Power Of The Sword Part 18

You were going to take that chance, he broke off and shuddered, then turned from the water and called sharply.

Sergeant Hansmeyer! Sir. The sergeant hurried across from the horse lines.

Sergeant, bring the lame mare to me, and Hansmeyer went to the lines and led the animal back. She was favouring her right fore and they would have to leave her anyway.

Let her drink! Blaine ordered.

Sir? Hansmeyer looked puzzled, and then when he realized Blaine's intention, he became alarmed. From the spring? It's poisoned, sir. That's what we are going to find out, Blaine told him grimly. Let her drink! Eagerly the black mare scrambled down the bank and bent her long neck to the pool.

She sucked up the water in great gulps. It sloshed and gurgled into her belly, and she seemed to swell before their eyes.

I didn't think to use one of the horses, Centaine whispered. 'Oh, it will be terrible if I have guessed wrongly. Hansmeyer let the mare drink until she was satiated, and then Blaine ordered, Take her back to the lines. He checked his wrist.w.a.tch. We'll give her an hour, he decided, and took Centaine's hand. He led her to the shade thrown by the overhang of the bank and they sat together.

You say you knew him? he asked at last. How well did you know him? He worked for me, years ago. He did the first development work at the mine. He is an engineer, you know. Yes. I know he is an engineer. It's in his file. He was silent. You must have got to know him very well for him to admit something like that to you? It's a very intimate thing, a man's guilt. She did not reply. What can I tell him? she thought. That I was Lothar De La Rey's mistress? That I loved him and bore him a son? Suddenly Blaine chuckled. Jealousy is really one of the most unlovely emotions, isn't it? I withdraw the question.

It was impertinent. Forgive me. She laid her hand on his arm and smiled at him gratefully.

That doesn't mean I have forgiven you for the fright you gave me, he told her with mock severity. I could still quite happily turn you over my knee. The thought of it gave her a funny little perverse twinge of excitement. His rage had frightened her and that excited her also. He had not shaved since they had left the mission.

His new beard was thick and dark as the pelt of an otter except there was a single silver hair in it. It grew at the corner of his mouth, shining like a star in the night.

What are you staring at? he asked.

I was wondering if your beard would scratch, if you decided to kiss me instead of spanking me. She saw him struggling like a drowning man in a rip tide of temptation. She imagined the fears and the doubts and the anguish of wanting that boiled behind those green eyes, and she waited, her face turned up to him, neither pulling back nor thrusting forward, waiting for him to accept the inevitability of it.

When he took her mouth it was fiercely, almost roughly, as though he was angry with his own inability to resist, and angry with her for leading him into this dangerous wilderness of infidelity. He sucked all the strength out of her body so that she went limp in his arms, only the grip of her own arms around his neck matched his and her mouth was deep and wet and soft and open for him to probe.

He broke away from her at last and sprang to his feet. He stood over her, looking down at her. May G.o.d have pity on us, he whispered, and strode away up the bank, leaving her alone with her joy and disquiet and guilt and with the raging flame he had kindled in her belly.

Sergeant Hansmeyer summoned her at last. He came to the pool and stood at the top of the bank.

Colonel Malcomess is asking for you, Missus. She followed him back to the horse lines, and she felt strangely detached from reality. Her feet seemed not to touch the earth and everything was dreamlike and far away.

Blaine stood with the lame mare, holding her head and stroking her neck. She made little fluttering sounds in her nostrils and nibbled at the front of his tunic. Blaine looked over her head as Centaine came up on the mare's other side.

They stared at each other.

No turning back, he said softly, and she accepted the ambiguity of his words. We go forward, together. Yes, Blaine, she agreed meekly.

And to h.e.l.l with the consequences, he said harshly.

A second longer they held each other's eyes, and then Blaine lifted his voice. Sergeant, water all the horses and fill the bottles. We have nine hours to make up on the chase. They kept going through the night. The little Bushmen stayed on the spoor with only the stars and a sliver of moon to light it for them, and when the sun rose the tracks were still strung out ahead of them, each filled with purple shadow by the acutely slanted rays.

Now there were four riders in the fleeing band, for the horse herder from the fountain had joined them and they were leading a spare horse each.

An hour after dawn, they found where the fugitives had camped the previous night. Lothar had abandoned two of his horses here; they had broken down from the brutal treatment, hard riding in these severe conditions. They stood beside the remains of the camp fire which Lothar had smothered with sand. Kwi brushed away the sand and knelt to blow on the ashes, a tiny flame sprang up under his breath and he grinned like a pixie.

We have made up five or six hours on them while they slept, Blaine murmured, and looked at Centaine. She straightened up immediately from her weary slump but she was pale and light-headed with fatigue.

