A Falcon Flies Part 4

Then suddenly she heard his footsteps, there was no mistaking them for any other man aboard. They reminded her somehow of a caged leopard pacing its bars, quick, light and alert. He was on the deck above her, but the footsteps were so close that it seemed he was in the cabin with her. She looked up at the deck, swinging her head slightly to follow his turns from one side of the quarterdeck to the other.

She knew what he was doing, she had watched him on a dozen other nights. First he would talk quietly with the helmsman, checking the slate on which the ship's course was chalked before going back to inspect the log trailing astern. Then he would light one of his thin black Havana cigars and begin pacing the deck, with his hands clasped in the small of his back as he walked, darting quick glances up at the trim of his sails, studying the stars and the clouds for signs of change in the weather, pausing to feel the scend of the sea and the run of the ship under him before pacing on again.

Suddenly the footsteps stopped and Robyn froze, the moment had come. He had paused to flip the stub of his cigar over the rail and watch it fizzle into darkness as it hit the surface of the sea.

There was still time for her to escape, and she felt her resolve weaken. She half rose. She could still reach her own cabin if she moved now, but her legs would not carry her across the cabin. Then she heard his footsteps cross the deck above her with a different tread. He was coming down. It was too late.

Almost choking on her own breath, she sank back on to the bunk and lifted both pistols. They wavered uncertainly and she realized that her hands were shaking.

With a tremendous effort she stilled them. The door slimmed open and Mungo St. John stooped into the cabin, and then stopped as he saw the dark figure and the twin barrels that menaced him. They are loaded and c.o.c.ked, she said huskily. "And I will not hesitate. "I see. " He straightened slowly, so the dark head just brushed the deck overhead. Close the door, she said, and he pushed it closed with his foot, his arms folded on his chest, and that mocking half-smile on his lips. It made her forget her carefully rehea.r.s.ed speech, and she stuttered slightly, and was immediately furious with herself. You are a slaver, she blurted, and he inclined his head, still smiling. "And I have to stop you. "How do you propose doing that? " he asked with polite interest. I am going to kill you. "That should do it, " he admitted, and now he smiled, a flash of white teeth in the gloom. "Unfortunately they would probably hang you for it, if my crew didn't tear you to pieces before that. "You a.s.saulted me, she said. She glanced at her torn drawers lying near his feet and then with the b.u.t.t of one pistol touched her torn bodice. A rape, by G.o.d! Now he chuckled aloud, and she felt herself blushing vividly at the word. It's no laughing matter, Captain St. John. You have sold thousands of human souls into the most vile bondage."

He took one slow pace towards her and she half rose, panic in her voice. Don't move! I warn you He took another pace and she thrust both pistols towards him, at the full stretch of her arms, I shall fire The smile never wavered on his lips and the yellow flecked eyes held hers steadily as he took another lazy pace closer. You have the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen, he said, and the pistols shook in her hands. Here"

"he said gently. "Give them to me He took the two gold-worked barrels in one hand and turned their muzzles upwards, pointing them at the deck above them. With the other hand he gently began to open her fingers, untangling them from trigger and b.u.t.t. This is not why you came here, he said, and her fingers went slack.

He took the pistols out of her hands and unc.o.c.ked them before laying them back in their velvetlined nests within the rosewood case.

His smile was no longer mockin& and his voice was soft, almost tender as he lifted her to her feet. I am glad you came.

" She tried to turn her face away, but he took her chin between his fingers and lifted it. As he brought his mouth down to hers, she saw his lips opening, and the warm wet touch was a physical shock.

His mouth tasted slightly salty, perfumed with cigar smoke. She tried to keep her lips closed, but the pressure of his own lips forced them gently open and then his tongue was invading her. His fingers were still on her face, stroking her cheek, smoothing her hair back from her temples, touching lightly her closed eyelids, and she lifted her face higher to his touch.

Even when he slowly unfastened the last hooks of her bodice and eased it down off her shoulders, her only response was to feel the strength go out of her thighs so she had to lean against his hard chest for support.

Then he lifted his mouth from hers, leaving it empty, cooling after the warmth and she opened her eyes. With a sense of disbelief, she saw that his head was bowing to her breast, and she was looking down on the thick dark curls that covered the back of his neck. She knew it must stop now, before he did what she could hardly believe he was about to do.

