Another acquaintance called Horton, who had been an officer in the Sierra Leone navy before that nation was annexed by Hood, said dryly: 'To the victor the spoils, old man.' There was a look of amusement on his brown face, and he winked at me, enjoying Laurence's discomfort.
'Well, I mean to say…' began Laurence, realizing his lack of tact. 'It's not that I feel…'
'It's just that you do.' Horton laughed and turned to order Laurence another drink. 'You think Hood's taken a white concubine as a sort of gesture. It could be that he finds her so attractive he doesn't care what colour she is. I've heard of Europeans falling in love with African women. Haven't you?'
Laurence's next point was undeniably a good one. 'But not Europeans with a deep loathing of Negroes, Horton. I mean, it rather shakes his case about us being such awful fiends, doesn't it?'
Horton grinned. 'Maybe he prefers the devil he knows.'
'I must admit,' put in a lieutenant who had begun his career in the Russian navy and who was called something like Kuriyenko, 'I wouldn't mind knowing her myself. What a beauty! I think she's the most ravishing creature I've ever seen. Good luck to Hood on that score, say I!'
The conversation continued on these lines for a while until those of us who had accepted invitations to attend the banquet had to leave to get ready. Korzeniowski and I and a party of other 'underwater sailors' were going together. Dressed in the simple, white dress-uniforms of the Bantustan navy, we left for the palace in a large carriage rather like an electrically powered char-a-banc, were met'at the steps and escorted into the great hall which normally housed the elected representatives of the people of Bantustan. Long tables had been laid out and each place was adorned with gold and silver plate and cutlery. We were privileged (if that is the word) to sit at the President's table and would thus be afforded a good chance of observing the infamous General Hood at close range.
When we were all seated, President Gandhi, General Hood and the general's lady consort entered through a door in the back of the hall and moved to take their places at the table.
I believe that I had by this time learned enough self-control not to register my surprise upon recognizing the woman whose hand was now placed on the arm of the despot who had become master of most of Africa and all of Europe. Our eyes met and she acknowledged me with a ghost of a smile before turning her head to say something to Hood. It was Una Persson! Now I knew why she had wished to return to Africa so speedily and why she had been reluctant to take me with her. Had she, even then, been keeping this association with the Black Attila?
General Hood was not what I expected. He was as tall as any member of his 'Lion Guard', but fairly slender, moving with what I can only describe as a sort of awkward grace. He wore perfectly cut conventional evening-dress which was entirely without decoration. I had expected a fierce-eyed warlord, but this man was close to middle age, with the distinguished air of a liigh-ranking diplomat. His hair and beard were greying a little and his large, dark eyes held a mildness which could only be deceptive. I was reminded, against my will, of a sort of black Abraham Lincoln!
President Gandhi was beaming. It seemed he had had a conversation with General Hood which had proved satisfactory to him. The little Indian was dressed, as always, in a light cotton suit of what we used to term 'Bombay cut'. They took their places and we, who had been standing, resumed ours. The meal began in a rather grim silence, but slowly the atmosphere improved. General Hot›d chatted amiably to President Gandhi, to the president's aides, and to Una Persson. I heard a little of the conversation - enough to know that it was the usual sort of polite small-talk which goes on among politicians on occasions like this one. From what might have been a mistaken sense of tact, I tried not to look at Miss Persson during the dinner and addressed myself primarily to the lady on my left who seemed to be obsessed with the notion of trying to breed back, in Africa, many of the species of bird-life which had been made all but extinct during the wars in Europe.
The meal was an excellent compromise between European and African dishes, and I think it is probably the best I have ever eaten, but we were on the sweet course before I was saved from the conversation of the amateur ornithologist on my left. Quite suddenly I heard the deep, mellow tones of General Hood speaking my name and I looked up in some embarrassment.
'You are Mr Bastable, then?'
I stuttered a reply to the effect that his information was correct. I was not even sure how one addressed a despotic conqueror who had on his hands the blood of hundreds of thousands of innocents.
'You have my gratitude, Mr Bastable.'
I was conscious of a decided lull in the conversation around me and I think I might have been blushing a little. I noticed that Miss Persson was smiling broadly at me, as was President Gandhi, and I felt very-foolish, for no particular reason.
'I have, sir?' was, I think, what I answered. It sounded inane to my ears and I tried to recover my equilibrium by reminding myself that this man, in spite of appearances, was the sworn enemy of my race. It was, however, difficult to maintain an attitude of disdain while at the same time behaving in a way which suited the social situation. I had accepted the invitation to dine at the palace and therefore had a duty to President Gandhi not to offend his guests.
General Hood laughed a deep, full-throated kugh. 'You saved the life of someone I hold very dear.' He patted Una Persson's hand. 'Surely you remember, Mr Bastable?'
I said that it had been nothing, that anyone would have done the same, and so on.
'You showed great courage, Miss Persson tells me.'
I made no answer to this. Then General Hood added: 'Indeed, if it had not been for you, Mr Bastable, it is unlikely that I should have been able to continue with certain military ambitions I have been entertaining. White though your skin is, I think you have the heart of a black man.'
A calculated irony, surely! He had managed to implicate me in his crimes and I think relished my embarrassment. Next he added:
'If, at any time, you wish to leave the employment of Bantustan, the Ashanti Empire could make use of your services. After all, you have already proved your loyalty to our cause.'
I saw the eyes of all the whites in the hall staring at me. It was too much. Seized by anger, I blurted back: 'I regret, sir, that my loyalty is to the cause of peace and the rebuilding of a sane world. The cold-blooded murder of the women and children of my own race is not something to which I could easily lend myself!'
Now the silence in the hall was total, but General Hood soon broke the atmosphere by leaning back in his chair, smiling and shaking his head. 'Mr Bastable, I have no dislike of the white man. In his place, he performs a large number of useful functions. I employ white men in a good many capacities. Indeed, there are individuals who show all the qualities I would value in an African. Such individuals are given every opportunity to shine in the Ashanti Empire. You have a poor impression of me, I fear - whereas I have nothing but respect for you.' He raised his glass to toast me. 'Your health, Mr Bastable. I am sincere in my offer. President Ghandi and I have been discussing exchanging emissaries. I shall put in a strong plea to him that you be among those invited to New Kumasi. There you shall see for yourself if I am the tyrant you have heard about.'