She came as I was contemplating a loving squeeze at either of the barely clad damsels who were massaging my tired limbs, or the third who was removing the remnants of my breakfast; fortunately, perhaps, contemplation was as far as I got, for she came briskly in, sent the wenches scampering with a sharp word, looked at me care fully, took my face in her hands and kissed me in excellent style, but withdrew when I became familiar, and seated herself at the foot of my mattress. My breakfast lass had left a flask of tej, and Uliba filled two cups. “Listen,” says she, so I did, and was treated to a tale fit for the wildest of penny dreadfuls—but true, as the wildest tales often are, in my experience.
As I’d guessed, Malee (whose eccentric behaviour we’ll discuss presently) had been the traitress within the gates, somehow getting word out to Yando, who’d been on the lurk nearby, and unbarring the gate for him and his gang in the small hours. They’d overrun the garrison of bints and dodderers without difficulty, and Yando, whose style I couldn’t but admire, had offered Uliba a stark choice: give Yando his jollies or it would be the long drop for Flashy.
“That godless bitch Malee, that deceitful snake, had told him you were dear to me!” She spat out the words as though they were red-hot. “Oh, let her come within reach of my hand, and I’ll make the lying harlot pray for death! As for Yando…” I waited agog for sensational details, for since I was here safe and sound I must suppose that she’d submitted to his beastly passion for my sake, the plucky little woman. But she was vague, hinting that she’d managed to temporise while some of her folk, who’d fled after Yando’s invasion, had run for help to an amba a few miles away.
Its owner was yet another of her admirers (of whom I must say there seemed to be an inexhaustible supply), a civilised and genteel one for a change, named Daoud. He had lost no time in bringing a troop of riders to the rescue, capturing Yando and slaughtering most of his followers. Malee had wisely made herself scarce, and Flashy had been wound up and revived.
Whether Daoud and Co. had arrived in time to save Uliba from a fate which most ladies of my acquaintance regard as infinitely preferable to death, I still ain’t sure, but from her subsequent behav iour I rather think they didn’t, and he had his wicked will of her. But you’ll judge for yourselves.
Another mystery which I still can’t fathom is Malee. Her rage at Uliba’s desertion of Sarafa I can understand, and her later pretended repentance and reconciliation with her mistress while preparing to betray her. But deciding along the way to pass the night romping with the lodger don’t quite fit, somehow. I’m as immodest as the next man, but it seemed odd, and still does. Not to Uliba.
“I told you, anything I have, she must have also. She believed you were my lover; that was enough.” She shrugged. “Besides, she needs men as a drunkard needs tej. But she is no matter. Yando is.” She stood up, pacing across the chamber while I took happy stock of the proud Ethiopian profile with its heavy braids, and the elegant shape in the ridiculously scanty tunic. She turned to regard me gravely.
“He knows who you are. I was a fool not to realise that he has been watching this amba for a week past, hoping to surprise me. He saw me leave three nights ago to visit Napier effendi’s camp, where you and I met. He saw me leave again with you, and knew you must be a British soldier—what else could you be?” She gritted her teeth in self-reproach. “And I am reputed shrewd! I, the woman of excellent head, forgot that there are no spies like the spies of Habesh!”
“What of it? It don’t matter two straws to Yando that I’m British! He chased us here to get you, not me, and however sharp he and his spies are, he can have no notion why I’m here, or what for… why, Malee told him I was your lover! Well, there you are! Why should he suspect that I’m an envoy, going south to—”
“What he may suspect matters nothing!” cries she. “What matters is that he knew three days ago you were British, so did his men, and two of them escaped us! So how long, think you, will it be before the news reaches Theodore, who has an eye at every window and an ear at every door?” She came to kneel by the mattress, face and voice urgent.
“What says Theodore, then? He says, ‘Here is a British army advancing against me. Here is a British officer riding by night with Uliba-Wark, half-sister of Queen Masteeat of Wollo Galla. What can this mean? Can it be that the English general is sending an envoy to enlist the aid of my enemies against me?’” She broke off impatiently. “That much a child could guess, and Theodore is no child!”
My first thought was, well, there’s an end to my mission, thank God. My second was that Napier wouldn’t think so. He’d never stand my crying off; Galla was too vital for that, whatever the risk. And giving up didn’t even cross Uliba’s mind.
“So now our journey will be doubly dangerous,” says she. “Theodore will have his watchers out for us from Gondar to the Ashangi lake. God willing, they will be seeking an Englishman, not an Indian horse-pedlar.”
“They’ll be looking for you, too—”
“Which is why I must teach you enough Amharic to act as our purchaser and bid good day to passers-by.” She looked me over. “Are you strong enough to start tomorrow, before dawn?”
“I’m strong enough for more than that,” says I, and caught her arm before she could stand up, drawing her down beside me. She didn’t resist as I clasped her to me, revelling in the suppleness of her body, and when I clamped my mouth on her lips they remained closed only for a long teasing moment, suddenly opening avidly, her tongue thrusting against mine, her hands clasping fiercely behind my head. Trumpeter, sound! thinks I, digging my claws into her buttocks and doing my level best to eat her, at which she sud denly writhed free with surprising strength and scrambled up, gasping, her mouth quivering and her eyes wide and wild. I was lunging up in pursuit, but she stayed me with a hand.
“Wait!” says she. “First, there is something to be done—some thing you should see!”
She went to the ladder-stair and shouted down. A female voice replied, and after a moment a man’s. She barked out a command, and presently there were disputatious voices raised below, sounds of ascension, and here came the princely chap who I realised must be the timely rescuer Daoud, followed by a couple of strapping lads who, to my amazement, were bringing with them a damned disgruntled Yando.
He let out a tirade of screaming abuse at the sight of Uliba, one of his escorts hit him a smashing blow across the mouth, and the pair of them gripped him while another two sturdy minions appeared, and, at Daoud’s instructions, brought out that hellish cage in which I’d been given the fresh air treatment, and which had been tactfully hidden away in the shadows since I’d vacated it.
Yando squealed like a steam whistle at the sight of it, bloodshot eyes bugging and ape face contorted in panic, and I’ve seldom seen a sight more gratifying. As you know, I’m a cruel bastard, and if there’s one thing I enjoy it’s seeing another cruel bastard get his cocoa. In this case it was so dam’ poetic, too; my heart went out to Uliba as she stood there sneering, arms akimbo, and my one regret was that I couldn’t understand the taunts with which she was encouraging Yando as they encased him.
They had the devil of a job, for he was as strong as a bull, and for a reason which I didn’t understand until later, they hadn’t bound his hands. It took all four of them, and they had to beat him half-senseless before they had him caged and the pin in place. Then they hung the cage on the hook and threw back the trap and we all stood round appreciating his screams for mercy—I knew that’s what they were because they sounded so like my own. On Uliba’s instructions he had been placed in the cage face up, so we were treated to his interesting expressions as he was lowered slowly into the void, the men on the windlass stopping the process when he was only a bare yard below the floor level, not nearly as far down as I had been, but convenient for the spectators.