” a voice said, and she realized she had almost stumbled into one of the bandits. He bent at the waist until he could stare directly into her eyes. “Run away!”

  She felt a sob in her throat and though she already knew her chance of escape had been an illusion all along, she dashed into the tearing thorns. So many voices, calling from her right and left. She was being driven through the cover like a game bird.

  She stumbled and fell out of the copse and onto the path she had hoped would lead her to safety and lifted her head. Another pair of hurricane lamps suddenly cast their yellow sickly light over her. Shaded lanterns. They had been waiting for her, laughing at her. Perhaps she was just meant to be a plaything for the whole murderous, robbing band. A beautiful little blonde gift for them all. Rage at the trick they had played replaced her fear. Bill was waiting for her with his gunmen on either side of him. Amber sprang at him. The chance of escape was gone, but she would claw his eyes out if she could. They were ready for that too. Bill didn’t even flinch. Strong arms caught her wrists and held them, while another man held her around the waist. She managed to kick a third in the jaw as he bent to grab her legs, but another man took his place and she was lifted off the ground. Her frantic struggles gained her nothing.

  “I knew you would run, my dear Amber,” Bill said. “I would have been rather disappointed if you hadn’t tried. But you must learn this sort of willfulness brings punishment.”

  “Why, Bill?” she shouted at him, straining against her captors. “Why have you taken me?”

  “All in good time, Amber. I promise you won’t die without understanding.”

  Bill took a lamp from one of his companions and moved forward. As she struggled she saw his face, smooth-shaven, his hair neatly brushed back from his forehead, looking at her with a gentle pity.

  “It’s no use, dear child. Submit. Ease your suffering.” Then he stepped back. “Tie her, gag her and bring her back to the camp.”

  •••

  She was left to sleep on the chill ground with her hands tied behind her back, wrenching her shoulders, while her ankles were bound with a thin rope that cut into her flesh. The gag left her mouth dry and each breath she took was an effort. She thought she might suffocate. Her heart raced and shocks of pain burned through her arms and chest. She struggled to control her breathing, yet instead of fighting the pain, she let it wash over her. She lost consciousness, but the agony in her shoulders woke her almost at once. Time inched by and she wondered if she’d be mad before dawn.

  She was given water at first light, and they did not replace her gag—a miracle that made her almost tearful with gratitude. The camp was packed up and she was thrown across the back of the mule she had ridden the day before like a sack of seed. The blood rushed to her head. Waves of sickness and agony shivered across her body. Amber hoped she would go mad—anything to escape the pain even for a moment. Then all at once she remembered seeing Penrod tied to the shebba in the court of Osman Atalan. The thought that he too had suffered like this brought her a sudden flash of courage. She pushed away the pain, squeezing it into a tight, fiery ball in her heart so she might think, just for a minute. Submit, Bill had said. He expected her to give up, stop fighting. Perhaps if she did, just a little, next time he would not be so ready for her escape. Bill expected to break her. She would let him think he was winning for a while.

  Amber began to cry, and this time she meant them to see it.

  Time passed. The mule took an uneven step and a fireball of pain exploded in her back. It became all of her consciousness. She was Amber no longer, just a being in agony. Thought was impossible; she fainted, crying out when she woke. The rope around her wrists was untied, then her hands were in front of her. As the blood flowed through her arms and into her hands, it felt as if her fingers had been plunged into lava. A bolt of white-hot pain flashed across her back, then a dreaming release. The relief was overpowering. Her guts spasmed and she vomited before slipping into a half dream again.

  The path was beginning to climb. Someone gave her water and wiped her mouth. Amber started to shiver in the thinning, cooling air. A moment later a woolen blanket was thrown over her.

  Perhaps I will die before they even reach wherever we’re going, she thought, and the idea gave her a certain sort of peace. Her only regret was that she had never slept in Penrod’s arms.

  A voice broke its way into her mind. An exchange of words between her guards. She twisted her head and thought she saw someone standing above them, some hundred yards away. A white man.

  Has Penrod come to take me to heaven? she wondered, lifting her head a little more. The blanket slipped sideways.

  “Miss Amber?” She heard an American voice. Her whole consciousness came flooding back to her in a single moment.

  “Dan?” she said, then she screamed it. “Dan! Help me!”

  She squirmed against the ropes. Dan was running toward her.

  She called out again. “Dan, oh Dan!”

