Page 3 of Black Mischief


  ‘But, major, only this evening I gave you two hundred rupees. Do you hear, captain, I gave him two hundred rupees. You can’t treat me like this. I shall tell His Majesty everything.’

  ‘We had better search his luggage.

  The trunk was opened and the contents spread over the floor. The two officers turned them over with interest and appropriated the few articles of value it contained. The minor possessions were tossed to the corporals. At the bottom, wrapped in a grubby nightshirt, were two heavy objects which, on investigation, proved to be the massive gold crown of the Azanian Empire and an elegant ivory sceptre presented to Amurath by the President of the French Republic. Major Joab and the captain considered this discovery for some time in silence. Then the major answered the question that was in both their minds. ‘No, ‘ he said, ‘I think we had better show these to Seth.’

  ‘Both of them?’

  ‘Well, at any rate, the sceptre. It would not be so easy to dispose of. Two hundred rupees,’ said the major bitterly, turning on Ali, ‘two hundred rupees and you proposed to walk off with the Imperial regalia.’

  From the inner room Mr Youkoumian listened to this conversation in a mood of sublime contentment; the sergeant had given him a cigarette out of a box lifted from the shop at the time of his arrest; the captain had given him brandy — similarly acquired — of his own distillation; a fiery, comforting spirit. The terrors of the gallows were far behind him. And now Ali had been caught red-handed with the crown jewels. Nothing was required to complete Mr Youkoumian’s happiness, except a calm sea for their crossing to the mainland; and the gentle night air gave promise that this, too, would be vouchsafed him.

  It was only a matter of a few words for Major Joab to report the circumstances of Ali’s arrest. The damning evidence of the sceptre and the soiled nightshirt was laid before Seth on the table. The prisoner stood between his captors without visible interest or emotion. When the charge had been made, Seth said, ‘Well, Ali.’

  Until now they had spoken in Sakuyu. Ali answered, as he always spoke to his master, in English. ‘It is regrettable that this should have happened. These ignorant men have greatly disturbed the preparations for your majesty’s departure.’

  ‘For my departure?’

  ‘For whom else would I prepare a boat? What other reason could I have for supervising the safe conduct of your majesty’s sceptre, and of the crown which the officers have omitted to bring from the guard-room?’

  ‘I don’t believe you, Ali.’

  ‘Your majesty wrongs himself. You are a distinguished man, educated in Europe — not like these low soldiers. Would you have trusted me had I been unworthy? Could I, a poor Indian, hope to deceive a distinguished gentleman educated in Europe? Send these low men out and I will explain everything to you.’

  The officers of the guard had listened uneasily to these alien sentences; now at Seth’s command they withdrew their men. ‘Shall I make preparations for the execution, Majesty?’

  ‘Yes … no … I will tell you when. Stand by for further orders below, Major.’

  The two officers saluted and left the room. When they had gone Ali sat down opposite his master and proceeded at his ease. There was no accusation or reproach in the Emperor’s countenance, no justice or decision, trust or forgiveness; one emotion only was apparent in the dark young face before him, blank terror. Ali saw this and knew that his case was won. ‘Majesty, I will tell you why the officers have arrested me. It is to prevent your escape. They are plotting to sell you to the enemy. I know it. I have heard it all from one of the corporals who is loyal to us. It was for this reason that I prepared the boat. When all was ready I would have come to you, told you of their treachery and brought you away safely.’

  ‘But, Ali, you say they would hand me over to the enemy. Am I then really beaten?’

  ‘Majesty, all the world knows. The British General Connolly has joined Prince Seyid. They are there on the hills together now. Tomorrow they will be in Matodi.’

  ‘But the Tank?’

  ‘Majesty, Mr Marx, the distinguished mechanic who made the tank, fled last night, as you well know.’

  ‘Connolly too. Why should he betray me? I trusted him. Why does everyone betray me? Connolly was my friend.’

  ‘Majesty, consider the distinguished general’s position. What would he do? He might conquer Seyid and your majesty would reward him, or he might be defeated. If he joins Seyid, Seyid will reward him, and no one can defeat him. How would you expect a distinguished gentleman, educated in Europe, should choose?’

