War Cry. Wilbur Smith

of weight over the years, as the visible proof of his power and prosperity. Yet there was no sense of softness about Manyoro and when he stood to greet Leon, the Masai was still the taller of the pair.

      ‘I see you, Manyoro, my brother,’ Leon said, speaking in Masai.

      Manyoro’s face broke into a huge grin. ‘And I see you, M’Bogo, and my heart sings with joy.’

      Manyoro lifted a bottle of beer from a metal wastepaper basket filled with ice-cold spring-water and offered it to Leon. He was delighted to accept, for the walk had given him a powerful thirst.

      ‘You are the only Masai I know who always has a crate of pale ale ready to hand,’ said Leon as he took the cold, wet bottle.

      ‘More than one crate, I assure you,’ Manyoro replied. ‘It is a habit I learned in the army. They served this beer in the sergeants’ mess.’ He smacked his lips with relish. ‘This is the best thing you British ever brought to Africa. Cheers!’

      ‘Cheers!’

      The two men raised their bottles in mutual salute, and then savoured their drinks in silence for a moment. After a while they began to speak in English about their wives and children, Leon feeling almost embarrassed at having just one of each in this company, though Manyoro was keen to hear news of the son that he felt sure Eva was bearing, and of Saffron’s near-victory in the show jumping.

      ‘Ah, she has her father’s spirit, that one,’ Manyoro said, approvingly, when he heard how Saffron had responded to being beaten. ‘I have never understood how your people talk of being a “good loser”. How can losing be good? Why would a man take pride in accepting defeat? Miss Saffron is right to feel anger and shame. That way she will not make the mistake of losing a second time. Ah, but you must be proud of her, brother. She will be as beautiful as her mother, when she is grown.’

      ‘Not quite as beautiful as a Masai maiden, though, eh?’ said Leon, knowing Manyoro’s unshakable faith in the superiority of his tribe’s females to all others.

      ‘No, that would be impossible,’ Manyoro agreed. ‘But a great beauty among her own people, and with that fighting spirit in her heart … Believe me, M’Bogo, it will take a strong man to win her heart.’

      Next they moved on to the latest developments on the Lusima estate. Though he seldom ventured down from his mountaintop, and the estate covered the best part of two hundred square miles, Manyoro still knew everything that happened on it and there was never any need for Leon to discipline any of the herders. In the extremely rare event that one of them did anything wrong, Manyoro would already have dealt with the matter himself before Leon even heard about it.

      ‘So, Bwana, what brings you here today?’ Manyoro asked, calling Leon ‘Master’ not out of servility, but respect.

      ‘I come to you with a request, one that I hope you will find of interest,’ Leon said. ‘I dined at Bwana Hay’s house two nights ago, and talked to a man by the name of de Lancey. He was disparaging of the Masai. He said they were lesser men, inferior to his own white tribe.’

      ‘Then this man is no more than a baboon, and a very stupid baboon at that. He should count himself lucky that I did not hear him say those words.’

      ‘Indeed he should,’ Leon agreed. ‘I, however, know the truth. So I assured him that my Masai brothers were proud warriors who have ruled this land since time began and I suggested a way in which I could prove their strength.’

      Manyoro grinned. ‘Will there be a fight? It has been too long since my assegai tasted blood. It keeps moaning to me, “Give me blood, for I am thirsty!”’

      Leon fought back laughter as he adopted a pose of outrage at such rebellious sentiments. ‘Sergeant Manyoro! Have you forgotten the oath you swore to defend my people? Have you become a rebellious Nandi, slithering like a snake upon the dirt?’

      Manyoro’s broad shoulders broke into a regretful shrug. ‘You are right, M’Bogo, I have given my word and I will stand by it. But please, never compare me to a Nandi, not even in jest. They are the lowest people on all the earth.’

      ‘I apologize,’ said Leon, reflecting that it had been a Nandi arrow, stuck in Manyoro’s leg, that had first brought him here to Lusima. ‘But let me assure you that neither you nor any of your people will be called upon to fight anyone. The morani will keep their blades sheathed. All I need is a man who can run.’

      Leon began to explain what he had in mind. But Manyoro’s reaction was not what he expected. Far from being amused by the challenge, still less inspired by it, he seemed offended.

      ‘M’Bogo, forgive me, but I am insulted to the depth of my soul. Why did you only pit three whites against one Masai? It is too easy. Ten would be more of a contest, possibly twenty.’

      ‘Now you insult my people, Manyoro. We are not all weak or lacking in endurance. I carried you on my back for thirty miles to this very mountain, when you were too badly wounded to walk.’

      Manyoro nodded. ‘That is true. But you are not like the others. You have the strength of the buffalo himself. That is why my people consider you our equal.’

      ‘I am proud to bear that honour,’ Leon replied. ‘That is why I have set this challenge, so that the Masai should receive the respect that they are due.’

      ‘For one day maybe,’ said Manyoro, and suddenly Leon heard the voice of a proud man whose people were reduced to second-class status in their own land. ‘But that is better than no days at all. Who will de Lancey find to run against my man?’

      ‘No one that you need fear, but some whom you should respect,’ Leon replied. ‘De Lancey is putting the word out. He’ll round up some pretty tough customers, don’t you worry about that. We’re not all bone-idle idiots from Happy Valley, you know.’

      Manyoro thought for a moment then asked, ‘You say you will lose ten thousand pounds if De Lancey’s man wins?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘So if my man wins he will save you that amount. He will have done all the work. Should he not receive some reward for his efforts?’

      Leon inwardly winced. Brother or no brother, Manyoro was always determined to wring the most out of any negotiation. ‘Good point,’ he conceded. ‘What do you suggest?’

      ‘A man who performs a great feat should have a wife to mark his triumph.’

      ‘Sadly, I can’t provide one of those.’

      ‘Then give him the cattle with which he will attract a bride and make her father think, “This is a man who deserves to have my daughter beside him.”’

      ‘Very well, I will give him a bull and three cows …’ Leon could tell from Manyoro’s face that the offer, which he had thought generous to a fault, had somehow fallen short of the mark. And then it occurred to him and he wondered how he could ever have been so stupid as he said, ‘And a bull and five cows to you too, though heaven knows your herds are already so mighty that you will not notice a few more.’

      Manyoro smiled with delight, both at the offer and the fact that Leon had understood that it should be made. ‘Ah, M’Bogo, a Masai always notices a new cow. You, of all men, should know that!’

      ‘So, can I count on you to bring one of your best men to the polo fields?’

      ‘You can count on me to bring a man. And you can count on him to win your bet. But whether he will be my best man, that I cannot say. My best might feel that this challenge is too easy. But fear not, M’Bogo, your money is safe … and so are my five cows and my bull besides. Now, come with me. You know there is someone else here who would rage like thunder if you should leave without seeing her.’

      ‘You know that I would never dream of doing that.’

      ‘Then come …’

      Like an empress on her throne, Lusima Mama was sitting on a chair cut into the stump of