Blood Diamond Chapter 5

His companions fanned out in a shell-formation behind him. The young warrior’s eyes were fixed at a point on Daniel’s chest just over the heart. He drew back his stabbing arm … and stopped. His eyes slowly raised and stared over Daniel’s shoulder, with growing terror, at a sight behind him. 

Slowly, hardly daring to hope, or mortally afraid of what he might see, Daniel turned to follow his gaze. It was another line of warriors, new ones, ten or twelve of them, advancing across the clearing. They were not dissimilar in appearance to Daniel’s pursuers but perhaps a little taller and, in addition to animal skins, they wore brightly coloured cloth wrapped around their loins. Their jewellery was more extravagant, jingling and tinkling as they moved. And in addition to stabbing weapons, Daniel noticed several were carrying great chopping weapons like ornate axes. 

No-one had eyes for Daniel. The two groups of roughly equal size stared each other down across the clearing, and slowly and deliberately drew their weapons. Although he was no veteran of war, Daniel thought he sensed the fear that rose from his pursuers, and the utter, implacable confidence of the newcomers. And then, as the first blade flashed through the thick, hot air, Daniel thought it best to drop to the floor again.

Daniel lay on the coarse green grass, covering his head with his hands as the battle raged above him. There were cries and incomprehensible exhortations. There were screams, as in terror or pain, and grunts and gasps and the sounds of bodies hitting the ground. Just above him came a sound like an axe being driven into a wet log, and there was a burst of wetness over Daniel, like a bucket of flung water. Something heavy fell against his shoulder, bounced, and came to a rest beside his face. Daniel opened his eyes and stared into the filming eyes of the young warrior who so recently had threatened his death. The warrior’s body lay some yards away, and his head had been severed clean by what must have been a single, swinging blow. For a second, Daniel could feel the last breath from the warrior’s lips warm against his cheek, and he seemed to see the dying of that light inside. Then the eyes clouded and life had fled.

The battle lasted perhaps ten minutes, although it felt to Daniel like a day. When sounds of struggle ended, he dared open his eyes again, and sat up to look around. If he had been hoping that the two parties would have exterminated one another, he was disappointed. The clearing was strewn with the bodies of the dead, disembowelled and decapitated but there, standing and regarding him with the curiosity a small boy might show a field mouse, were nine warriors of the second party, wrapped in bright-coloured cloths and carrying gore-dripping battle-axes and blades. Two of their number had fallen, but the entire opposing force had been devastated. One of them barked something at him and Daniel, not knowing the lingo, guessed from the tone it was something of the order of “Get up!”
He did. Two men with red-stained axes took up positions behind him and, without ceremony, the small party began to march in double-file. As they passed their fallen comrades, none spared so much as a sideways glance. These were not men, Daniel thought uncomfortably, averting his eyes from the human ruin of the battlefield, for whom ordinary life was sacred.

The forced march took several hours, through the tangled bush and over mud-flats baked hard by the sun. The men around him never spoke, never seemed to falter. When Daniel, exhausted, stumbled and lost his footing, strong hands seized and plucked him upright and walking before he had the luxury even of hitting the floor. Daniel was tempted to throw himself to the ground, to refuse to move and let the consequences come what may. But the memory of that severed head and the eyes that filmed and the spark that died – that memory kept him on his feet.

They came at last to a camp in the shade of a high hill, above which turned and turned the dark figures of great birds. It was a vast camp. They walked through rows of lean-tos and shelters made from branches and woven leaves and stretched animal skins, past cook-fires and curious eyes, through areas where small children played in the soil with animals made of clay. It was like a village, except there was something of impermanence about it, as though it might not have been there yesterday, and might not be there tomorrow. Daniel could scarcely take it in, or make sense of it all.

He was brought through to an empty space between the shelters, a place in front of a shelter far larger than those around. On either side of its entrance was an enormous elephant tusk, perhaps twice as high as a tall grown man, and nearly as thick around. Daniel could not begin to imagine the height or breadth of the creature that had died to yield such ivory. Tall, nearly naked guards stood at either side of each tusk, heavily armed, their skin gleaming as though waxed and burnished. Daniel crumpled to the ground with gratitude for the rest. Whatever was in store for him, he was too tired to care. 
While he lay there, passing in and out of consciousness, there was a great tumble and murmur as people gathered around him, cramming in and filling the congregation area, but leaving a respectful space around Daniel, and an open path to the doorway of the elephant-tusk shelter.

Finally there was a great yelling and keening. The crowd began to drum its feet upon the hard ground, women began to shriek with tongues unearthly. This way, evidently, came some great man. Daniel squinted at the door of the shelter. First emerged a man wrapped all over in the skin of some beast unknown to Daniel, then two others, similarly wrapped, then two tall men. Then emerged – Daniel’s eyes flew open – a white man! White like himself, but old and weathered his face a mass of wrinkles and lines, like crumpled linen, and clothed also in the tribal cloth and skins. He showed no curiosity upon seeing Daniel, but took his place in what appeared to be a set order with the other men.

Daniel blinked at the entrance. A figure emerged, slow, with the grace of a cat, and at first Daniel thought this was an hallucination wrought by the sun. It was a young woman, tall, long of limb, with almost feline movements. She was taller than most of the men around her, and her skin of a slightly different hue – a rich dark brown, yet with a sheen almost of copper, that shone and shimmered in the light. Her hair was straight and sleek and when she turned her slow cat-like eyes on Daniel, they were the brilliant green of the shallow sea of Ceylon on a bright day. Daniel stared at her, dumbfounded, but the crescendo of noise from all around drew his attention to the last person to emerge.

This, surely, was the king of these people. As he straightened and held out an arm, the whole world seemed to fall instantly silent. He was taller than the girl, his skin the same mahogany-copper, his hair close-cropped, black and straight. He wore a cloth of brightest purple and great golden hoops around his neck and wrists and ankles. His nose was beaked like an eagle’s. He stood impassively, ran his eyes over the hushed, expectant mass of his people, and brought them to rest on Daniel.

Copyright Rannulph Moore

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Ranulph Moore describes himself as an explorer, who became a writer to purge himself of the adventures that were crowding his life. He says he has seen it all, in a life spent observing the lives of others.
He will travel anywhere – as long as he can make a decent cup of tea and launder a linen jacket. He describes Africa as one of his great loves. He has spent time in every country on the continent.
If he can’t find a good champagne, he has been known to resort to gin. He has homes in Paris, Jura and Cape Town. At present, he lives in Madagascar, where he is researching his latest book.
Read an interview with Rannulph Moore.