i was a scout for general hicks. harry arabi -- abu fatma suddenly launches into a flurry of fluent arabic. harry stares at him in silence, unable to respond.
there are many in this camp who would serve the mahdi. when they find out there is a british spy amongst them, watching them, they will kill him. it won't be long, bedu. he turns to leave. harry hesitates, then: harry shoukran.
shoukhran. their eyes stay on each other a moment. harry why do you warn me?
for money. harry i can't pay you.
i can't help you. harry smiles. he gazes at the mercenaries's powerful features, and the long white feather in his hair. harry what's the feather for?
the first time i killed a man. five men. ten men. this i will wear soon. i'm a good soldier. i will protect you. harry stares at him a moment, then takes out a small box from his pocket. he shows abou fatma the four white feathers inside. abou fatma looks at them, unaware of the irony in harry's gesture, thinking he's saying he doesn't need help.
underneath the flesh is white, and weak. even if the mahdi's men don't find you out, the whips will. harry i'll pay you one shilling a day.
no. abou fatma gets up, and walks away. harry can't help smiling as he stares after him. ext. coolie camp.  cataracts of the nile.  sudan - day. screams of agony fill the air. the egyptian orderly lies in a pool of blood, his belly sliced open, holding his guts in his hands. harry stands amongst the gathered crowd, watching horrified, as a british officer kneels beside the dying man.
two shillings. harry nods. the egyptian overseer finally reaches them.
with you? the egyptian overseer hesitates, remembering what happened to his friend:
mountain goats. harry doesn't look convinced. he stares at the nuer tribesman, walking ahead of them, glancing up from his heavy load every time he hears the distinctive cry. ext. open desert.  sudan - day. the wind blows gusts of sand into the camels' eyes. durrance stares through the shimmering heatwaves.
why would a british spy be hiding from his own people? harry looks up at the nubian, realising he can't keep up the pretence any longer. harry because i'm not a spy.
you're a deserter? harry something like that. i was sent to fight, and i ran away. abou fatma considers this for a moment.
all soldiers run away. only the good ones return. harry smiles. harry shoukran.
shoukhran. harry looks away. down below the nuer's camp fire goes out. ext. open desert - night. the moonlight colors the dunes in blues and greens. harry and abou fatma follow the nuers' tracks through the virgin sands. ext. crest of a hill.  open desert - day. the sunrise casts a blood red light over the horizon. the four nuer scouts appear on the crest of a hill. we see them clearly now, their long black hair streaked yellow, their faces painted ghostly white. they survey the land beneath them and gallop off. ext. the same hill.  desert - day. abou fatma and harry walk their camels quietly up the hill, following the nuers' hoofprints. as they reach the top of the dune a vast plateau opens up beneath them. they see the nuer scouts, riding along a winding trade route. at the end of the desert road stands a huge fortress.
that is abou clea. a british fort. harry stares after the nuer scouts, wondering why they're heading back into a british stronghold. the four riders merge into one of the caravans that dot the landscape. ext. caravan.  trade route to abou clea - day. a long line of dinka refugees walk alongside one of caravans, begging for food. harry and abou fatma ride near the back, their faces hidden by their djellabas. ext. fortress of abou clea - night. a village of tents has spread around the fortress walls. more starving refugees clamour at the gates. harry gazes up at the garrison walls. british sentries can be glimpsed high up. the fortress gates creak open to let the caravan through. harry lowers his eyes as he rides past the guards. ext. courtyard.  fortress of abou clea - night. as he looks up again, harry suddenly feels a rush of panic. the fortress courtyard is filled with dervish warriors. there are no british faces anywhere. harry glimpses a familiar red uniform, but as he stares more closely, his relief turns to horror. the british uniform is stained with blood. wearing it is a fierce looking dervish warrior with long braided hair. harry looks back at the ramparts. all the soldiers he thought were british sentries are in fact dervish warriors, wearing the bloody uniforms of their victims. as he turns around, harry sees the worst sight of all. hanging from scaffolds, are the chalk white bodies of the real british soldiers. harry is shaken out of his horror by a sharp hissing sound. abou fatma glares at him to keep calm. dervish warriors grab hold of their camels, and lead them with the rest of the caravan towards the stables. int. stables.  fortress of abou clea - night. harry and abou fatma tether their camels. behind them the dervish warriors unload the caravan's shipment of rifles.
follow me out. harry nods, still in shock. abou fatma turns around and heads out of the stables, unchallenged. ext. courtyard.  fortress of abou clea - night. harry follows abou fatma through the crowded courtyard. his eyes are drawn to the torchlit faces all around him. the mahdi's army is made up of dozens of different tribes: some in glowing war paint, others marked with ritual scars, wearing the dried viscera of their victims around their necks. the dervishes' eyes seem to follow harry wherever he goes, staring out at him through their slit djellabas. suddenly harry feels a pair of hands grab him. he wheels around to see a huge dervish captain towering over him.
