Black Mischief (29 page)

They
left the women to their work. Boaz stumbled several times as he returned to the
headman’s hut and his bottle of whisky. Basil left him with the lamp and
returned in the firelit night to his hut.

A man
was waiting for him in the shadows. ‘Boaz is still drunk.’

‘Yes.
Who are you?’

‘Major
Joab of the Imperial Infantry, at your service.’

‘Well,
major?’

‘It has
been like this since the Emperor’s death.’

‘Boaz?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did
you see the Emperor die?’

‘I am a
soldier. It is not for me to meddle with high politics. I am a soldier without
a master.’

‘There
is duty due to a master, even when he is dead.’

‘Do I
understand you?’

‘Tomorrow
we take down the body of Seth to be burned ‘at Moshu among his people. He
should rejoin the great Amurath and the spirits of his fathers like a king and
a fine man. Can he meet them unashamed if his servants forget their duty while
his body is still with them?’

‘I
understand you.’

After
midnight the rain fell. The men round the fire carried a burning brand into one
of the huts and lit a fire there. Great drops sizzled and spat among the
deserted embers; they changed from yellow to red and then to black.

Heavy
patter of rain on the thatched roofs, quickening to an even blurr of sound.

A
piercing, womanish cry, that mounted, soared shivering, quavered and merged in
the splash and gurgle of the water.

‘Major
Joab of the Imperial Infantry at your service. Boaz is dead.’

‘Peace be
on your house.’

Next
day they carried the body of the Emperor to Moshu. Basil rode at the head of
the procession. The others followed on foot. The body, sewn in skins, w as
strapped to’ a pole and carried on the shoulders of two Guardsmen. Twice during
the journey they shipped and their burden fell in the soft mud of the jungle
path. Basil sent on a runner to the Chief, saying: ‘Assemble your people, kill
your best meat and prepare a feast in the manner of your people. I am bringing
a great chief among you.’

But the
news preceded him and tribesmen came out to greet them on the way and conduct
them with music to Moshu. The wise men of the surrounding villages danced in
the mud in front of Basil’s camel, wearing livery of the highest solemnity,
leopards’ feet and snake-skins, necklets of lions’ teeth, shrivelled bodies of
toads and bats, and towering masks of painted leather and wood. The women
daubed their hair with ochre and clay in the fashion of the people.

Moshu
was a royal city; the chief market and government centre of the Wanda country.
It was ditched round and enclosed by high ramparts. Arab slavers had settled
there a century ago and built streets of two-storied, lightless houses; square,
with flat roofs on rubble walls washed over with lime and red earth. Among them
stood circular Wanda huts of mud and thatched grass. A permanent artisan
population hived there, blacksmiths, jewellers, leather workers, ministering
to the needs of the scattered jungle people. There were several merchants in a
good way of business with barns storing grain, oil, spices and salt, and a few
Indians trading in hardware and coloured cottons, products of the looms of
Europe and Japan.

A pyre
had been heaped up, of dry logs and straw, six foot high, in the market-place.
A large crowd was already assembled there and in another quarter a communal
kitchen had been improvised where great cook-pots rested over crackling sticks.
Earthenware jars of fermented coconut sap stood ready to be broached when the
proper moment arrived.

The
feast began late in the afternoon. Basil and Joab sat among the chiefs and
headmen. The wise men danced round the pyre, shaking their strings of charms
and amulets, wagging their tufted rumps and uttering cries of ecstasy. They
carried little knives and cut themselves as they capered round. Meanwhile
Seth’s body was bundled on to the faggots and a tin of oil sluiced over it.

‘It is
usual for the highest man present to speak some praise of the dead.’.

