attempting to climb aboard the vehicle. She was enjoying herself
immensely, Jake realized, as he noticed the battle lust in her eyes and
heard the crack of her whip and the yelps of her victims. He thought
of trying to restrain her and then discarded the idea as being highly
dangerous. Instead, he looked about distractedly for some other means
to subdue the boisterous welcome and noticed for the first time the
entrances to numerous caves in the sides of the wadi.
From a number of these dark openings now poured a body of men,
wearing a semblance of uniform jodhpurs and baggy khaki tunics, their
chests crossed with bandoliers of ammunition, put teed calves and bare
feet, high turbans bound around their heads and Mauser rifles swinging
heartily, the butts used as clubs. They were every bit as enthusiastic
as Sara, but considerably more successful in their attempts to quieten
the crowd.
'My grandfather's guards,' Sara explained to Jake, still panting and
grinning happily from her recent exertions. 'I am sorry, Jake, but
sometimes my people get excited.'
'Yeah,' said Jake. 'So I noticed.'
With gun butts rising and falling the guards cleared a space around the
four laden vehicles, and the noise dropped in volume until it was
equivalent to a medium-sized avalanche. The four drivers climbed
warily down and came together in a defensive group in the small stretch
of open ground before the caves. Vicky Camberwell placed herself
strategically between Jake and Gareth and behind the lanky robed figure
of Gregorius and she felt even more secure when Sara slipped up beside
her and took her hand.
'Please do not worry,' she whispered. 'We are all your friends.'
'You could have fooled me, honey.' Vicky smiled back at her, and
squeezed the slim brown hand. At that moment a procession emerged from
the caves, headed by four coal-black priests of the Coptic Christian
Church in their gaudy robes, chanting in Amharic, swinging incense and
carrying ornate, if crudely wrought bronze crosses.
Immediately after the priests followed a figure so tall and thin as to
appear a caricature of the human shape. A long flowing sham ma of
yellow and red stripes hung loosely on the gaunt frame. There was the
suggestion of legs as long and as thin as those of an ostrich beneath
the skirts of the robe as he strode forward, and the man's dark head
was completely bald of hair no beard or eyebrows just a round
glistening pate.
His eyes were completely enclosed in a web of deep wrinkles and fleshy
folds of old dried-out skin. The mouth was utterly toothless,
so that the jaw seemed to be collapsible, folding the face in half like
the bellows of a concertina.
He gave an impression of vast age that was offset immediately by the
youthful spring in his step and the twinkle in the black birdlike eyes,
and yet Gareth realized that he could not be less than eighty years
old.
Gregorius hurried forward and knelt briefly for the old man's blessing,
while Sara whispered to the group.
'This is my grandfather, Ras Golam' she explained. 'He speaks no