our caravan is waiting outside.
alms for the poor. harry turns around. his eyes are distant. he looks back at the spot he was staring at before. at first abou fatma thinks he's in shock, but then he sees what harry's looking at. across the courtyard stands a large tent, surrounded by flags. waiting outside, are the four nuer scouts.
we have to leave. harry wait for me at the gates. imshi. the other dervishes look at abou fatma threateningly. abou fatma gets up and walks away reluctantly. across the courtyard, the nuer spies have been ushered into the tent. int. war council tent.  fortress of abou clea - night. the mahdi, a tall, gaunt, warrior in desert robes, listens to the nuer scouts in silence. as they notify him of the british advance, he starts to draw a battle plan on the tent's sandy floor. his lieutenants move closer to see what he's planning. int. war council tent.  fortress of abou clea - night. outside the tent more dervish warriors have gathered to catch a glimpse of their revered leader. harry is amongst them. he stares at the white clad figures within. suddenly he feels a pair of eyes on him. he turns to see the dervish captain who stopped him earlier, watching him intently. harry moves off. the dervish captain stares after him suspiciously. ext. gates.  fortress of abou clea - night. abou fatma waits anxiously outside the fortress gates. the hordes of starving beggars are pushed back as a troop of dervish warriors ride out, carrying the naked bodies of the british dead. abou fatma stares after them, wondering what's going on. ext. harry.  courtyard.  fortress of abou clea - night. harry looks behind him. through the milling crowd he sees the dervish captain, still following him. his heart pounding, harry heads towards the stables, trying to give him the slip. ext. harry.  stables.  fortress of abou clea - night. camels kick and snort in the stable. harry crouches down. through the animals' legs he sees the dervish captain enter. suddenly the dervish captain shouts at the top of his voice. the camels scatter, leaving harry exposed. the dervish captain stares at him menacingly. harry bows, and starts to walk towards him, in supplication. his hand slips behind his back, groping for the knife that's hidden there. the dervish captain barks at him to stay where he is. as he steps backwards, harry suddenly charges, and drives the dagger deep into his gut. the dervish captain screams, but all that comes out is a terrible hissing sound. harry clamps his hand over the captain's mouth and bends his head backwards. as they tumble to the ground, harry twists the knife in deeper. the dervish bites down in agony, drawing a stream of blood from harry's knuckles. harry rams his fist deeper into the man's throat, choking him slowly. meanwhile his knife hand tears its way out of the dervish's gut, and plunges back into his thigh. the captain's eyes water in pain and fear. harry stares at him, crushing his spirit with his own unflinching gaze. as he feels the man's grip weaken, he pulls away sharply, and swings the knife down with all his force. the blade sticks in the dervish captain's chest, sending his eyes spinning out of focus, forcing a rush of blood out of his mouth. harry watches in horror, as the man's eyes roll around, desperately trying to find their focus, then stop still. he feels his enemy's dying breath on his face, and hears a horrible sucking sound, as he withdraws the knife. harry's arm is elbow deep in gore. he turns away and tries to retch, but nothing comes out. he stays like that for a moment, bent over the bloody sand, contemplating what he's just done. finally he gathers himself, grabs the dead man by the ankles, and drags him further into the stable. ext. courtyard.  fortress of abou clea - night. harry brushes past the crowds of dervish warriors, his eyes fixed on the fortress gates ahead. he's only a few yards away, when a dervish sentry calls out:
let him give us alms. it will bring you both fortune in battle. abou fatma sticks his hands through the fortress gates, along with the hundreds of other beggars outside. harry begins to understand. he pulls out some coins from his robes, and approaches the beggars. harry go to the british camp. tell them they're going to be ambushed. tell them they have to change their route. it's a trap.  abou fatma stares into harry's eyes, seeing the change that's come over them. ext. british column.  desert valley - day. durrance rides at the front of the column. he suddenly stops, and stares ahead in horror. all across the desert floor he sees the marble white bodies of dead british soldiers. wild dogs chew at their remains. the whole of the column seems frozen for a moment. then trench suddenly breaks rank, and charges the animals, screaming at the top of his voice, dispersing them with his whip. ext. tents.  the slope of a hill.  desert valley - day. the column has set up camp until their dead comrades are buried. the officers dig the graves themselves, watched by the coolies now. a corporal approaches willoughby and salutes.
you must leave this area. the egyptian silences him with a slap to the head.
