You must swallow it without using your hands,' Lij Mikhael explained
hastily. 'It is a game my father enjoys.' Gareth's eyes bulged, his
face turned crimson with lack of air and the bite of chilli sauce.
Gulping and gasping and chewing manfully, he struggled to ingest the
huge offering.
The Ras hooted merrily, drooling a little saliva from the toothless
mouth, his entire face a network of moving wrinkles as he encouraged
Gareth with cries of 'How do you do? How do you do?' At last with his
dignity in shreds, red-faced, sweating and panting laboriously, the
roll of bread disappeared down Gareth's straining throat. The Ras
folded him once more in that brotherly embrace, and
Lij Mikhael poured another goblet full of Bollinger for him.
However, Gareth, who did not enjoy being the butt of anyone's joke,
freed himself from the Ras, pushed the glass' aside and waved one of
the servants to him. From the reeking bloody platter he selected a
strip of raw beef almost as thick as his wrist and as long as his
forearm. Without warning, he thrust one end of it into the Ras's
gaping toothless mouth.
'Suck on that, you old bastard,' he shouted, and the Ras stared at him
with startled rheumy bloodshot eyes. Then, although he was unable to
smile because of the long red strip that hung from his lips like some
huge swollen tongue, the Ras's eyes turned to slits in a mask of happy
wrinkles.
His jaw seemed to unhinge like a python swallowing a goat.
He gulped and an inch of the meat shot into his M(Uthl he gulped again
and another inch disappeared. Gareth stared at him as gulp succeeded
gulp and swiftly the morsel dwindled in size. Within seconds the Ras's
mouth was empty, and he snatched up a bowl of tej and drank half a pint
of the heady liquor, wiped blood and tej from his chin with the skirt
of his sham ma belched like an air-locked geyser, then with a falsetto
cackle-of merriment hit Gareth a resounding crack between the shoulder
blades. In the Ras's view, they were now comrades of the soul both
English aristocrats, renowned warriors, and each had eaten from the
other's hand.
Gregorius Maryam had anticipated exactly what his grandfather's
reaction to his white guests would be. He knew that Gareth's
nationality and undoubted aristocratic background would overshadow all
else in the Ras's estimation.
However, the young prince's feelings for Jake Barton had become close
to adulation and he did not intend that his hero should be ignored. He
chose the one subject which he knew would engage his grandfather's full
attention. He slipped unnoticed from the din of the overcrowded cave,
and when he returned, he carried Jake's stiff crackling lion skin that
had by now completely dried out in the hot, dry desert wind.
Although he held it high above his head, the tail brushed the ground on
one side and the nose on the other. The Ras, one arm still around
Gareth's shoulder, looked up with interest and fired a string of
questions at his grandson, as the boy spread the huge tawny skin before
him.
The replies made the old man so excited that he leaped to his feet and
