War Cry. Wilbur Smith

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СКАЧАТЬ a light right in her eye.

      She gave a cry of, ‘Help!’ but the sound that emerged from her mouth was a feeble, incoherent moan.

      A moment later a waitress passed by her chair, and the scream of horror she gave was enough to cut through the hubbub around her. A dozen or so of the people crammed onto the veranda turned and looked in horror at the sight of a woman jerking helplessly, unconsciously, like a marionette in the hands of a mad puppeteer while a dark crimson stain spread across the front of her skirt.

      ‘Doctor!’ a man’s voice shouted. ‘For God’s sake someone get a doctor!’

      Van Doorn was at the very limits of his physical resources. But he saw the little man tying up and understood that if he could only keep going, just for a very short while, he could yet have his victory.

      But could he keep going? He was suffering badly from the sun and heat and lack of water. His mouth was parched and a crust of desiccated white foam had formed at the corners of his lips. He felt light-headed, his vision was starting to blur around the edges and there was a rushing sound in his ears as if he were on the verge of fainting.

      No! van Doorn told himself. I will not give in. Only the weak let pain or discomfort affect them. I will beat this verdoem kaffer yet!

      He drove himself into one last effort and forced his shattered body to keep going, denying its pleas to slow down.

      The gap was closing once again.

      Well, it was a good try,’ Leon said.

      ‘Simel’s not beaten yet, Daddy!’ Saffron insisted, defiant to the last.

      ‘I’m afraid your father is right,’ Manyoro said, in a voice heavy with disappointment. ‘Simel fought with the heart and courage of a lion. He saw off two hunters, but he could not defeat the third. There is no disgrace in that.’

      ‘I don’t care what you say,’ Saffron insisted, folding her arms in front of her chest and glaring up at the two men, ‘I think he’ll win.’

      Leon gave a rueful sigh. He was about to lose ten thousand pounds in public, and to a man like de Lancey … Let that be a lesson to you. Don’t make any more stupid bets at dinner tables.

      The African faces opposite him that had been so gleeful a few moments ago were now downcast. Silence had fallen as they waited for the end.

      And then, from somewhere in the crowd, a single voice sang out:

       We are the young lions!

      A few other men joined in, somewhat tentatively:

       When we roar the earth shivers!

      And then more voices, more strongly:

       Our spears are our fangs!

      And more again:

       Our spears are our claws!

      An exultant smile spread across both Leon and Manyoro’s faces. This was the Lion Song, passed down to all Masai boys as part of the teaching that would lead them towards manhood. Their fathers and brothers sang it, as they would one day too, when they went out to attack lesser tribes and plunder their cattle and women, or confront the mighty lion with nothing but an assegai in their hands. This song both celebrated strength and provided it. And Leon joined in with all the other Masai voices, coming together in the rich, sonorous, exultant harmonies that were one of the glories of Africa, from the velvety resonance of the basses to the highest, piping falsettos.

      Fear us, O ye beasts, they sang.

       Fear us, O ye strangers!

      Across the field, Simel heard the voices of his people calling to him and now he was panting out the next lines along with them:

       Turn your eyes away from our faces, you women!

       You dare not look upon the beauty of our faces!

      Simel was barely aware of the power surging back through him, as if carried through the air by the song itself, for his running now seemed effortless, his body almost weightless as though his spirit had left it somehow and was looking down from on high.

      The Masai saw the effect of their singing on Simel, and their volume became still greater as they let him know that they and he were one:

       We are the brothers of the lion pride!

       We are the young lions!

       We are the Masai!

      Simel ran down the home straight, past the crowds of his people’s white masters, barely registering their presence. The music had filled him, refreshed him and driven him on.

      He was unaware of all the people rushing towards him and when the first arms caught hold of him and broke the music’s enchantment he struggled and lashed out, shouting, ‘No! No! I must not stop.’

      Then Simel heard Manyoro’s voice and felt the strength of his embrace as he said, ‘Be still, little warrior. Be still. The battle is over. The victory is won. Look … turn your head and look.’

      Simel did as he was told and stared back down the track. He saw a body lying on the turf, and men rushing towards it as they had towards him. He realized that the body belonged to van Doorn and for a terrible moment thought that he might be dead.

      ‘Have I killed him?’ Simel panted, though he was gasping for air so desperately that he barely had breath enough to talk.

      ‘No,’ Manyoro reassured him. ‘Watch. He rises.’

      Simel screwed up his eyes and, sure enough, arms were reaching down, grasping the fallen runner and slowly lifting him back to his feet.

      ‘Good,’ Simel gasped. ‘I am glad.’

      ‘You won,’ Manyoro said. ‘You ran like a true Masai, a true morani.’

      Simel smiled. And then, only then, he passed out from sheer exhaustion.

      Saffron was still filled with the excitement of the final minutes of the race and the elation of Simel’s win. But the sight of him fainting in Manyoro’s arms plunged her into an abyss of fear and concern for him until he came to, blinked a few times and looked around as if unsure where he was. And then all those bad feelings vanished and she was jumping up and down and cheering at the very top of her voice as Simel was hoisted onto Manyoro’s shoulders as even the white spectators joined in the riotous applause for what was so clearly such a mighty effort and a splendid triumph.

      ‘Make that ten cows!’ Leon called to Manyoro. ‘Simel deserves it. And, yes, ten for you too!’

      The native crowd had burst past the police who had all been far too busy cheering the victory themselves to stop them and were now flooding across the polo field towards the clubhouse, dancing and jumping for joy as they went.

      Amidst the pandemonium it suddenly struck Saffron that Mummy ought to be there, enjoying it all СКАЧАТЬ