King of Kings

by Wilbur Smith

  As soon as he saw Ryder he stood up, then stepped down from his platform and walked toward him with his arms held wide. As he reached Ryder he placed his hands on his shoulders, and both bowed until their foreheads touched.

  “I thank you for the pretty bars of silver, my friend.”

  “I am glad they please you,” Ryder replied.

  And he was speaking the truth. The good opinion of Alula was not only useful but important to him. Alula was perhaps the only military man for whom Ryder held genuine admiration. He has been poor in his youth and the elite of Tigray resented his position as right-hand man to Emperor John and governor of the region. He had won his position through loyalty and bravery. He had held on to it by using his wits as well as his muscles, and he knew and loved every inch of his land.

  Now he put his arm around Ryder’s shoulder and led him toward one of the long mud benches at the end of the hall, dismissing his advisers with a wave. They drifted away and within a few moments Ryder found himself sitting alone with Alula in the quiet of the empty chamber.

  “Our grief at the death of Emperor John is profound,” Ryder said at last. “And all the greater because we know the loss you have suffered.”

  Alula leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I know it, and I thank you. How did you come to hear of our troubles so quickly?”

  Ryder described the arrival of Iyasu in the village and his account of the death of Emperor John.

  “The King of Kings had a premonition the night before the battle,” Alula said when Ryder had finished. “He sent for his council and told us if he were killed that his natural son by his brother’s wife was to become emperor.”

  “Ras Mengesha?” Ryder said, frowning. “He is young.”

  Alula stiffened slightly but ignored Ryder’s remark.

  “We swore allegiance to him, of course, for who would refuse the King of Kings? But we never believed the dervish could defeat us. Emperor John sent me a message when our victory seemed complete, telling me I was right to put no faith in his dream, that the battle was won. The messenger was still speaking those words when that devil of hell rode through our men with the emperor’s severed head held high.” He drew his shawl across his shoulders. “Our men were distraught, the dervishes regained the momentum of battle and we were scattered. You see how few returned with us. Others have, we hope, returned to their homes. Many more feed the carrion eaters at Metemma.”

  Ryder said nothing, but the news disturbed him profoundly. Ras Mengesha was a boy, and as far as Ryder could recall, not a particularly impressive one. He was spoiled and unformed, hardly a man to lead when Ethiopia was challenged by the Italians on one side and by the dervishes on the other.

  “Menelik, King of Shoa, has declared himself King of Kings,” Alula continued. “He is in Wuchale even now, negotiating a treaty with the Italians.”

  The news was darker then than Ryder had thought. Contesting claims had been made to the throne. Ryder knew Menelik was a powerful leader who had opened up trade routes in the south, even while he challenged Emperor John. Ryder had heard rumors the Italians had sold him a great number of rifles, hoping to win his support and his approval of the expanding Italian presence around Massowah. Ryder felt his heart growing heavy with dread. His camp in the valley, his pregnant wife and their son, the workers who trusted him, they were so close to these competing kings and the Italian army. And all this when it seemed they were close to wringing from the earth some recompense for their work and sacrifice.

  Alula seemed to read his thoughts. “You should have bought cattle, not dug in the earth,” he said gruffly. “When a man puts his money in cattle and the wind changes, he may sell his beasts or drive them to another place. You are tied to your mine.”

  “And you?”

  “I also am tied to my land and to my prince.”

  “You will not submit to Menelik, then?” Ryder asked.

  It was a dangerous question. Alula sat up straight and smoothed the embroidered sleeves of his kaftan. He looked severe. Ryder examined his profile in the flickering torchlight. He looked like the portraits on the Axumite coins found scattered around the ancient monuments of the city.

  He replied in a low growl. “I told you. Menelik negotiates with the Italians even now. The same Italians who have sent troops into my lands once more. They have dug in at Asmara while I fought the dervish alongside my emperor.”

