He was on the verandah drinking his coffee when a car came tearing into the town, trailing a cloud of dust, and pulled up at the gendarmerie he had set up. A man jumped out and ran inside.Guidotti sat up, interested, wondering what could have caused such urgency. There had been no sign even of British aeroplanes for several days now. He fingered a signal he’d received from Rome in answer to the one he’d sent informing Mussolini of the naming of the road from Jijiga to Bidiyu in his honour. It offered congratulations and ended with the usual virile fascist greeting. ‘The nation’s strength comes from its brave men.’ It pleased Guidotti and he began to wonder when he might expect promotion.As he daydreamed, a figure detached itself from the gendarmerie and started to hurry across the sandy square. It was Major Di Sanctis and Guidotti sat more upright, wondering again what had happened. Di Sanctis was a good officer, if inclined to peacock a little. He had an Ethiopian mistress who’d been with him ever since 1938, Guidotti knew, and he’d contrived to bring her to Bidiyu.
