King of Kings

by Wilbur Smith

  The following day everyone gathered outside the church to see Amber typing up the agreement transferring the management of Courtney Mine to Patch. The women carried her table and chair into the central square and bickered until they were sure that both were level.

  Patch, Marta, Saffron and their children took their places in front of Amber while Ryder began to dictate. Amber’s fingers danced over the keys and the women craned their necks to see the writing appear on the page, murmuring their congratulations.

  It was a simple document. Courtney Mine was placed under the control of Patch and he now had an official share in the enterprise with Ryder. He would continue the agreement with Menelik, but from this date onward was responsible for every decision in the running of the mine and camp and its supply. He would be advised by a group of six men drawn from the senior workers, but his decision would be final. He would split the profits of the mine with Ryder, with a sixty percent share going to Ryder, and send those profits to his bankers in Cairo in a timely fashion.

  Amber pulled the paper free from the carriage with a flourish and the two men signed it.

  Marta organized a feast to celebrate the signing, and they were all glad of an excuse to raise their spirits.

  As the Courtneys and Amber began to pack their belongings, they did so to the sounds of services given in the church in both thanksgiving and mourning. The families of those who had died bore themselves with an intense pride: their sons and husbands had sacrificed themselves to save and unite Ethiopia, and it was a victory they held close to them, a warming flame in the cold of their grief.

  Ryder and Patch made arrangements for accrued wages and pensions to be paid to the families of the dead, and let them know that they were at liberty to continue living in the camp if they so wished it. Some did. Others returned to their former homes.

  For Amber, even though she felt the pain of leaving the camp and the people she knew, every moment was lit up by the joy of Penrod’s presence. She showed him her house and her gardens, her dams, orchards and beehives, and delighted in his praise and interest. He had changed. He was calmer, more ready to smile and more gentle in his language and his treatment of those around him. Little Leon worshipped him on sight, and when Penrod told him he would make a fine soldier, he almost went wild with excitement.

  On the second afternoon of their stay, they found themselves alone, high on the southern flank of the hills above the camp. The place Amber had raised her lion cub and begun writing again. The air was dry and the whole of Tigray seemed to lie in front of them, a tumbled horizon of tawny mountains and deep shaded gorges.

  “Amber,” Penrod said softly. “I must speak to you.”

  A sudden terror gripped Amber’s heart. She did not want to think about the past, about what he had said or done to make her break off the engagement. She was terrified that they would argue again and he would disappear once more from her life. The thought was agony. She steadied herself, just as she had clambering across the glassy rocks of the amba. The danger had to be faced.

  She took a deep breath. “I am listening, Penrod.”

  His voice sounded thick, as if he was forcing the words out with great difficulty. “I seduced Rebecca out of vanity, and because I knew she was fond of Ryder. I wanted to beat him, prove myself the better man. That, and my pleasure, was all I thought of. I then spoke ill of her to Lady Agatha because it hurt my pride that Rebecca had turned to Ryder for comfort when I was gone.”

  The names of his lovers felt to Amber like physical blows, but she refused to show it.

  “My greatest sin, however, was that I did not tell you the truth,” he continued. “I thought it was beneath me to explain myself to you. I let you believe a lie and for that I am sorry, most sincerely.” He took her hand. “You know I have never stopped loving you. I will always be proud, but I have learned to control that pride. I will always be driven to serve my country, but I mean to do so honorably, and I promise you, if you will become my wife, I will never lie to you or keep you in ignorance again. Is that enough?”

  She found she could not speak, but she managed to nod.

  He dropped down to one knee and looked up at her. “Amber Benbrook, my darling girl, will you marry me?”

  How many times in these last years had she imagined just this moment? Penrod finding her, Penrod wiping away all the hurt she had ever felt, Penrod offering to love her forever. A thousand times, ten thousand, but the intensity of her joy and relief was still a revelation.

  “Yes, yes, Penrod! I will marry you.”

  He stood up and pulled her into his arms, and that first kiss after so long a separation made Amber bloom like a desert rose in the rain. She shivered in his embrace and while he held her, the earth stopped spinning and time waited for them.

  At last he broke from her, unsure if he would be able to control himself any longer if he did not.

  “I have no ring for you, my darling,” he said with a shaking laugh. “I promise I shall buy you a diamond the size of your fist when we get back to Cairo.”

  Amber blushed. “You don’t need to do that, Penny.” She reached up to a simple silver chain around her neck and drew it out. Threaded through it and sparkling in the afternoon light was the engagement ring he had given her at her sixteenth birthday party at the Shepheard’s Hotel eight years ago. She had kept it through all her trials and loneliness, just as he had kept the watch she had given him. She fumbled with the catch and he stepped forward to help her. His fingers brushed her neck as he undid the clasp, and the flash of feeling that ran between them seemed a harbinger of the coming storms and lightning of the summer rains.

  He unthreaded the ring and held it in his palm for a moment, before taking her left hand and slipping it onto her finger. They were still standing there, hand in hand, when Belito came upon them, a basket of cuttings for the orchard on her hip. She looked between them and laughed out loud, then, much to Penrod’s surprise, said in Italian: “Il matrimonio s’ha da fare!”

