War Cry. Wilbur Smith

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СКАЧАТЬ wouldn’t say that. I just think that you’re either a good man or you’re not and skin colour’s got nothing whatever to do with it. The most appalling bully and bounder I ever met was a white man.’ Leon paused for a moment and looked around the table at the disapproving faces. Then he added, ‘Mind you, he was a German.’

      The frowns turned to smiles and laughs at that and someone called out, ‘I say, what happened to this horrible Hun?’

      ‘His chest got in the way of a bullet from a .470 Nitro Express hunting rifle.’

      ‘Was that what passed for your war service?’ asked de Lancey acidly. ‘Better than nothing I suppose.’

      The man in the steel-rimmed glasses cleared his throat. There was a philosophical, almost sad look in his eyes and a wry cast to his mouth, as if he were all too aware of the imperfections of man and the shortness of his life. Yet at once the table fell silent. This was the Right Honourable Hugh Cholmondeley, Third Baron Delamere and the unquestioned leader of Kenya’s white population. He had been among the first British settlers in British East Africa, owned two huge estates and was famed for the fortune he had spent trying to establish cattle, sheep and grain farming on his farmland, while preserving the wildlife in the vast areas of country that he left untouched. There was a cane resting on the back of his chair, for he walked with a limp, the result of being mauled by a lion. Yet there was real strength behind those faraway eyes.

      ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, let’s not have any unpleasantness,’ Delamere said. ‘I can testify to the fact that Courtney here served alongside me throughout the war, chasing that infuriating German rascal von Lettow back and forth across East Africa. It may also interest you to know that Mrs Courtney assisted us as an aircraft navigator and pilot and was, at my particular request, awarded the Military Medal for her courage under fire. The Courtneys did their bit, you have my word on it.’

      Leon gave a little nod of gratitude. ‘Thank you, sir.’

      ‘Think nothing of it, dear boy. Now, pray finish telling us about your wager. As you know, I rather share your opinion of the Masai.’

      That, too, was something known to all the British in Kenya. Delamere even built his homes with the same mud and thatch that the Masai used for their huts. ‘Of course,’ he continued, ‘I maintain that our European civilization as a whole is more advanced than the native African. Still, the individual Masai is a fine man and I might even put a guinea or two into the pot, once I know what I’m betting on. Courtney?’

      ‘Very well then,’ Leon began. The argument about the war had been entirely forgotten and there was a palpable air of growing excitement as he spoke. ‘I propose that the three white men run in a relay against the solitary Masai. One of them will start alongside him, the starter will fire his pistol and they will both set off around the field. The white man keeps running until he either gives up, or the Masai laps him.’

      ‘Is that really likely to happen, Courtney?’ Josslyn Hay asked. ‘A polo field must be twice the size of a football pitch. It’s a long way round.’

      ‘Possibly not,’ Leon replied. ‘I just don’t want anyone to get away with walking. This has to be a race that is run.’

      ‘Fair point. But I take it your rules apply the other way around, as well. That is to say, you lose the wager if the Masai stops first or is lapped.’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘I see, so then what?’

      ‘Then the second man takes the first one’s place, under the same conditions, then the third. My wager is very simple. I will bet you five thousand pounds de Lancey, that when the last of the three white men either stops or is lapped, the Masai will still be running.’

      The blood drained from de Lancey’s face as all eyes were fixed on him. ‘I say Courtney, five thousand’s a bit steep,’ he objected. ‘Rather beyond my means, what?’

      ‘All right,’ said Leon. He took a thoughtful sip of his claret, trying to suppress a huge grin as inspiration struck him. ‘I suppose you don’t want me taking the shirt off your back, eh?’

      ‘I’d rather you didn’t, old boy.’

      ‘But that’s exactly what I’d like to take. Here’s my wager. If I lose I won’t give you five thousand pounds. I’ll give you ten.’

      There was a gasp around the table. Idina Hay smiled to herself. Ten thousand pounds, given to her by her mother, had bought her car, Slains and the dresses she took such pride in receiving direct from the couturier Molyneux.

      ‘And if you lose, de Lancey,’ Leon went on, ‘you will indeed give me the shirt off your back, and every other stitch of clothing that you are wearing, and you won’t get them back until you’ve completed a lap of the polo field.’

      ‘What … run around the field? In my birthday suit?’ de Lancey gasped, as the other diners each formed their own mental picture of him naked and on the run. Laughter began to spread around the table.

      ‘As naked as God made you.’

      ‘He’s got you there, de Lancey,’ said Joss Hay, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Ten thousand pounds against a trot round a field, you can’t say no to that … What was that splendid phrase you came up with? Oh yes, with your cock swinging gently in the breeze. I’ll bet every white woman in Kenya will be there, just to see the view.’

      De Lancey could see that his only hope now was to brazen it out. ‘Let me get this straight: you are betting me ten thousand pounds against a run round a field that one African native can beat three British gentlemen?’

      ‘Absolutely.’

      ‘I see … oh, one last thing.’ De Lancey paused for a second and then asked, ‘Will your chap run naked too? Isn’t that what the natives do?’

      ‘I should imagine so,’ Leon replied. ‘Is that a problem?’

      ‘Worried that the Masai might make you look small, de Lancey?’ one man asked to more peals of laughter.

      ‘No, of course not. Just thinking of the ladies. Don’t want them getting upset.’

      As a number of the female diners glanced at one another with rolled eyes and little shakes of the head, Leon made an offer. ‘I’ll tell you what, I will provide a pair of shorts for my chap to wear, how’s that?’

      De Lancey looked around the table, knowing that his name in the Colony depended on what he said next. Like a man jumping into an ice-cold pool he steeled himself, breathed deeply and took the plunge: ‘Then in that case Courtney, you’ve got a bet,’ he said as a cheer went up, more drinks were called for, and the night’s festivities began in earnest.

      Leon Courtney emerged from the Great War with a fortune even bigger than Amelia or Idina had imagined. Having once been close to destitution he found himself with the means to buy one of the finest estates in East Africa. He named it Lusima, in honour of Manyoro’s mother, whose skills as a healer, counsellor and mystical seer he had come to cherish deeply. Leon planned to follow the example of Lord Delamere who kept much of his land untouched, for use as a nature reserve, and gave over the rest to agriculture. When it came to setting up a safari business that would attract rich customers from Europe and the Americas, Leon was in his element, but the farming was a different matter. He could not help noticing how many British settlers lost everything they СКАЧАТЬ