Assegai

Somehow Hennie and his chef had performed a miracle of improvisation. They had put together a passable meal from the crates of provisions Max had brought from Tandala, and Leon waited for his guests in the mess tent. When Eva entered, he gaped at the vision she presented. It was the first time he had seen a beautiful woman in culottes, a most daring and avant-garde fashion that had not yet reached the colonies. Although they were cut full in the legs and seat, he could visualize what must lie beneath the fine material. He tore his eyes off her just before Graf Otto came in behind her.

Hennie had cooled a few cases of Meerbach Eisbock lager in the canvas wet-bags. This was a beer that had won innumerable gold medals at the annual Munich Oktober Bierfests. It was the product of a large Bavarian brewery that made up a small part of the Meerbach manufacturing empire. His own best customer, the Graf drank nearly half a gallon of it to whet his appetite before dinner was served.

When he took his seat at the head of the table, he changed his tipple from lager to Burgundy, a notable Romanée Conti 1896, which he had personally selected from his cellars at Wieskirche. It went perfectly with the hors d’oeuvre of gerenuk liver pâté and the entrée of wild duck breasts on slices of fried foie gras. Graf Otto rounded off the meal with a few glasses of a fifty-year-old port and a Montecristo cigar from Havana.

He drew on the cigar and sighed with pleasure as he leaned back in his chair and eased his belt by a few notches. ‘Courtney, you saw those buffalo we flew over while we were coming in to land, ja?’

‘I did, sir.’

‘They were in thick cover, nein?’

‘They were, very thick. But not one is worth the price of a cartridge.’

‘Ah, so, would they not be dangerous, then?’

‘They would be very dangerous. Even more so if they were wounded,’ Leon conceded, ‘but—’

Graf Otto cut him off. ‘But is a word I do not like very much, Courtney.’ His mood had altered instantly and dramatically. ‘Usually it is a signal that somebody is about to make an excuse to disobey me.’ He scowled and the duelling scar across his cheek changed from glassy white to rose pink.

Leon had not yet learned that this was a danger sign. He went on regardless:

‘I was just going to say that—’

‘I have no great interest in what you were going to say, Courtney. I would rather you listened to what I have to say.’

Leon flushed at the rebuke, but then he saw Eva, who was sitting out of Graf Otto’s direct line of sight, purse her lips and shake her head almost imperceptibly. He drew a deep breath and, with an effort, took heed of her warning. ‘You wish to hunt those bulls, sir?’

‘Ah, Courtney, you are not such a Dummkopf as you often appear to be!’ He laughed as he switched back into geniality. ‘Yes, indeed, I wish to shoot those bulls. I will give you an opportunity to show me how dangerous they truly are, ja?’

‘I did not bring my rifle from Tandala.’

‘You do not need it. I am the one who will do the shooting.’

‘You wish me to accompany you unarmed?’

‘Is the sauce too rich for your stomach, Courtney? If so, you may remain in bed tomorrow or under it. Wherever you feel warmest and safest.’

‘When you hunt, I shall be at your side.’

‘I am pleased that we understand each other. It makes everything simpler, does it not?’ He drew on his cigar until the tip glowed brightly, then blew a perfect smoke-ring that rolled across the table towards Leon’s face. Leon poked a finger through its centre and broke it before it reached him.

Eva intervened smoothly to quench the rising flames of their tempers. ‘Otto, what was that beautiful flat-topped mountain you flew us over this afternoon?’

‘Tell us about it, Courtney,’ he commanded.

‘It is called Lonsonyo Mountain, a sacred site to the Masai, and the home of one of their most powerful spiritual leaders. She is a seer who is able to divine the future with amazing accuracy.’ Leon did not look in Eva’s direction as he replied.

‘Oh, Otto!’ she exclaimed. ‘That must have been the woman we saw coming out of the largest hut. What is her name, this prophetess?’

‘You are amused by all this magical mumbo-jumbo, silly one?’ Graf Otto asked indulgently.

‘You know I love to have my fortune told.’ She smiled prettily and the last of his anger evaporated. ‘Don’t you remember the Gypsy woman in Prague? She told me my heart truly belonged to a strong loving man, who would cherish me always. That was you, of course!’

‘Of course. Who else could it have been?’

‘Otto, what is her name, this diviner?’

He turned from her and raised a ginger eyebrow at Leon. ‘Her name is Lusima, sir.’ Leon had learned how to play this game of elliptical questions and answers.

‘How well do you know her?’ Graf Otto demanded.

Leon laughed lightly. ‘She has adopted me as her son so we are well enough acquainted.’

‘Ha, ha! If she has adopted you, it seems she is not a woman of good judgement. However . . .’ Graf Otto spread his hands in surrender as he gazed at Eva ‘. . . I see that I will have no peace until I agree to this whimsy of yours. Very well, I will take you to visit this old woman of the mountain to have your fortune told.’

‘Thank you so much, Otto.’ Eva stroked the back of his hand. Leon felt an acidic flood of jealousy burn the lining of his stomach. ‘Now you see that the Prague Gypsy was right. You are so kind to me. When will you take me there? After you have hunted these buffalo of yours, perhaps?’

‘We shall see,’ Graf Otto hedged, and changed the subject. ‘Courtney, I will be ready at daybreak. It is no more than a few kilometres to where we last saw that herd. I wish to arrive before the sun is up.’