the Italian de fences so that the Ethiopian cavalry could stream
through and exploit the disordered infantry.
The Ras's scowls smoothed away, and an unholy grin replaced them.
His eyes glowed like black coals in their beds of dark wrinkled
flesh,
and when at last he gave his orders, he spoke with the ringing and
final authority of a royal warrior that brooked no further argument.
'My grandfather decrees that the first attack will be made upon the
enemy as soon as they advance beyond the caves of Chaldi. It will be
made by all the horsemen of both Harari and Galla, and led by two
armoured cars. The infantry, the Vickers guns and one armoured car
will be held in reserve here at the Sardi Gorge.'
'What about the crews for the cars?' asked Jake.
'You and I, Jake, in one car, and in the other car Major
Swales will be the driver and my grandfather will be the gunner.'
'I
can't believe it's happening to me,' groaned Gareth.
'That old bastard is stark raving bloody mad. He's a menace to himself
and everyone within a fifty-mile range.'
'Including the
Italians,' agreed Jake.
'It's all very well for you to grin like that you won't be locked up in
a tin can with a maniac. Gregorius, tell him-'
'No, Major
Swales.' Gregorius shook his head, and his expression was remote and
frosty. 'My grandfather has given his orders. I will not translate
your objections though if you insist I will give him an exact
translation of what you have just said about him.'
'My dear chap.'
Gareth held up his hands in a gesture of capitulation. 'I count it an
honour to be selected by your grandfather and my remarks were made in
fun, I assure you. No offence, old chap, no offence at all.' And he
watched helplessly, as the Ras picked up the pack of playing cards and
began to deal the next hand.
'I just hope the jolly old Eyeties get a move on. I can't afford much
more of this.' Major Luigi Castelani saluted from the entrance of the
tent.
'As you ordered, my Colonel.' Count Aldo Belli nodded to him in the
full-length mirror a brief acknowledgement before he switched his
attention back to his own image.
'Gino,' he snapped. 'Is that a mark on the toecap of my left boot?'
and the little sergeant dropped to his knees at the Count's feet and
breathed heavily on the boot, dulling the glossy surface before
polishing it lovingly with his own sleeve. The Count glanced up and
saw that Castelani still lingered in the entrance. His expression was
so lugubrious and doom-laden that the Count felt his anger return.
'Your face is enough to sour the wine, Castelani.'
'The Count knows my misgivings.'
'Indeed,' he thundered. 'I have heard nothing but your whines since I
gave my orders to advance.'
