"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 glanced 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 liqueurs Grand Marnier, yellow and green Chartreuse, Dam Benedictine, and the rest. These incongruous beverages in the desert reminded the guests that their host was wealthy beyond the normal concept of wealth, the lord of vast estates and, under the Emperor, the master of many thousands of human beings.
The Ras sat at the head of the feast, with a war bonnet of lion's mane covering his bald pate. It made a startling, but rather moth-eaten wig for it was forty years since the Ras had slain the lion, and the ravages of time were apparent.