tributes standing about the room all of them cut and carefully arranged by Rosa O'Flynn.
He was steadily putting on weight again as Rosa and Nanny stuffed food into him and colour was starting to drive the yellowish fever stains from his skin. Flynn felt a prickle of irritation at the way Sebastian was being pampered like a stud stallion, while Flynn himself was barely tolerated in his own home.
The metaphor which had come naturally into Flynn's mind now sparked a further train of thought, and a sharper prickle of irritation. Stud stallion! Flynn looked at Rosa with attention, and noticed that the dress she wore was the white one with gauzy sleeves, that had belonged to her mother a garment that Rosa usually kept securely locked away, a garment she had worn perhaps twice before in her life.
Furthermore, her feet, which were usually bare about the house, were now neatly clad in store-bOLight patent leather, and, by Jesus, she was wearing a sprig of bougainvillaea tucked into the shiny black slick of her hair. The tip of her long braid, which was usually tied carelessly with a thong of leather, flaunted a silk ribbon.
Now, Flynn O'Flynn was not a sentimental man but suddenly he recognized in his daughter a strange new glow, and a demure air that had never been there before, and within himself he became aware of an unusual sensation, so unfamiliar that he did not recognize it as paternal jealousy.
He did, however, recognize that the sooner he sent Sebastian on his way, the safer it would be.
'Well, that's fine, Bassie,' he boomed genially. 'That's just fine. Now, I'm sending bearers down to Beira to pick up supplies, and I just thought they might as well get some clothes for you while they were there.'
'Well, thank you very much, Flynn.' Sebastian was touched by the kindness of his friend.
'Might as well do it properly.' Flynn produced his tape measure with a flourish. 'We'll send your measurements down to old Parbhoo and he can tailor-make some stuff for you.
I say, that is jolly decent of you.'
And completely out of character, thought Rosa O'Flynn as she watched her father carefully noting the length of Sebastian's legs and arms, and the girth of his neck, chest and waist.
'The boots and the hat will be a problem,' Flynn mused aloud when he had finished. 'But I'll find something.'
'And what do you mean by that, Flynn O'Flynn?' Rosa demanded suspiciously.
'Nothing, just nothing at all.' Hurriedly Flynn gathered his notes and his tape, and fled from further interrogation.
Some time later, Mohammed and the bearers returned from the shopping expedition to Beira, and he and Flynn immediately closeted themselves in secret conclave in the arsenal.
'Did you get it? 'demanded Flynn eagerly.
'Five boxes of gin I left in the cave behind the waterfall at the top of the valley,' whispered Mohammed, and Flynn sighed with relief. 'But one bottle I brought with me.'
Mohammed produced it from under his tunic. Flynn took it from him and drew the cork with his teeth, before spilling a little into the enamel mug that was standing ready.
'And the other purchases?'
'It was difficult especially the hat.'
'But did you get it?' Flynn demanded.
'It was a direct intervention of Allah.' Mohammed refused to be hurried. 'In the harbour was a German ship, stopped at Beira on its way north to Dares Salaam. On the boat were three German officers. I saw them walking upon the deck.' Mohammed paused and cleared his throat portentously. 'That night a man who is my friend rowed me out to the ship, and I visited the cabin of one of the soldiers.'
'Where is it?' Flynn could not hold his patience.
Mohammed stood up, went to the door of the rondavel and called to one of the bearers. He returned and set a bundle on the table in front of Flynn. Grinning proudly, he waited while Flynn unwrapped the bundle.
'Good God Almighty,' breathed Flynn.
'Is it not beautiful?'
'Call Manali. Tell him to come here immediately.'
Ten minutes later Sebastian, whom Rosa had at last reluctantly placed on the list of walking wounded, entered the rondavel, to be greeted effusively by Flynn. 'Sit down, Bassie boy. I've got a present for you.'
Reluctantly, Sebastian obeyed, eyeing the covered object on the table. Flynn stood over it and whisked away the cloth. Then, with the same ceremony as the Archbishop of Canterbury placing the crown, he lifted the helmet above Sebastian's head and lowered it reverently.