Basil
nodded and in the circle of fuzzy heads rose to declaim Seth’s funeral
oration. It was no more candid than most royal obituaries. It was what was
required. ‘Chiefs and tribesmen of the Wanda, ‘ he said, speaking with
confident fluency in the Wanda tongue, of which he had acquired a fair
knowledge during his stay in Azania. ‘Peace be among you. I bring the body of
the Great Chief, who has gone to rejoin Amurath and the spirits of his glorious
ancestors. It is right for us to remember Seth. He was a great Emperor and all
the peoples of the world vied with each other to do him homage. In his own
island, among the people of Sakuyu and the Arabs, across the great waters to
the mainland, far beyond in the cold lands of the North Seth’s name was a name
of terror. Seyid rose against him and is no more. Achon also. They are gone
before him to prepare suitable lodging among the fields of his ancestors.
Thousands fell by his right hand. The words of his mouth were like thunder in
the hills. Weep, women of Azania, for your royal lover is torn from your arms.
His virility was inexhaustible, his progeny numerous beyond human computation.
His staff was a grown palm tree. Weep, warriors of Azania. When he led you to
battle there was no retreating. In council the most guileful, in justice the
most terrible, Seth the magnificent is dead.’

The
bards caught phrases from the lament and sang them. The wise men ran whooping
among the spectators carrying torches. Soon the pyre was enveloped in towering
flames. The people took up the song and swayed on their haunches, chanting. The
bundle on the crest bubbled and spluttered like fresh pine until the skin
cerements burst open and revealed briefly in the heart of the furnace the
incandescent corpse of the Emperor. Then there was a subsidence among the
timbers and it disappeared from view.

Soon
after sunset the flames declined and it was necessary to refuel them. Many of
the tribesmen had joined the dance of the witches. With hands on each other’s
hips they made a chain round the pyre, shuffling their feet and heaving their
shoulders, spasmodically throwing back their heads and baying like wild
beasts.

The
chiefs gave the sign for the feast to begin.

The
company split up into groups, each round a cookpot. Basil and Joab sat with the
chiefs. They ate flat bread and meat, stewed to pulp among peppers and aromatic
roots. Each dipped into the pot in rotation, plunging with his hands for the
best scraps. A bowl of toddy circulated from lap to hap and great drops of
sweat broke out on the brows of the mourners.

Dancing
was resumed, faster this time and more clearly oblivious of fatigue. In
emulation of the witch doctors, the tribesmen began slashing themselves on
chest and arms with their hunting knives; blood and sweat mingled in shining
rivulets over their dark skins. Now and then one of them would pitch forward on
to his face and lie panting or roll stiff in a nervous seizure. Women joined in
the dance, making another chain, circling in the reverse way to the men. They
were dazed with drink, stamping themselves into ecstasy. The two chains jostled
and combined. They shuffled together interlocked.

Basil
drew back a little from the heat of the fire, his senses dazed by the crude
spirit and the insistence of the music. In the shadows, in the extremities of
the market-place, black figures sprawled and grunted, alone and in couples.
Near him an elderly woman stamped and shuffled; suddenly she threw up her arms
and fell to the ground in ecstasy. The hand-drums throbbed and pulsed; the
flames leapt and showered the night with sparks.

The
headman of Moshu sat where they had dined, nursing the bowl of toddy. He wore
an Azanian white robe, splashed with gravy and spirit. His scalp was closely
shaven; he nodded down to the lip of the bowl and drank. Then he clumsily offered
it to Basil. Basil refused; he gaped and offered it again. Then took another
draught himself. Then he nodded again and drew something from his bosom and put
it on his head. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Pretty.’

It was
a beret of pillar-box red. Through the stupor that was slowly mounting and
encompassing his mind Basil recognized it. Prudence had worn it jauntily on
the side of her head, running across the Legation lawn with the
Panorama of
Life
under her arm. He shook the old fellow roughly by the shoulder.

‘Where
did you get that?’

‘Pretty.’

‘Where
did you get it?’

‘Pretty
hat. It came in the great bird. The white woman wore it. On her head like
this.’ He giggled weakly and pulled it askew over his glistening pate.

‘But
the white woman. Where is she?’

