George, Her Britannic Majesty’s ambassador, to give Saffron away. He was in full fig, including his bicorne hat with gold lace and white cockerel feathers. The groom was handsome and nervous in his black frock-coat, with the dazzling Star of the Order of Solomon and Judea on his breast. The Bishop of Abyssinia performed the service.
Saffron had designed her own wedding dress. When she came down the aisle on Sir Harold’s arm, Ryder was mildly relieved to see that it was in pure virginal white. Saffron’s taste usually ran to brighter hues. When they left the church as man and wife, a troop of the Royal Abyssinian Artillery fired a nine-gun salute. In the fever of the moment, one of the ancient cannon had been double charged and it burst in spectacular fashion on the first discharge. Fortunately nobody was injured, and the bishop declared it a propitious omen. The Emperor provided vast quantities of fiery Tej to the populace, and toasts were drunk to bride and groom for as long as the liquor held out and their well-wishers remained upright and conscious.
For the honeymoon Ryder took his bride into the southern Abyssinian highlands on an expedition to capture the rare mountain ny ala They returned some months later without having caught even a glimpse of the elusive beast. Saffron painted a picture to commemorate the expedition: on a mountain peak in the background stood a creature that bore more than a passing resemblance to a unicorn, and in the foreground a man and woman whose identities were in no doubt. The woman wore a huge yellow hat decorated with seashells and roses. They were not looking at the unicorn, but clasped between them was a large and magnificent bird, half ostrich and half peacock. The legend beneath the painting read, “We went to find the elusive ny ala but found instead the elusive bird of happiness.”
Ryder was so enchanted by it that he had the picture mounted in an ivory frame, and hung it on the wall above their bed.
The voyage up the Red Sea was calm and peaceful. There were only four passenger cabins on board the SS Singapore, two of which were unoccupied. Amber and Penrod dined each evening with the captain, and after dinner they strolled around the deck or danced to the music of the violin played by the Italian chef, who thought Amber was the most lovely creature in all creation.
During the day Amber and Penrod worked together in the card room, editing David Benbrook’s journal. Amber exercised her new-found writing talent, and Penrod provided military and historical background. Amber suggested he write his own account of the battle of Abu Klea, his subsequent capture by Osman Atalan and their escape from the captivity of the Dervish. They would combine this with the writings of David and Rebecca. The further they advanced into the project, the greater their enthusiasm for it became. By the time the Singapore anchored in Alexandria harbour they had made great progress in expanding and correcting the text. It could now be published as an inspiring true adventure, and they had the remainder of the voyage home to complete it.
Penrod went ashore in Alexandria, and hired a horse. He rode the thirty miles to Cairo, and went directly to the British agency. Sir Evelyn Baring kept him waiting only twenty minutes before he sent his secretary to summon him into his office. He had the thirty-page letter that Penrod had sent from Entoto spread like a fan on the desk in front of him. On it were many cryptic notations written in red ink in the margins. Baring maintained his usual cold, enigmatic manner and expression during the interview, which lasted almost two hours. At the end he rose to dismiss Penrod without making any comment, expressing any opinion, or offering either censure or approval. “Colonel Samuel Adams at Army headquarters in Giza is anxious to speak to you,” he told Penrod, at the door.
“Colonel?” Penrod asked.
“Promotion,” Baring replied. “He will explain everything to you.”
Sam Adams limped only slightly and he no longer used a cane as he came round his desk to greet Penrod warmly. He looked fit and suntanned, although there were a few grey hairs in his moustache.
“Congratulations on the colonel’s pips, sir.” Penrod saluted.
Adams was without a cap so he could not return the salute, but he seized Penrod’s hand and shook it warmly. “Delighted to have you back, Ballantyne. Much has happened while you have been away. There is a great deal we must talk about. Shall we go for lunch at the club?”
