Power Of The Sword Part 17

In the truck. Centaine ran to the truck. Kwi and Fat Kwi were crouched in the back, clearly both of them terrified by the experience.

They looked like little wild animals in a cage, their dark eyes huge and swimming.

Nam Child! shrieked Kwi, and both of them rushed to her for comfort, twittering and clicking with relief and joy.

She hugged them like frightened children, murmuring a.s.surance and endearments.

I will be with you now. There is nothing to fear. These are good men and I will not leave you. Think what stories you will be able to tell the clan when you return. You will be famous amongst all the San, your names will be spoken through all the Kalahari. And they giggled merrily at the notion, childlike, their fears all forgotten.

I will be even more famous than Fat Kwi, Kwi boasted, for I am older and fleeter and cleverer than he is, and Fat Kwi bridled.

You will both be famous. Hastily Centaine averted the brewing dispute. For we are going to track evil men who have done me great harm. You will follow them and lead me to them, and afterwards I will give you such gifts as you have seen only in your dreams and all men will say that there were never before two hunters and trackers such as Kwi and his brother Fat Kwi. But now we must hurry before the evil ones escape us. She ran back to Twentyrnan-Jones and the little San stayed close at her heels like faithful dogs.

De La Rey left the industrials. I've buried them in the river-bed. She stopped with surprise when she recognized the two other men with Twenty-man-jones. The driver was Gerhard Fourie and his companion was Maclear, one of the other members of the strike committee. Both of them looked sheepish as Maclear spoke for them.

Right pleased we all are to see you safe and well, Mrs Courtney. Wasn't a man at the mine who wasn't worried sick about you. Thank you, Mr Maclean Anything we can do, we'll do. We are in this together, Mrs Courtney. That's right, Mr Maclear. No diamonds, no wages. Will you please help me recover the industrials that the thieves left and then we will head for Kalkrand. Have you got enough fuel to get us there, Mr Fourie? I'll have you there by morning, Mrs Courtney, the driver promised. Kalkrand was the end of the line. The track went no further.

The road that Fourie took to bring them to Kalkrand was a wide circle, avoiding the bad land of central Bushmanland.

it headed north and west and then back to the east, so they would be 150 miles north of the point where Lothar had intercepted Centaine but 70 miles farther west when they reached Kalkrand. Their net gain on Lothar would be barely 80 miles, even less if he had taken a more easterly route towards the Okavango river. Of course it was also possible that Centaine's guess was wrong and that he had escaped in some other direction. She wouldn't let herself even think about that possibility.

There has been other traffic on this road within the last few hours, she told Twenty-man-Jones as she peered ahead through the windscreen. It looks like two other trucks. Do you think it could be the police detachment that Colonel Malcomess is sending? If it is, then the man is a marvel to have got them away so quickly. Of course they would have followed the main road north to Okahandja before turning off in this direction. Centaine wanted so badly for it to be so, but Twenty-man-Jones shook his head dubiously.

More likely a supply convoy for the mission station. My bet is that we will have to hang around the mission station waiting for the police and the horses to arrive., The galvanized roofs of the mission station appeared out of the morning haze ahead of them. It was a desolate spot below a low ridge of red shale probably chosen for the subterranean water supply. A pair of gaunt windmills stood like crowned sentinels over the boreholes that supplied the station.

German Dominican fathers, TWentyman-Jones told Centaine as they b.u.mped over the last mile. They serve the nomadic Ovahimba tribes of this area., Look! Centaine interrupted him eagerly. There are the trucks parked next to the church, and horses watering at the windmill. And there, look! A uniformed trooper. it's them! They are waiting for us. Colonel Malcomess was as good as his promise. Fourie pulled up alongside the two sand-coloured police trucks and Centaine jumped down and shouted at the police trooper as he ran to meet them from the watering troughs below the windmill.

h.e.l.lo, Constable, who is in charge here and then she broke off and stared as a tall figure appeared on the verandah of the stone-walled building beside the little church.

