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It is a very effective French officer’s side arm, a very fine, eleven-millimetre Chamelot-Delvigne, that served me well in Egypt as well as the Sudan.’ She withdrew the scarf that lay across her lap to reveal the little, steel-blue automatic.
    Fonthill gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Good. I am sorry we can’t give you a Colt, because you are probably a better shot with it than me. But have your little gun ready. Don’t shoot until I do.’
    Then he bowed his head. ‘Sorry, Mrs Griffith. I promise that we will try and avoid violence.’ He climbed down from the wagon and walked towards where the clergyman was standing, looking down the road. Their pursuers could now be seen and flashes of scarlet revealed their identity.
    ‘I think it would be safer if you addressed them from the wagon, sir,’ he said.
    Griffith smiled, a little wistfully. ‘No, Simon. I want to show that I am part of them. So I shall walk towards them, in peace, and speak to them from their midst. I think it is the best way.’
    Simon’s heart fell. If the clergyman formed part of the crowd, it would be extremely difficult to defend him if the mob turned onhim. He turned to his right and looked across the field. There was no sign of Jenkins, except what could be a ripple of fresh earth, some thirty yards away. Good. That flank was covered, anyway. He smiled confidently at the missionary.
    ‘Of course, sir. Good luck. Don’t be afraid to run back to the wagon if you have to. We will cover you.’
    ‘I will.’ Griffith held out his hand. ‘God bless you, nephew.’
    They shook hands and Fonthill climbed back into the wagon. He addressed Gerald. ‘Have you loaded the fowling piece?’
    ‘Yes, but I can’t see me harming anyone with it. It only shoots pellets.’
    ‘It doesn’t matter. It will have a deterrent effect. Now,’ he addressed the others, ‘Mrs Griffith please keep low. The rest of us will show our weapons when the Boxers come up, I will pull back the tarpaulin to show them that we are armed. Gerald, you take the rear of the wagon, Alice you guard the front, Chang you hold the reins of the mules and attempt to quieten them if shooting starts. I will guard the side facing the road. The horses hitched on the other side should stop them climbing aboard from that side. Let me repeat – do not fire unless I do.’
    ‘Where is 352?’ asked Alice.
    ‘He is hidden out in the field. If we have to shoot, firing coming from the flank should disconcert the Boxers.’
    Gerald’s face was white. ‘What if they have guns? We could be mown down.’
    ‘I doubt if they will have rifles or anything like that. If they do, shoot at the marksmen first. Here they come. Good luck everyone.’
    Fonthill finished unfurling the tarpaulin, so that the interior ofthe wagon was revealed. As he tied the last cord, he caught a glimpse of the Reverend Griffith stepping forward to meet the Boxers, his hand upheld in the universal gesture of peace. Simon bit his lip as he watched. He tried to count the Chinamen and gave up at fourteen. Perhaps there were twenty. Far too many, anyway. A Daniel – a very old but brave Daniel – was about to enter the lion’s den, with only his Bible to protect him.
    Fonthill adopted what he hoped was a commanding posture: one booted foot on the sideboard of the wagon, one arrogant hand on his hip and the other holding the Colt at his side, the sun glinting on its long barrel. He nodded sharply to Gerald.
    ‘Show your gun, young man. You too, Alice.’
    Small beads of perspiration were now showing on his wife’s upper lip, but she nodded and moved to the open rear of the wagon and began making a great show of loading her little automatic pistol. Gerald Griffith crept up behind her and held up his fowling piece as though about to shoot a passing bird. Mrs Griffith knelt a little unsteadily on an old leather case, her hands clasped together and her eyes tightly closed as she prayed. Chang, one of whose eyes