When she tried to protest, it was only a whimper in her throat. When she tried to seize his head and thrust it away from her, her fingers merely curled into the springing crisp curls the way a cat claws a velvet cushion, and instead of thrusting him away, she drew his head down and arched her back slightly so that her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rose to meet him.

Yet she was unprepared for the feel of his mouth. It seemed as though he were about to suck her very soul out through the swollen, aching tips. It was too strong, she tried not to cry out, remembering that the last time she had done so, it had broken the spell, but it was too strong.

it was a sobbing choked-up little cry, and now her legs gave way under her. Still holding his head she sagged backwards on to the low bunk, and he knelt beside the bunk without lifting his mouth from her body. She arched her back and raised her b.u.t.tocks off the bunk at his touch and allowed him to draw out her billowing skirts from under her and drop them to the deck.

Suddenly, he pulled abruptly away and she almost screamed to him not to go away again, but he had crossed to the door and locked it. Then, as he came back to where she lay, his own clothing seemed to fall away from his body like morning mist from mountain peak, and she came up on one elbow to stare at him openly.

She had never seen anything so beautiful, she thought. The devil is beautiful also. " A tiny inner voice tried to warn her, but it was far away and so small that she could ignore it. Besides it was too late, far too late to listen to warnings now, for already he was coming over her.

She expected pain, but not the deep splitting incursion that racked her. Her head was flung back and her eyes flooded with the tears of it. Yet even in the stinging agony of it there was never a thought to reject this stretching, tearing invasion and she clung to him with both her arms about his neck. It seemed that he suffered with her, for except for that single swift deep stroke, he had not moved, trying to alleviate her agony by his utter stillness, his body was rigid as hers, she could feel the muscles taut to the point of tearing, and he cradled her in his arms.

Then suddenly she could breathe again, and she took in air with a great rushing sob, and immediately the pain began to change its shape, becoming something she could not describe to herself. It started as a spark of heat, deep within her, and flared slowly so she was forced to meet it with a slow voluptuous movement of her hips.

She seemed to break free of earth and rise up through flames, that flickered redly through her clenched eyelids.

There was only one reality, and that was the hard body that rocked and plunged above her. The heat seemed to fill her until she could not bear it any longer. Then at the last moment when she thought she might die of it, it burst within her and she felt herself falling, like a tumbling leaf, down, down, at last, to the hard narrow bunk in a half-dark cabin in a tall ship on a wind-driven sea.

When next she could open her eyes his face was very close to hers. He was staring at her with a thoughtful, solemn expression.

She tried to smile, it was a shaky unconvincing effort. Please don't look at me like that. " Her voice was even deeper, more husky than it usually was. I don't think I ever saw you before, he whispered and traced the line of her lips with his fingertip. "You are so different. "Different from what? "Different from other women. " His reply gave her a pang.

He made the first movement of withdrawing from her, but she tightened her grip on him panic-stricken at the thought of losing him yet. We will only have this one night, she told him, and he did not reply. He lifted one eyebrow, and waited for her to speak again. You don't dispute it, she challenged. There was that mocking little smile beginning to curl his lip again, and it annoyed her. No, I was wrong, you are like all other women, he smiled. "You have to talk, always you have to talk."

She let him go, as punishment for those words. But as he slithered free of her she felt a terrible emptiness and she regretted his going fiercely, beginning to hate him for it.

You have no G.o.d, she accused him. Isn't it strange, he chided her gently, "that most of the worst crimes in history have been committed by men with G.o.d's name upon their lips."

The truth of it deflated her momentarily, and she struggled into a sitting position. You are a slaver. "I don't really want to argue with you, you know. " But she would not accept that. You buy and sell human beings. "What are you trying to prove to me? " He chuckled now, further angering her. I'm telling you that there is a void between us that can never be bridged. "We have just done so, convincingly, and she flushed bright scarlet down her neck on to her bosom. I have sworn to devote my life to destroy all you stand for, she said fiercely, pushing her face close to his.

Woman, you talk too much, be told her lazily, and covered her mouth with his own, holding her like that while she struggled, gagging her with his lips so her protests were m.u.f.fled and incomprehensible. Then when her struggles had subsided he pushed her easily backwards on to the bunk and came over her again.

