her expression was enchanted as she leaned her golden head close to the
dark curly head of Sara Sagud, not wanting to miss a word of the
translation.
Now she saw Jake watching her, and she smiled and nodded vehemently
almost as though she had read his doubts.
'Leave Vicky also?' Jake wondered. 'Leave them all and run with the
gold?' He knew that nothing would induce Vicky to leave with them.
For her the story was here, her involvement was complete, and she would
stay to the end the inevitable end.
The smart thing was to go, the dumb thin to stay and fight another
man's war that was already lost before it had begun; the dumb thing was
to stake twenty thousand dollars which was his share of the profits,
and all his future plans, the Barton engine, and the factory to build
it, against the remote chance of winning a lady who promised to be a
lifetime of trouble once she was won.
never was a dab hand at doing the smart thing,' Jake thought ruefully,
and smiled back at Vicky.
The Ras was suddenly silent, panting with the force of his feelings and
the effort of voicing them. His listeners were mesmerized also,
staring at the thin-robed figure with its wild lion wig.
The Ras made a commanding gesture and one of his guards handed him the
broad two-handed sword, its blade long and naked. The Ras leaned his
weight upon it and commanded again, and they carried in the war drums.
The Ras's ceremonial drums, passed down to him by his father and his
father before him, drums that had beaten at Magdala against
Napier, at Adowa against the Italians and at a hundred other battles.
They were as tall as a man's shoulder, elaborately carved of hardwood
and covered with rawhide, and the drummers took up their stance with
the barrels of their drums held between their knees.
The drum with the deepest bass tone set the rhythm and the lesser drums
joined in with the variations and counterpoints, a chorus that arred a
man's gut and loosened his brain in his skull.
The old Ras listened to it with his head bowed over the sword,
until the rhythm took a hold on him and his shoulders began to jerk and
his head came up. With a leap like a white bird taking flight, he
landed in the open space before the drummers. The great sword whirled
high above his head, and he began to dance.
Gareth took Mikhael Sagud by the sleeve and lifted his voice in
competition with the drums, and resumed at the point where he had been
interrupted.
'Toffee, you were telling me about the money.' Jake heard him and
leaned across to catch the Prince's reply, but the Prince was silent,
watching his father leap and twirl in the intricate and acrobatic
dance.
'We have delivered the goods, old chap. And a deal is a deal.'
'fifteen thousand sovereigns,' said the Prince thoughtfully.
'That's the exact figure, 'Gareth agreed.
'A dangerous sum of money,' murmured the PPrince.
'Men have been killed for much less.' And they made no reply.
'I think of your safety, of course,' the Prince went on.
