Assegai

Graf Otto flew on through the airy canyons of the sky, with the eternal snowfields and the gleaming glaciers of Mount Kilimanjaro towering high above them and casting their shadow over them. The Butterfly was tossed about wantonly by the winds that swirled around the mountain’s three extinct volcanic peaks. Then she broke free of Kilimanjaro’s influence and sailed out into the sunlight. But there was another mountain range directly ahead of them and Meru was so different from the great massif they had left behind. Eva fancied that if Kilimanjaro was the male, Meru was the female. She was lower and gentler in aspect, covered with dense green forests rather than harsh rock and ice.

He

Graf Otto flew low past the white walls, and the uniformed figures on the battlements looked up at them. A staff motor-car drove out through the main gates and headed towards the open ground along the bank of the Usa river, dragging a pall of dust behind it. The Graf nodded with gratification: the vehicle was one of the latest models from his own factory. There were two men in its back seat.

As Graf Otto had requested, a strip of ground had been cleared parallel to the river bank in preparation for their arrival. The earth was as raw as a ploughed field, and uprooted trees were piled haphazardly along the edge. At the far end a windsock floated from the top of a tall mast. The layout of the landing ground was exactly as he had stipulated it should be in his cables to Colonel von Lettow Vorbeck. Lightly he touched down and let the Butterfly run to where the staff car was parked. A uniformed German officer stood beside the open front door of the vehicle with one booted foot on the ru

As soon as Graf Otto had clambered down the boarding ladder the officer came forward to greet him. He was a tall, spare but broad-shouldered figure in a field grey tunic and a felt-covered tropical helmet. He wore red and gold staff officer’s tabs on his collar, and the Iron Cross, first class, at his throat. His clipped moustache was flecked with grey, and his regard was direct and piercing.

‘Count Otto von Meerbach?’ he asked, as he saluted smartly. ‘I am Colonel Paul von Lettow Vorbeck.’ His voice was brisk and precise, given to command.

‘Indeed, Colonel. After all our correspondence, I am delighted to meet you.’ Graf Otto shook his hand and examined his features keenly. Before leaving Berlin he had made a special visit to Army Headquarters on Unter den Linden, where he had been given access to von Lettow Vorbeck’s service record. It was an impressive document. There was probably no other officer of equivalent rank who had seen as much active duty as he had. In China he had taken part in the campaign to put down the Boxers. In German South-west Africa he had fought under von Trotha during his ruthless genocide of the Hereros. Sixty thousand men, women and children had been exterminated, more than half of the entire tribe. After that von Lettow Vorbeck had gone on to command the Schutztruppe in the Cameroons, before being given the same task here in German East Africa.

‘Colonel, may I present Fräulein von Wellberg?’

‘Enchanted, Fräulein.’ Von Lettow Vorbeck saluted again, then clicked his heels and bowed as he held open the door to the staff car for Eva to take her seat in the back. They left Gustav and He

Graf Otto came directly to the main business. He knew the colonel would expect and appreciate a forthright approach. ‘Has our visitor from the south arrived safely, Colonel?’

‘He is waiting for you in the fort.’

‘What do you make of him? Does he live up to his reputation?’

‘Difficult to say. He speaks no German or English, only his native Afrikaans. You will have some difficulty communicating with him, I fear.’

‘I have made allowance for that. One of the men I brought with me is an Afrikaner. In fact, he fought under de la Rey against the British in South Africa. He also speaks fluent English, as I know you do, Colonel. We shall have no trouble in communicating.’

‘Excellent! That will certainly make matters easier.’ Von Lettow Vorbeck nodded as they drove through the gates into the interior courtyard. ‘After your journey, you and Fräulein von Wellberg will want to bathe and rest for a while. Captain Reitz will conduct you to the quarters that have been prepared for you. At four o’clock, that is in two hours’ time, Reitz will return and bring you to the meeting with de la Rey.’

As von Lettow Vorbeck had promised, Reitz knocked on the door of the guest suite at precisely four o’clock.

Graf Otto checked his watch. ‘He is punctual. Are you ready, Eva?’ Punctuality was something he expected of everybody around him, including her. He looked her over, from the top of her shining head to her small neat feet. She had taken care with her appearance and knew how lovely she was.

‘Yes, Otto. I am ready.’

‘That is the Fortuny dress. It suits you admirably.’ He called Captain Reitz, who entered and saluted respectfully. Behind him, He

‘You look very smart, He

‘If you are ready, will you please follow me, sir?’ Reitz invited Graf Otto, and they followed him along the stone-flagged passageway to the circular staircase that led up to the battlements. There, on the terrace, Colonel von Lettow Vorbeck waited for them under a canvas awning. He was sitting at a heavy teak table on which was set out a selection of drinks and refreshments.

At the far end of the battlements stood another tall figure in a black frock coat. His back was turned to them and his hands were clasped behind it. He was staring out across the river at the bulk of Mount Meru, which hovered in the distant mist.

Von Lettow Vorbeck stood to welcome them, and once he had enquired politely as to the comfort of their quarters, he eyed He

‘This is du Rand, the man I told you about.’ Graf Otto introduced them. ‘He rode commando with de la Rey.’ At the mention of his name, the black-clad figure standing at the far end of the battlements turned towards them. He was in his sixties, and his silver-shot hair had receded to leave his forehead high and domed; the skin was white and smooth where it had been protected by his hat from the sun. His remaining locks hung to his shoulders, speckling the dark cloth of his coat with flakes of dandruff. His beard was dense, profuse and untamed. His nose was large, the line of his mouth grim and unyielding. His deep-set eyes were as piercing and fanatical as those of a Biblical prophet. Indeed, he carried a small Bible in his right hand, which he stuffed into the pocket of his frock coat as he strode towards Graf Otto.

‘This is General Jacobus Herculaas de la Rey,’ von Lettow Vorbeck introduced him, but before he reached them He

‘General Koos! I beg you to give me your blessing.’

De la Rey stopped and looked down at him. ‘Don’t kneel for me. I am not a priest, and I am no longer a general. I am a farmer. Get up, man!’ Then he peered more closely at He