  ‘They are all against me. All traitors. There is no one I can trust.’

  ‘Except me, Majesty.’

  ‘I do not trust you. You, least of all.’

  ‘But you must trust me. Don’t you understand? If you do not trust me there will be no one. You will be alone, quite alone.’

  ‘I am alone. There is no one.’

  ‘Then since all are traitors, trust a traitor. Trust me. You must trust me. Listen. It is not too late to escape. No one but I knows of the boat. The Armenian Youkoumian is dead. Do you understand, Majesty? Give the order to the guards to let me pass. I will go to where the boat is hidden. In an hour I will have it here, under the sea wall. Then when the guard is changed you will join me. Don’t you understand? It is the only chance. You must trust me. Otherwise you will be alone.’

  The Emperor stood up. ‘I do not know if I can trust you. I do not think there is anyone I can trust. I am alone. But you shall go. Why should I hang you? What is one life more or. less when all are traitors. Go in peace.’

  ‘Your majesty’s faithful servant.’

  Seth opened the door; again the scamper of the retreating spy.

  ‘Major.’

  ‘Majesty.’

  ‘Ali is to go free. He may leave the fort.’

  ‘The execution is cancelled?’

  ‘Ali may leave the fort.’

  ‘As your majesty commands.’ Major Joab saluted. As Ali left the lighted room he turned back and addressed the Emperor.

  ‘Your majesty does well to trust me.’

  ‘I trust no one … I am alone.’

  The Emperor was alone. Faintly on the night air he heard the throbbing of drums from the encamped army. Quarter-past two. Darkness for nearly four hours more.

  Suddenly the calm was splintered by a single, shrill cry —.a jet of sound, spurting up from below, breaking in spray over the fort, then ceasing. Expressive of nothing, followed by nothing; no footsteps; no voices; silence and the distant beat of the tom-toms.

  Seth ran to the door. ‘Hullo! Who is there? What is that? Major! Officer of the guard!’ No answer. Only the inevitable scuffle of the retreating spy. He went to the window. ‘Who is there? ‘What has happened? Is there no one on guard?’

  ‘A long silence.

  Then a quiet voice from below. ‘Majesty?’

  ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Major Joab of the Imperial Infantry at your majesty’s service.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Majesty?’

  ‘What was that cry?’

  ‘It was a mistake, your majesty. There is no cause for alarm.’

  ‘What has happened?’

  ‘The sentry made a mistake. That is all.’

  ‘What has he done?’

  ‘It is only the Indian, Majesty. The sentry did not understand his orders. I will see to it that he is punished.’

  ‘What has happened to Ali? Is he hurt?’

  ‘He is dead, your majesty. It is a mistake of the sentry’s. I am sorry your majesty was disturbed.’

  Presently Major Joab, the captain of the guard, and Mr Youkoumian, accompanied by three heavily burdened corporals, left the fort by a side door and made their way out of the town along the coast path towards the disused sugar mills.

  And Seth was alone.

  Another dawn. With slow feet Mr Youkoumian trudged into Matodi. There was no one about in the streets. All who could had left the city du
ring the darkness; those who remained lurked behind barred doors and barricaded windows; from the cracks of shutters and through keyholes a few curious eyes observed the weary little figure dragging down the lane to the Amurath Café and Universal Stores.

  Mine Youkoumian lay across the bedroom doorstep. During the night she had bitten through her gag and rolled some yards across the floor; that far her strength had taken her. Then, too exhausted to cry out or wrestle any further with the ropes that bound her, she had lapsed into intermittent coma, disturbed by nightmares, acute spasms of cramp and the scampering of rats on the earthen floor. In the green and silver light of dawn this bruised, swollen and dusty figure presented a spectacle radically repugnant to Mr Youkoumian’s most sensitive feelings.

  ‘Krikor, Krikor. Oh praise God you’ve come … I thought I should never see you again…. Blessed Mary and Joseph…. Where have you been? … What has happened to you? … Oh, Krikor, my own husband, praise God and his angels who have brought you back to me.’