In the morning when she woke, he was gone, but the bolster beside her was indented by his head. She pressed her face into it and the smell of his hair and of his skin still lingered, though the heat of his blood had dissipated and the linen was cool against her cheeks.

The ship was in the grip of intense excitement. She could hear the voices from the deck above as she scurried down the empty pa.s.sageway to her own cabin, dreading meeting a member of the crew, or more especially meeting her brother.

What excuse could she have for being abroad in the dawn, with her cabin unslept in and her clothing torn. and rumpled?

Her escape was a matter of seconds only, for as she locked and leaned thankfully against the door of her cabin, Zouga beat upon it with his fist from the far side. Robyn, wake up! Get dressed. Land is in sight. Come and see!

Swiftly she bathed her body with a square of flannel dipped into the enamelled jug of cold sea water. She was tender, swollen and sensitive and there was a trace of blood on the cloth. The trace of shame, she told herself severely, but it was difficult to sustain the emotion. Instead she felt a soaring sense of physical well-being and a hearty appet.i.te for her breakfast.

Her step was light, almost skipping as she went up on to the maindeck and the wind tugged playfully at her skirts.

Her first concern was for the man. He stood at the weather rail, in shirt-sleeves only, and immediately a storm of conflicting feelings and thoughts a.s.sailed her, the chief of which was that he was so lean and dark and devil-may-care that he should be kept behind bars as a menace to all womankind.

Then he lowered the telescope, turned and saw her by the companionway and bowed slightly, and she inclined her head an inch in reply, very cool and very dignified.

Then Zouga hurried to meet her, laughing and excited, and took her arm as he led her to the rail.

The mountain towered out of the steely green Atlantic, a great grey b.u.t.tress of solid rock, riven and rent by deep ravines and gullies choked with dark green growth.

She had not remembered it so huge, seeming to fill the whole eastern horizon and reaching up into the heavens, for its summit was covered in a thick shimmering white mattress of cloud. The cloud rolled endlessly over the edge of the mountain like a froth of boiling milk pouring over the rim of the pot, but as it sank so it was sucked into nothingness, disappearing miraculously to leave the lower slopes of the mountain clear and close, each detail of the rock-face finely etched and the tiny buildings at its foot as startling white as the wing feathers of the gulls that milled the air about the clipper. We'll dine tonight in Cape Town, "Zouga shouted over the wind, and the thought of food flooded Robyn's mouth with saliva.

Jackson, the steward, had the hands spread a tarpaulin to break the wind and they breakfasted under its lee, in the sunshine. It was a festive meal, for Mungo St. John called for champagne and they toasted the successful voyage and the good landfall in the bubbling yellow wine.

Then Mungo St. John ended it. "The wind comes through there, tunnelled down that break in the mountain. " He pointed ahead, and they saw the surface at the mouth of the bay seething with the rush of it. "Many a ship has been dismasted by that treacherous blast. We'll be shortening sail in a few minutes. " And he signalled to Jackon to clear away the trestles that carried the remains of their breakfast, excused himself with a bow and went back to his quarterdeck.

Robyn watched him strip the canvas off the upper yards, taking in two reefs in the main and setting a storm jib so that Huron met the freak wind readily and ran in for Table Bay, giving Robben Island a good berth to port.

When the ship had settled on to its new heading, Robyn went up on to the quarterdeck. I must speak with you, she told him, and St. John c.o.c.ked his eyebrow at her. You could not have chosen a better time-" and with the eloquent spread of his hands indicated wind and current and the dangerous sh.o.r.e close under their bows. This will be the last opportunity" she told him , quickly. "My brother and I will be leaving this ship immediately you drop anchor in Table Bay."

The mocking grin slid slowly from his lips. If you are determined, then it seems that we have nothing more to say to each other."

I want you to know why. 1I know why, he said, "but I doubt that you do She stared at him, but he turned away to call a change of heading to the helmsman and then to the figure at the foot of the mainmast. Mr. Tippoo, I'll have another reef on her, if you please He came back to her side, but not looking at her, his head tilted back to watch the miniature figures of his crew on the mainyards high above them. Have you ever seen sixteen thousand acres of cotton with the pods ready for plucking? " he asked quietly. Have you ever seen the bales going down river on the barges to the mills? " She did not answer, and he went on without waiting. I have seen both, Doctor Ballantyne, and no man dare tell me that the men who work my fields are treated like cattle. "You are a cotton-planter? "I am, and after this voyage I will have a sugar plantation on the island of Cuba, half my cargo to pay for the land and half of it to work the cane. "You are worse than I thought, she whispered. "I thought you were merely one of the devil's minions.

