gather up the robed and bearded group of excited old men and herd them
gently away from the display of weapons and down the warehouse to the
open tourers.
The motorcade, headed by Gareth, Jake and the Prince in the leading
tourer, came bumping down the dusty track through the mahogany forest
and parked in the clearing in front of the candy-striped marquee that
had taken the place of Jake's weather-beaten bell tent.
The Royal Hotel had undertaken to cater for the occasion, despite
Jake's protests at the cost.
"Give them a bottle of Tusker each and open a tin of beans," he
insisted, but Gareth had shaken his head sadly.
"Just because they are savages doesn't mean that we have to behave like
barbarians, old chap. Style. One has to have style that's what life
is all about. Style and timing. Fill them up with Charlie and then
take them for a stroll down the garden path, what?" Now there were
white-robed waiters with red sashes and little red pillbox fezes upon
their heads. Under the marquee, long trestle-tables were laden with
displays of choice food decorated sucking pig, heaped salvers of boiled
scarlet reef lobster, a smoked salmon, imported apples and peaches from
the Cape of Good Hope and case upon case, bucket upon bucket of
champagne. Although Gareth had been swayed t by Jake's pleas for
economy sufficiently to order a Veuve Clicquot not of a selected
vintage.
The Prince and his entourage disembarked to a salvo of champagne corks
and the elderly courtiers crowed with delight. Quite by chance,
Gareth had struck upon the Ethiopians" love of feasting and strong
sense of hospitality.
Little that he could have done would have endeared him more to his
guests.
"I say, this is very decent of you, my dear Swales" said the
Prince. With his innate sense of courtesy, he had not used Gareth's
nickname since the first greeting. Gareth was grateful and when the
glasses were filled he called for the first toast.
"His Majesty, Negusa Nagast, King of Kings, Emperor Baile
Selassie, Lion of Judah." And they drained their glasses, which seemed
to be the correct form, so Gareth and Jake imitated them, and then they
fell upon the food, giving Gareth a chance to whisper to Jake, "Think
up some more toasts we've got to get them filled up." But he needn't
have worried for the Prince came in with: "His Britannic Majesty,
George V, King of England and Emperor of India." And no sooner were
the glasses filled again than he bowed to Jake and lifted his glass.
"The President of the United States of America, Mr. Franklin D.
Roosevelt." Not to be outdone, each of the courtiers shouted an
unintelligible toast in Amharic, presumably to the Prince and his
father and mother and aunts, uncles and nieces, and the glasses were
upended. The waiters rushed back and forth to the steady report of
champagne corks.
"The Governor of the British Colony of Tanganyika." Gareth lifted his
glass, slurring slightly.
"And the Governor's daughter," Jake murmured sardonically.
This provoked another round of toasts from the robed guests, and then
it dawned on Jake and Gareth simultaneously that it was folly to try
drinking level with men who had been bred and reared on the fiery tej
of Ethiopia.
"How are you feeling?" muttered Gareth anxiously, squinting slightly
to focus.
Beautiful, "Jake grinned at him beatifically.
"By God, these fellows know how to pack it away."
"Keep pounding them, Forty. You've got them on the run." With his
empty glass he indicated the smiling but sober group of courtiers.
"I'd be grateful if you could refrain from using that name, old chap.
Distasteful, what? Not in the best of style." Gareth slapped his
shoulder with bonhomie and almost missed. A look of concern crossed
his face. "How do I sound?"
"You sound like I feel. We'd better get out of here before they drink
us flat on our backs."
"Oh
God, there he goes again," Gareth muttered with alarm as the Prince
raised his brimming glass and looked about him expectantly. "Wine with
you, my dear Swales," he called as he caught Gareth's eyes.
"Enchanted, I'm sure." Gareth had no choice but to acknowledge and
toss off the contents of his glass before hurrying forward to intercept
the waiter who darted in to recharge the Prince's empty glass.
"Toffee, old sport, I do want you to see this little surprise I
have for you." He grabbed the Prince's drinking arm and prised the
glass from his grip. "Come along, everybody. This way, chaps." Among
the grey-bearded courtiers there was a decided reluctance to leave the
marquee, and Jake had to assist Gareth. Both-of them spreading their
arms and making shooing noises, they finally got them moving down the
track through the forest which emerged a hundred yards farther on into
an open glade the size of a polo field.
