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.
Now the Ras cackled with laughter as he rolled a sheet of the
unleavened bread, filled with steaming wat, into the shape and size of
a Havana cigar and thrust it, dripping juice, into Gareth Swales's
unprepared mouth.
You must swallow it without using your hands," Lij Mikhael explained
hastily. "It is a game my father enjoys." Gareth's eyes bulged, his
face turned crimson with lack of air and the bite of chilli sauce.
Gulping and gasping and chewing manfully, he struggled to ingest the
huge offering.
The Ras hooted merrily, drooling a little saliva from the toothless
mouth, his entire face a network of moving wrinkles as he encouraged
Gareth with cries of "How do you do? How do you do?" At last with his
dignity in shreds, red-faced, sweating and panting laboriously, the
roll of bread disappeared down Gareth's straining throat. The Ras
folded him once more in that brotherly embrace, and
Lij Mikhael poured another goblet full of Bollinger for him.
However, Gareth, who did not enjoy being the butt of anyone's joke,
freed himself from the Ras, pushed the glass" aside and waved one of
the servants to him. From the reeking bloody platter he selected a
strip of raw beef almost as thick as his wrist and as long as his
forearm. Without warning, he thrust one end of it into the Ras's
gaping toothless mouth.
"Suck on that, you old bastard," he shouted, and the Ras stared at him
with startled rheumy bloodshot eyes. Then, although he was unable to
smile because of the long red strip that hung from his lips like some
