it was a hundred years ago, a thousand years ago.
Tell them to listen for my war drums,' a suppressed roar of exultation
came from their throats, 'the drums will beat up the dawn, and when
they cease, that will be the moment. 'The Ras had struggled to his
feet,
and he stood naked above them; the blanket 2 fallen away, and his
skinny old chest heaved with the passion of his anger. 'In that
moment, I, Ras Golam, will go down to drive the enemy back across the
desert and into the sea from which they came.
Every man who calls himself a warrior and an Harari will go down with
me-' and his voice was lost in the shrill loolooing of his officers,
and the Ras laughed, with the high ringing laugh close to madness.
One of his officers handed him a mug of the fiery tei and the Ras
poured it down his throat in a single draught, then hurled the mug upon
the fire.
Gregorius leapt to his feet and laid a restraining hand upon the skinny
old arm.
'Grandfather.' The Ras swung to him, the bloodshot rheumy eyes burning
with a fierce new light.
'If you have woman's words to say to me, then swallow them and let them
choke the breath in your lungs, and turn to poison in your belly. 'The
Ras glared at his grandson, and suddenly Gregorius understood.
He understood what the Ras was about to do. He was a man old and wise
enough to know that his world was passing, that the enemy was too
strong, that God had turned his back upon Ethiopia, that no matter how
brave the heart and how fierce the battle in the end there was defeat
and dishonour and slavery.
The Ras was choosing the other way the only other way.
The flash of understanding passed between the youth and the ancient,
and the Ras's eyes softened and he leaned towards Gregorius.
'But if the fire is in your belly also, if you will charge beside me
when the drums fall silent then kneel for my blessing.' Suddenly
Gregorius felt all care and restraint fall away, and his heart soared
up like an eagle, borne aloft by the ancient atavistic joy of the
warrior.
He fell on one knee before the Ras.
'Give me your blessing, grandfather,' he cried, and the Ras placed both
hands upon his bowed head and mumbled the biblical words.
A warm soft drop fell upon Gregorius's neck, and he looked up
startled.
The tears were running down the dark wrinkled cheeks, and dripping
unashamedly from the Ras's chin. Vicky Camberwell lay face down upon
the filthy earthen floor of one of the deserted tukuk on the outskirts
of the burning town. The floor swarmed with legions of lice, and they
crawled softly over her skin, and their bites set up a burning
irritation.
Her hands were bound behind her back with strips of rawhide rope,
and her ankles were bound the same way.
Outside, she could hear the rustle and crackle of the burning town,
with an occasional louder crash as a roof collapsed. There were also