On the summit a golden eagle cocked its wings on the point of flight and opened its beak in a silent squawk of ineriace, the black enamel of the helmet shone with a polished gloss, and the golden chain drooped heavily under Sebastian's chin.
It was indeed a thing of beauty. A thing of such presence that it completely overwhelmed Sebastian, enveloping his head to the bridge of his nose so that his eyes were just visible below the jUtting brim.
'A few sizes too large,' Flynn conceded. BUt we can stuff some cloth into the crown to keep it up.' He backed away a few paces and cocked his head on one side as he examined the effect. 'Bassie boy, you'll slay them.'
'What's this for?' Sebastian asked in concern from under the steel helmet.
'You'll see. Just hold on a shake.' Flynn turned to Mohammed who was cooing with admiration in the doorway. 'The clothes?' he asked, and Mohammed beckoned imperiously to the bearers to bring in the boxes they had carried all the way from Beira.
Parbhoo, the Indian tailor, had obviously laboured with dedication and enthusiasm. The task set him by Flynn had touched the soul of the creative artist in him.
Ten minutes later, Sebastian stood self-consciously in the centre of the rondavel while Flynn and Mohammed circled him slowly, exclaiming with delight and self congratulation
Below the massive helmet, which was now propped high with a wad of cloth between steel and scalp, Sebastian was dressed in the sky-blue tunic and riding breeches. The cuffs of the jacket were ringed with yellow silk a stripe of the same material ran down the outside of the breeches and the high collar was covered with embroidered metal thread.
Complete with spurs, the tall black boots pinched his toes so painfully that Sebastian stood pigeon-toed and blushed with bewilderment. 'I say, Flynn,' he pleaded, what's all this about?'
'Bassie boy.' Flynn laid a hand fondly on his shoulder.
'You're going to go in there and collect hut tax for...' he almost said me, but altered it quickly to.. us.'
'What is hut tax?'
'Hut tax is the annual sum of five shillings, paid by the headmen to the German Governor for each hut in his village.' Flynn led Sebastian to the chair and seated him as gently as though he were pregnant. He lifted a hand to still Sebastian's further enquiries and protests. 'Yes, I know you don't understand. But I'll explain it to you carefully. just keep your mouth shut and listen.' He sat down opposite Sebastian and leaned forward earnestly. 'Now The Germans owe us for the dhow and that, like we agreed right?'
Sebastian nodded, and the helmet slid forward over his eyes. He pushed it back.
'Well, you are going to go across the river with the gun and bearers dressed as Askari. You are going to visit each of the villages before the real tax-collector gets there and pick up, the money that they owe us. Do you follow me so far?'
'Are you coming with me?'
'Now, how can I do that? Me with my leg not properly healed yet?' Flynn protested impatiently. 'Besides that, every headman on the other side knows who I am. Not one of them has ever laid eyes on you before. You just tell them you're a new officer straight out from Germany. One look at that uniform, and they'll pay up sharpish.'
'What happens if the real tax-inspector has already been there?'
'They don't start collecting until September usually and then they start in the north and work down this way.
You'll have plenty of time.'
Frowning below the rim of the helmet, Sebastian brought forward a series of objections each one progressively weaker than its predecessor, and, one by one, Flynn annihilated them. Finally there was a long silence while Sebastian's brain ground to a standstill.
Well? 'Flynn asked. 'Are you going to do it?'
And the question was answered from an unexpected quarter in feminine, but not dulcet tones. 'He is certainly not going to do it!'
Guiltily as small boys caught smoking in the school latrines, Flynn and Sebastian wheeled to face the door which had carelessly been left ajar.
Rosa's suspicions had been aroused by all the surreptitious activity around the rondavel, and when she had seen Sebastian join in, she had not the slightest qualms about listening outside the window. Her active intervention was not on ethical grounds. Rosa O'Flynn had acquired a rather elastic definition of honesty from her father. Like him, she believed that German property belonged to anybody who could get their hands on it. The fact that Sebastian was involved in a scheme based on dubious moral foundations in no way lowered her opinion of him
