The first trouble came on the third day. In the afternoon, Abonitu sent a patrol out on foot, through the streets, with orders to proceed warily, along main thoroughfares, in the direction of Oxford Street. The patrol consisted of six men, under the leadership of one of the Ibos. They left soon after one o’clock; about an hour later there was a sound of shooting in the distance. It lasted for some minutes, and was succeeded by silence. Andrew, who was with Abonitu, said to him:
‘Trouble. Are you going to send out reinforcements?’
Abonitu stared out towards the corner of Whitehall.
‘No. No reinforcements.’
‘Won’t they expect you to?’
Abonitu looked at him. ‘My own people, you mean? Yes, they will expect it. But others may expect it, too. Whatever happened is over. It may be they have met a small band of hooligans and put them to rout. If so, they will be back soon enough to tell us. But the outcome may not have been so happy; and in that case the other side may be waiting for us to send help so that they can ambush them.’ He pointed. ‘An ambush out there would be all too simple.’
The patrol was due back at four; by five, when there was no sign of them, they had to abandon hope. There was some uneasiness in the camp, and Abonitu called together all those not on guard and spoke to them. He spoke easily and confidently, but with grim warning. The purpose of the patrol had been to probe the dangers of their surroundings. They knew now that these dangers were great. For the time being, at any rate, there would be no further probes into the streets: the risks were known. This did not mean that they were in any danger in their stronghold; a few armed toughs could destroy a small patrol in the streets, but there was no comparison between such action and an attack against a position well fortified and strongly held. At the same time, what had happened obviously increased the need for vigilance. There might be more trouble; they must be prepared for it.
The attack came, in fact, during the night. The alarm was given when a figure was seen moving in the shadow of the Abbey, and a few minutes later there were shots, and a confused pattern of men advancing in an attack on the Yard. By the time Andrew got on the scene, things had settled down into sniping action on both sides, the attackers having taken what cover they could. Abonitu was directing events. He said to Zigguri:
‘Go the rounds and make sure the guards in the other places are staying at their posts; they may attack somewhere else also. And tell Ali to form the rest into a reserve; we have enough to deal with these here.’
They watched, and saw one of the attackers hit. He did not cry out, but spun down against the snow. He lay still for a moment, and then crawled away to better cover.
Abonitu said: ‘If we could have run a power line up here from the Hovercraft, and mounted one of the searchlights … we could finish them quickly.’
‘I don’t think it will take long, anyway,’ Andrew said. ‘They’re not making much impression.’
‘There is covering fire,’ Abonitu said. ‘Do you see from where?’
‘No.’
‘From the Abbey. They stationed men in there before they launched the attack. I am not happy about that. This is something more than a handful of savages.’
Savouring the irony, Andrew said: ‘Yes. I suppose it is.’
‘Well,’ Abonitu said, ‘we shall have to see how things go on. I think they have almost had enough for the present. There is another one running for cover.’
‘Yes,’ Andrew said. ‘They’ve had enough.’
The atmosphere in the camp the next day was cheerful and confident; the failure of the night attack had dispelled the uneasiness following the loss of the patrol. A single Hovercraft covered the river – up as far as Staines, and down to the mouth of the estuary – reporting nothing beyond the same jeering stone-throwing mob at Chiswick, and the occasional sight of smaller parties and individuals. At the camp itself the day passed peacefully, as did the following night and day. The weather had stayed clear, but during that afternoon cloud thickened in the sky. Dusk set in earlier, and it was bitterly cold. Before night came, some snow was falling, and the wind was starting to get up. By midnight, it was blowing a blizzard, the snow sweeping in blinding gusts from the north-east.
The second attack was launched at the height of the storm. The main effort followed the lines of the previous attempt, but there was a secondary offensive from the direction of the gardens, and this for a time succeeded in obtaining a foothold. Andrew was not on the scene there, but it was clear from what was said afterwards that Abonitu had rallied the defenders to throw the attackers back. They left two men behind when they retreated, one dead and one badly injured, with a bullet through his chest. Three of the Africans had been injured, one seriously. Andrew found the dead and injured in what had once been the Lords’ Robing Room; it was now a first-aid station.
Abonitu, as he came in, was quizzing the injured white man. He turned his head to Andrew, and shrugged.
‘I can’t get him to say anything. Would you like to try?’
He appeared to be in his early thirties, a thick-set man with an early jowl and full lips whose blueness showed how much blood he had lost; his face was very white. A dressing had been put on his wound, but blood still seeped through it.
Andrew said: ‘Are you comfortable? Is there anything we can do for you? A drop of brandy?’
He stared, his face fixed in hostility.
‘This is a peaceful expedition,’ Andrew said. ‘We don’t want trouble. Can you tell us what’s behind the attacks? Obviously someone is planning them – but for what purpose? Food? Arms? We have some, but I should have thought it was obvious we can defend them. It doesn’t make sense.’
There was still no answer. ‘Haven’t you anything to say?’ Andrew asked him.
He spoke then. ‘Renegade bastard.’ The words were spoken with difficulty. Pain crossed his face. He turned his head away, and lay without moving.