Now I know you are the devil himself. "You are going into the interior. " St. John looked down at her now. "When you get there, if you ever do, you will see true human misery. You will see cruelties that no American slave-owner would dream of. You will see the slaughter of human beings by war and disease and wild beast that will baulk your belief in heaven. Beside this savagery, the barrac.o.o.ns and the slave quarters are an earthly paradise. "Do you dare suggest that by catching and chaining these poor creatures you do them favour? " Robyn demanded, aghast at his effrontery. Have you ever visited a Louisiana plantation, Doctor? " Then answering his own question, "No, of course, you have not. I invite you to do so. Come down to Bannerfield as my guest one day and then compare the state of my slaves to the savage blacks you will see in Africa, or even to those d.a.m.ned souls that inhabit the slums and workhouses of your own lovely little green island."

She remembered those raddled and hopeless human creatures with whom she had worked in the mission hospital. She was speechless. Then suddenly his grin was wicked again. "Think of it only as forced enlightenment of the heathen. I lead them out of the darkness into the ways of G.o.d and civilization, just as you are determined to do, but my methods are more effective. "You are incorrigible, sir.

"No, ma'am. I am a sea-captain and a planter. I am also a trader in, and an owner of, slaves, and I will fight to the death to defend my right to be all of those things."

What right is that you speak of? she demanded. The right of the cat over the mouse, of the strong over the weak, Doctor Ballantyne The natural law of existence. "Then I can only repeat, Captain St. John, that I will leave this ship at the very first opportunityI am sorry that is your decision. " The hard fierce look in the yellow eyes softened a little. "I wish it were otherwise. "I shall devote my life to fighting you and men like you. )And what a waste that will be of a lovely woman."

He shook his head regretfully. "But then your resolve may give us reason to meet again, I must hope that is so. "One final word Captain St. John, I shall never forgive last nightAnd I, Doctor Ballantyne, will never forget it."

Zouga Ballantyne checked his horse at the side of the road, just before it crossed the narrow neck between the crags of Table Mountain and Signal Hill, one of its satellite promontories.

He swung down out of the saddle to rest his mount, for it had been a hard pull up the steep slope from the town, and he tossed the reins to the Hottentot groom who accompanied him on the second horse. Zouga was sweating lightly and there was a residual pulse of dullness behind his eyes from the wine he had drunk the night before, the magnificent rich sweet wine of Constantia, one of the most highly prized vintages in the world, but capable of delivering as thick a head as any of the cheap and common grogs they sold in the waterfront bars.

in the five days since they had disembarked, the friendliness of the Cape Colony citizens had almost overwhelmed them. They had slept only the first night at a public inn in Buitengracht Street, then Zouga had called upon one of the Cape Colony's more prominent merchants, a Mr. Cartwright. He had presented his letters of introduction from the directors of the Worshipful Company of London Merchants Trading into Africa, and Cartwright had immediately placed at their disposal the guest bungalow set in the gardens of his large and gracious home on the mountain slope above the old East India Company's gardens.

Every evening since then had been a gay whirl of dinners and dances.

Had Robyn and Zouga not insisted otherwise, the days would have been filled with equivalent frivolity, picnics, sailing and fishing expeditions, riding in the forest, long leisurely lunches on the lawns under spreading oak trees that reminded him so vividly of England.

However, Zouga had avoided these diversions and had managed to accomplish much of the work of the expedition. Firstly there had been the supervising of the unloading of equipment from Huron, in itself a major undertaking as the crates had to be swayed up from the hold and lowered into lighters alongside before making the perilous return through the surf to land on the beach at Ragger Bay.

Then he had to arrange temporary warehousing for the cargo. Here again Mr. Cartwright had been of a.s.sistance.

