their Colonel, and they would have enjoyed nothing more than the
spectacle of the retreating Rolls.
They would then have been free to follow in haste.
'I do not believe the enemy is present in any force.' Castelani's
voice was raised to a level where the Count's protests were completely
drowned. 'However, it is essential that the Colonel takes command in
person. If there is to be a confrontation, it will involve a value
judgement.' The Major pressed forward a step at a time, until his
chest was an inch from the Colonel's and their noses almost touched.
'We are not formally at war. Your presence is essential to reinforce
our position.' The Colonel was pressed to the point where he had no
choice but to fall back a pace, and the watching Officers sighed sadly.
It was an act of capitulation. The contest of wills was over and
although the Count continued to protest weakly, the Major worked him
away from the Rolls the way a good sheep dog handles its flock.
'It will be dawn in an hour,' said Castelani, 'and as soon as it is
light, we shall be in a position to evaluate the situation.' At that
moment the drum fell silent. Up the valley in the caves, the Ras had
at last finished his dance of defiance, and to the Count the silence
was cheering. He threw one last wistful look at the Rolls, and then
let his gaze wander to the fifty heavily armed men of his bodyguard and
took a little more heart.
He squared his shoulders and drew himself erect, throwing back his
head.
'Major,' he snapped. 'The battalion will stand firm.' He turned to
his watching officers, all of whom tried to fade into insignificance
and avoid his eyes. 'Major Vita, take command of this detachment and
move forward to clear the ground. The rest of you fall in around
me.'
The Colonel gave the Major and his fifty stalwarts a respectable
lead,
so that they might draw any hostile fire, and then, surrounded by a
protective screen of his reluctant juniors and prodded forward by
Luigi
Castelani, he moved cautiously along the dusty path that wound down the
slope of the valley to where' the battalion's forward elements had been
so expertly entrenched.
Phe most junior of Ras Golam's multitudinous grooms was fifteen years
of age. The previous day one of the Ras's favourite mares in his care
had snapped her halter rope while he was taking her down to the water.
She had galloped out into the desert, and the boy had followed her for
the whole of that day and half of the night, until the capricious
creature had allowed him to come up with her and grasp the trailing end
of the rope.
Exhausted by the long chase and chilled by the cold night wind,
the boy had huddled down on her neck and allowed the mare to pick her
own way back to the water holes. He was half asleep, clinging by
instinct alone to the mare's mane, when a short while before dawn she
wandered into the perimeter of the Italian base.
A nervous sentry had challenged loudly, and the startled animal had
