Power Of The Sword Part 19

Above the elbow the swelling was not So intense, but there were livid scarlet lines beneath the skin running right up to Lothar's shoulder. He reached up and gently explored the swollen glands in his armpit. They were hard as musket b.a.l.l.s buried in his flesh.

Gangrene, he told himself, and he realized now that the carbolic acid solution with which he had originally cleansed the bite wounds had aggravated the condition. Too strong he muttered. Too strong solution. It had destroyed the capillary vessels around the wound, preparing the way for the gangrene that had followed. The hand should come off. He faced the fact at last, and for a moment he even considered attempting the operation himself. He imagined starting at the elbow joint and cutting I can't do it, he decided. I can't even think of it. I have to go on as far as the gangrene will let me, for Manie's sake. He looked up at the boy.

I need bandages. He tried to make his voice firm and rea.s.suring, but it came out as a raven's croak, and the boy started and tore his eyes from the ravaged limb.

Lothar dusted the suppurating wounds with carbolic crystals, all that he had, and bound them up with strips of blanket. They had used up all their extra clothing for bandages.

How far is she behind us, Henny? he asked, as he knotted the bandage.

We have won time, Hendrick guessed. They must be saving their horses. But look at ours. of the animals had lain down at the edge of the water, One the sign of capitulation.

Five or six hours behind us. And it was seventy miles to the river, with no guarantee that the pursuers would honour the border and not pursue them across. Lothar did not have to voice those doubts; they were all too aware of them.

Manfred, he whispered. Bring the diamonds. The boy placed the canvas haversack beside Lothar and he unpacked it carefully.

There were twenty-eight of the small brown cartridge paper packages with their red wax seals. Lothar separated them into four piles, seven packages in each.

Equal shares, he said. We cannot value each package, so we will cut them four ways and give the youngest first pick. He looked across at Hendrick. Agreed? Swart Hendrick understood that the sharing of the booty was at last an admission that not all of them were going to reach the river. Hendrick lowered his eyes from Lothar's face. He and this golden-haired, white-skinned devil had been together since the far-off time of their youth. He had never considered what held them together. He felt a deep, unwavering antagonism and distrust towards all white men except this one. They had dared so much, seen so much, shared so much. He did not think of it as love or as friendship. Yet the thought of the parting which lay just ahead filled him with a devastating despair, as though a little death awaited him.

Agreed, he said, in that deep resonant tone, like the chime of a ba.s.s bell, and he looked up at the white boy. The man and the boy were one unit in Hendrick's mind. What he felt for the father was also for the son.

Choose, Manie, he ordered.

don't know. Manfred put both hands behind his back, reluctant to touch one of the piles.

Do it, snapped his father, and obediently he reached out and touched the nearest pile.

Pick them up, Lothar ordered, and then looked at the black youth.

Choose, Klein Boy. There were two piles left, and Lothar grinned through cracked lips. How old are you, Henny? As old as the burned mountain, as young as the first flower of spring, the Ovambo said, and they both laughed.

If I had a diamond for every time we have laughed together, Hendrick thought, I would be the richest man in the world. And it required an effort to keep the smile on his face. You must be younger than I am, he spoke aloud.

For I have always had to care for you like a nursemaid.

Choose! Lothar shoved his chosen pile across to Manfred. Put it in the haversack, he told him, and Manfred packed their s hare of the booty into the canvas bag and strapped it closed while the two black men filled the pockets of their tunics with their packages.

Now fill the water bottles. It's only seventy miles to the river, Lothar said.

When they were ready to leave Hendrick stooped to help Lothar to his feet, but he struck Hendrick's hands away irritably and used the trunk of the acacia to push himself upright.

One of the horses could not rise and they left it lying at the water's edge. Another broke down within the first mile, but the other two limped on gamely. Neither of them could any longer support the full weight of a man, but one carried the water bottles and Lothar used the other as a crutch. He staggered along beside it with his good arm draped over its neck.

The other three men took it in turns to lead the horses, and they trudged on determinedly northwards. Sometimes Lothar laughed without reason and sang in a strong, clear voice, carrying the tune so beautifully that Manfred felt a buoyant rush of relief. But then the singing quavered and his voice broke and cracked. He shouted and raved and pleaded with the fever phantoms that crowded about him, and Manfred ran back to hi-in and circled his waist with a helping arm and Lothar quieted down.