He wore khaki gabardine riding breeches and polished brown boots, and he was shrugging on a field officer's tunic over his shirt and suspenders, as he ran lightly down the steps and came towards her.

Colonel Malcomess. I never expected you to be here in person. 'You asked for full cooperation, Mrs Courtney. He offered his hand and static electricity flashed a blue spark between their finger-tips. Centaine laughed and jerked her hand away.

Then, when he still held his hand towards her, she took it again. His grip was firm and dry and rea.s.suring.

You aren't going into the desert with us, are you? You have your duties as administrator. If I don't go, then you don't either. He smiled. I have received strict instructions from both the prime minister, General Hertzog, and from the leader of the opposition, General s.m.u.ts, that I am not to let you out of my personal charge. Apparently, madam, you have a reputation for headstrong action. The two old gentlemen are very perturbed. I have to go, she broke in. 'n.o.body else can handle the Bushman trackers. Without them the robbers will get clean away. He inclined his head in agreement. I am sure the intention of the two worthy generals is that neither of us go, but I chose to interpret their orders rather as instruction that both of us should. And suddenly he grinned like a naughty schoolboy about to play truant. You are stuck with me, I'm afraid. She thought of being with him out in the desert, far from his wife. For a moment she forgot Lothar De La Rey and the diamonds, and suddenly she realized that they were still holding hands and that everybody was watching them. She dropped his hand and asked briskly: When can we leave? in reply he turned and bellowed, Up-saddle! Up-saddle! We ride immediately! While the troopers ran to the horses, he turned back to her, businesslike and competent.

And now, Mrs Courtney, will you be good enough to let me know your intentions, and where the h.e.l.l we are going? She laughed. Do you have a map? This way. He led her into the mission office and quickly introduced her to the two German Dominican fathers who ran the station. Then he leant over his large-scale map spread on the desk.

Show me what you have in mind, he invited, and she stood beside him, not quite touching him.

The robbery took place here. She touched the spot with her fore-finger. I followed the tracks in this direction. He is heading for Portuguese territory. I am absolutely sure of that.

But he has to go three hundred miles to reach it. So what you have done is circled out ahead of him, he nodded, and now you want to ride eastwards into the desert and cut him off. But it's a big piece of country. Needle in a haystack, don't you think? Water, she said. 'He has left his spare horses at water.

I'm sure of that. The horses stolen from the army? Yes, I understand, but there is no water out there. There is, she told him. 'It's not marked on the map but he knows where it is. My bushmen know where it is. We will intercept him at one of the water-holes, or we will cut his spoor there if he has beaten us to it. He straightened up and rolled the map. Do you think that possible? That he has got ahead of us? Centaine asked. You have to remember he is a hard man, and this desert is his home paddock. Never underestimate him, Colonel.

That would be a serious mistake. I have examined the man's record. He stuffed his map into the leather case and then placed on his head a khaki solar helmet of thick cork with a sweeping rim that protected his neck. It covered his ears and increased his already impressive height.

He is a dangerous man. He once had a price of ten thousand pounds on his head. I don't expect this to be easy. A police sergeant appeared in the doorway behind him.

All ready, Colonel. Do you have Mrs Courtney's mount saddled? 'Yes, sir! The sergeant was lean and brown and muscular, with thick drooping moustaches, and Centaine approved the choice. Blaine Malcomess saw her scrutiny.

This is Sergeant Hansmeyer. He and I are old companions from s.m.u.ts campaign. How do you do, Mrs Courtney. Heard all about you, ma'am, the sergeant saluted her.

Glad to have you with us, Sergeant. Quickly they shook hands with the Dominican fathers and went out into the sunlight. Centaine went to the big strong bay gelding Blaine had allocated to her and adjusted her stirrup leathers.

Mount up! Blaine Malcomess ordered, and while the sergeant and his four troopers swung up into the saddle, Centaine turned quickly to Twenty-man-jones.