  Ryder absorbed the news in silence. Alula did not have the necessary weaponry to dislodge a modern European army from a well-fortified position, no matter the bravery of his warriors. If Menelik was willing to let the Italians keep that territory in exchange for their support of his claim to be overall ruler of Ethiopia, it would leave Alula weak. Ryder realized that Alula was watching him shrewdly.

  “The Italians are my enemies, Ryder. They were the enemies of Emperor John. They are the enemies of John’s son and heir, my lord Ras Mengesha, so no, I will not submit to Menelik.” Alula spat out the words, his low, powerful voice seeming to fill the empty chamber. “Your mine is failing, Ryder. You think I do not know what those ingots have cost you? You think I am a blind old man? Even with dervish blood warm on my blade I have followed your every struggle. The men who will not work for you, your murderous engineer, the loss and waste of your quicksilver.”

  Ryder narrowed his eyes. He knew the traders who passed through the valley would carry news to Ras Alula, but how could he know so much from them? Ras Alula was watching him and laughed, his chuckle rasping and low, then clapped his hands. One of his warriors came into the tent, pushing Tadesse in front of him.

  “Tadesse?” Ryder hissed. “You have been a spy in my home?”

  The boy only stared at the ground in front of him.

  “What?” Alula’s face twisted. “You thought I would let you take the land and do what you would without having my eyes on you, Ryder? I ordered Ato Bru to send a servant with you, and he chose Tadesse after he saw the boy already had your trust. We are not fools. So yes, I know all your troubles. Go home, Ryder. Go back to Cairo. Stop grubbing in the soil. Your presence is a complication I do not like.”

  “This is my home!” Ryder raised his voice. “You call yourself a loyal servant of Emperor John—he granted me the land and the right to work it, and in his name I demand you honor that agreement.”

  “Your agreement!” Alula said sharply. “What do such words mean in the mouth of a white man?” He lifted his finger and his face grew dark. “You know the British promised Massowah to Emperor John in return for his help saving your soldiers from the dervish? They promised. Then when their soldiers are all safe, they say, ‘Oh, sorry, we gave it to Italy instead.’ Why? Did the Italians simply ask more politely, do you think?”

  The grief, anger and passion that must have been building up in Alula since the death of John was now bursting forth in a torrent.

  “Then the Italians say, ‘No, we just want to stay here by the sea, we will be no trouble.’ Next I find them sending their soldiers up into the highlands and they say, ‘No, no, do not be concerned, we are only protecting our caravans from your nasty savage bandits. Your shifta.’ All lies!”

  Ryder waited and did not try to interrupt the old man as yet. He had to let this quick fire burn out, not add fuel to it.

  “And they will trick Menelik too!” Alula gripped the edge of his seat till his knuckles paled. “He thinks he can deal with them. But no! You are all liars.”

  “My lord,” Ryder said firmly.

  The warrior who had brought in Tadesse bristled to attention, and the old man met Ryder’s eye unflinchingly. Then he looked away and lifted his hand. The warrior relaxed his stance.

  “Great Prince . . .” Tadesse said softly. “May I speak?”

  Ras Alula’s raised hand became a gesture of permission.

  “Mr. Ryder cannot stop by his own will, my lord. He will always carry on unless he is beaten senseless and carried away. He will fight for his silver until he and his wife and Miss Amber are ru
ined, or until his heart stops, and even then it will probably take a little time for him to notice. The lion cannot decide to stop hunting; the rain cannot decide to stop falling. He cannot decide to abandon this mine.”

  The prince nodded. “Go on, boy.”

  “Mr. Ryder treats his workers well and deals honorably with them. Though I believe work of this kind with metal is . . . tainted, if any man could use it to bring wealth to our nation, he will do it. His love of our country is not pretended. His respect for our ways is sincere.”

  Ras Alula looked at Ryder again and raised his eyebrow. “Is that so, Ryder?”

  “I have fought at your side, my lord. You know it is true.”

  Now the passion had left him, Ras Alula looked weary. “Very well, Ryder. I shall not hinder your work. I have only one condition. You must take this boy back with you and know then I have my eye on you.” Tadesse gasped. “Treat him well. For the rest, you are our guest this evening.”