  One of the bandits threw his spear. Amber watched its deadly arc. It struck Dan in his side and he fell backward. Two of the bandits ran toward him. Amber fought the agony, trying to lift herself up to see if Dan was still alive, but her view was blocked by Bill. He grabbed a handful of her hair, dragging her face up toward him. His face was white with rage and his spittle splashed on her cheeks and lips. She cried out.

  “I told you, Miss Benbrook: submit or be punished.”

  His eyes were sparkling, feverish.

  Oh God, she thought. He is completely mad.

  She saw him ball his fist and draw his arm back, still holding her by her thick, tangled hair. She tried to turn from the blow but she could not pull free. He was too quick. Too powerful. She felt a flash of pain and then the world went dark.

  Saffron and Tadesse bought horses in Adrigat for a price that would have
purchased five acres of good growing land, and then rode as fast as they dared, stopping only when necessary to save the horses from exhaustion. They circled to the south, reaching the outskirts of Menelik’s camp thirty-six hours later.

  They drew curious and hostile stares as they moved through the mass of people. Warriors, servants, women and children flowed around them. The army camp was bigger than any city in the country, but it was arranged along logical lines. The emperor’s red velvet tent was at the center of everything and the camp of Ras Alula would be close by it.

  They abandoned their horses and walked swiftly and with purpose. Saffron kept close to Tadesse and wrapped her hair and face in her shawl. As they approached the center of the camp she looked around her, desperate to see a familiar face in the crowd. Most of the mineworkers had joined Alula’s men, but that was only forty men out of his force of ten thousand. Perhaps they could reach the emperor’s tent. One of his retinue or that of the empress would know her.

  Saffron could see the wall of cloth that surrounded Menelik’s compound ahead of her. Hope lifted her heart, then she felt a hand on her arm.

  “Where are you going, ferengi?” The warrior who had grabbed her wore the mark of Alula.

  Saffron stood very straight. “My name is Mrs. Saffron Courtney. I need to see the emperor. He is a very great friend of mine.”

  The warrior laughed in her face.

  “This is a very important lady, from the Courtney Camp and Mine!” Tadesse said.

  “I have never heard of such a place, little brother,” the man said.

  Tadesse tried again. “She is sister to the lady of the lion!”

  Now the warrior hesitated and looked at Saffron with slightly more respect.

  “Bandits have taken her,” Saffron said. “I have come to beg the emperor for his help.”

  The warrior took a step back and bowed. “Come, madam, little brother. I shall take you.”

  •••

  They got as far as the audience chamber and were ordered to wait. At the far end of the vast tent, Saffron could see Menelik and his generals in heated discussion, though she could not hear what was said. At last the meeting seemed to end and the warrior who had brought them in approached Alula, the emperor and the empress and spoke to them.

  They glanced toward them and exchanged a few words. Menelik and Alula left the chamber and, seeing them go, Saffron gave a small moan. The empress, however, came toward them.

  “Mrs. Saffron, are you well?”

  Saffron was trembling but she dropped into a low curtsy. “Thanks be to God, I am well. And are you well?”

  “Thanks be to God I am well. I am grieved to hear of your sister, but we cannot help you.” She turned away at once and Saffron cried out.

  “But madam, my sister!”

  Taitu faced her again, her expression ferocious. “My country, Mrs. Saffron!” She passed a hand across her face and spoke again more quietly. “We need every man, my daughter, every man. The future of the empire is about to be decided. You know we cannot help you now.”

  Saffron tried to blink back her tears. “What is happening, madam?”

  “Our army is having to search ever further for supplies. If the Italians do not come out into open ground, we are lost. The princes want my husband to launch an attack at once, but our men would be destroyed in the passes between here and Suria. He will not sacrifice his men.” She balled her hands into fists. “We shall hold here until the last possible moment. We have two days at the most and then we must retreat west of Axum or the army will starve.”

  Saffron had started to cry; she could not help herself. “What can I do? I shall go mad waiting and doing nothing for Amber!”

  Taitu leaned toward her. “Do as I do. Pray the Italians attack. And when they do I shall take you in my retinue. You will carry water and food to our warriors with the other women, and when the invaders are crushed, Ras Alula will give you men to search for your sister. That is all I can do. That is all that can be done.”

  Saffron lowered her head in submission.

  “Who are you, little brother?” the empress said, turning to Tadesse.

  He dropped to his knees. “My name is Tadesse, madam.”

  “The healer at Courtney Camp? Ras Alula’s eyes and ears? He has spoken of you. Stay here. I will find work for you. Now, Mrs. Saffron, I am going to church. I suggest you come with me.”

