'Sean Courtney, you evil son of a bitch,' breathless as the air was
forced from his lungs by Sean's hug.
'Let's have a drink.' Sean punched him.
'Let's have a bottle.' Tim caught his ears and twisted.
At last they broke apart and stood laughing incoherently in the
pleasure of meeting again.
The servant returned with Sean's coffee and Tim waved him away
disgustedly. 'None of that slop! Get a bottle of brandy out of my
chest.'
'You two know each other, I presume.' The man in the bath interrupted
them.
Know each other! Jesus, I worked five years for him!'
snorted Tim
'Digging his dirty gold out of the ground. worst boss I ever had.
'Well, now's your chance,' Sean grinned, 'because I've come to work for
you. ' 'You hear that, Saul? The idiot wants to join.
'Mazeltav. ' The bather dunked the tip of his cheroot in his bath
water, flicked it away and stood up. He offered Sean a soapy hand.
'Welcome to the legion of the lost. My name's Saul Friedman. I gather
yours is Sean Courtney. Now where's that bottle and we'll celebrate
your arrival. ' The commotion had summoned the others from their
wagons and Sean was introduced to each of them. It seemed the uniform
of the Guides was a khaki tunic without insignia or badges of rank,
slouch hats and riding breeches. There were ten of them.
A touhh-looking bunch and Sean found their company to his liking.
Naked except for a towel draped round his waist, Saul did duty as
barman, then they all settled down in the shade to a bout of
drinking.
Tim Curtis entertained them for the first twenty minutes with a
biographical and biological account of Sean's career, to which Saul
contributed comments that were met with roars of laughter. It was
obvious that Saul was the Company wit, a function which he performed
with distinction. He was the youngest of them all, perhaps twenty-five
years old, and physically the smallest. His body was thin and hairy,
and in a pleasant sort of way he was extremely ugly. Sean liked him.
An hour later when the brandy had taken them to the stage of
seriousness which precedes wild and undirected hilarity, Sean asked,
'Captain Curtis .
'Lieutenant, and don't for-get it,' Tim corrected him.
'Lieutenant, then. What is our job, and when do we do it?'
Tim scowled at his empty glass, then looked across at Saul.
'Tell him,' he instructed.
'As mentioned earlier, we are the legion of the lost. People look on
us with pity and a mild embarrassment. They pass us by on the far side
of the street, making the sign of the Cross and murmuring a spell to
avert the evil eye. We live here in our own little leper colony.
'Why? 'Well, first of all, we belong to the most miserable little runt
in the entire army of Natal. An officer, who, despite a formidable
array of medals, would not inspire confidence in a young ladies' choir.
He is chief liaison officer for the Coloni troops on the general staff.