,YOU are a good boy, Manie, he whispered. You've always been a good boy. We are going to have a wonderful life from now on. A fine school for you, you will become a young gentleman, we'll go to Berlin together, the opera,, Oh! Papa, don't talk. Save your strength, Papa. And Lothar subsided once more into an oppressive silence, toiling on mechanically with his boots dragging and scuffing, and only the labouring horse and his son's strong young arm preventing him from crashing face forward onto the hot Kalahari sands.

Far ahead of them the first of the granite kopjes showed above the spa.r.s.e heat-blighted forest. It was round as a pearl and the smooth rock glowed silver grey in the sunlight.

Centaine stopped her horse on the crest of the rise and looked down into the basin of land beyond. She recognized the tall trees from the top branches of which, many years before, she had glimpsed her first wild African elephant, and a little of the childlike wonder of that moment had remained with her over all that time. Then she saw the water, and all else was forgotten. It was not easy to control the horses once they had smelled it. She had heard of desert travellers dying of thirst at the water-hole when they allowed their cattle and horses to rush ahead and trample the water into thick mud. But Blaine and his sergeant were experienced men and controlled them firmly.

As soon as the horses had been watered and picketed, Centaine pulled off her boots and waded fully dressed into the pool, ducking under the surface to soak her clothing and her hair and revelling at the chill of the muddy water.

At the far end of the pool Blaine had stripped to his breeches and was knee-deep, scooping water over his head.

Centaine the studied him surrept.i.tiously. It was the first time she had seen him bare-chested, and his body hair was thick and dark and springing, sparkling with water droplets. There was a small black mole below the nipple of his right breast, which for no good reason intrigued her, otherwise his body was without blemish; his skin had the sheen of polished marble, like the Michaelangelo statue of David, and his muscles were flat and hard-looking. The sun had stained a dark brown V below his throat and his arms were brown up to the distinct lines that his shirtsleeves had left; beyond that his skin was the pale ivory that she found so attractive that she had to look away from it.

As she came up to him he hurriedly pulled on his shirt again, and the water soaked through it in darker patches.

His modesty made her smile.

De La Rey found no spare horses here, she told him, and he looked puzzled.

Are you sure? Kwi says that there were two men waiting here with many horses but that they left many days ago. He cannot count beyond the ten fingers on his hand, it was longer than that. Yes, I am sure Lothar De La Rey found no fresh horses., Blaine smoothed his wet hair straight back with both hands. Then my guess is that something has gone wrong with his plans. He would never have used up his horses like that unless he was expecting to find remounts. Kwi says they have gone ahead on foot. They are leading their remaining horses, and the horses are obviously too weak to carry a man. She broke off as Kwi called shrilly from the edge of the forest and she and Blaine hurried over to join him.

They are desperate, Blaine said, as they saw the pile of abandoned equipment beneath the acacia tree. Saddles and canned food, blankets and billy cans. He turned over the pile with his feet. They've even dumped ammunition, and, yes, by G.o.d, the last of those d.a.m.ned horse irons. The small wooden case lay on its side with the last few pounds of the vicious iron spikes spilling from it. 'They have stripped down, and they are making one last desperate run to reach the river. Look here, Blaine, Centaine called to him, and he went to her and examined the small pile of soiled bandages that lay at her feet.

His condition is worsening, Centaine murmured, but strangely there was no gloating in her voice, no triumph in her eyes. I think he is a dying man, Blaine. Unaccountably he felt the need to commiserate with her, to console her. If we can get him to a doctor, he broke off, the impulse was ludicrous. They were hunting a vicious criminal who, Blaine knew, would not hesitate to shoot him down at the first opportunity.

Sergeant Hansmeyer, he called harshly. See the men fed and the horses watered again before we leave in an hour. He turned back to Centaine and saw with relief that she had rallied.

An hour is not enough, let's see we use every minute of it., They sat together in the shade. Neither of them had eaten much; the heat and their fatigue had destroyed their appet.i.te.

Blaine took a cheroot from his leather case and then changed his mind. He slipped it back into the case and dropped the case into the pocket of his tunic.

When I first met you I thought that you were brilliant and adamant and beautiful as one of your own diamonds, he said.

And now? she asked.