Abonitu said dispassionately: ‘Leave him alone. He’s dying.’
The man shuddered, but did not move or speak. Abonitu and Andrew walked away, out of the flickering illumination of the night-lights into the corridor’s darkness, and Abonitu switched on his torch.
Andrew said: ‘It was a closer thing tonight.’
‘A lot closer. If they had managed to keep that toehold for long … I don’t know how many more they have behind them.’
They passed a window; it was broken and the snow was blowing in, and drifting on the floor.
‘If this kind of weather continues,’ Abonitu said, ‘it may not be easy to keep them out. Tonight one could not see five yards ahead.’
‘I wouldn’t say this is typical English winter weather. But more typical than the clear skies we’ve been having. The glass is more usually low than high.’
‘Yes. I know that.’ He paused. ‘We had news from Lagos last night.’ Andrew waited for him to go on. ‘The supply ship is sailing north in a week.’
‘That’s a good deal earlier than planned.’
‘We are gaining in importance. There were some, I knew, who did not believe we would get here, get to England even. And there was a political situation; if the expedition had ended in disaster, certain Ministers would have fallen. I suspect that the supply ship may have been ready for some time, but they would not commit it.’
‘And they will now?’
‘Vigorously. We are being reinforced to some effect. More equipment, more generating equipment, more troops. They want to make sure of a base here.’
‘How long will it take the supply ship to reach us?’
‘Twelve days, if things go well.’
‘So, it’s the next three weeks that are critical.’
‘Yes.’ He flashed his torch on an open door, and light reflected from fumed oak and heavy red plush. ‘We are getting half a dozen Westland helicopters. And flame-throwers and napalm.’
‘No atom bombs?’
Abonitu laughed. ‘No. We have some, though – did you know that? They we
re sold to us before the crack-up.’
‘For use against South Africa?’
‘One supposes so. As a deterrent only, of course.’
His voice was sarcastic. Andrew said:
‘Is there such a thing as loyalty?’
‘As between nations, none: only self-interest. From an individual to his nation, yes, though prejudice describes it better, perhaps. I think it is only a true thing when it knows its object. Loyalty belongs to friendship, not to fancy.’
‘And you can’t have loyalty, I suppose, without the possibility of disloyalty.’
Abonitu shrugged. ‘You can have no good thing, without the possibility of its opposite.’ He looked towards a high eastern window in which the glass remained unbroken. ‘Dawn breaking. They won’t come back tonight.’
There were no further attacks on the buildings. Instead, the sniping began. There seemed to be two snipers, one in the Abbey and another stationed in a building at the bottom of Whitehall, though there may have been a number of men sharing the two rifles; there were shots from early morning until late at night. The snipers were not particularly accurate, but in the first two days one African was killed and two others injured.
The third casualty had occurred as dusk was drawing on; the blizzard had died away fairly quickly and this evening was clear, with the sun casting a jagged line of red along the western reaches of the river. Abonitu and Andrew stood on the terrace and had the report there: the man had been hit in the right arm, just below the shoulder. He was not seriously hurt.
‘They’re getting worried,’ Andrew said.
Abonitu nodded. ‘It is bad for their temperament; they never know when the next shot will come. They are becoming nervous – softening up. Another day or two of this, and then an attack again … things might go badly.’
‘Yes,’ Andrew said. ‘They might. It’s difficult to see what you can do about it, though. They’d probably like nothing better than to have you raid their positions.’
‘I agree. I have been thinking about this.’ He smiled. ‘This is where I show I am a better leader than Mutalli was. He would never have been able to retreat.’
‘From London?’
‘No. Only from its streets. If we form a lager with the Hovercraft in mid-river we shall be out of range of anyone but a very good shot with a telescopic sight. And there is the psychological effect; our men will not feel hemmed in and overlooked as they do here.’
Andrew said: ‘So you are prepared to abandon what was once the beating heart of empire.’
‘Until the supply ship gets here. There is no point in risking things for a whim. In two weeks’ time we will be invulnerable.’
Andrew made a gesture which comprehended the silent city all about them.
‘How do you think they will react?’
‘We shall have to see. Perhaps they will leave us alone out there.’
‘I wonder.’
‘We can be no worse off, anyway.’
‘You’re probably right about that.’
They moved out in the early morning, and set up the new camp in the centre of the ice, midway between Westminster Bridge and Charing Cross. The Hovercraft were stationed in a tight circle, linked by barricades brought over from the Palace of Westminster. On all sides there was a clear view across the level surface; the skyline of London, set back from them, was less intimidating in its remoteness. Andrew noticed a resurgence of cheerfulness and confidence among the Africans, a return to the carefree joking that had previously characterized them. They were good people to be with, he thought warmly. And they accepted him: he was sure of that now. They had come to venerate Abonitu, and they accepted Andrew as his friend and companion. The colour of his skin, despite the constant threat from all about them, no longer mattered.
There were two easy days with a peaceful night in between; then, as the grey dusk deepened into darkness, a new attack. Figures swarmed over the ice from the Embankment to an accompaniment of irregular gunfire. Abonitu waited until the vanguard of the attackers were some fifty yards from the Hovercraft before he ordered the searchlights on and gave the command for return fire. The attack withered and died on that instant; they fell and lay there, some silent, some moaning in pain, and the rest drew off. As soon as it was clear that the retreat was general and beyond reversal, Abonitu ordered his men to cease firing.