  Amber blushed and put her arm through Penrod’s. “Yes, Belito, this marriage will be performed.”

  •••

  Back at the camp they received the congratulations of all their friends, and if Ryder was at all uncertain about having a military man in the family, he had the good sense to hide it. The farewell feast became a celebration of the engagement, and the singing and dancing lasted so long into the night they could see no point in sleeping.

  As dawn broke, Saffron was checking one more time that her painting gear was securely packed and that the children had not managed to lose their favorite toys again. Ryder came to find her and for a moment they ignored their duties and looked at the thriving camp and the silver mine.

  Saffron leaned into her husband’s shoulder and he put his arm around her. “You built something amazing, Ryder,” she said.

  “We did, didn’t we?”

  Saffron, never sentimental for long, grinned up at him and her eyes sparkled. “I forgot to ask: are we rich again now?”

  “We are. Menelik will repay the loan we made to him, and the profits from the rest of the silver that has passed through Addis in the last five years are waiting for us in Cairo. We are, in fact, obscenely rich.”

  “Good,” she said. “I shall need a new dress for Amber’s wedding.”

  “You may have a room full of new dresses,” he said, and she kissed him before breaking away and putting a hand on her belly.

  “I may not be able to fit into them for long. Leon and Penelope are going to have . . . a little brother this time, I think.”

  Ryder lifted her high into the air and spun her around until she lost her breath with laughter.

  •••

  Their caravan made steady progress toward the border with Eritrea, and as they traveled, they were joined by a dozen askari and Italian soldiers, who had been hiding in the hills since the battle. They offered their protection, food and drink to the starving and terrified survivors, and if Ras Alula or his men ever heard about
this strange caravan passing through his territory, they made no attempt to stop them.

  They had just crossed the Mareb River into Eritrea, and turned back for one last look at the place that had been their home for so long, when Amber gasped and pointed. On a low promontory on the other side of the river, they could make out the silhouette of a full-grown lioness showing herself against the skyline.

  “Is it Hagos?” Saffron asked, in wonder and delight.

  “Yes,” Amber said, shielding her eyes.

  The lioness roared, surveyed her territory, then padded proudly away and out of sight.

  Penrod’s time with the Italian forces had come to an end with the Battle of Adowa, and he learned in a letter from Sam Adams that Kitchener was very pleased with his work. As they waited in Massowah for passage back to Cairo, Penrod was asked to visit the governor’s mansion. News of the defeat at Adowa had caused consternation in Europe. Crispi’s government fell, and Baratieri was awaiting court martial under house arrest in Asmara.

  Penrod left Ryder sending telegrams to his bankers in Cairo, and Amber and Saffron hard at work on their writing and painting, and he went at once to answer the summons.

  He found himself in the same high-ceilinged chamber with its view over the port where Baratieri had first greeted him on his arrival.

  A man was sitting behind Baratieri’s magnificent desk, but he had his feet resting on its marble top, crossed at the ankle, and his face was hidden by an Italian newspaper. The headline read: Humiliation of Army. Disaster in Africa.

  The doors closed behind Penrod and the man flicked down the page.

  “Lucio!” Penrod exclaimed.

  His friend sprang up to greet him and they embraced.

  “I should have known the king would send you,” Penrod said, holding his friend at arm’s length. “You look tired.”

  “And you look very well indeed, Penrod. I understand you are to be congratulated?”

  Penrod confirmed it and saw genuine delight in his friend’s rather worn face.

  “Now, Penrod, I need you. The reports I am receiving from the battle, and of Baratieri’s action and strategies, are so confused, so packed with horror, it is impossible to make sense of. I need you to tell me what truly happened.”

  “I shall and gladly,” Penrod said. “Do you have maps of the area?”

  Lucio pointed to a table set near the windows that opened out onto the balcony and Penrod saw the neat stacks of papers on them.

  “Excellent, but first I have in my notebook a list of names: prisoners I spoke to in the aftermath. I promised I would try and get word to their families.”

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  Penrod saw his friend’s eyes were filling with tears. Lucio turned away and clapped his hands. The servant who answered the summons was sent in search of a scribe and refreshments, and the two friends settled down to work.

  Penrod left at midnight. He had given his honest opinion on the behavior and actions of Baratieri and the men under his command. Lucio thought that Baratieri would be cleared of some charges against him, and that the conclusion would be that an excess of zeal in a dangerous country and the provocations of the disgraced prime minister had led to the disaster. Any suggestion that one of Baratieri’s generals had disobeyed orders would be carefully suppressed.

  •••

  Amber worked at lightning speed and by the time they reached Cairo, her manuscript was ready. She called it African Dreams and Nightmares and sent it off to their solicitor in London within hours of their arrival in the city. It became known as the definitive account of the Battle of Adowa, as well as a unique portrait of the rulers and people of the independent kingdom of Ethiopia.

  Saffron’s sketches and paintings were engraved for the newspapers and sold as a series of prints. The images were soon famous across Europe.

  The ivory mask of Caesar was sold quietly to the King of Italy and its price allowed Penrod to buy a large villa by the River Nile in Cairo for himself and his wife-to-be. Ryder agreed to purchase another close by.

