In a hidden saucer of rock, around the rim of which were posted the
shadowy, hostile figures of sentries, was a large leather tent.
Around it were tethered scores of the wild, shaggy ponies and the
interior was lit by smoky paraffin lamps and crowded with rank upon
rank of squatting warriors. Their faces were so black in the dim light
that only the whites of their eyes and the gleam of their teeth showed
clearly.
The political agent strode ahead of the Count, down the open aisle, to
where a robed figure reclined on a pile of cushions under a pair of
lanterns. He was flanked by two women, still very young, but
full-blown heavy-breasted, and pale-skinned, dressed in brilliant
silks, both of them wearing crudely wrought silver jewellery dangling
from their ears and strung about their long graceful necks. Their eyes
were dark and bold, and at another time and in different circumstances
the Count's interest would have been intense.
But now his knees felt rubbery, and his heart thumped like a war drum.
The political agent had to lead him forward by the arm.
'The Emperor-designate,' whispered the agent, and the Count looked down
on the bloated, effeminate dandy who lolled upon the cushions, his fat
fingers covered with rings and his eyelids painted like those of a
woman. 'Ras Kullah, of the Gallas.'
'Make the correct reply,'
instructed the Count, his voice hoarse with strain, and the Ras eyed
the Count with apprehension as the agent made a long flowery speech.
The Ras was impressed with the imposing figure in its sinister black
uniform. In the lamplight, the insignia glittered and the heavy
enamelled cross on its ribbon of watered silk blinked like a beacon.
The Ras's eyes dropped to the jewelled dagger and ivory-handled pistol
at the Count's belt, the weapons of a rich and noble warrior and he
looked up again into the Count's eyes. They also glittered with an
almost feverish fanatical light, the Count's regular features were
flushed angrily and a murderous scowl furrowed his brow. He breathed
like a fighting bull. The Ras mistook the signs of fatigue and extreme
fear for the warlike rage of a berserker. He was impressed and awed.
Then his attention was drawn irresistibly away from the Count, as
Gino and Giuseppe staggered into the tent, sweating in the lamplight,
and bowed over the heavy chest they carried between them. Ras Kullah
hoisted himself into a kneeling position, with his soft paunch bulging
forward under the sham ma and his eyes glittering like those of a
reptile.
With an abrupt command, he cut short the agent's speech, and beckoned
the two Italians to him. With relief they deposited the heavy chest
before the Ras, amid a hubbub of voices from the dark mass of watchers.
They pressed forward eagerly, the better to see the contents of the
chest, as the Ras prised open the clips with the jewelled dagger from
his belt, and lifted the lid with his fat pale hands.
The chest was closely packed with paper-wrapped rolls, like white
candles. The Ras lifted one and slit the paper cover with the point of
his dagger. There was a silent explosion of flat metal discs from the