Still Zouga found himself fiercely resenting his sister's insistence that had made all this heavy work necessary. d.a.m.n me, Sissy, even Papa used to travel in the company of Arab slave-traders when he had to. If this fellow St. John is a trader, we would do well to learn all we can from him, his methods and sources of supply. No one could give us better information for our report to the society."

None of his arguments had prevailed, and only when Robyn had threatened to write home to the Society's directors in London, and to follow that up with a frank talk to the editor to the Cape Times, had Zouga acceded, with the worst grace possible, to her demands.

Now he looked down longingly at Huron, lying well out from the beach, snubbing around on her anchor cable to point into the rumbustious south-easterly wind. Even under bare poles she seemed on the point of flight.

Zouga guessed that St. John would be sailing within days, leaving them to await the next ship that might be bound for the Arab and Portuguese coasts.

Zouga had already presented his letter of introduction from the Foreign Secretary to the Admiral of the Cape Squadron of the Royal Navy, and been promised all consideration.

Nevertheless, he spent many hours of each morning visiting the shipping agents and owners in the port in hope of an earlier pa.s.sage. d.a.m.n the silly wench, he muttered aloud, thinking bitterly of his sister and her foibles. "She could cost us weeks, even months."

Time was, of course, of the very essence. They had to be clear of the fever-ridden coast before the monsoon struck and risk of malaria became suicidal.

At that moment there was the crack of cannon shot from the slopes of the hill above him, and as he glanced up he saw the feather of gunsmoke drifting away from the lookout station on Signal Hill.

The gunshot was to alert the townsfolk that a ship was entering Table Bay, and Zouga shaded his eyes with his cap as the vessel came into view beyond the point of land. He was not a seaman but he recognized instantly the ugly silhouette and single smoke stack of the Royal Naval gunboat that had pursued Huron so doggedly. Was it really two weeks ago, he wondered, the days had pa.s.sed so swiftly. Black joke, the gunboat, had her boilers fired and a thin banner of dark smoke drifted away downwind as she rounded up into the bay, her yards training around as she pointed through the wind and she pa.s.sed within half a mile of where Huron was already at anchor. The proximity of the two ships raised interesting possibilities of the feud between the two captains being revived, Zouga realized, but his immediate feeling was of intense disappointment. He had hoped that the vessel might have been a trader that could have offered the expedition further pa.s.sage up the east coast - and he turned away abruptly, took the reins from the groom and swung up easily into the saddle. Which way? " he asked the servant, and the little yellow-skinned lad in Cartwright's plum-coloured livery indicated the left branch of the road that forked over the neck and dropped down across the dragon's-back of the Cape peninsula to the ocean sh.o.r.e on the far side.

It was another two hours" ride, the last twenty minutes along a rutted cart track, before they reached the sprawling thatched building hidden away in one of the ravines of the mountain slope behind a grove of milkwood trees.

The slopes behind the building were thick with protea bushes in full flower and the long-tailed sugar-birds haggled noisily over the blazing blooms. To one side a waterfall smoked with spray as it fell from the sheer rock face and then formed a deep green pool on which a flotilla of ducks cruised.

The building had a dilapidated air to it, the walls needed white-washing and the thatch hung in untidy clumps from the eaves. Under the milkwood trees were scattered items of ancient equipment, a wagon with one wheel missing and the woodwork almost entirely eaten away by worm, a rusty hand forge in which a red hen was sitting upon a clutch of eggs, and mouldering saddlery and ropes hung from the branches of the trees.

As Zouga swung down from the saddle, a pack of half a dozen dogs came storming out of the front porch, snarling and barking around Zouga's legs so that he lashed out at them with his riding whip and with his boots, changing the snarls to startled yelps and howls. Who the h.e.l.l are you and what do you want? " A voice carried through the uproar, and Zouga took one more cut at a great s.h.a.ggy Boerhound with a ridge of coa.r.s.e hair fully erect between his shoulders, catching him fairly on the snout and forcing him to circle out of range, with fangs still bared and murderous growls rumbling up his throat.

Then he looked up at the man on the stoep of the building. He carried a double-barrelled shotgun in the crook of his arm, and both hammers were at full c.o.c.k.

He was so tall that he had to stoop beneath the angle of the roof, but he was thin as a blue-gum tree, as though the flesh and fat had been burned off his bones by ten thousand tropical suns.