He's using up his horses like a prodigal, she said, and they both looked at the two animals that Lothar had abandoned. They stood with heads hanging, muzzles almost touching the ground, a pair of chestnut mares, one with a white blazed forehead and the other with white socks.

Both of them moved only with pain and difficulty, and their tongues were black and swollen, protruding from the sides of their mouths.

He did not waste water on them, Blaine agreed. Poor devils. 'You will have to put them down, Centaine said.

That's why he left them, Centaine, he said gently.

I don't understand. The shots, he explained. He'll be listening for gunfire job Blaine! What are we going to do? We can't leave them. Make coffee and breakfast. We are all played out, horses and men. We must rest for a few hours before we go on. He swung down from the saddle and untied his blanket roll. in the meantime I will take care of the cripples. He shook out his sheepskin under-blanket as he walked across to the first mare. He stopped in front of her and unbuckled the flap of his holster. He drew his service pistol and wrapped the sheepskin over his right hand that held the pistol.

The mare dropped instantly to the muted thud of the pistol, and kicked spasmodically before relaxing into stillness. Centaine looked away, busying herself with measuring coffee into the billy as Blaine walked heavily across to the blazed chesnut mare.

There was a tiny movement of air, not truly a sound, light as the flirt of a sun-bird's wing, but both Swart Hendrick and Lothar De La Rey lifted their heads and pulled up their mounts. Lothar raised his hand for silence and they waited, holding their breath.

It came again, another spit of distant muted gunfire, and Lothar and Hendrick glanced at each other.

The a.r.s.enic trick did not work, grunted the big black Ovambo. 'You should have really poisoned the water, not pretended, and Lothar shook his head wearily.

She must be riding like a she-devil. They are only four hours behind us, less if they push their horses. I never believed she could come on so quickly. You cannot be sure that it is her, Hendrick told him.

It's her. Lothar showed no trace of doubt. She promised me she would come. His voice was hoa.r.s.e, his lips cracked and flaky with dry skin. His eyes were bloodshot, gummed with yellow mucus thick as clotted cream and deeply underscored with bruised purple smudges. His beard was particoloured, gold and ginger and white.

His arm was wrapped in bandage to the elbow, the yellow discharge had seeped through the cloth. He had looped a cartridge belt around his neck as a sling, and the arm was supported partly by the belt and partly by the black j.a.panned despatch case strapped to the pommel of his saddle.

He turned to look back across the plain with its spa.r.s.e covering of scrub and camel-thorn, but the movement brought on another wave of giddiness and he swayed and s.n.a.t.c.hed at the despatch case to prevent himself falling.

Pa! manfred grabbed his good arm, his face contorted with concern. Pa! Are you all right? Lothar closed his eyes before he could answer. All right, he croaked. He could feel the infection swelling and distorting the flesh of his hand and forearm. The skin felt thin and stretched to the point of bursting like an overripe plum, and the heat of the poison flowed with his blood. He could feel it throbbing painfully in the glands below his armpit and from there spreading out through his whole body, squeezing the sweat out through his skin, burning his eyes and pounding in his temples, shimmering a desert mirage in his brain.

Go on,he whispered. Got to go on,and Hendrick picked up the lead rein with which he was guiding Lothar's horse.

Wait! blurted Lothar, rocking in the saddle. How far to the next water? We'll be there before noon tomorrow. Lothar was trying to concentrate but the fever filled his head with steam and heat.

The horse irons. It's time for the horse irons. Hendrick nodded. They had carried the horse irons from the cache in the hills. They weighed seventy pounds, a heavy burden for one of the lead horses.

It was time to be rid of some of that weight now.

We'll give her a bait to lead her onto them, Lothar croaked.

The short rest, the hasty meal and even the strong, hot, over-sweetened coffee seemed only to have increased Centaine's fatigue.

I will not let him see it, she told herself firmly. I'll not give in until they do. But her skin felt so dry that it might tear like paper and the glare ached in her eyes, filling her skull with pain.

She glanced sideways at Blaine. He sat straight and tall in the saddle, invincible and indefatigable, but he turned his head and his eyes softened as he looked at her.

We'll break for a drink in ten minutes, he told her softly.

I'm all right, she protested.

We are all tired, he said. There is no shame in admitting it. He broke off and shaded his eyes, peering ahead.

What is it? she demanded.

I'm not sure. He lifted the binoculars that hung on his chest and focused them on the dark blob far ahead that had caught his attention. I still can't recognize what it is. He pa.s.sed the gla.s.ses to her and Centaine stared through them.

Blaine! she exclaimed. The diamonds! It's the diamond case! They have dropped the diamonds. Her fatigue fell away from her like a discarded cape and before he could stop her she put her heels into her gelding's flanks and urged him into a gallop, overtaking the Bushmen.

The two spare horses were forced to follow her, straining on their lead reins, the water bottles bouncing wildly on their backs.