I have seen you weep for maimed horses, and I have sensed in you a deep compa.s.sion for a man who has done you cruel injury, he replied. 'When we left Kalkrand I was in love with you. I suppose I was in love with you from the first hour I met you. I couldn't help that, but now I also like you and respect you. Is that a different thing from love? It is a very different thing from being in love, he affirmed, and they were silent for a while before she tried to explain.

Blaine, I have been alone for a long time with a small child to protect and to plan for. When I came to this land as a girl, I served a hard, unrelenting apprenticeship in this desert. I learned that there was n.o.body I could rely upon but myself, no way to survive but through my own strength and determination. That hasn't altered. I still have n.o.body but myself on whom I can rely. Isn't that so, Blaine? I wish it were not. He did not attempt to avoid her gaze but looked back at her candidly. I wish,, He broke off and she finished the statement for him. But, you have Isabella and your girls. He nodded. Yes, they cannot fend for themselves. And I can!, isn't that right, Blaine? Don't be bitter with me, please. I did not seek this. I have never made you any promises. I'm sorry. She was immediately contrite. You are right.

You have never promised me anything., She glanced at her watch. 'Our little hour is up, she said, and rose in a single lithe movement to her feet.

I shall just have to go on being strong and hard, she said.

But never tax me with it again, please Blaine. Never again. They had been forced to abandon five of their own horses since leaving the water-hole of the elephant, and Blaine was alternating between walking and riding in an attempt to save the remaining animals. They rode for half an hour and then dismounted and led for the next half hour.

Only the Bushmen were unaffected by the thirst and fatigue and heat, and they chafed at the halting and torturous pace they were forced to adopt.

The only consolation is that De La Rey is doing even worse than we are. From the spoor they could read that the fugitives, reduced to a single horse between them, were making even slower progress. And it's still thirty miles or more to the river. Blaine checked his watch. Time to walk again, I'm afraid. Centaine groaned softly as she swung down from the saddle. She ached in every muscle, and the tendons of her hamstrings and calves felt like twisted wire strands.

They trudged forward and every pace required a conscious effort. Centaine's tongue filled her mouth, thick and leathery, and the mucous membrane of her throat and nostrils was swollen and painful so that it was difficult to breathe. She tried to collect her saliva and hold it in her mouth, but it was gummy and sour, serving only to make her thirst more poignant.

She had forgotten what it was like to be truly thirsty, and the soft sloshing sound of the water bottles on the saddle of the horse she was leading became a torment, She could think of nothing but when they would next be allowed to drink. She kept glancing at her wrist-watch, convincing herself that it had stopped, that she had forgotten to wind it, that at any moment Blaine would lift his arm to halt the column and they could unscrew the stoppers on the water bottles.

n.o.body spoke from choice. All orders were terse and monosyllabic, every word an effort.

I won't be the first to give in, Centaine decided grimly, and then she was alarmed that the thought had even occurred to her. 'n.o.body will give in. We have to catch them before the river and the river is not far ahead. She found she was focusing only on the earth at her feet, interest in her surroundings, and she knew that was losing a dangerous sign, the first small surrender. She forced herself to look up. Blaine was ahead of her. She had fallen back in those few paces, and she made a huge effort and dragged her horse forward until she was side by side with him again.

Immediately she felt heartened, she had won another victory over her body's frailty.

Blaine smiled at her, but she saw that it had cost him an effort also. Those kopjes are not marked on the map, he said.

She had not noticed them, but now she looked up and a mile ahead saw their smooth bald granite heads raised above the forest. She had never been this far north; it was new territory for her.

I don't think this country has ever been surveyed, she whispered, and then cleared her throat and spoke more clearly. Only the river itself has been mapped., We will drink when we reach the foot of the nearest hill, he promised her.

A carrot for the donkey, she murmured, and he grinned.

Think about the river. That is a garden full of carrots. And they relapsed into silence; the Bushmen led them directly towards the hills. At the base of the granite cone they found the last of Lothar De La Rey's horses.

It lay on its side, but it lifted its head as they walked up to it. Blaine's mare whickered softly, and the downed animal tried to reply but the effort was too much. It dropped its head flat against the earth and its short hampered breathing raised tiny wisps of dust that swirled around its nostrils.

The Bushmen circled the dying animal and then conferred excitedly.

Kwi ran a short way towards the grey side of the kopje and looked up.