But the
headman was lapsing into coma. He said ‘Pretty’ again and turned up sightless
eyes.

Basil
shook him violently. ‘Speak, you old fool. Where is the white woman?’

The
headman grunted and stirred; then a flicker of consciousness revived in him. He
raised his head. ‘The white woman? Why, here,’ he patted his distended paunch.
‘You and I and the big chiefs — we have just eaten her.’

Then he
fell forward into a sound sleep. Round and round circled the dancers, ochre and
blood and sweat glistening in the firelight; the wise men’s headgear swayed
high above them, leopards’ feet and snake skins, amulets and necklaces, lions’
teeth and the shrivelled bodies of bats and toads, jigging and spinning.
Tireless hands drumming out the rhythm; glistening backs heaving and shivering
in the shadows.

Later,
a little after midnight, it began to rain.

Chapter Eight

When the telephone bell
rang Alastair said: ‘You answer it. I don’t think I can stand up,’ so Sonia
crossed to the window where it stood and said: ‘Yes, who is it? …
Basil
…
well, who’d have thought of that? Where
can
you be?’

‘I’m at
Barbara’s. I thought of coming round to see you and Alastair.’

‘Darling,
do … how did you know where we lived?’

‘It was
in the telephone book. Is it nice?’

‘Lousy.
You’ll see when you come. Alastair thought it would be cheaper, but it isn’t
really. You’ll never find the door. It’s painted red and it’s next to a pretty
shady sort of chemist.’

‘I’ll
be along.’

Ten
minutes later he was there. Sonia opened the door. ‘We haven’t any servants. We
got very poor suddenly. How long have you been back?’

‘Landed
last night. What’s been happening?’

‘Almost
nothing. Everyone’s got very poor and it makes them duller. It’s more than a
year since we saw you. How are things at Barbara’s?’

‘Well,
Freddy doesn’t know I’m here yet. That’s why I’m dining out. Barbara’s going to
tell him gently. I gather my mamma is sore with me about something. How’s
Angela?’

‘Just
the same. She’s the only one who doesn’t seem to have lost money. Margot’s shut
up her house and is spending the winter in America. There was a general
election and a crisis — something about gold standard.’

‘I
know. It’s amusing to be back.’

‘We’ve
missed you. As I say, people have gone serious lately, while you’ve just been
loafing about the tropics. Alastair found something about Azania in the papers
once. I forget what. Some revolution and a minister’s daughter who disappeared.
I suppose you were in on all that.’

‘Yes.’

‘Can’t
think what you see in revolutions. They said there was going to be one here,
only nothing came of it. I suppose you ran the whole country.’

‘As a
matter of fact, I did.’

‘And
fell madly in love.’

‘Yes.’

‘And
intrigued and had a court official’s throat cut.’

‘Yes.’

‘And
went to a cannibal banquet. Darling, I just don’t want to hear about it, d’you
mind? I’m sure it’s all very fine and grand, but it doesn’t make much sense to
a stay-at-home like me.’

‘That’s
the way to deal with him, ‘ said Alastair from his armchair. ‘Keep a stopper on
the far-flung stuff.’

‘Or
write a book about it, sweety. Then we can buy it and leave it about where
you’ll see and then you’ll think we know … What are you going to do now
you’re back?’

‘No
plans. I think I’ve had enough of barbarism for a bit. I might stay in London
or Berlin or somewhere like that.’

‘That’ll
be nice. Make it London. We’ll have some parties like the old ones.’

‘D’you know,
I’m not sure I shouldn’t find them a bit flat after the real thing. I went to a
party at a place called Moshu …’

‘Basil.
Once and for all, we don’t want to hear travel experiences.
Do try and remember.’

So they
played Happy Families till ten, when Alastair said, ‘Have we had dinner?’ and
Sonia said, ‘No, let’s.’ Then they went out to a new cocktail club which Alastair
had heard was cheap, and had lager beer and liver sandwiches; they proved to be
very expensive.