Centaine! Blaine shouted, and spurred his mount after her, trying to catch her.

Sergeant Hansmeyer had been drooping in the saddle, but he roused himself instantly as the two leaders galloped away.

Troop, forward! he shouted, and the whole party was tearing ahead.

Suddenly Centaine's gelding screamed with agony and reared under her. She was almost thrown from the saddle, but recovered her balance with a fine feat of horsemanship, and then the spare horses were whinnying and kicking and lashing out in agony. Blaine tried to turn out, but he was too late and his mount broke down under him, his spare horses shrieking and bucking on their leads.

Halt! he screamed, turning desperately to try and stop Sergeant Hansmeyer's charge, signalling him with both arms. Halt! Troop, halt! The Sergeant reacted swiftly, swinging his mount to block the troopers who followed him, and they came up short in a tangle of milling, tramping horses, the dust swirling over them in a fine mist.

Centaine sprang down from the saddle and checked her gelding's front legs, they were both sound and she lifted a rear hoof and stared in disbelief. A burr of rusted iron was stuck to the frog of the gelding's hoof and dark blood was already pouring from the wound it had inflicted, mingling into a muddy paste with the fine desert dust.

Gingerly Centaine took hold of the metal rose and tried to pull it away, but it was buried deeply and the gelding trembled with the pain. She tugged and twisted, carefully avoiding the protruding spikes, and at last the horrible thing came free in her hand, wet with the gelding's blood. She straightened and looked across at Blaine. He also had been busy with his own mount's feet and held two of the b.l.o.o.d.y irons in his hands.

Horse irons, Blaine told her. I haven't seen the cruel d.a.m.ned things since the war. They were crudely forged, shaped like the ubiquitous devil thorns of the African veld, four pointed stars aligned so that one point was always standing upright. Three inches of sharp iron that would cripple man or beast, or would slash the tyres of a following vehicle.

Centaine looked around and saw that the earth all around where she stood was strewn with the wicked spikes. Dust had been lightly brushed over them to conceal them from casual observation but had in no way reduced their effectiveness.

Quickly she stooped again to the task of ridding all three of her horses of the spikes. The gelding had picked them up in both rear hooves and the spare horses had three and two hooves damaged. She plucked the iron spikes from their flesh and hurled them away angrily.

Sergeant Hansmeyer had dismounted his troopers and they came up to a.s.sist her and Blaine, stepping cautiously for the spikes would readily penetrate the soles of their boots. They cleared a narrow corridor through which the horses could be led back to safe ground, but all six of them had been brutally maimed. They hobbled slowly and painfully, reluctant to touch the earth with their damaged hooves.

Six of them, Blaine whispered bitterly. Wait until I get my hands on that b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He drew the .303 rifle from the scabbard on his saddle and ordered Hansmeyer, Put our saddles onto two of your spare horses. Top up all the water bottles from those on the crippled horses. Have two of your troopers mark a path around the area of the horse irons.

Move it quickly! We can't waste a minute. Centaine left them and went forward, cautiously circling around the b.o.o.by-trapped patch of earth. She reached the black j.a.panned despatch case which had deceived her and picked it up. The lid flapped open, the lock smashed by Lothar's bullet, and she turned the case upside down. it was empty. She let it drop and looked back.

Blaine's men had worked swiftly. Their saddles had been transferred to undamaged horses. They had chosen a black gelding for her and Sergeant Hansmeyer was leading it. The whole troop was circling out in single file, leaning out of the saddle to check for any more horse irons in their path.

She knew that from now on they would not be able to relax for a moment, for she knew that Lothar would not have laid all his spikes. They would find more along the spoor.

Hansmeyer came up beside her. We are ready to go, ma'am. He handed her the reins to the fresh horse and she mounted, then they all looked back.

Blaine stood with the Lee Enfield rifle on his hip, and with his back turned to them faced the line of six crippled horses.

He seemed to be praying, or perhaps he was merely steeling himself, but his head was bowed.

He lifted it slowly and threw the b.u.t.t of the rifle to his shoulder. He fired without lowering the rifle, his right hand flicking the bolt back and forth, and the shots crashing out in rapid succession, blending into a long-drawn-out drumroll of sound. The horses fell on top of one another, in a twitching, jerking pile. He turned away then, and even at that distance Centaine glimpsed his expression.

She found she was weeping. The tears poured down her face, and she could not stop them. Blaine rode up beside her. He glanced at her, and when he saw her tears, he stared straight ahead, letting her get over it.

We have lost nearly an hour, he said. Troop forward! Twice more before nightfall the Bushman stopped the column and they had to pick their way cautiously around a scattering of the wicked spikes. Each time it cost them precious minutes.