  •••

  The Italians received their orders at eight-thirty on the evening after the generals met, and by nine o’clock the columns were on the move. A force was left at Suria to guard the supplies, but the bulk of the Italian forces moved out in four columns. The maps provided were rough, but Baratieri’s intentions were clear. They would move forward in silence and under cover of darkness to occupy the heights of Rebbi Arienni, some eight miles short of Adowa. Menelik and the princes who fought alongside him would wake to find the Italian army entrenched in strong positions directly in front of him. He would be forced either to attack at just such a point in the landscape where his superior forces would do him least good, or he would have to withdraw and cede the field to the Italians, and with it Tigray.

  The moon was high and bright, and as the Italian troops made their way along the paths behind their native guides, they could look up into the star-studded sky, broken by the shadows of the fantastical outlines of the high peaks. The army marched in silence. The only sound was the occasional scrape of European boots on the sand and gravel of the steep tracks. The askari went barefoot and made no sound at all.

  Penrod remained with Baratieri and his staff during the march. The general seemed calmer now than he had been the previous evening. From time to time messengers would approach, jogging along the tracks past the regular troops to deliver news to the various columns, either written or verbally.

  Albertone had taken the wrong path, and Arimondi had been forced to halt his own column for more than an hour while they passed. It was an annoyance, but such mistakes were perhaps inevitable on the confused narrow tracks and in darkness. Baratieri saw Arimondi start his deployment on the eastern slope of Rebbi Arienni, and then began to climb, rather laboriously, the slope of Mount Belah, which he had chosen as likely to give the best viewpoint of the field.

  As they gained height, Penrod began to see the campfires of the Ethiopian army at the other end of the large bowl-shaped valley. They were scattered over a vast area.

  “A sight to warm the blood, no?”

  Penrod turned. One of the new captains had joined him.

  “I hope they attack.”

  Penrod did not reply.

  “I have a message for you,” the officer continued. “Word has come up the line from camp that a man has been taken. They say he is Menelik’s spy, even though he is white. He has said you can vouch for him. His name is Ryder Courtney.”

  “What in hell’s name is Courtney doing here?”

  “You do know him then?”

  “A trader, mining now in the hills above Adrigat. If he’s come looking for news he’s picked a hell of a time for it. But yes, I vouch for him.”

  The captain looked apologetic. “No use vouching for him to me, Major. It’s some of Albertone’s men guarding his kit at Suria. They won’t release this Courtney without a word from the general. They say his eyes are crazy.”

  “Who took him?”

  “Some of the new Napoli boys.”

  If any of the native brigades had picked up Ryder, he’d have been able to explain to them in any one of four languages what his business was and be done with it. Penrod doubted that Ryder had ever needed to speak much Italian.

  “Sorry, my friend, but you’ll have to go and get Albertone’s say-so to release him.”

  Penrod cursed fluently and in a number of languages, and then began to make his way back through the snaking column to the point where he could join the path toward Albertone’s position. Halfway down the steep zigzagging track, he stepped off it to allow a mule loaded with parts of one of
the field guns to pass him. One of the junior Italian officers he had spoken to in camp once or twice slipped out of the column and joined him. He was scarcely twenty and his uniform was loose on his skinny frame. He was bravely attempting to grow a mustache, but Penrod had seen more impressive specimens on the wives of retired generals.

  “Major, may I ask something? Some of the lads are saying if these blackies catch you, they, you know . . .” He pointed unhappily to his groin and then made a chopping movement with his right hand.

  “It’s part of the culture here, I understand,” Penrod said, and the boy went white. “Best not to let them catch you, young fella.”

  The lad nodded sadly and returned to his company. Penrod watched him trudge off into the darkness, wondering if he had ever been that young, then continued down the track and took the path to the point where he expected to find Albertone deploying across Kidane Meret.

  He found no signs of deployment, however, only the rear of the column bringing up supplies that were intended for the column’s breakfast. He grabbed an officer from the catering corps.

  “Where is Albertone?”

  The man looked at him as if he were mad and gestured forward. “That way. An hour ahead of us at least.”

  Penrod felt a thin sickness in his stomach. An hour’s march along this track could put Albertone miles out of position and in a perfect place to be engulfed by Menelik’s troops.

  “I need a horse. Now.”

  The officer shrugged. “That is impossible.”

  Penrod grabbed him by the collar, lifting him off his feet. “Horse. Now.”

  The officer called over his shoulder and a sniggering askari brought up a good animal. Penrod flicked open his watch, taking careful note of the time, then mounted the horse and spurred it into a gallop, his head down.