I wish I was coming with you, Mrs Courtney, he said.

TWenty years ago nothing would have stopped me. She smiled. 'Hold thumbs for us. if we don't get those diamonds back you'll probably be working for De Beers again and I'll be doing needlework in the poorhouse. Rot the swine who did this to you, he said. Bring him back in chains. Centaine went up onto the gelding's back and he felt good and steady under her. She kneed him up beside Blaine's horse.

You can slip your hunting dogs, Mrs Courtney. He smiled at her.

Take us to the water, Kwi, she called, and the two little Bushmen, their bows and quivers of poisoned arrows on their naked backs, turned to face the east. Their small heads covered with peppercorns of dark wool bobbing their tight round b.u.t.tocks bulging out from their brief loincloths and neat childlike feet flying, they went away. They were born to run, and the horses extended into a trot to hold them in sight.

Centaine and Blaine rode side by side at the head of the column. The sergeant and his four troopers followed in single file, each of them trailing two spare horses on lead reins. The spare horses carried water, twenty gallons in big felt-covered round bottles, three days supply if they used it with care, for men and animals were desert-hardened.

Centaine and Blaine rode in silence, though every once in a while she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

impressive on his feet, Blaine was imperial in the saddle.

Mounted he had become a centaur, part of the horse beneath him, and she saw now how he had earned his international reputation as a polo player.

Watching him she found herself correcting little flaws in her own carriage and seat on the horse, bad habits which she had drifted into over the years, until she looked as good as he did in the saddle. She felt she could ride for ever across this desert she loved with this man at her side.

They crossed the ridge of weathered shale and Blaine spoke for the first time. You were right. We would never have got the trucks across there. It had to be on horseback. We haven't hit the calcrete yet, and then there is the sand. We'd be forever digging out the wheels, she agreed.

The miles drifted back behind them. The Bushmen bobbed ahead of them, never wavering but running straight and certain towards their distant goal. Every hour Blaine halted the column and let the horses blow while he dismounted and went back to talk quietly to his men, getting to know them, checking the panniers on the spare horses, making certain that they were not galling, taking precautions to avert fatigue and injury before they arose. Then when the five minutes was up he ordered them forward again at the trot.

They rode until it was fully dark before he halted them; then he supervised the issue of water and made sure the horses were rubbed down and knee-haltered before he came to the small fire at which Centaine sat. She had completed her own ch.o.r.es, seeing the Bushmen fed and settled for the night, and now she was preparing the meal for Blaine and herself. She handed him the mess tin as he squatted opposite her.

I regret, sir, that the pheasant and caviar is off the menu.

However, I can heartily recommend the bully beef stew. Strange how good it tastes when you eat it like this. He ate with honest appet.i.te, then scrubbed the empty plate with dry sand and handed it back to her. He lit a cheroot with a twig from the fire. And how good a cheroot tastes with a trace of wood-smoke. She tidied and packed for a quick start in the morning and then came back to the fire and hesitated as she reached her seat opposite him. He moved over on the saddle cloth on which he was sitting, leaving half of it free, and without a word she crossed to it and sat with her legs curled up under her. Only inches separated them.

It's so beautiful, she murmured, looking up at the night sky. 'The stars are so close. I feel I could reach up and pluck them, and wear them around my neck like a garland of wild flowers. Poor stars, he said softly. They would pale into insignificance. She turned her head and smiled at him, letting the compliment he between them, savouring it for a moment before she lifted her face to the sky again. 'That is my personal star. She pointed out A crux in the Great Cross. Michael had chosen it for her. Michael, she felt a sting of guilt at his memory, but it was not so sharp now.

Which is your star? she asked.

Should I have one? Yes! she nodded. It's absolutely essential. She paused, then went on almost shyly, Would you let me choose one for you? I would be honoured. He wasn't mocking her, he was serious as she was.