-- i went to abu klea. the mahdi's forces have captured your garrison. they will attack you in this place. trench and durrance have arrived to see what's happening. trench stares at abou fatma menacingly, still seething over the treatment of the british dead. willoughby this is their idea of misinformation. who told you this?
a british officer. willoughby a general no doubt. what else did he tell you?
that you wouldn't believe me. willoughby smiles at the nubian's gall, but trench explodes at his insolence. trench i'll show you a british officer.  this is a british officer!.  this is a british officer's blood. lick it up! every bloody drop!.  the nubian spins around, ready to strike. trench draws his knife, daring him to make a move.
the muslims bury their dead. even the enemy dead. these bodies have been left here for a reason. to keep you here. to hold you up. willoughby take him away. find out why he was sent here. do whatever you have to do. the soldiers disperse. only durrance stays where he is, thinking about the nubian's warning. ext. courtyard.  fortress of abou clea - day. a chant of 'allah akbar' rises over the fortress walls. hundreds of warriors kneel and pray in unison. harry does the same. ext. tent.  british camp.  desert valley - day. abou fatma is on his knees, manacled to a tent pole.
i fought the mahdi.  the egyptian lashes him with a bull-whip.
a british officer. the egyptian starts whipping abou fatma again, ready to kill him. durrance finally intervenes.
the mahdi is allied with slave traders.  my family were taken prisoners and sold as slaves. durrance considers abou fatma's answer. there's something about it that has a ring of truth. durrance glances at the british soldiers, digging graves in the open desert, and then stares up at the surrounding hills. ext. gates.  fortress of abou clea - night. through the clouds of dust we see the first of the mahdi's army riding out -- ghostly dinka warriors, naked from head to foot, caked in white ash. behind then come the nuers, long streaked hair trailing in the wind, faces painted the colors of a nightmare. the hadendoa spearmen follow, blood-stained feathers in their hair, banging on their calf skin drums. last of all come the dervish riders in their bloodstained british uniforms. harry rides at the heart of the demonic troop, his eyes filled with dread. ext. british camp.  desert valley - day. durrance surveys the surrounding hills. castelton watches him curiously.
you're surprised by the women? harry doesn't need to answer, his face says it all.
they're always the most cruel. amongst the southern tribes it's the custom for them to go into battle first, calling the men cowards until they're ready to fight. it is the same in your country, no? harry looks up to find abou fatma grinning at him.
the woman you spoke of. go back to her. tell her you're ready. harry what did you find out about the british prisoners?
there are very few of them left. he offers harry his food again. this time harry takes the bowl and swallows the rancid meat as if it's nothing. harry where are they being held?
your army abandoned them. the shame is no longer yours. harry have i paid you for nothing, abou fatma? the nubian looks up, stung by the talk of money, when he was only expressing concern.
twelve british soldiers were taken by boat from here to omdurman last month. harry shoukhran.
you're a foolish man. even for a british officer. harry 'god protects the fool'. how would i get into the prison at omdurman?
urinate in a holy well. harry that carries a penalty of death. all i want is to be imprisoned there. abou fatma stops eating, realising harry is serious.
you will die before your time. harry 'if it is the will of god.'
this man turned his back on you. why should you give your life for his? harry because he'd do the same for me. no matter what had passed between us. i hope i'd do the same for you too.
i have no need of such friends. the nubian returns to his food, betraying no sentiment. harry reaches into his pocket and holds out five shilling coins.
you owe me two shillings a day. this is too much. harry can't help smiling. harry you still haven't answered my question?
you answered it yourself. god protects the fool. ext. night market.  outside the city of omdurman - night. harry stumbles around the marketplace, strumming on a broken zither, pestering people for money, pretending to be mad. the passing crowds laugh at him and push him away. abou fatma watches from across the street. harry staggers through the torchlit stalls. he sees a group of dervish warriors, gathered around a fire. their leader, a sickly looking emir, smokes a hashish pipe as he listens to his men recounting their feats of war. next to him, lies a beautiful, jewel encrusted scabbard. harry thinks a moment, then approaches the group, strumming his zither, grinning at the men. seeing the crazed musician, the dervish warriors cover their ears. some of them toss chunks of meat at him. harry picks up the dusty morsels, chewing them with relish, grinning like a happy puppy. abou fatma watches as harry humiliates himself, playing his broken zither for the emir. the emir gazes back at him through bored, bloodshot eyes. as the warriors laugh, harry suddenly bends down and snatches the emir's scabbard. he runs off with it at speed, waving it around his head like a sword, yelling at the top of his voice. the dervish warriors give chase, still laughing as they run after the lunatic. harry stumbles over a tent pole deliberately. the dervish warriors swarm around him, caning him with their sticks. harry protects his face with his hands, pleading: harry god loves the fool. god loves the fool.  ext. well.  outside the city of omdurman - night. the whole marketplace has gathered to watch the madman punished. the warriors hoist harry up onto a well, and shout at him to walk around the rim. holding out his hands, harry starts to step around the ledge. as he glances down he sees the drop is at least thirty feet deep. two of the warriors jump onto the ledge behind him, blowing bugles in his ear.