The Sun Is God Read Free

this was an excellent chance. Albright had the little Welshman around the throat and was muttering something about “Nancy.” Nancy could have been a horse, a girl, or even one of the boy mollies for all Will knew or cared.
    He got up from his table, strode across the room, and interposed himself between Albright and the quaking lieutenant. “Steady on, Albright, do you always have to be such a confounded bully!” Will said and shoved Albright backward into the long bar.
    Albright was amazed but unsure how to proceed next. Was Will on duty? Was he acting in his capacity as a member of the Military Foot Police?
    â€œGet up man! Get up and face me! You’ve always been a coward and a bloody cheat!” Will snarled.
    Albright was propelled forward by one of his friends.
    Everyone in the saloon bar had stopped to watch the action now. There would be plenty of witnesses: Lieutenants, Captains, and even a Major or two. Will took the measure of Albright’s startled face and threw a punch at it. Albright easily dodged Will’s punch and had hit Will twice in response before Will knew what was happening.
    â€œGet him, Ally!” someone yelled and Albright punched Will again: a gut strike that doubled Will over. When Will recovered and saw Albright waiting for him in a boxer’s stance he understood the nature of his mistake. He’d probably learned to box at school. Will wiped the blood from his lip.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Prior? Don’t like a fight with a white man, eh?” Albright said.
    Will understood the implication only too well. He was seething now. He hated Albright. He hated the army and he hated South Africa and every bastard in it. Most of all, of course, he hated himself.
    He took a step away from Albright and straightened his uniform. “My friends shall contact your friends. I trust that you are a man of honor, sir!” Will declared.
    Albright’s pale, furious face lost its color at once. “You cannot be serious, Prior,” he said.
    â€œI am serious, sir, but if your Lordship does not wish to fight then I shall accept a full and complete apology in the presence of these witnesses,” Will said.
    All heads in the saloon were now turned upon the hapless Albright. The sensible little Welshman, Will noted, had long since gone. The establishment was so quiet that they could hear the call of the fishmongers on the wharves a half a mile away.
    â€œSo be it, madman! My seconds will call upon you this afternoon,” Albright said, his voice trembling with rage and confusion.
    Will’s second, Lieutenant Blakely, a Scot and something of a damned fool, arranged the whole thing. They were to meet at Scarborough on Table Mountain at dawn, which meant that they would all have to get up at four in the morning.
    Word of the duel, of course, had spread throughout the colony. No one had been called out in Cape Town in ten years. Dueling was both illegal and, worse, unfashionable. And so, despite the hour, when Blakely and Will arrived at Scarborough they found a small crowd waiting for them.
    Albright’s second was Lord Donnybrook, a Captain in the Grenadiers, an excitable young man who thought the duel “a fine wheeze.”
    Donnybrook and Blakely consulted for a moment and Will was surprised to find himself looking at a box of antique single-shot dueling pistols.
    Will examined the grey sky and the pale, milky sun rising over False Bay. It was almost like the heathland of the East Riding. Not a bad place to die at all. Yes, this was the way to go. To finish it one way or the other. Will smiled at Blakely. “Let’s get on with it and if he kills me, please tell Albright that there were no hard feelings and that the whole thing was my fault,” Will said and marched to a position on the moor that was well away from the chattering crowd of officers, civilians, and, scandalously, one or two ladies.
    Donnybrook marked out twenty-five paces