General Connolly rode on. At the fort he found no sentry on guard. The courtyard was empty save for the body of Ali, which lay on its face in the dust, the cord which had strangled him still tightly twined round his neck. Connolly turned it over with his boot but failed to recognise the swollen and darkened face.
“So His Imperial Majesty has shot the moon.”
He looked into the deserted guard house and the lower rooms of the fort; then he climbed the spiral stone staircase which led to Seth’s room and here lying across the camp bed in spotted silk pyjamas recently purchased in the Place Vendome, utterly exhausted by the horror and insecurity of the preceding night, lay the Emperor of Azania fast asleep.
From his bed Seth would only hear the first, rudimentary statement of his victory. Then he dismissed his commander-in-chief and with remarkable self-restraint insisted on performing a complete and fairly elaborate toilet before giving his mind to the details of the situation. When, eventually, he came down stairs dressed in the full and untarnished uniform of the Imperial Horse Guards, he was in a state of some elation. “You see, Connolly,” he cried, clasping his general’s hand with warm emotion, “I was right. I knew that it was impossible for us to fail.”
“We came damned near it, once or twice,” said Connolly.
“Nonsense, my dear fellow. We are Progress and the New Age. Nothing can stand in our way. Don’t you see? The world is already ours; it is our world now, because we are of the Present. Seyid and his ramshackle band of brigands were the Past. Dark barbarism. A cobweb in a garret; dead wood; a whisper echoing in a sunless cave. We are Light and Speed and Strength, Steel and Steam, Youth, To-day and Tomorrow. Don’t you see? Our little war was won on other fields five centuries back.” The young darky stood there transfigured; his eyes shining; his head thrown back; tipsy with words. The white man knocked out his pipe on the heel of his riding boot and felt for a pouch in his tunic pocket.
“All right, Seth, say it your own way. All I know is that my little war was won the day before yesterday and by two very ancient weapons—lies and the long spear.”
“But my tank? Was it not that which gave us the victory?”
“Marx’s tin can? A fat lot of use that was. I told you you were wasting money but you would have the thing. The best thing you can do is to present it to Debra-Dowa as a war memorial, only you couldn’t get it so far. My dear boy, you can’t take a machine like that over this country under this sun. The whole thing was red hot after five miles. The two poor devils of Greeks who had to drive it nearly went off their heads. It came in handy in the end, though. We used it as a punishment cell. It was the one thing these black bastards would really take no-tice of. It’s all right getting on a high horse about progress now that everything’s over. It doesn’t hurt any one. But if you want to know, you were as near as nothing to losing the whole bag of tricks at the end of last week. Do you know what that clever devil Seyid had done. Got hold of a photograph of you taken at Oxford in cap and gown. He had several thousand printed and circulated among the guards. Told them you’d deserted the Church in England and that there you were in the robes of an English Mohammedan. All the mission boys fell for it. It was no good telling them. They were going over to the enemy in hundreds every night. I was all in. There didn’t seem a damned thing to do. Then I got an idea. You know what the name of Amurath means among the tribesmen? Well, I called a shari of all the Wanda and Sakuyu chiefs and spun them the yarn. Told them that Amurath never died—which they believed already most of them—but that he had crossed the sea to commune with the spirits of his ancestors; that you were Amurath, himself, come back in another form. It went down from the word go. I wish you could have seen their faces. The moment they’d heard the news they were mad to be at Seyid there and then. It was all I could do to keep them back until I had him where I wanted him. What’s more the story got through to the other side and in two days we had a couple of thousand of Seyid’s boys coming over to us. Double what we’d lost on the Mohammedan story, and real fighters—not dressed-up mission boys. Well, I kept them back as best I could for three days. We were on the crest of the hills all the time and Seyid was down in the valley, kicking up the devil, burning villages, trying to make us come down to him. He was getting worried about the desertions. Well, on the third day I sent half a company of guards down with a band and a whole lot of mules and told them to make themselves as conspicuous as they could straight in front of him in the Ukaka pass. Trust the guards to do that. He did just what I expected; thought it was the whole army and spread out on both sides trying to surround them. Then I let the tribesmen in on his rear. My word, I’ve never seen such a massacre. Didn’t they enjoy themselves, bless them. Half of them haven’t come back yet; they’re still chasing the poor devils all over the hills.’
“And the usurper Seyid, did he surrender?”
“Yes, he surrendered all right. But, look here, Seth, I hope you aren’t going to mind about this, but you see how it was, well, you see Seyid surrendered and…”
“You don’t mean you’ve let him escape?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that, but the fact is, he surrendered to a party of Wanda… and, well, you know what the Wanda are.”
“You mean…”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. I wouldn’t have had it happen for anything. I didn’t hear about it until afterwards.”
“They should not have eaten him—after all he was my father… It is so… so barbarous.”
“I knew you’d feel that way about it, Seth, and I’m sorry. I gave the headmen twelve hours in the tank for it.”
“I am afraid that as yet the Wanda are totally out of touch with modern thought. They need education. We must start some schools and a university for them when we get things straight.”
“That’s it, Seth, you can’t blame them. It’s want of education. That’s all it is.”
“We might start them on Montessori methods,’
‘ said Seth dreamily. “You can’t blame them.” Then rousing himself: “Connolly, I shall make you a Duke.”
“That’s nice of you, Seth. I don’t mind so much for myself but Black Bitch will be pleased as punch about it.”
“And, Connolly.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you think that when she is a Duchess, it might be more suitable if you were to try and call your wife by another name. You see, there will probably be a great influx of distinguished Europeans for my coronation. We wish to break down colour bar-riers as far as possible. Your name for Mrs. Connolly, though suitable as a term of endearment in the home, seems to emphasise the racial distinction between you in a way which might prove