  He stood up and clapped his hands twice. At once the heavy doors to the hall opened and his guests and servants began to stream in. The women in bright skirts and richly colored shawls carried great platters of food. Alula kept his hand on Ryder’s shoulder.

  “Tonight we shall eat like the friends and neighbors we are. Tomorrow I shall take you part of your way home, then God protect us both, my friend.”

  When Ryder woke in the morning and began to prepare the mules with Geriel and Maki, he noticed that Tadesse’s face was ashen with fatigue. The boy tried to speak to him, but Ryder turned his back on him, telling him curtly to go and sit by the fire.

  As they breakfasted, two of Alula’s advisers arrived with gifts from their host and his good wishes. He sent brightly woven cloth for Saffron and Amber, and local brandy for Ryder. They were thoughtful presents and Ryder was grateful to him.

  Once breakfast was over, Alula himself arrived with half a dozen of his men. On seeing that Ryder had no horse, he sent his own back to be stabled. Alula would never ride while his guest walked, and so they left Axum side by side, past the monuments of other ages, and the ancient wild fig tree next to the cathedral where, so tradition said, the Ark of the Covenant itself lay hidden from human eyes and protected by the priests of Axum.

  Ryder and Alula avoided any further talk of politics, and instead swapped stories of the hunt on the first steep ascent and descent of the track.

  Both men were strong and even at this altitude and climbing such paths, they did not need to pause in the flow of their talk. As they reached the bottom of a narrow gorge, however, they let the pack mules drink in the icy stream and enjoyed the cool shade offered by a stand of sweet-smelling juniper trees growing beside the water for an hour before setting off again.

  The track would take them south along the shady gorge for some two or three miles, then would climb again steeply to take them further east. Ryder glanced over his shoulder and noticed Maki, who led one of the pack mules, stiffen and frown up into the heights ahead. Even as he caught Maki’s look of surprise, he saw something on the eastern wall of the gorge behind them. A puff of dust, and a small trickle of loose pebbles from a high ledge he never would have noticed had he not been looking directly at the spot. He felt an animal twitch of disquiet in his gut. Calmly he gave a word of excuse to Alula and slowed his pace. The rest of the party began to overtake him and soon he was walking by Maki’s side.

  “What did you see?” he asked him.

  “I’m not sure, Mr. Ryder. It was there and gone again almost immediately, merely a faint movement in the thorn bushes. Fifty yards ahead, three quarters of the way up the slope.” He spoke quietly and did not point at the place.

  Ryder looked casually up and down the twisting valley. The precipitous sides of the gorge were covered in patches of low scrub that had found a hold on the narrow sandstone ledges. The path alongside the stream was wide enough for two men to walk abreast, and the river itself was some twenty feet wide and shallow. During the rains it would be a dangerous and fast-flowing torrent, but at this time of year it merely provided refreshment for the travelers who chose this route. Only a minute before, the gorge had seemed a calm and restful place; now Ryder saw it with new eyes. It was the perfect location for an ambush. A small attacking force taking up positions north and south of them could fire down into their party, trapping them at the base of the steep slopes and cutting off any possible escape. Ryder hesitated. Perhaps they had only spotted the movements of animals on the gorge walls—the wild mountain goats could graze on a cliff face, and the fact they happened to be in places ideal for bandits planning an attack could be simply coincidence. But Ryder’s instinct told him differently. They needed cover and they had to get to it before the men stalking them along the valley walls realized they had been spotted and opened fire.

  Three hundred feet in front of them the river and track turned sharply west. The attack must come before they reached that point. Ryder thought quickly. About twenty yards in front of the head of their column was a recent rockfall. At its base grew a pair of young fig trees, and around them a low bank of poinciana. The poinciana was dense with bright green, feathered foliage, and sprinkled with crimson flowers. It would have to do.

  “You see the rockfall?” Ryder said quietly to Maki, and the young man nodded. “Five yards short of it, cut the rope on the mule’s load. Then shout about it. Complain. Tell me it is my fault for letting the animals drink and unbalance their load. Do not touch your rifle until we are fired on.”