A stunned silence fell upon the party as they saw the row of four iron
ladies, gleaming in their new coats of grey, with the heavily jacketed
water-cooled barrels of the Vickers machine guns protruding from the
ports and the rakish turrets emblazoned with the tricolour horizontal
bars of the Ethiopian national colours green, yellow and red.
Like sleep-walkers, they allowed themselves to be led to the row of
chairs under the umbrellas, and without removing their gaze from the
war machines they sank into their seats.
Gareth stood in front of them like a schoolmaster, but swaying
slightly.
"Gentlemen, we have here one of the most versatile armoured vehicles
ever brought into service by any major military power And while he
paused for the Prince to translate, he grinned triumphantly at
Jake.
"Start them up, old son." As the first engine burst into life, the
elderly courtiers came to their feet and applauded like the crowd at a
prize fight.
"Fifteen hundred quid each," whispered Gareth, his eyes sparkling,
"they'll go fifteen hundred!" ij Mikhael had invited them to dine in
his suite aboard the Dunnottar Castle, and over Jake's Protests a
short-order tailor had run up a passable dinner jacket to fit Jake's
tall rangy frame.
"I look like I'm in fancy dress, "he objected.
"You look like a duke," Gareth contradicted. "It gives you a bit of
style. Style, Jake me lad, always remember. Style! If you look like
a tramp, people will treat you as one." Lij Mikhael Sagud wore a
magnificently embroidered cloak in gold and scarlet and black, clasped
at the throat with a dark red ruby the size of a ripe acorn,
tieht-fitting velvet breeches and slippers embroidered with twenty-four
carat gold wire. The dinner had been excellent and the Prince seemed
in a mellow mood.
"Now, my dear Swales. The prices for the machine guns and the other
armaments were decided months ago but the armoured cars were never
mentioned. Would you like to suggest a reasonable figure?"
"Your
Excellency, I had in mind a fair figure before I realized it was you
I
was dealing with-" Gareth drew deeply on one of the Prince's Havana
cigars, steeling himself for the wild flying chance he was going to
take. "Now, of course, I am prepared merely to cover my costs and
leave only a modest profit for my partner and myself to share." The
Prince showed his appreciation with a gracious gesture.
"Two thousand pounds each," said Gareth quickly, running the words
together to make it sound less shocking, but still Jake almost choked
on a mouthful of whisky soda.
The Prince nodded thoughtfully. "I see," he said. "That is probably
five times the actual value." Gareth looked shocked. "Your
Excellency-" But the Prince silenced him with a raised hand.
"During the last six months, I have spent a great deal of time
inspecting and pricing various items of military equipment. My dear
Swales, please don't insult us both by protesting." There was a long
silence and the atmosphere in the cabin was taut as guitar strings then
the Prince sighed.
"I could price those weapons but I could not buy. The great powers of
the world have denied me that right the right to defend my country
against the predator." There was an age of weariness in the dark eyes
and smooth brow furrowed with thought. "My country is landlocked, as
you know, gentlemen. We do not have access to the sea.
All imports must come through the territories of French and British
Somaliland or Italian Eritrea. Italy the predator or the French and
the British who have placed us under embargo." Lij Mikhael sipped at
the drink in his hand, and then frowned into the depths of the glass,
as though it were a crystal ball and he could read the future there.
"The great powers are prepared to deliver us to the Fascist tyrant,
with our sword hand empty and trussed behind our back." He sighed
again heavily and then looked up at Gareth. His expression changed.
"Major Swales, you have offered me a collection of worn and obsolete
vehicles and weapons at many times their actual value. I am a
desperate man. I must accept your offer and the price you demand."
Gareth relaxed slightly and glanced at Jake.
"I must even accept your condition that payment be made in British
sterling." Gareth smiled now. "My dear fellow-" he began, but again
the Prince silenced him with a raised hand.
"In turn I impose only one condition. It is vital to my acceptance of
your offer. You and your partner, Mr. Barton, will be responsible for
the delivery of all these weapons into the territory of
Ethiopia. Payment will be made only when you hand over the shipment to
me or my agent within the borders of his Imperial Majesty, hail
Selassie."