  Penrod’s sister-in-law, Jane, joined them in Cairo in time to see Penrod and Amber married in the cathedral, and she stayed with the sisters when Penrod joined the campaign to retake the Sudan from the Mahdist dervishes, seeing action at both Firket and Atbara.

  Ryder found himself supplying Kitchener’s army with American wheat to bake their bread and his fortune increased still further, but even he began and ended every day wondering if Penrod would encounter Osman Atalan in the Sudan, and what he might learn of the fate of Rebecca Benbrook. Saffron and Amber thought of little else.

  On the evening of October 2, 1898, Penrod returned without ceremony to Cairo from the Sudan. Amber heard him calling for her and raced down the wide staircase of their home to meet him with the eagerness of a child. His kiss tasted of sand and heat.

  She buried her face in his chest, her fingers gripping his strong shoulders and feeling his hands on the small of her back, pressing her to him. She felt his coming home again like a fresh miracle, as sweet and full as their wedding day.

  “Oh darling, I’m so glad you are here.” She wanted to ask him about Rebecca at once, but the words stuck in her throat like thorns.

  “Come sit with me on the veranda, Amber,” he said gently, and led her to the back of the house with its view over the lawns and the swift-flowing Nile. He sat her on one of the wicker armchairs and brought his own as close to her as he could, then took her hand.

  “We have heard the news from Omdurman,” she said quickly, looking away from him. “A great victory—the Sudan retaken. Everyone is saying we have avenged General Gordon finally and destroyed the Mahdi as a fighting force. Is it true, Penrod?”

  “It is true, my darling.”

  “I’m so glad. And Osman Atalan? And . . .” Her voice choked. “Rebecca . . . Do you have news of Rebecca?” She was already breathing quickly, as if she could read the whole sorry story on his face.

  He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, felt the slight tremor of her fingers.

  “I faced Osman at last, Amber.” She gripped his hand more tightly. “Yakub and I tracked him after the battle to the oasis of Gedda and we met there.”

  “You fought him alone?” she whispered.

  He nodded. “And he fought well.”

  When he had ridden out with Kitchener to retake the Sudan, Penrod had known, somehow, that fate would arrange a final confrontation with the man who had tortured him all those years ago, and it would be a battle to the death. His wife did not need to know the details of each thrust parried, the glint of Osman’s blade. His strongest memory was of the look of rage and hate in Osman’s eyes as he died. That rage, that hate had driven Osman to make his one mistake in the fight between them. His eagerness to destroy Penrod made him, for one crucial second, predictable. Penrod had understood that hate, had been able to control his own anger and rage, and that had given him the edge he needed. Compassion and control, those were the tools given to him by his Sufi teacher Farouk as he recovered from his addiction to opium, and he had used them.

  “And Rebecca?” she managed to say at last.

  “I saw her, Amber. He had indeed married her, raised her above all his other women.” He struggled to find the words he needed to tell his wife what happened when her sister, that once beautiful girl, emerged from the shadows of the Gedda mosque and saw him standing over the body of her dead husband.

  “She killed herself, didn’t she?” Amber whispered, and she could see the answer in Penrod’s eyes. A tear ran down her cheek and she wiped it away with the back of her free hand. “It’s all right, Penrod. I never thought I would see her again. Saffron was right: Rebecca belonged to the desert in the end.”

  He put his hand to her face, remembering the first time he had seen her, a child in Khartoum, then a young girl ill at ease with her newfound fame at the Gheziera Club, and now his wife, a woman who had raised a lion and stood at the side of the King of Kings.

&nb
sp; “Amber, Rebecca was not alone.”

  At that moment a woman’s voice called out from the echoing hallway. “Al-Zhara! Come greet your old nurse.”

  Amber squealed and leaped to her feet. “Nazeera!” She flew back into the house and Penrod followed at a more measured pace, but he was still in time to see his wife throw her arms around the woman who had been almost a mother to her in her youth in Khartoum.

  A boy and girl stood next to her: Rebecca’s children by Osman Atalan, both olive-skinned with copper-colored hair. And keeping a watchful eye from the open door was Yakub, Penrod’s gear at his feet.

  “What’s all the fuss?”

  Penrod turned to find Saffron coming in from the rear of the house. “Oh, Penrod, you’re home. I am so glad.” She stood on the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek, then noticed the group in the hall. “Wait! Is that . . . Nazeera!” She dashed forward to join the embrace.

  Penrod decided to leave the women to share their news, their laughter and tears, and he returned to the veranda, where he found Ryder smoking a cheroot and watching the river.

  “Did you kill Osman?” Ryder asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Ryder flicked open his cigar case and offered it to Penrod. He took one, but didn’t light it at once, his eyes fixed on the horizon and the shifting colors of the river.

  “And Rebecca?” Ryder asked.

  “Dead by her own hand and left her two children in our care. The eldest, a boy, I cannot like, but her little girl has all the beauty and spirit of the Benbrook women.”

  Ryder blew out a stream of smoke. His own children were playing on the green lawns in front of their neighboring villa under the watchful eye of his servants.