He had reserved a table in the corner of the dining room at the Gheziera Club. He ordered a bottle of Krug, then waited until the glasses were filled and they had placed their order with the waiter, in red fez and white galabiyya, before he got down to business. “After the disaster of Khartoum, and the murder of that idiot Gordon, there were many unpleasant repercussions. The press at home were looking for scapegoats and fastened on Sir Charles Wilson’s delay in pressing on to the relief of Gordon after the victory at Abu Klea. Wilson sought to defend himself by placing the blame on his subordinates. Unfortunately you were one of those to suffer, Ballantyne. He has brought charges of subordination and desertion against you. Now that you have come back from limbo, you will almost certainly be court-martialled Capital offence, if you’re found guilty. Firing squad, don’t you know?”
Penrod blanched under his suntan and stared at Adams in horror.
He went on hurriedly: “You have friends here. Everyone knows your worth. Victoria Cross, derring-do, heroic escapes and all that. However, you will have to resign your commission in the Hussars.”
“Resign my commission?” Penrod exclaimed. “I will let them shoot me first.”
“It might come to that. But hear me out.” Adams reached across the table and laid his hand on Penrod’s arm to prevent him leaping to his feet. “Drink your champagne and listen to me. Damn fine vintage, by the way. Don’t waste it.” Penrod subsided, and Adams went on,
“First, I must give you some other background information. Egypt now belongs to us in all but name. Baring calls it the Veiled Protector’ ate, but it’s a bloody colony for all the pretty words. The decision has been taken by London to rebuild the Egyptian army from a disorganized rabble into a firstrate fighting corps. The new sirdar is Horatio Herbert Kitchener. Do you know him?”
“I cannot say that I do,” Penrod said. The sirdar was the Commander-in-chief of the Egyptian army.
“Cross between a tiger and a dragon. Absolute bloody fire-eater. He desperately needs first-class officers for the new army, men who know the desert and the lingo. I mentioned your name. He knows of you. He wants you. If you join him he’ll quash all Wilson’s charges against you. Kitchener is going up the ladder to the top and will take his people with him. You will start at your equivalent rank of captain, but I can almost guarantee you a battalion within a year, your own regiment within five. For you the choice is between ruin and high rank. What do you say?”
Penrod smoothed his whiskers thoughtfully on board ship Amber had trimmed his sideburns and moustache for him and once again they were luxuriant. He had learnt never to jump at the first offer.
“Camel Corps.” Adams tossed in another plum. “Plenty of desert fighting.”
“When can I meet the gentleman?”
“Tomorrow. Nine hundred hours sharp at the new army headquarters. If you love life, don’t be late.”
Kitchener was a muscular man of middling height and moved like a gladiator. He had a full head of hair and a cast in one eye, not unlike Yakub’s. This made Penrod incline towards him. His jaw had been shot half away in a fight with the Dervish at Suakin when he had been governor of that insalubrious and dangerous corner of Africa. The bone was distorted and the kelo id scar was pale pink against his darkly tanned skin. His handshake was iron hard and his manner harsh and unyielding.
“You speak Arabic?” he asked, in that language. He spoke it well, but with an accent that would never allow him to pass him as a native. “Sirdar effendi! May all your days be perfumed with jasmine.” Penrod made the gesture of respect. “In truth, I speak the language of the One True God and His Prophet.”
Kitchener blinked. It was perfect. “When can you come on strength?”
“I need to be in England until Christmas. I have been out of contact with civilization for some time. I must settle my personal affairs, and I shall have to resign my commission with my present regiment.”
“You have until the middle of January next year and then I want you here in Cairo. Adams will go over the details with you. You are dismissed.” His uneven gaze dropped back to the papers on the desk in front of him.
As he and Adams went down the steps of the headquarters building to where the grooms were holding their horses, Penrod said, “He wastes little time.”
“Not a second,” Adams agreed. “Not a single bloody second.”
Before he rode back to Alexandria to rejoin the Singapore, Penrod went to the telegraph office and sent a wire to Sebastian Hardy, David Benbrook’s lawyer, at his chambers in Lincolns Inn Fields. It was a lengthy message and cost Penrod two pounds, nine shillings and fourpence.
Hardy came from London by train to meet the ship when she docked at Southampton. In appearance he reminded Penrod and Amber of Charles Dickens’s Mr. Pickwick. However, behind his pince-nez he had a shrewd and calculating eye. He travelled back to London with them.
