Assegai

Leon bribed his way on board the pilot boat when it went out through the mouth of Kilindini lagoon to meet the German passenger liner SS Admiral from Bremerhaven as she hove up over the horizon. The sea was calm, so it was an easy transfer from the pilot boat to the liner. As he ran up the companion ladder he was challenged by the ship’s fourth officer. When he mentioned his client’s name, the man’s manner changed quickly and he led Leon up to the bridge.

From Kermit’s description, Leon recognized Graf Otto von Meerbach at first glance. He was standing in the wing of the bridge smoking a Cohiba cigar and chatting to the captain, whose attitude towards him was obsequious. Graf Otto was the only passenger allowed on the bridge during the complicated manoeuvre of anchoring the massive liner. Leon studied him for a few minutes, then went up to him to introduce himself.

Graf Otto wore an elegant cream tropical suit. He was as big and hard as an oak tree, as Kermit had said. He gave the impression of being all muscle, but carried himself with the poise and overbearing self-assurance of a man of limitless wealth and power. He was not handsome in any conventional sense; instead his features were hard and uncompromising. His mouth was wide, but a puckered white duelling scar ran from one corner to just under his right ear so that it seemed frozen in a lopsided sneer. His pale green eyes had an alert, intelligent sparkle. He carried a white Panama hat in his left hand, but for the moment his head was bare. His skull was well shaped and proportioned, and his thick, short-cropped hair bright ginger.

This is one tough, formidable bastard! Leon made a snap judgment before he approached him. ‘Do I have the honour of addressing Graf Otto von Meerbach?’ Leon gave him a minimal bow.

‘Jawohl, you do indeed. May I ask who you are?’ The Count’s voice was stentorian, his tone dictatorial.

‘I am Leon Courtney, sir, your hunter. Welcome to British East Africa.’

Graf Otto smiled with patronizing geniality, and extended his right hand. Leon saw that it was powerful and that the back was covered with golden freckles and curling ginger hair. He wore a gold ring set with a large white diamond on his third finger. Leon steeled himself for the handshake. He knew it would be crushing.

‘I have been looking forward to meeting you, Courtney, ever since I spoke to both Mr Kermit Roosevelt and the Princess Isabella von und zu Hohenzollern.’ Leon found he could match the power of that big freckled hand, but required all his strength to do so. ‘Both have a high opinion of you. I hope you will be able to show me some good sport, ja?’ Graf Otto spoke excellent English.

‘Indeed, sir. I have every expectation of doing so. I have obtained hunting permits in your name for a full bag of species. But you must inform me which quarry interests you most. Lions? Elephant?’ At last Graf Otto released his hand and the blood rushed back so painfully that it took all Leon’s determination to prevent himself massaging it. He caught a glint of respect in the pale green eyes. He knew that the other’s hand was also numbed, although he gave not the least indication that he was in pain.

‘Your German is good, but this I was told,’ Graf Otto replied, in the same language. ‘To answer your question, I am interested in hunting both of those species, but especially lions. My father was ambassador to Cairo at the time of Kitchener’s war with the Mahdi. This gave him the opportunity to hunt in Abyssinia and the Sudan. I have many of his lionskins at my hunting lodge in the Black Forest, but they are old now and some have been eaten by moths and worms. I have heard that the blacks here hunt the lions with a spear. Is that true?’

‘It is, sir. For the Masai and the Samburu it is a test of the young warrior’s courage and manhood.’

‘I should like to witness this manner of hunting.’

‘I shall arrange for you to do so.’

‘Good, but I also wish to obtain several pairs of large elephant tusks. Tell me, Courtney, in your opinion, which is the most dangerous wild animal in Africa? Is it the lion or the elephant?’

‘Graf Otto, the old Africa hands say that the most dangerous animal is the one that kills you.’

‘Ja, that I understand. It is a typical English joke.’ He chuckled. ‘But what do you say, Courtney? Which is it?’

Leon had a vivid image of the curved black horn protruding from Percy Phillips’s belly, and stopped smiling. ‘The buffalo,’ he replied seriously. ‘The wounded buffalo in thick cover is the one that gets my vote.’

‘I can see from your expression that you are speaking from the heart. No more English jokes, nein?’ Graf Otto said. ‘So, we hunt elephant and lions but most of all we hunt buffaloes.’

‘You understand, sir, that although I will do my best to help you procure trophies, these are wild beasts and much will depend on luck?’

‘I have always been a lucky man,’ Graf Otto replied. It was a statement of fact, not a boast.

‘That is abundantly obvious to even the most simple mind, sir.’

‘And it is just as obvious that you do not have a simple mind, Mr Courtney.’

Like two heavyweight boxers at the opening of the first round, they watched each other’s eyes as they smiled and feinted, keeping up their guard as they felt each other out, making quick assessments and subtly shifting their stance to meet every nuance in the charged current that flowed between them.

Then, unexpectedly, Leon became aware of a subtle perfume on the warm, tropical air. It was light and fragrant, the same enchanted scent that had captivated him once before as he held in his hand the silken garment from the ruptured cabin trunk. Then he saw Graf Otto’s eyes flick to look over his shoulder. Leon turned his head to follow his gaze.

She was there. Ever since he had read Kermit’s letter he had anticipated this meeting, but was still unprepared for the moment. He felt a flutter in his chest, like the wings of a trapped bird trying to escape from the cage of his ribs. His breath came short.

Her loveliness surpassed Kermit’s meagre description a hundredfold. Kermit had been correct in one detail only: her eyes. They were an intense blue, a shade darker than violet and softer than dove grey, slanting up at the outer corners. They were wide-spaced and fringed with long, dense lashes that meshed when she closed them. Her forehead was broad and deep, and the line of her jaw finely sculpted. Her lips were full and parted slightly when she smiled to reveal a glint of small, very white teeth. Her hair was a lustrous sable. She wore it scraped back from her face but, beneath the brim of the fashionable little hat cocked at a jaunty angle over one eye, soft tendrils had escaped the retaining pins and curled out over her little pink ears. She was tall, almost reaching Leon’s shoulder, but her waist was tiny.

The puffed sleeves of her piped velvet jacket left her arms bare from the elbows. They were shapely and lightly muscled, the limbs of an equestrienne. Her hands were elegantly formed, her fingers long and tapered, the nails pearly; the hands of an artist. From under her long, full skirts peeped the pointed toes of a pair of snakeskin riding boots. He imagined that the feet within the expensive leather must be as shapely as the hands.

‘Eva, may I present to you Herr Courtney? He is the hunter who is to take care of us during our little African adventure. Herr Courtney, may I present Fräulein von Wellberg,’ Otto said.

‘Enchanted, Fräulein,’ Leon responded. She smiled and proffered her right hand, palm down. When he took it he found it was warm and firm. He bowed and lifted it until her fingers were an inch from his lips, then released it and stepped back a pace. She held his eyes for only a moment longer. Looking into their depths he saw that her regard was enigmatic and layered with innuendo. He had the sensation of gazing into a pool whose secret depths could never be fully fathomed.

When she turned away to speak to Graf Otto, he felt a pang of some emotion totally alien to any he had ever experienced before. It was a strange mixture of elation and regret, of attainment and numbing bereavement. In a blink of time it seemed he had discovered something of infinite value that, in almost the same instant, had been snatched away. When Graf Otto placed one large freckled hand on Eva’s tiny waist and drew her closer to him, and she smiled up into his face, Leon hated him with a bitter relish that tasted like burned gunpowder in the back of his throat.