distinguish nothing in the gloom. Only his ears were aware of a heavily breathing figure somewhere not far distant in the dark interior. Then he gradually descried a jumble of household furniture, camp equipment and the remains of a meal; and Boaz asleep. The great dandy lay on his back in a heap of rugs and sacking; his head pitched forward into his blue-black curly beard. There was a rifle across his middle. He wore a pair of mud-splashed riding breeches, too tight to button to the top, which Basil recognised as the Emperor’s. A Wanda girl sat at his head. She explained: “The Lord has been asleep for some time. For the last days it has been like this. He wakes only to drink from the square bottle. Then he is asleep again.”
“Bring me word when he wakes.”
Basil approached the oafish fellows in the clearing.
“Show me a house where I can sleep.”
They pointed one out to him without rising to accompany him to its door. Water still dripped through its leaky thatch, there was a large puddle of thin mud made during the rain. Basil lay down on the dry side and waited for Boaz to wake.
They called him an hour after sunset. The men had lit a fire, but only a small one because they knew that at midnight the rain would begin again and dowse it. There was a light in the headman’s hut—a fine brass lamp with wick and chimney. Boaz had put out two glasses and two bottles of whiskey. Basil’s first words were, “Where is Seth?”
“He is not here. He has gone away.”
“Where?”
“How shall I know? Look, I have filled your glass.”
“I sent a messenger to him, with the news that Achon was dead.”
“Seth had already gone when the messenger came.”
“And where is the messenger?”
“He brought bad tidings. He is dead. Turn the light higher. It is bad to sit in the dark.”
He gulped down a glass of spirit and refilled his glass. They sat in silence.
Presently Boaz said, “Seth is dead.”
“I knew. How?”
“The sickness of the jungle. His legs and his arms swelled. He turned up his eyes and died. I have seen others die in just that way.”
Later he said, “So now there is no Emperor. It is a pity that your messenger did not come a day sooner. I hanged him because he was late.”
“Boaz, the sickness of the jungle does not wait on good or bad news.”
“That is true. Seth died in another way. By his own hand. With a gun raised to his mouth and his great toe crooked round the trigger. That is how Seth died.”
“It is not what I should have expected.”
“Men die that way. I have heard of it often. His body lies outside. The men will not bury it. They say it must be taken down to Moshu to the Wanda people to be burned in their own fashion. Seth was their chief.”
“We will do that tomorrow.”
Outside round the fire, inevitably, they had started singing. The drums pulsed. In the sodden depths of the forest the wild beasts hunted, shun-ning the light.
“I will go and see Seth’s body.”
“The women are sewing him up. They made a bag for him out of pieces of skin. It is the custom when the chief dies. They put grain in with him and several spices. Only the women know what. If they can get it they put a lion’s paw, I have been told.”
“We will go and look at him.”
“It is not the custom of the people.”
“I will carry the lamp.”
“You must not leave me in the dark. I will come with you.”
Past the camp fire and the singing guardsmen to another hut: here by the light of a little lamp four or five women were at work stitching. Seth’s body lay on the floor half covered by a blanket. Boaz leant tipsily in the doorway while Basil went forward, lamp in hand. The eldest of the women tried to bar his entrance, but he pushed her aside and approached the dead Emperor.
His head lay inclined to one side, the lips agape, the eyes open and dull. He wore his guards tunic, buttoned tight at the throat; the epaulettes awry and bedraggled. There was no wound visible. Basil drew the blanket higher and rejoined the Minister.
“The Emperor did not shoot himself.”
“No.”
“There is no wound to be seen.”
“Did I say he was shot? That is a mistake. He took poison. That is how it happened… it has happened before in that way to other great men. It was a draught given him by a wise man in these parts. When he despaired he took some of it… a large cupful and drank it… there in the hut. I was with him. He made a wry face and said that the draught was bitter. Then he stood still a little until his knees gave. On the floor he rolled up and down several times. He could not breathe. Then his legs shot straight out and he arched his back. That is how he lay until yesterday when the body became limp again. That was how he died…. The messenger was late in coming.”