There. She swivelled towards the north, where the path of the Zodiac was blazed across the sky. That star there, Regulus, in the constellation of the Lion, your birth sign. I choose that and I give it to you, Blaine. She used his given name at last.

And I accept it most gratefully. Every time I see it from now on, I will think of you, Centaine. it was a love token, given and accepted, both of them understood that and they were silenced by the significance of the moment.

How did you know that my birth sign was Leo? he asked at last.

I found out, she answered guilelessly. I thought it was necessary to know. You were born on 28 July 1893. And you, he replied, were born on the first day of the new century. You were named for that. I found out. I also thought it necessary to know. They were riding long before it was light the next morning, eastwards again with the Bushmen their harbingers.

The sun rose and its heat crushed down upon them, drying the sweat upon the horses flanks into white salt crystals.

The troopers rode hunched down as though under a heavy burden. The sun swung through its zenith and slid down into the west. Their shadows stretched out on the earth ahead of them and colour returned to the desert, shades of ochre and peachy rose and burnt amber.

Ahead of them Kwi stopped suddenly and snuffled the dry flinty air with his flattened nostrils. Fat Kwi imitated him, like a pair of gun-dogs scenting the pheasant.

What are they doing? Blaine asked, as they reined up behind. Before she could answer, Kwi let out a piping cry and then went away at a full run, Fat Kwi streaking after him.

Water. Centaine stood in the stirrups. They have smelled the water. Are you serious? he stared at her.

I couldn't believe it the first time, she laughed. O'wa could smell it from five miles. Come on, I'll prove it to you. She urged the gelding into a canter.

Ahead of them a low irregularity in the terrain appeared out of the dusty haze, a hillock of purple shale, bare of all vegetation except for a strange antediluvian tree on its summit, a kokerboom with bark like a reptile's skin. Centaine felt a pang of memory and nostalgia. She recognized the place. She had last been here with the two little yellow people she had loved, and Shasa heavy in her womb.

Before they reached the hillock, Kwi and Fat Kwi broke their run and stopped, side by side, to examine the earth at their feet. They were chattering excitedly when Centaine rode up, and she translated for Blaine, her tongue tripping with her own excitement.

We have cut the spoor. It's De La Rey, no doubt about it.

Three riders coming up from the south heading for the fountain. They have abandoned their used-up horses, and they're riding hard, pushing their mounts to the limit. The horses are floundering already.

De La Rey has judged it finely. Centaine could barely contain her relief. She had guessed right. Lothar was heading for the Portuguese border after all.

He and the diamonds were not far ahead of them.

How long, Kwi? she demanded anxiously, springing down to examine the spoor for herself.

This morning, Nam Child, the little Bushman told her, pointing to the sky, showing where the sun had stood when Lothar pa.s.sed.

Just after dawn. We are eight hours or so behind them, she told Blaine.

That's a lot to make up. He looked serious. Every minute we can save will count from now on. Troop forward! When they were half a mile from the hillock with its kokerboom crest, Centaine told Blaine, 'There have been other horses grazing around here. A large troop of them over many weeks. Their sign is everywhere. It was just as we guessed, De La Rey has had one of his men herding them here. We should find further evidence of that at the waterhole. She broke off and peered ahead. There were three dark amorphous heaps lying at the base of the hill.

What are they? Blaine was as puzzled as she was. Only when they rode up did they realize what they were.

Dead horses! Centaine exclaimed. De La Rey must have shot his used-up horses. No. Blaine had dismounted to examine the carca.s.ses. 'No bullet holes. Centaine looked around. She saw the primitive stockade in which the fresh horses had been kept awaiting Lothar's arrival and the small thatched hut where the man left to tend them had lived.

Kwi, she called to the Bushman. Find the spoor going away from here. Fat Kwi, search the camp. Look for anything which will tell us more about these evil men that we are chasing. Then she urged her gelding towards the fountain head.