Do I have the honour of addressing Mr. Thomas Harkness? " Zouga called over the clamour of the dog pack. I ask the questions here, the lean giant bellowed back. His beard was as white as the thunderhead clouds of a summer's day on the highveld and it hung to his belt buckle. Hair of the same silver covered his head and flowed down to the collar of his leather jerkin.

His face and his arms were burned to the colour of plug tobacco, and were speckled by the raised blemishes like little moles and freckles, where years of the fierce African sun had destroyed the upper layers of his skin.

The pupils of his eyes were black and bright as drops of fresh tar, but the whites were smoky yellow, the colour of. the malarial fevers and the pestilences of Africa. What is your name, boy? " His voice was strong and deep. Without the beard he might have been fifty years of age, but Zouga knew with certainty that he was seventy-three. He carried his one shoulder higher than the other and the arm on that side hung at an awkward angle to the joint. Zouga knew that a lion had chewed through the shoulder and through the bone of the upper arm, before Harkness had been able to reach his hunting knife on his belt with the other hand and stab it between the forelegs, up into the heart. That had been forty years before and the injury had become the Harkness hallmark. Ballantyne, sir. " Zouga shouted to make himself heard above the dogs. "Morris Zouga Ballantyne."

The old man whistled once, a fluting double note that stilled the dogs and brought them back around his legs.

He had not lowered the shotgun and a frown puckered his sharp features. Fuller Ballantyne's pup, is it? "That's right, sir. "By G.o.d, any son of Fuller Ballantyne's is good enough for a charge of my buckshot in the rump. Don't c.o.c.k your b.u.t.t when you get back on that horse, boy, for I'm a man who tempts very easily. "I've ridden a long way to see you, Mr. Harkness."

Zouga smiled that frank and wining smile of his, standing his ground.

I'm one of your greatest admirers. I've read everything that has ever been written about you and everything you have written yourself. "I doubt that, " Harkness growled, "they burned most of mine. Too strong for their lily livers. " But the hostile glint in his eyes turned to a twinkle and he c.o.c.ked his head as he studied the young man before him. I have no doubt that you're as ignorant and arrogant as your Daddy, but you've got a fairer turn of speech."

And he stared again at the toes of Zouga's boots, and let his gaze move up slowly. Priest, he asked, "like your Daddy? "No, sir, soldier. "Regiment? " 13th Madras Foot. "Rank? Major."

Harkness" expression eased with each reply until his gaze once more locked with Zouga's. Teetotal? Like your Daddy?

"Perish the thought! Zouga a.s.sured him vehemently and Harkness smiled for the first time as he let the muzzles of the shotgun droop until they pointed at the ground. He tugged at the long spikes of his beard for a moment, then reached a decision. Come. " He jerked his head and led the way into the house. There was one huge central room, the high ceiling of dried reed stern s kept it cool and the narrow windows kept it gloomy. The floor was of peach-pip sh.e.l.ls set into a plaster of mud and cow-dung and the walls were threefoot thick.

Zouga paused in the threshold and blinked with surprise at the collection of strange articles that covered the walls, were piled on every table and chair, and packed to the rafters in the dark corners.

There were books, thousands of books, cloth and leatherbound books, pamphlets and journals, atlases and encyclopaedias. There were weapons, a.s.segai of'Zulu, shield of Matabele, bow of Bushman with its quiver of poisoned arrows and, of course, guns, dozens of them in racks or merely propped against the walls. There were hunting trophies, the beautiful zigzag-striped hide of zebra, the dark bush of the lion's mane, the elegant curved horn of harris-buck, teeth of hippopotamus and wartho& and then the Ion& yellow arcs of ivory thicker than a woman's thigh and taller than a man's head.

There were rocks, piles of rocks that glittered and sparkled, crystal rocks of purple and green, metallic nodules, native copper redder than gold, hairy strands of raw asbestos, all of it covered with a fine layer of dust and piled untidily wherever it had fallen.

The room smelled of skins and dogs and damp, of stale brandy and fresh turpentine, and there were stacks of new canvases already stretched in their wooden frames, while other canvases stood on their easels with the subjects sketched in charcoal outline, or partly blocked in with bright oil paint. On the walls were hung some finished pictures.