"Good God, man," exploded Gareth. "that involves smuggling them
through hundreds of miles of hostile territory. That's ridiculous!"
"Ridiculous, Major Swales? I think not. Your merchandise is of no
value to me or to you in Dares Salaam. I am your only customer nobody
else in the entire world would be foolish enough to buy it from you. On
the other hand, any attempt that I should make to import it into my
homeland would certainly be frustrated. I am being watched carefully
by agents of all the major powers. I know I shall be searched the
moment that I land at Jibuti. Lying here, the merchandise has no
value." He" paused and glanced from Gareth to Jake. Jake rubbed his
jaw thoughtfully.
"I see your point, Your Excellency."
"You are a reasonable man, Mr.
Barton," said the Prince, and then returned his attention to Gareth,
and repeated his last statement. "Lying here it has no value. In
Ethiopia, it is worth fifteen thousand British sovereigns to you. The
choice is yours. Abandon it or get it into Ethiopia."
"I am appalled," said Gareth solemnly, as he paced back and forth.
"I mean, after all the fellow is an old Etonian.
God, I can hardly believe that he would welsh on our agreement.
It's absolutely frightful. I mean, I trusted him." Jake was sprawled
on the couch in Madame Cecile's private room. He had shed his
dinner-jacket, and perched on his knee there was a plump young lady
with a cap of brassy blonde hair. She was dressed in a flimsy daffodil
coloured dress, the skirts of which had pulled up to show bright blue
garters around her ripe thighs. Jake was weighing one of her ample
breasts in his hand with all the concentration of a housewife choosing
tomatoes from a greengrocers tray. The girl giggled and wriggled
provocatively into his lap.
"Damn it, Jake, listen to me. "I am listening," said Jake.
"The man was positively insulting," protested Gareth, and then seemed
for a moment to lose his concentration as Jake's companion unbuttoned
the bodice of her wispy dress.
"By Jove, Jake, they are rather delicious, what?" and they both
regarded the display with interest.
"You've got your own, "Jake muttered.
"You're right," agreed Gareth, and turned to the junoesque female who
waited patiently for him on the other couch.
Her glossy black hair was piled upon her head in an elaborate nest of
curls and plaits, and she had large, intense, toffee-coloured eyes in a
face whose paleness was emphasized by the vividly painted crimson lips.
She pouted at Gareth, and draped one arm languidly around his
shoulders.
"Are you sure neither of them understands English?" Gareth called,
as he entered into the practised embrace of the white arms.
"Portuguese, both of them," Jake assured him. "But you'd better test
them."
"Very well." Gareth thought a moment. "Girls, I must warn you that we
aren't paying for your company not a penny. This is for love alone."
Neither of their expressions changed, and the enfolding movements of
sinuous limbs continued without pause.
"That settles it," Gareth opined. "We can talk."
"At a time like this?"
"We've only got until morning to decide what we are going to do." Jake
made a muffled remark and Gareth admonished him, "I can't hear a
word."
"That gullible old Ethiop of yours has us over a barrel"
repeated Jake with sardonic relish. Before he could reply, vivid
lips,
pouting and red as ripened fruit, closed over Gareth's. There was
silence for a while until Gareth wrested himself loose and his head
popped up mustache in disarray and stained with lipstick.
"Jake, what the hell are we going to do?" And Jake told him in
nautical language which left no room for misunderstanding precisely
what he was about to do.
"don't mean that, I mean what are we going to tell old Toffee tomorrow?
Are we going to deliver the goods?" Gareth's companion reached up,
took him in a head lock and drew his mouth down again.
"Jake, for God's sake, concentrate on the problem," he pleaded as he
was engulfed.
"I am, I am!" Jake assured him, rolling his eyes sideways to meet
Gareth's, but without interrupting his efforts with the plump blonde.
"How the hell do we get four armoured cars ashore on a hostile coast,
just for a start then how do we run them two hundred miles to the
Ethiopian border?" Gareth lamented, speaking out of the unemployed
corner of his mouth, and then something caught his attention. He
pulled free and raised himself on one elbow. "I say, your companion
isn't a blonde after all. Extraordinary." Jake glanced sideways and