  “How many, Mr. Ryder?” Maki’s eyes widened, but he kept his voice steady. “I think I see another in front.”

  “I do not know. Now laugh as if I’ve just made an excellent joke.”

  Maki did. Ryder grinned and slapped him on the shoulder, then lengthened his stride slightly until he was beside Alula again.

  “My lord, I think we are about to be ambushed,” Ryder said, his voice tense and urgent. “Maki has seen two in front of us; I’ve seen two behind. We must take cover at once. If they take us in the open they will kill us all.”

  Alula looked at him as if he were insane. “No one would dare attack me or those who travel with me so close to my home, my friend. Your eyes are playing tricks on you.”

  Before Ryder could open his mouth to answer him, they heard a crash behind them and Maki began to curse the mule and its master. It was a poor ruse, perhaps, but Maki was an impressive actor. He shouted for Ryder to come see the disaster for himself, throwing the packs from the mule toward the edge of the gully. Alula and Ryder turned back toward the rear of the column.

  “Come,” Alula said to his own men. Three followed quickly enough, the others, probably thinking that dealing with the pack animals was beneath their dignity, were slower. Ryder jogged back along the track and, as soon as he was close enough, sharply ordered Geriel and Tadesse to take cover between the rockfall and the fig trees. Tadesse looked bemused, but Geriel recognized the tone of Ryder’s voice and moved fast, grabbing the boy and the fallen pack from the animal, and pulling them both into the bank of poinciana as the first shot rang out. The sound snapped and echoed around the valley walls as one of Alula’s men went down. The bullet tore into his back, sending him sprawling in the path, coughing up gouts of blood. The rest of the party dived for shelter between the rocks and the fig trees. Alula’s remaining men scrambled to load their rifles under the thin cover of the shivering poinciana leaves and the thick packs from the mule. Ryder flattened himself against the valley wall. At first the shots seemed to come from every direction at once, the rounds thudding into the soil and kicking up small sprays of earth as the riflemen on the valley walls judged their range and picked out their targets. Ryder concentrated on locating their positions. There were two in front, on the east and west walls of the gorge, and two behind—again one each side.

  Ryder heard another bullet thud into the trunk of the fig behind him. The tree shuddered. Alula’s man downed on the path was struggling to breathe, slowly suffocating in his own blood. His hands scrab
bled in the dust as he twisted and retched, his eyes wide with fear. They could do nothing for him; any attempt to reach him would be suicide. Instead they had to watch him die as the bullets ripped through the air, and listen to the wet rattle of his final breaths.

  Another of Alula’s men was trying to crawl closer to the rockfall when a round from one of the attackers at their rear hit him in the back of his head. A splatter of his blood rained down on the bright green poinciana leaves and he stopped moving.

  Ryder had his rifle upright in front of him, but he had no room to aim and fire.

  The two mules brayed and bucked, frightened by the noise and the smell of blood, but the riflemen on the slopes did not target them. They were too valuable. It was the men they wanted dead. Ryder felt a surge of anger running through his body. He concentrated on the forward positions, twisting his head so that his face pressed against the red sandstone to try to pick out exactly the location on the east side of the valley where the bandit was concealed. Then abruptly he had it. A contrary movement of the branch of a nut bush on the ledge cut out of the valley flank. Gently he lowered his rifle until the peep sight covered the target. He waited for the next enemy movement. He saw the muzzle of a rifle barrel prod cautiously around the base of the nut bush. He adjusted his aim slightly and squeezed off the shot. The nut bush erupted in violent movement and a human form rolled into full view and began to slide down the hillside. Almost immediately he jammed in another low bush and struggled there, trying to free himself. However, both his hands were clamped to his face and blood spurted between his fingers. Ryder cycled another round into the chamber of his rifle and fired again. The wounded man jerked and then lay deathly still.

  Ryder turned his face toward Alula, who was lying close against the low tumble of rocks and staring up the valley.