We are losing ground, Blaine estimated. They heard the rifle shots and they are alerted. They know they have got fresh horses waiting somewhere ahead. They are pushing harder, much harder than we dare. The country changed with dramatic suddenness as they emerged from the wastes of Bushmanland into the gently wooded more benevolent Kavango area.

Along the undulating ridges of the ancient compacted dunes grew tall trees, combreturn the lovely bush willow, and albizia with its fine feathery foliage, and stands of young mopani between them. The shallow valleys were covered with fine desert gra.s.ses whose silver and pink seed heads brushed their stirrups irons as they rode through.

The water was not far below the surface here and all Nature seemed to respond to its presence. For the first time since leaving the mission at Kalkland, they saw large game, zebra and red-golden impala, and they knew that the waterhole for which they were riding could be only a few miles ahead for these animals would drink daily.

It was not too soon for all the horses were used up and weak, struggling onwards beneath the weight of their riders.

A few inches remained in the water bottles, seeming to mock their thirst with hollow gurgles at each pace.

Lothar De La Rey could not remain in the saddle unaided.

Swart Hendrick rode on one side of him and his b.a.s.t.a.r.d son Klein Boy on the other. They supported him when sudden bouts of delirium overcame him and he laughed and ranted and would have slipped from the saddle and tumbled to earth. Manfred trailed behind them, watching his father anxiously, but too exhausted and thirsty to a.s.sist him.

They struggled up another rise in the endless succession of consolidated dunes, and Swart Hendrick stood in the stirrups and peered down into the gentle basin ahead of them, barely daring to hope that they had been able to ride directly to their destination through the trackless land where every vista mirrored the previous one and the one that followed.

All they had to steer by was the sun and the instinct of the desert creature.

Then his spirits soared, for ahead of them there were the tall grey mopani trunks nurtured into giants by the water over which they stood and the four great umbrella acacia exactly as they had been imprinted in his memory. Between their trunks Hendrick caught the soft sheen of standing water.

The horses managed a last jolting trot down the slope and through the trees, and then out over the bare clay that surrounded the shrunken puddle of water in the centre.

The water was the colour of cafg all lait, not ten paces across at the widest point nor deeper than a man's knee.

Around it the hoof-prints and pad marks of dozens of various types of wild animals, from the tiny multiple V scratches of quail and francolin to the huge round prints of a bull elephant the size of dustbin lids, had been sculpted into the black clay and then baked by the sun as hard as concrete.

Hendrick and Klein Boy drove their mounts into the centre of the pool and then flung themselves face down into the lukewarm muddy water, snorting and gasping and laughing wildly as they scooped it into their mouths.

Manfred helped his father to dismount at the edge, and then ran to scoop a hatful and bring it to Lothar where he had collapsed into a sitting position, supporting himself on his own knees.

Lothar drank greedily, choking and coughing as the water went down the wrong way. His face was flushed and swollen, his eyes fever-bright and the poison in his blood burning him up.

Swart Hendrick waded to the side, his boots squelching and water pouring from his sodden clothing, still grinning until a thought struck him and he stopped. The grin was gone from his thick black lips and he glared about him.

n.o.body here, he grunted. Buffalo and Legs, where are they? He broke into a run, spraying water at each pace as he headed for the primitive hut that stood in the shade of the nearest umbrella acacia.

It was empty and derelict. The charcoal of the camp-fire was scattered widely; the freshest signs were days, no, weeks old. He raged through the forest, and at last came back to Lothar. Between them Klein Boy and Manfred had helped Lothar into the shade and he lay back against the trunk of the acacia.

They've deserted. Lothar antic.i.p.ated Hendrick's report.

I should have known. Ten horses, worth fifty pounds each.

It was too much temptation. The rest and the water seemed to have strengthened him; he was lucid again.

They must have run away within days of us leaving them. Hendrick sank down beside him. Surely they have taken the horses and sold them to the Portuguese, then gone home to their wives! Promise me that when you see them again you will kill them slowly, Hendrick, very slowly. I dream of how I will do it, Hendrick whispered. First I will make them eat their own manhoods, I will cut them off with a blunt knife and will feed them to them in small pieces. They were both silent, staring at the small group of their four horses which stood at the pool's edge. Their bellies were distended with water but their heads were hanging pathetically, noses almost touching the baked clay.

Seventy miles to the river, seventy miles at least. Lothar broke the silence, and he began to unwrap the filthy rags that covered his arm.

The swelling was grotesque. His hand was the size and shape of a ripe melon. The fingers stuck stiffly out of the blue ball of flesh. The swelling carried up the forearm to the elbow, trebling the girth of his lower limb, and the skin had burst open and clear lymph leaked out of the tears. The bite wounds were deep, slimy, yellow pits, the edges flared open like the petals of a flower, and the smell of infection was sweet and thick as oil in Lothar's own nostrils and throat, disgusting him.