The river of moving men and animals flowed wedge shaped across the
sparsely grassed and rolling landscape beneath the mountains. Over it
all hung a fine mist of dust, like sea fret on a windy day, and the
sunlight caught and flashed from the burnished surfaces of the bronze
war shields and the lifted lance-tips. Closer came the mass of riders
until the bright spots of the silk shammas of the officers and noblemen
showed clearly through the loom of the dust cloud.
Standing on the turret of Priscilla the Pig, Jake shaded the lens of
his binoculars with his helmet and tried to see beyond the dust clouds,
searching anxiously for any pursuit by the Italians. He felt
goose-flesh march up his arms and tickle the thick hair at the nape of
his neck as he imagined this sprawling rabble caught in a crossfire of
modern machine guns, and he fretted for the arrival of their own
weapons which were lost somewhere amongst that ragged army.
He felt a touch on his shoulder and turned quickly to find Lij Mikhael
beside him.
"Thank you, Mr. Barton,"said the Prince quietly, and Jake shrugged and
turned back to his scrutiny of the distant plains.
"It was not the correct thing but I thank you all the same." How is
she?"
"I have just left her with Miss Camberwell. She is resting and I think
she will be well." They were silent a while longer, before Jake spoke
again.
"I'm worried, Prince. We are wide open. If the Italians chase now it
will be bloody murder. Where are the guns?
We must have the guns." Lij Mikhael pointed out on to the left rear
flank of the approaching host.
"There," and Jake noticed for the first time the ungainly shapes of the
pack camels, almost obscured by dust and distances, but standing taller
than the shaggy little Harari ponies that surrounded them, and
lumbering stolidly onwards towards where the cars waited. "They will
be here in half an hour." Jake nodded with relief. He began planning
how he would arm the cars immediately, so that they could be deployed
to counter another Italian attack but the Prince interrupted his
thoughts.
"Mr. Barton, how long have you known Major Swales?" Jake lowered the
glasses and grinned.
"Sometimes I think too long," and regretted it, as he noticed the
Prince's immediate anxiety.
"No. I didn't mean that. It was a bad joke. I haven't known him
long."
"We checked his record very carefully before " he hesitated.
"Before tricking him into taking on this commission," Jake suggested,
and the Prince smiled faintly and nodded.
"Precisely," he agreed. "All the evidence suggests that he is an
unscrupulous man, but a skilled soldier with a proven record of
achievement in training raw recruits. He is an expert weapons
instructor, with a full knowledge of the mechanism and exploitation of
modern weapons." The Prince paused.
"Just don't get into a card game with him."
"I will take your advice, Mr. Barton." The Prince smiled fleetingly,
and then was serious again. "Miss Camberwell called him a coward. That
is not so. He was acting under my direct orders, as a soldier
should."
"Point taken," grinned Jake. "But then I'm not a soldier, only a
grease monkey." But the Prince brushed the disclaimer aside.
"He is probably a better man than he thinks he is," said Jake, and the
Prince nodded.
"His combat record in France is impressive. The Military Cross and
three times mentioned in despatches."
"Yeah, you have me convinced," murmured Jake. "Is that what you
wanted?"
"No," admitted the Prince reluctantly. "I had hoped that you might
convince me," and they both laughed.
"And did you check my record also? "Jake asked.
"No," admitted the Prince. "The first time I ever heard of you was in
Dares Salaam. You and your strange machines were a bonus a surprise
packet." The Prince paused again, and then spoke so softly that Jake
barely caught the words, "and perhaps the best end of the bargain.
"Then he lifted his chin and looked steadily into Jake's eyes."
The anger is still with you," he said. "
"I can see how strong it is." With surprise, Jake realized that the
Prince was correct.
The anger was in him. No longer the leaping flames that had kindled at
the first shock of the atrocity. Those had burned down into a thick
glowing bed in the pit of his guts, but the memory of men and women
caught by the guns and the mortars would sustain that glow for a long
time ahead.
"I think now you are committed to us," the Lij went on softly, and Jake
was amazed at the man's perception. He had not yet recognized that
commitment himself; for the first time since he had landed in Africa,
he was motivated by something outside himself. He knew that he would
stay now, and that he would fight with the Lij and these people as long
as they needed him. In an intuitive flash he realized that if these
simple people were enslaved, then all of mankind including Jake Barton
were themselves deprived of a measure of freedom. A line, almost
forgotten, imperfectly learned long ago and not then understood
surfaced in his memory.
"No man is an island," - " he said, and the Lij nodded and continued
the quotation.
