Bedford Square - Anne Perry [36]
“Why did we meddle in Abyssinia?” she asked with genuine interest, as well as a desire to make him speak of something in which he was comfortable.
“It is a preposterous story.” He was still smiling.
“Good,” she encouraged. “I love preposterous stories, the more so the better. Tell me.”
He offered her his arm, and she took it as they walked slowly around the exhibits one after another, without seeing any of them.
“It was in January of 1864,” he began, “that it really came to a head. But it started long before. The Emperor of Abyssinia, whose name was Theodore—”
“Theodore!” she said with disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like an Abyssinian name. It should be … I don’t know … African! At least foreign. I’m sorry—please go on!”
“He was born of very humble family,” he resumed. “His first calling was as a scribe, but he earned very little at it, so he took to banditry instead, at which he did so well that by the time he was thirty-seven he was crowned Emperor of Abyssinia, King of Kings, and Chosen of God.”
“I have obviously underrated banditry!” She giggled. “Not only its social acceptability but its religious significance.”
He was smiling broadly now. “Unfortunately, he was quite mad. He wrote a letter to the Queen—”
“Our Queen, or his own queen?” she interrupted.
“Our Queen! Victoria. He wished to send a delegation to England to see her, in order to let her know that his Muslim neighbors were oppressing him and other good Christians in Abyssinia. He asked her to form an alliance with him to deal with them.”
“And she wouldn’t?” she asked. They were now in front of a magnificent stone carved with hieroglyphics.
“We will never know,” he answered. “Because the letter reached London in 1863 but someone in the Foreign Office mislaid it. Or else they could not think what to say in reply. So Theodore became very angry indeed, and imprisoned the British consul in Abyssinia, one Captain Charles Cameron. They stretched him on a rack and flogged him with a hippopotamus hide whip.”
She stared at him, uncertain if he was absolutely serious. She saw from his eyes that he was.
“So what happened then? Did they send the army to rescue him?”
“No … the Foreign Office looked very hastily for the letter, and found it,” he answered. “They wrote a reply requesting Cameron’s release and gave it to a Turkish Assyriologist named Rassam and asked him to deliver it. The letter was written in May of 1864, but it did not reach the Emperor in Abyssinia until January nearly two years later, when Theodore welcomed Rassam warmly … and then threw the poor man into prison with Cameron.”
“Then we sent in the army?” she said.
“No. Theodore wrote to the Queen again, this time asking for workmen, machinery and a munitions manufacturer.” The corners of his lips twitched with wry humor.
“And we sent the army?” she concluded.
He glanced sideways at her. “No, we sent a civil engineer and six workmen.”
In spite of herself, her voice rose. “I don’t believe it!”
He nodded. “They got as far as Massawa, waited there for half a year, and were finally sent home again.” Then his expression became serious again. “But in July of that year, 1867, the Secretary of State for India telegraphed the Governor of Bombay asking how long it would take to mount an expedition, and in August the cabinet decided on war. In September they sent Theodore an ultimatum. And we set sail. I came from India and joined General Napier’s forces: Bengal Cavalry, Madras sappers and miners, Bombay native infantry and a regiment of Sind horse. We were joined by a British regiment, the 33rd Foot, although actually half of them were Irish and there were almost a hundred Germans, and when we landed near Zula, there were Turks and Arabs and all kinds of Africans. I remember a young war correspondent named Henry Stanley writing about it. He loved Africa, fascinated by it.” He stopped. He was looking at the exhibit in front of them now, an alabaster carving of a cat. It was exquisite, but there was no pleasure in Balantyne’s face,