The searchlights remained on, throwing scarifying light on the scene. A man moved, got shakily to his feet, stared blinking into the glare. He was probably dazed; Andrew wondered if he expected to be shot down, or if he had lost awareness of where he was and what was happening. After a moment or two he turned and stumbled back towards the Embankment, clutching one arm with another. The scene remained bright and silent. A few minutes later, another man got up and made his way back. Others followed suit. Two men supported a third. Within quarter of an hour only two figures were left, crumpled and lifeless on the ice. At a sign from Abonitu, the lights went off.
‘I don’t think they will be back tonight,’ Abonitu said with satisfaction.
Andrew said: ‘No, I don’t think they will.’
‘Do you think it will mean anything – that we ceased firing, let them go back unharmed and take back their wounded?’
‘What do you want it to mean?’
‘That we are civilized men, not barbarians.’
‘The important question is: what are they?’
‘In the end, they must learn to tolerate our being here. We are doing them no harm.’
‘Perhaps they think the traders and the missionaries will come later.’
‘With gin and beads and bibles? It is absurd, Andrew. They know it is not like that.’
‘We don’t know what they think,’ Andrew said wearily. ‘And we can’t find out.’
‘Can’t we?’ Abonitu said. He took off his spectacles and rubbed them against the lining of his leather jacket. ‘I wonder.’
There was quiet until the following night, when another attack came. This time, while the main and obvious thrust came from the Embankment, there was a secondary attack from the direction of the South Bank. It was more quietly and skilfully conducted than the northern attack, and a couple of the white men were within a few yards of the Hovercraft before they were spotted and exposed to the searchlights and to a withering fire from the defenders. As before, Abonitu called off the firing as soon as the attackers withdrew, but left the lights on in silent comment while the wounded were got away.
This time, though, the attack was renewed before dawn, and renewed with a difference. The lights illumined a contraption being pushed out from the Embankment: closer examination with the glasses made it possible to see that there was some kind of low-slung chassis mounted on small wheels and carrying, on the side facing the Hovercraft, a roughly made screen faced with metal.
‘Ingenious,’ Abonitu said. ‘What do you think it is?’
‘I think, one of those long trucks they used to use for transporting long castings. They have swivelling bogies at each end. I suppose they think they can get it up close enough to harass us.’
Abonitu smiled. ‘They can get it up. There need be no trouble over that. Then we shall see.’
He waited until the truck had been pushed half way from the bank. Then one of the Hovercraft was detached. It skirted the attackers in a wide arc and came up on them from the rear. They could hear the sound of shots above the roar of the craft’s engines. Then, for a time, it cruised up and down on the far side of the truck, and the firing was further off – between the Hovercraft and the shore. It moved back into position in the lager a quarter of an hour after it had set off. The captain, a tall blue-eyed Fulani, made his report. There had been no defences on the other side of the truck; the men pushing it forward had been taken by surprise. After the first couple of fusillades, nothing had moved there.
‘Good,’ Abonitu said. ‘That will do. Now try to get some sleep.’
Andrew watched the Fulani salute and walk away. He yawned. He said:
‘I could do with some sleep, too, Abo. And you, I should think.’
‘Yes,’ Abonitu said. ‘They are very persistent. But perhaps we have put them off for a while.’
Andrew crawled into his sleeping bag and fell asleep right away. He was awakened by the sound of firing and, looking up, saw that the sky was only a shade or two lighter than it had been when he lay down: he could not have been asleep for more than half an hour. Wearily he got to his feet. He felt sick and tired, and his head was beginning to ache.
The attack did not come to anything, but during its course another obstruction, a kind of armoured sledge, was pushed out on to the ice in the direction of the lager. There was no need to send a Hovercraft out to deal with those pushing it; it was abandoned less than twenty yards from the Embankment. The sky was rapidly paling now in the east, and the two abandoned fortifications stood out plainly against the level ice. Inside the lager, the cooks began to prepare breakfast, and Andrew decided there was little point in going back to his sleeping bag before eating. The wisdom of this was shown when another attack came, this time from the South Bank, no more than twenty minutes after the previous one. And this, also, left its abandoned strongpoint behind it, a few yards from the shore.
The pattern became plain during the morning; there was a succession of abortive attacks, and a succession of objects pushed out on to the ice which would serve as cover in future assaults. The attacks were pressed home only far enough to elicit responding fire from the defenders and to advance the mobile shields, The attackers had some casualties, but fewer than they had suffered before. The day wore on, the sun pale behind high barred clouds, and the nibbling attacks continued. In the afternoon Abonitu ordered his men to hold their fire, and sent one of the Hovercraft out to sweep close to the river banks, but it was impossible to get any rest inside the lager. Men dozed off for short periods but were continually being reawakened by the sound of firing, and towards evening an additional nuisance manifested itself: voices, using loud-hailers, began to shout abuse from the banks of the river.