They all followed his example, staring up the steep rounded expanse of granite. It was two or three hundred feet high. The surface was not as smooth as it had appeared at a distance. There were deep cracks, some lateral, others running vertically from the foot to the summit, and the granite was flaking away in the onion peel effect caused by heat expansion and contraction. This left small sharp-edged steps which would give footholds and make it possible for a man to reach the top, though it would be an exposed and potentially dangerous climb.

On the summit a cl.u.s.ter of perfectly round boulders, each the size of a large dwelling house, formed a symmetrical crown. The whole was one of those natural compositions so artful and contrived that it seemed to have been conceived and executed by human engineers. Centaine was strongly reminded of the dolmens which she had visited as a child in France, or of one of those ancient Mayan temples in the South American jungles which she had seen ill.u.s.trated.

Blaine had left her side and led his mount towards the foot of the granite cliff, and something on the crest of the kopje caught Centaine's eye. It was a flicker of movement in the shadow beneath one of the crowning boulders on the summit, and she shouted a warning.

Blaine, be careful! On the top, He was standing at his horse's head with the reins over his shoulder, staring upwards. But before he could respond to her warning there was a thud as though a sack of wheat had been dropped on a stone floor. Centaine did not recognize the sound as a high-velocity bullet striking living flesh until Blaine's horse staggered, its front legs collapsed and it dropped heavily, dragging Blaine with it.

Centaine was stunned until she heard the whiplash crack of the Mauser from the summit of the kopje and she realized that the bullet had reached them before the sound.

All around her the troopers were shouting and wrestling with their panicking horses, and Centaine spun and vaulted for the saddle of her own mount. With one hand on the pommel and without touching the stirrup irons she was up, dragging the horse's head around.

Blaine, I'm coming, she screamed. He had scrambled to his feet beside the carca.s.s of his horse, and she rode for him.

Grab my stirrup, she called, and the Mausers up on the hill were cracking bullets amongst them. She saw Sergeant Hansmeyer's horse shot dead beneath him and he was pitched headlong from the saddle.

Blaine ran to meet her and seized her dangling stirrup. She turned the horse and heeled him into a full gallop, pumping the reins, heading back for the spa.r.s.e cover of the mopani two hundred yards behind them.

Blaine was swinging on the stirrup leather, his feet skimming the ground, making giant strides as he kept level with her.

Are you all right? she yelled.

Keep going! His voice strained at the effort and she looked back under her arm. The gunfire still crackled and snapped around them. One of the troopers turned back to help Sergeant Hansmeyer, but as he reached him a bullet hit his horse in the head and it crashed over and flung the trooper sprawling to earth.

They are picking off the horses! Centaine cried, as she realized that hers was the only animal still unscathed. All the others were down, killed with a single shot in the head for each of them. It was superb marksmanship, for the men on the summit were firing downhill at a range of one hundred and fifty paces or more.

Ahead of her Centaine saw a shallow ravine that she had not noticed before. There was a tangle of fallen dead mopani branches upon the nearest bank, a natural palisade, and she rode for it, forcing her winded horse down the bank in a scrambling leap and then immediately springing down and seizing his head to control him.

Blaine had been dragged off his feet and had rolled down the bank, but he pulled himself up. I walked into that ambush like a greenhorn, he snarled, angry at himself. Too b.l.o.o.d.y tired to think straight. He jerked the rifle out of the scabbard on Centaine's saddle and climbed quickly to the lip of the bank.

Ahead of him the dead horses lay below the steep smooth slope of the kopje, and Sergeant Hansmeyer and his troopers were dodging and jinking as they sprinted back for the cover of the ravine. Mauser-fire crackled, kicking up spouts of yellow dust about their feet, and they winced and ducked at the implosion of air in their eardrums as pa.s.sing shot whipped about their heads.

Magically the Bushmen had disappeared, like little brown leprechauns, at the first shot. Centaine knew they would not see them again. Already they were on their way back to join their clan at O'chee Pan.

Blaine pushed up the rear sight of the Lee Enfield to four hundred yards and aimed for the crest of the kopje, where a feather of drifting blue gun-smoke betrayed the hi gunmen. He fired as fast as he could work the bolt, spraying bullets to cover the fleeing troopers, watching white chips of granite burst from the skyline of the kopje as the raking fire withered away. He s.n.a.t.c.hed a clip of ammunition from his bandolier and pressed the bra.s.s cartridges into the open breech of the hot rifle, slammed the bolt shut and flung the weapon to his shoulder, and poured fire up at the marksmen on the crest of the kopje.

one by one Hansmeyer and his troopers reached the ravine and tumbled into it, sweating and panting wildly. With grim satisfaction Blaine noticed that each of them had carried his rifle with him, and they wore their bandoliers strapped across their chests, seventy-five rounds a man.

