Cry Wolf - Smith Wilbur - Страница 52

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exposed flank of the Lion of Judah." He shook his head and his

expression was troubled and once again that haunted, hunted look was in

his eyes. "The Emperor, Negusa Nagast, Baile Selassie, has gathered

his armies in the north.

One hundred and fifty thousand men to meet the main thrust of the

Italians which must come from the north, out of Eritrea and through

Adowa. The Emperor's flanks are secured by the mountains except here

at the gorge. This is the only place at which a modern mechanized army

might win its way to the high ground. The road up the gorge is steep

and rough, but the Italians are engineering masters.

Their road making wizardry dates back to the Caesars. If they force

the mouth of the gorge, they could have fifty thousand men on the

highlands inside of a week." He punched his fist upward towards the

far blue peaks. "They would be across the Emperor's rear, between him

and his capital at Addis Ababa, with the road to the city wide open to

them. It would be the end for us and the Italians know it. Their

presence here at the Wells of Chaldi proves it.

What we encountered there today was the advance guard of the enemy

attack which will come through the gorge."

Yes, "Jake agreed. "it seems that is so."

"The Emperor has charged me with the defence of the Sardi Gorge, said

the Prince quietly. "But at the same time he has ordained that the

great bulk of my fighting men must join his army which is now gathering

on the shores of Lake Tona, two hundred miles away in the west. We

will be short of men, so short that without your cars and the new

machine guns you have brought to me, the task would be impossible."

"It isn't going to be a push-over, even with these beaten-up old

ladies."

"I know that, Mr. Barton, and I am doing everything in my power to

improve the betting in our favour. I am even treating with a

traditional enemy of the Harari to form a common front against the

enemy. I am trying to put aside old feuds, and convince the Ras of the

Gallas to join us in the defence of the Gorge. The man is a robber and

a degenerate, and his men are all shifta, mountain bandits, but they

fight well and every lance now arms us against the common enemy." Jake

was conscious of the faith that the Prince was placing in him; he was

being treated like a trusted commander and his newly realized sense of

involvement was strengthened.

"An untrustworthy friend is the worst kind of enemy."

"I don't recognize that quotation?" the Prince enquired.

"Jake Barton, mechanic. "Jake grinned at him. "Looks like we've got

ourselves a job of work. What I want you to do is pick out some of

your really bright lads. Ones that I can teach to drive a car or men

that Gareth can use as gunners."

"Yes. I have already discussed that with Major Swales.

He made the same suggestion. I will hand-pick my best for you."

"Young ones, "said Jake. "Who will learn quickly." The Ras sat

crouched like an ancient vulture in the strip of shade thrown by

Gareth's car, the Hump; his eyes were narrowed like those of a sniper

and he mumbled to himself. drooling a little with excitement.

When Gregorius reached out and tried to view the fan of cards that the

Ras held secretively to his bosom, his hand was slapped away angrily,

and a storm of Amharic burst about him. Gregorius was justly put out

of countenance by this, for he was, after all, his grandfather's

interpreter. He complained to Gareth, who squatted opposite the Ras

holding his own cards carefully against the front of his tweed

jacket.

"He does not want me to help him any more," protested Gregorius. "He

says he understands the game now."

"Tell him he is a natural." Gareth squinted around the smoke that

spiralled upwards from the cheroot in the corner of his mouth. "Tell

him he could go straight into the salon priva at Monte Carlo." The Ras

grinned and nodded happily at the compliment, and then scowled with

concentration as he waited for Gareth to discard.

"Anyone for the ladies?" Gareth asked innocently as he laid the queen

of hearts face up on the inverted ammunition box that stood between

them, and the Ras squawked with delight and snatched it up. Then he

hammered on the box like an auctioneer and began laying out his hand.

"Skunked, by God!" Gareth's face crumpled in a convincing display of

utter dismay and the Ras nodded and twinkled and drooled.

"How do you do?" he asked triumphantly, and Gareth judged that the

Christmas turkey was now sufficiently fattened and ready for

plucking.

"Ask your venerable grandfather if he would like a little interest on

the next game. I suggest a Maria Theresa a point?" and Gareth held up

one of the big silver coins between thumb and forefinger to illustrate

the suggestion.

The Ras's response was positive and gratifying. He summoned one of his

bodyguard, who drew a huge purse of lion skin from out of his

voluminous sham ma and opened it.

"Hallelujah!" breathed Gareth, as he saw the sparkle of golden

sovereigns in the recesses of the purse. "Your deal, old sport!" The

controlled dignity of the Count's bearing was modelled aristocratically

on that of the Duce himself. It was that of the aristocrat, of the man

born to command. His dark eyes flashed with scorn, and his voice rang

with a deep beauty that sent shivers up his own spine.

"A peasant, reared in the gutters of the street. I am amazed that such

a person can have reached a rank such as Major. A person like

yourself-" and his right arm shot Out with the accusing finger straight

as a pistol barrel, you are a nobody, an upstart. I blame myself that

I was soft-hearted enough to place you in a position of trust. Yes, I

blame myself. That is the reason I have until this time overlooked

your impudence, your importunity. But this time you have over reached

yourself, Castelani. This time you have refused to obey a direct

command from your own Colonel in the face of the enemy. This I cannot

ignore!" The Count paused, and a shadow of regret passed fleetingly

behind his eyes. "I am a compassionate man, Castelani but I am also a

soldier.

I cannot, in deference to this honoured uniform that I wear, overlook

your conduct. You know the penalty for what you have done, for

disobeying your superior officer in the face of the enemy." He paused

again, the chin coming up and dark fires burning in his eyes. "The

penalty, Castelani, is death.

And so it must be. You will be an example to my men. This evening, as

the sun is about to set, you will be led before the assembled battalion

and stripped of your badges of rank, of the beloved insignia of this

proud command, and then you will meet your just deserts before the

rifles of the firing squad It was a longish speech, but the Count was

a trained baritone and he ended it dramatically with arms spread wide.

He held the pose after he had finished and watched himself with

gratification in the full-length mirror before which he stood. He was

alone in his tent, but he felt as though he faced a wildly applauding

audience. Abruptly he turned from the mirror, strode to the entrance

of the tent and threw back the flap.

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