after them came a swarming mob of running, howling foot soldiers,
mingled with whom were women and shrieking children, and dozens of
yelping dogs, scrawny yellow curs with long whippy tails and ridges of
standing hair running down their skeletal backbones.
As the first rank of riders turned, still loolooing and firing into the
air, to complete the encirclement of the armoured column, they ran
headlong into the following rabble and the entire congregation became a
struggling mob of men and animals.
Jake saw a mother with a child under her arm go down under the hooves
of a running camel, the child flying from her grip and rolling in the
sandy earth. Then he was past, forging ahead through a narrow path in
the sea of humanity.
Sara was keeping the path open, leading them in, riding just ahead of
Jake's car, laying about her viciously with a long quirt of hippo hide
to hold back the mob, while around her wheeled the wildly excited
riders still firing their pieces into the air, and dozens of runners
pressed in closely, trying to climb aboard the moving cars.
Gradually the press of bodies and animals built up, until at last,
following Sara, they moved slowly through the open forest that
surrounded the wells into one of the shallow but steeply sided wadis in
the broken ground beyond.
Here any further forward movement became impossible.
The wadi was choked solidly with humanity, even the steep earthen sides
and the ledges above were crowded so closely that unfortunates,
pushed by those behind, could no longer keep their Position and came
tumbling down the sheer sides on to the heads of those in the wadi
below. The cries of protest were lost in the general hubbub.
From each of the turrets, the heads of the four drivers appeared
timidly, like gophers peering out of their holes.
They made helpless signs and expressions at each other, unable to
communicate in the uproar.
Sara leaped from the back of the stallion on to the sponson of Jake's
car and began raining blows and kicks on those who were still
attempting to climb aboard the vehicle. She was enjoying herself
immensely, Jake realized, as he noticed the battle lust in her eyes and
heard the crack of her whip and the yelps of her victims. He thought
of trying to restrain her and then discarded the idea as being highly
dangerous. Instead, he looked about distractedly for some other means
to subdue the boisterous welcome and noticed for the first time the
entrances to numerous caves in the sides of the wadi.
From a number of these dark openings now poured a body of men,
wearing a semblance of uniform jodhpurs and baggy khaki tunics, their
chests crossed with bandoliers of ammunition, put teed calves and bare
feet, high turbans bound around their heads and Mauser rifles swinging
heartily, the butts used as clubs. They were every bit as enthusiastic
as Sara, but considerably more successful in their attempts to quieten
the crowd.
"My grandfather's guards," Sara explained to Jake, still panting and
grinning happily from her recent exertions. "I am sorry, Jake, but
sometimes my people get excited."
"Yeah," said Jake. "So I noticed."
With gun butts rising and falling the guards cleared a space around the
four laden vehicles, and the noise dropped in volume until it was
equivalent to a medium-sized avalanche. The four drivers climbed
warily down and came together in a defensive group in the small stretch
of open ground before the caves. Vicky Camberwell placed herself
strategically between Jake and Gareth and behind the lanky robed figure
of Gregorius and she felt even more secure when Sara slipped up beside
her and took her hand.
"Please do not worry," she whispered. "We are all your friends."
"You could have fooled me, honey." Vicky smiled back at her, and
squeezed the slim brown hand. At that moment a procession emerged from
the caves, headed by four coal-black priests of the Coptic Christian
Church in their gaudy robes, chanting in Amharic, swinging incense and
carrying ornate, if crudely wrought bronze crosses.
Immediately after the priests followed a figure so tall and thin as to
appear a caricature of the human shape. A long flowing sham ma of
yellow and red stripes hung loosely on the gaunt frame. There was the
suggestion of legs as long and as thin as those of an ostrich beneath
the skirts of the robe as he strode forward, and the man's dark head
was completely bald of hair no beard or eyebrows just a round
glistening pate.
His eyes were completely enclosed in a web of deep wrinkles and fleshy
folds of old dried-out skin. The mouth was utterly toothless,
so that the jaw seemed to be collapsible, folding the face in half like
the bellows of a concertina.
He gave an impression of vast age that was offset immediately by the
youthful spring in his step and the twinkle in the black birdlike eyes,
and yet Gareth realized that he could not be less than eighty years
old.
Gregorius hurried forward and knelt briefly for the old man's blessing,
while Sara whispered to the group.
"This is my grandfather, Ras Golam" she explained. "He speaks no