  Mr Youkoumian sat down heavily on the bed and pulled off his elastic-sided button boots. ‘I’m tired,’ he said. ‘God, how tired I am. I could sleep for a week.’ He took a bottle from the shelf and poured out a drink. ‘I have had one of the most disagreeable nights of my life. First I am nearly hanged. Will you believe it? The noose was actually round my neck. Then I am made to walk out as far as the sugar mills, then the next thing I know I am alone, lying on the beach. My luggage is gone, my boat is gone, the damned soldiers are gone and I have a lump on the back of my head the size of an egg. Just you feel it.’

  ‘I’m tied up, Krikor. Cut the string and let me help you. Oh, my poor husband.’

  ‘How it aches. What a walk back. And my boat gone. I could have got fifteen hundred rupees for that boat yesterday. Oh my head. Fifteen hundred rupees. My feet ache too. I must go to bed.’

  ‘Let me loose, Krikor, and I will attend to you, my poor husband.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t matter, my flower. I’ll go to bed. I could sleep for a week.’

  ‘Krikor, let me loose.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I shall be all right when I have had a sleep. Why, I ache all over.’ He tossed off the drink and with a little grunt of relief drew his feet up on to the bed and rolled over with his face to the wall.

  ‘Krikor, please … you must let me loose … don’t you see? I’ve been like this all night. I’m in such pain …‘

  ‘You stay where you are. I can’t attend to you now. You’re always thinking of yourself. What about me? I’m tired. Don’t you hear me?’

  ‘But, Krikor —‘

  ‘Be quiet, you slut.’

  And in less than a minute Mr Youkoumian found consolation for the diverse fortunes of the night in profound and prolonged sleep.

  He was awakened some hours hater by the entry into Matodi of the victorious army. Drums banging, pipes whistling, the soldiers of Progress and the New Age passed under his window. Mr Youkoumian rolled off the bed, rubbing his eyes, and peeped through the chink of the shutters.

  ‘God save my soul,’ he remarked. ‘Seth’s won after all.’ Then with a chuckle, ‘What a pair of fools Major Joab and the captain turn out to be.’

  Mine Youkoumian looked up from the floor with piteous appeal in her dark eyes. He gave her a friendly little prod in the middle with his stockinged foot. ‘Stay there, that’s a good girl, and don’t make a noise. I’ll come and see to you in a minute or two.’ Then he lay down on the bed, nuzzled into the bolster, and after a few preliminary grunts and wriggles, relapsed into slumber.

  It was a remarkable procession. First in tattered, field grey uniforms came the brass band of the Imperial Guard, playing John Brown’s Body.

  Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;

  He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;

  He has loosed the mighty lightning of his terrible swift sword;

  His truth is marching on.

  Behind them came the infantry; hard, bare feet rhythmically kicking up the dust, threadbare uniforms, puttees wound up anyhow, caps at all angles, Lee-Enfield rifles with fixed bayonets slung on their shoulders; fuzzy heads, jolly nigger-minstrel faces, black chests shining through buttonless tunics, pockets bulging with loot. Dividing these guardsmen from the irregular troops rode General Connolly on a tall, grey mule, with his staff officers beside him. He was a stocky Irishman in early middle age who had seen varied service in the Black and Tans, the South African Police and the Kenya Game Reserves before enlisting under the Emperor’s colours. But on this morning his appearance was rather that of a lost explorer than a conquering commander-in-chief. He had a week’s growth of reddish beard below his cavalry moustaches; irregular slashes had converted his breeches into shorts; open shirt and weather-worn white topee took the place of tunic and cap. Field glasses, map case, sword and revolver holster hung incongruously round him. He was smoking a pipe of rank local tobacco.

  On their heels came the hordes of Wanda and Sakuyu warriors. In the hills these had followed in a diffuse rabble. Little units of six or a dozen trotted round the stirrups of the headmen before them they drove geese and goats pillaged from surrounding farms. Sometimes they squatted down to rest; sometimes they ran to catch up. The big chiefs had bands of their own — mounted drummers thumping great bowls of cowhide and wood, pipers blowing down six-foot chanters of bamboo. Here and there a camel swayed above the heads of the mob. They were armed with weapons of every kind: antiquated rifles, furnished with bandoliers of brass cartridges and empty cartridge cases; short hunting spears, swords and knives; the great, seven-foot broad-bladed spear of the Wanda; behind one chief a slave carried a machine-gun under a velvet veil; a few had short bows and iron-wood maces of immemorial design.