Zouga crossed to examine one of them while the old man blew into a pair of gla.s.s tumblers and polished them on his shirt-tail. What do you think of my lions? " he asked, as Zouga studied a huge canvas ent.i.tled "Lion Hunt on the Gariep River. Feb. 1846'.

Zouga made an appreciative sound in the back of his throat. Zouga was himself a dauber and scribbler, but he considered that the meticulous reproduction of the subject was the painter's duty, while these paintings had a guileless, almost childlike joy in every primitive line.

The colours also were gay and made no pretence to imitate nature, while the perspectives were wildly improbable. The mounted figure with the flowing beard in the background dominated the pride of lions in the foreground. Yet Zouga knew that these strange creations had remarkable value. Cartwright had paid ten guineas for a fanciful landscape. Zouga could only believe it was a fad amongst the colony's fashionable set.

"They say my lions look like English sheepdogs. "Harkness glowered at them; "What do you think, Ballantyne? "Perhaps, Zouga started, then saw the old man's expression change. "But tremendously ferocious sheep dogs! " he added swiftly, and Harkness laughed out loud for the first time. By G.o.d, you'll do! He shook his head as he half-filled the tumblers with the dark brown local brandy, the fearsome "Cape Smoke', and brought one gla.s.s to Zouga. I like a man who speaks his mind. Rot all hypocrites."

He raised his own gla.s.s in a toast. "Especially hypocritical preachers who don't give a d.a.m.n for G.o.d, for truth or for their fellow men."

Zouga fancied that he recognized the description, but raised his gla.s.s. "Rot them! he agreed, and managed to suppress a gasp as the liquor exploded in his throat and sizzled behind his eyes. Good, he said hoa.r.s.ely, and Harkness wiped his silver mustache, left and right, with his thumb before he demanded, Why have you come? "I want to find my father, and I think you may be able to tell me where to search. "Find him? " fulminated the old man. "We should all be extremely grateful he is lost, and pray each day that he remains that way. "I understand how you feel, sir, Zouga nodded. "I read the book that was published after the Zambezi expedition."

Harkness had accompanied Fuller Ballantyne on that ill-fated venture, acting as second-in-command, expedition manager and recording artist. He had been caught up in the squabbling and blame-fixing that had marred the enterprise from the beginning. Fuller Ballantyne had dismissed him, accusing him of theft of the expedition stores, trading on his own account, artistic incompetence, neglecting his duties to hunt for ivory, go and total ignorance of the countryside and its trails, of the tribes and their customs and had included these accusations in his account of the expedition, implying that the blame for the expedition's failure could be laid on Thomas Harkness" uneven shoulders.

Now even mention of that book brought the colour to the sun-raddled face and made the white whiskers twitch. I crossed the Limpopo for the first time in the year that Fuller Ballantyne was born. I drew the map that he used to reach Lake Ngami. " Harkness stopped and made a dismissive gesture. "I might as well try and reason with the baboons barking from the tops of the kopjes Then he peered more closely at Zouga. What do you know about Fuller? Since he sent you home to the old country, how often have you seen him?

How much time have you spent in his company? "He came home once. "How much time did he spend with you and your mother? "Some months, but he was always in Uncle William's study writing, or he was up at London, . Oxford or Birmingham to lecture. "But you, nevertheless, conceived a burning filial love and duty for the sainted and celebrated father?

Zouga shook his head. "I hated him, he said quietly. I could hardly bear the days until he went away again Harkness tilted his head on one side, surprised, speechless for a moment, and Zouga drank the last few drops of liquor in the gla.s.s. I never told anybody that before. " He seemed puzzled himself. "I hardly even admitted it to myself. I hated him for what he did to us, to me and my sister, but especially to my mother."

Harkness took the empty tumbler from his fingers, refilled it and handed it back. He spoke quietly. I also will tell you something that I have never told another man. I met your mother at Kurutnan, my G.o.d, so long ago. She was sixteen or seventeen and I was nearly forty. She was so pretty, so shy and yet so filled with a special quality of joy. I asked her to marry me.

The only woman I ever asked. " Harkness stopped himself, turned away to his painting, and peered at it. d.a.m.ned sheep dogs! " he snapped, and then without turning back to face Zouga, "So why do you want to find your father? Why have you come out to Africa? "Two reasons, Zouga told him. "Both good. To make my own reputation and my own fortune."