They shot the horses in the head but never touched a man. Hansmeyer's breathing whistled in his throat as he struggled with the words.

They never fired a shot near me, Centaine blurted. Lothar must have taken great care not to endanger her. She realized with a tremor just how easily he could have put a bullet into the back of her skull as she fled.

Blaine was reloading the Lee Enfield, but he looked up and smiled b.u.mourlessly. The fellow is no idiot. He knows that he has shot his bolt, and he is not looking to add murder to the long list of the charges against him. He looked at Hansmeyer. How many men on the kopje? he demanded.

I don't know, Hansmeyer answered. But there is more than one. The rate of fire was too much for one man, and I heard shots overlapping. All right, let's find out how many there are. Blaine beckoned Centaine and Hansmeyer up beside him and explained.

Centaine took his binoculars and moved down the ravine until she was well out on the flank and below a dense tuft of gra.s.s which grew on the lip of the ravine. She used the tuft as a screen and raised her head until she could make out the summit of the kopje. She cused the binoculars and called Ready! Blaine had his helmet on the ramrod of his rifle, and he lifted it and Hansmeyer fired two shots into the air to draw the attention of the marksmen on the kopje.

Almost immediately the answering fusillade crackled from the hilltop. More than one shot fired simultaneously, and dust kicked off the lip of the ravine inches from the khaki helmet while ricochet howled away over the mopani trees.

Two or three, Hansmeyer called.

Three, Centaine confirmed, lowering the binoculars as she ducked down. I saw three heads., Good. Blaine nodded. We've got them then, just a matter of time. Blaine. Centaine loosened the strap of her water bottle from the saddle. That's all we have got., She shook the bottle, and it was less than a quarter full. They all stared at it, and involuntarily Blaine licked his lips.

We will be able to recover the other bottles, just as soon as it's dark, he a.s.sured them, and then briskly, Sergeant, take two troopers with you, try and work your way around the other side of the kopje. Make sure n.o.body leaves by the back door. Lothar De La Rey sat propped against one of the huge round granite boulders at the top of the kopje. He sat in the shade, with the Mauser across his lap. He was bare-headed and his long golden hair blew softly across his forehead.

He stared out towards the south, across the plain and the scattered mopani forest, in the direction from which the relentless pursuit would come. The climb up the sheer granite wall had taxed him severely and he was not yet recovered from it.

Leave me one water bottle, he ordered and Hendrick placed it beside him.

I have filled it from those, Hendrick indicated the pile of discarded, empty water bottles. And we have a full bottle to see us as far as the river. Good. Lothar nodded and checked the other equipment laid out beside him on the granite slab.

that was There were four hand grenades, the old potato masher type with a wooden handle. They had lain in the cache with the horse irons and other equipment for almost twenty years and he could not rely upon them.

Klein Boy had left his rifle and his bandolier of Mauser ammunition with the grenades. So Lothar had two rifles and 150 rounds - more than enough, if the grenades worked. If they didn't it wouldn't matter anyway.

All right, Lothar said quietly. I have everything I need.

You can go. Hendrick turned his cannonball of a head to peer into the south. They were on a grandstand, high above the world, and the sweep of their horizon was twenty miles or more, but there was as yet no sign of the pursuit.

Hendrick started to rise to his feet, and then paused. He squinted into the heat haze and the glare. Dust! he said. It was still five miles away, a pale haze above the trees.

Yes. Lothar had seen it minutes before. It could be a herd of zebra, or a w.i.l.l.y w.i.l.l.y, but I wouldn't bet my share of the loot on it.

Move out now. Hendrick did not obey immediately. He stared into the white man's sapphire-yellow eyes.

Hendrick had not argued nor protested when Lothar had explained what they must do. It was right, it was logical.

They had always left their wounded, often with just a pistol at hand, for when the pain or the hyenas closed in. And yet, this time Hendrick felt the need to say something, but there were no words that could match the enormity of the moment. He knew he was leaving a part of his own LIFE upon this sun-blasted rock.