It lay beneath the hillock. Subterranean water had been trapped between strata of the impervious purple shale and brought to the surface here. The hooves of wild game and the bare feet of San people who had drunk here over the millennia had worn down the shale banks. The water lay fifteen feet down in the bottom of a steep conical depression.

On the side nearest the hillock a layer of shale overhung the pool like the roof of a verandah, shading the water from direct rays of the sun, cooling it and protecting it from rapid evaporation. It was a tiny clear pool, not much larger than a bath tub, fed constantly by the up welling from the earth.

From experience, Centaine knew that it was brackish with dissolved minerals and salts, and strongly tainted with the droppings and urine of the birds and animals that drank from the spring.

The pool itself held her attention for only a second, and then she stiffened in the saddle and her hand flew to her mouth, an instinctive expression of her horror as she stared at the crude manmade structure that had been erected on the bank at the edge of the pool.

A thick branch of camel-thorn had been peeled of its bark and planted in the hard earth as a signpost. At its base rocks had been piled in a pyramid to support it, and on its summit an empty half-gallon can had been placed like a helmet.

Below the can a plank was nailed to the post, and on it were burned black charred words, probably written with the tip of a ramrod heated in the fire: THIS WELL IS POISONED.

The empty can was bright red with a black skull and crossbones device and below that the dreaded t.i.tle: a.r.s.eNIC.

Blaine had come up beside her and they were both so silent that Centaine imagined she could hear the shale beneath them ticking softly like a cooling oven, then Blaine spoke: The dead horses, he said, 'that accounts for it. The dirty b.a.s.t.a.r.d. His voice crackled with outrage. He pulled his horse around and galloped across to join the troop. Centaine heard him calling, Sergeant. Check the water that is left. The well is poisoned, and Sergeant Hansmeyer whistled softly.

Well, that's the end of the chase. We will be lucky to get back to Kalkrand again. Centaine found she was trembling with anger and frustration. He is going to get clean away, she told herself. He has won on the first trick. The gelding smelled the water and tried to get down the bank. She forced him away with her knees, slapping him across the neck with the loose end of the reins. She tethered him at the end of the horse line and measured a ration of oats and mash into his nose bag.

Blaine came to her. I'm sorry, Centaine, he said quietly.

We'll have to turn back. To go on without water is suicide. I know. It's a pretty filthy trick. He shook his head. Poisoning a water-hole that supports so much desert life. The destruction will be horrible. I have only seen it done once before.

When we were on the march up from Walvis in 1915, he broke off as little Kwi came trotting up to them chattering excitedly. What does he say? He asked.

One of the men we are following is sick, Centaine answered quickly. Kwi has found these bandages. Kwi had a double handful of stained and soiled cloth which he offered to Centaine.

Put them down, Kwi, she ordered sharply. She could smell the pus and corruption on the bundle. Obediently Kwi set it down at her feet, and Blaine drew the bayonet from its scabbard on his belt to spread the strips of cloth on the sand.

The mask! Centaine exclaimed, as she recognized the flour sack that Lothar had worn over his head. it was stiff with dried blood and yellow pus, as were the strips torn from a khaki shirt.

The sick man lay down while the other changed the saddles to the new horses, and then they had to lift him to his feet and help him to mount. Kwi had read all this from the spoor.

I bit him, Centaine said softly. While we were struggling I sank my teeth into his wrist. I felt the bone. it was a very deep wound I gave him. A human bite is almost as dangerous as a snake bite, Blaine nodded. Untreated it will nearly always turn to blood-poisoning. De La Rey is a sick man, and his arm must be a mess, judging by these. He touched the reeking bandages with the toe of his riding-boot. We would have had him. In his condition, we would almost certainly have caught him before he reached the Okavango river. If only we had enough water to go on. He turned away, unwilling to watch her unhappiness, and he spoke sharply to Sergeant Hansmeyer. 'Half water rations from now on, Sergeant. We will start back to the mission at nightfall. Travel in the cool of the night. Centaine could not stand still. She whirled and strode back towards the water-hole, and stood at the top of the bank staring at the notice board with its fatal message.

