[#] "Be tranquil, Lady. Do not fear. God is guarding us. These indeed are Masai truly, but we shall overcome them with intelligence."
The porters just stayed where they were. To have started to run would—they knew—have been fatal. They just stood about, silent, while the advancing army—perhaps three hundred in number—suddenly halted and lay down behind their large, gaily-painted shields. The two men of the expedition who knew the Masai language drew up to the Kiongozi—unfortunately the Masai guides were away, out hunting with Roger. A hundred yards distant there stood out one superb Masai warrior, the leader of the party; a naked figure of perfect manhood, red in colour, with a naturally brown skin, raddled with ochre and powdered with the dust of the red ground. The vertical sun seemed to make a red halo round the outline of his beautiful body. He held a tuft of grass in his hand and shouted in an authoritative voice: "Tôtŏna!" (Sit down!)
At once the men of Brentham's caravan obeyed him. All sat down and plucked tufts of fresh green grass. Then the Masai spokesman advanced slowly ... wonderingly ... peeringly towards the white woman, reclining on the deck-chair. "What is this?" he asked the headman and the two interpreters. "This," they replied, glad to get a chance of making an impression, "this is a WHITE WOMAN of the great race of the Wa-ingrezi. Her husband is the great chief, the Balozi of the Wa-ingrezi on the coast. We come now from the Manyara country, guided by your own people, the Masai. There is war to the south, in Nguru and Ugogo, war between the Lajomba and the White men. Our Balozi is taking his wife to the coast to put her with his own people; then he will return and finish the Lajomba."
"Good," said the Masai war-captain. "We heard of this war and we are going there to see if we can join in. We hate the Lajomba."
At this moment there was a stir among the three hundred warriors sitting apart. It was caused by the approach of Brentham, filled with apprehension and anxiety as to Lucy. Unfortunately his own Masai guides belonged to a southern clan of the Masai, not on very good terms with this more northern, purer breed. So there was a ruffle of angry words as each realized the other as whilom foes. But the leader who had been sitting close to Lucy rose to his feet and spoke with a carrying voice—rather than shouted—a command and once more his warriors sat down. He then took Lucy's hand, but quite gently. His own hand had well-trimmed nails and was clean except for the red dust. He turned back her sleeve a little (she trembled, but tried to smile). Having satisfied himself that the arm was even whiter than the hand, he threw back his head and laughed a full-throated laugh, while his eyes sparkled with the wonderment of it all. Seeing her smile he looked at her with such a friendly glance that she felt completely reassured. Then he sat down again, took snuff, and was framing other questions when Roger strode up. "It is all well, master," said the headman hurriedly in Swahili.
"Why, you're holding quite a court, Lucy," said Roger, inwardly immensely relieved.
"Ye-es. But I shall be rather glad when they all go."
The Masai leader rose to his feet and held out his hand to Brentham. The latter took it and White man and Red man looked for a moment into each other's eyes. Roger, knowing something of Masai customs—was he not indeed but three or four marches from scenes of earlier exploration?—did not shrink away when the Masai captain spat on his clothing and on Lucy's dress. He knew it was intended for the friendliest of greetings, a seal on their good relations.
After that, all was boisterous good-fellowship, though the Wanyamwezi porters were careful to keep together and half carelessly to reclaim their rifles. The three hundred Masai agreed to overlook the fact that Roger's guides had belonged to a once hostile clan. And when they learnt from these men what a hunter he was and what an unerring shot, they pressed their friendship and their red presence on him. They visited his tent—they were throughout strictly honest—they sat on his bed, and he had afterwards to do without sheet and pillow case, for besides leaving red dust wherever they sat they distributed a flavour of tallow from their favourite unguent, mutton fat. They insisted on blood-brotherhood and declared they would escort the white chieftain and his lady to the coast.
As a matter of prosaic fact, they took him no farther than the base of Meru. There the rainy season began to break with vehemence. So there they left him and went off to the drier steppe country and the War in the south with its possibilities of loot.