  The Sakuyu wore their hair in a dense fuzz; their chests and arms were embossed with ornamental scars; the Wanda had their teeth filed into sharp points, their hair braided into dozens of mud-caked pigtails. In accordance with their unseemly usage, any who could wore strung round his neck the members of a slain enemy.

  As this great host swept down on the city and surged through the gates, it broke into a dozen divergent streams, spurting and trickling on all sides like water from a rotten hose-pipe, forcing out jets of men, mounts and livestock into the by-ways and back streets, eddying down the blind alleys and into enclosed courts. Solitary musicians, separated from their bands, drum med and piped among the straggling crowds; groups split away from the mêlée and began dancing in the alleys; the doors of the liquor shops were broken in and a new and nastier element appeared in the carnival, as drink-crazed warriors began to re-enact their deeds of heroism, bloodily laying about their former comrades-in-arms with knives and clubs.

  ‘God,’ said Connolly, ‘I shall be glad when I’ve got this menagerie off my hands. I wonder if his nibs has really bolted. Anything is possible in this abandoned country.’

  No one appeared in the streets. Only rows of furtive eyes behind the shuttered windows watched the victors slow progress through the city. In the main square the General halted the guards and such of the irregular troops as were still amenable to discipline; they squatted on the ground, chewing at bits of sugar cane, crunching nuts and polishing their teeth with little lengths of stick, while above the drone of confused revelling which rose from the side streets, Connolly from the saddle of his mule in classical form exhorted his legions.

  ‘Guards,’ he said loudly, ‘Chiefs and tribesmen of the Azanian Empire. Hear me. You are good men. You have fought valiantly for your Emperor. The slaughter was very splendid. It is a thing for which your children and your children’s children will hold you in honour. It was said in the camp that the Emperor had gone over the sea. I do not know if that is true. If he has, it is to prepare a reward for you in the great lands. But it is sufficient reward to a soldier to have slain his enemy.

  ‘Guards, Chiefs and tribesmen of the Azanian Empire. The war is over. It is fitting that you should rest and rejoice. T
wo things only I charge you are forbidden. The white men, their houses, cattle, goods or women you must not take. Nor must you burn anything or any of the houses nor pour out the petrol in the streets. If any man do this he shall be killed. I have spoken. Long live the Emperor.

  ‘Go on, you lucky bastards,’ he added in English. ‘Go .and make whoopee. I must get a brush up and some food before I do anything else.’

  He rode across to the Grand Azanian Hotel. It was shut and barred. His two servants forced the door and he went in. At the best of times, even when the fortnightly Messageries liner was in and gay European sightseers paraded every corner of the city, the Grand Azanian Hotel had a gloomy and unwelcoming air. On this morning a chill of utter desolation struck through General Connolly as he passed through its empty and darkened rooms. Every movable object had been stripped from walls and floor and stowed away subterraneously during the preceding night. But the single bath at least was a fixture. Connolly set his servants to work pumping water and unpacking his uniform cases. Eventually an hour later he emerged, profoundly low in spirits, but clean, shaved and very fairly dressed. Then he rode towards the fort where the Emperor’s colours hung limp in the sultry air. No sign of life came from the houses; no welcome; no resistance. Marauding bands of his own people skulked from corner to corner; once a terrified Indian rocketed up from the .gutter and shot across his path like a rabbit. It was not until he reached the White Fathers’ mission that he heard news of the Emperor. Here he encountered a vast Canadian priest with white habit and sun-hat and spreading crimson beard, who was at that moment occupied in shaking almost to death the brigade sergeant-major of the Imperial Guard. At the General’s approach the reverend father released his victim with one hand —keeping a firm grip in his woollen hair with the other — removed the cheroot from his mouth and waved it cordially.

  ‘Hullo, General, back from the wars, eh? They’ve been very anxious about you in the city. Is this creature part of the victorious army?’

  ‘Looks like one of my chaps. What’s he been up to?’