How could you do it, Lothar? she whispered. You are a hard and desperate man, but this is a dreadful thing, She went slowly down the steep bank and squatted at the edge of the water. She reached out and touched the water with her fingertip. It was cold, cold as death, she thought, and wiped the finger carefully on the leg of her breeches as she stared into the pool.

She thought about Blaine's remark, I have only seen it done once before. When we were on the march up from Walvis in 1915, and suddenly a forgotten conversation sprang up from deep in her mind where it had lain buried all these years. She remembered Lothar De La Rey's face in the firelight, his eyes haunted as he confessed to her.

We had to do it, or at least at the time I thought we did.

The Union forces were pressing us so hard. If I had guessed at the consequences, He had broken off and stared into the fire. She had loved him so dearly then. She had been his woman. Though she did not yet know it, she already had his child in her womb, and she had reached out and taken his hand to comfort him.

It doesn't matter, she had whispered, but he had turned a tragic face to her.

It does matter, Centaine, he had told her. It was the foulest thing I have ever done. I returned to the water-hole a month later like a murderer. I could smell it from a mile or more. The dead were everywhere, zebra and gemsbok, jackals and little desert foxes, birds, even the vultures that had feasted on the rotting carca.s.ses. So much death. It was something that I will remember on the day I die, the one thing in my life of which I am truly ashamed, something I will have to answer for. Centaine straightened up slowly. She felt her rage and disappointment slowly snuffed out by a rising tide of excitement. She touched the water again and watched the circle of ripples spread out across the limpid surface.

He meant it, she spoke aloud. He was truly ashamed.

He could never have done the same thing again. She shivered with dread as she decided what she was going to do, and to bolster her courage she went on in a voice that shook slightly, It's a bluff. The notice is a bluff. It must be, then she broke off as she remembered the three dead horses. He put them down. They were finished, and he used poison on them as part of the bluff. Probably gave it to them in a bucket, but not the water-hole. He wouldn't have done that twice. Slowly she took the hat from her head and used the wide brim to skim the floating layer of dust and rubbish from the surface of the pool. Then she scooped a hatful of the clear cool water, holding it in both hands, steeling herself to do it. She took a deep breath and touched the water with her lips.

Centaine! Blaine roared in shock and rage as he bounded down the bank and s.n.a.t.c.hed the hat out of her hands. The water splashed over her legs soaking her breeches. He seized her by the arms and jerked her to her feet. His face was swollen and dark, his eyes blazing with anger as he shouted in her face. Have you gone stark staring mad, woman? He was shaking her brutally, his fingers digging into the flesh of her upper arms.

Blaine, you are hurting me. Hurting you? I could willingly thrash you, you crazy Blaine, it's a bluff, I'm sure of it. She was frightened of him. His rage was a terrible thing to watch. Blaine. Please!

Please listen to me. She saw the change in his eyes as he regained control. Oh G.o.d, he said, I thought, You are hurting me, she repeated stupidly, and he released her.

I'm sorry. He was panting as though he had run a marathon. 'Don't do that to me again, woman, next time I don't know what I will do. Blaine! Listen to me. It's a bluff. He didn't poison the water. I would stake my life on it. ,you almost did, he growled at her, but he was listening now. How did you reach that conclusion? He leaned closer to her, interested and ready to be convinced.

I knew him once. Knew him well. I heard him make an oath. it was he who poisoned the water-hole you talked about, back in 1915. He admitted it, but he swore that he would never be able to do it again. He described the carnage at the water-hole, and he swore an oath. The dead horses lying out there, Blaine demanded, how do you explain them? All right. He poisoned them. He would have to have destroyed them anyway. They were broken; he couldn't leave them for the lions. He strode to the edge of the water and stared down into it.