Assegai

Graf Otto was at the controls of the Butterfly as they took off from the Percy’s Camp airstrip, where they had stopped to refuel after the flight in from Nairobi. He headed southwest towards the manyatta of Massana. Eva sat beside him, Ishmael squatted on the deck with his precious kitchen bundle, while Leon, Gustav and Hennie were bunched at the front of the cockpit.

They had been flying for little more than twenty-five minutes when Leon spotted a feather of smoke on their port quarter, rising straight into the still, breathless heat of midday. ‘Loikot!’ Leon knew it was him, even before he made out the slim figure standing beside the smudge fire. Loikot flapped his shuka to ensure that they had seen him, then pointed with his spear towards the jagged outline of a small kopje not far ahead. He was indicating the whereabouts of the quarry.

Swiftly Leon assessed the changed situation. The gods of the chase had been kind to them. During his absence the lions must have headed in the direction of Massana’s manyatta. They were now many miles closer to it than they had been when they had first spotted them. He looked at the distant escarpment of the Rift to orientate himself, then picked out the ghostly shape of the salt pan where he had left the two Masai only three days ago. It lay almost equidistant between the manyatta and the kopje where the lions were now lying up. Couldn’t be better, he exulted, and moved back quickly to where he could talk to Graf Otto above the engines. ‘Loikot signalled that the lions are lying up among the rocks on that hillock.’

‘Where is the nearest place I can land?’

‘Can you see that salt pan?’ Leon pointed it out. ‘If you put us down there, we’ll be close to the quarry and to the village where the morani are assembling for the hunt.’

Massana’s manyatta was larger than most others in the valley. A hundred or more large huts were laid out in a wide circle around the cattle pen. Graf Otto circled the settlement at low level. A dark mass of humanity had gathered in the central cattle pen. Although Leon could not pick out Manyoro in the press of shuka-clad figures, he had done his job, and prevailed on Massana to assemble his morani for the great hunt. Satisfied that all was in readiness for them, Leon asked Graf Otto to turn the Butterfly towards the salt pan. He landed and taxied to the treeline along its western edge before he shut down the engines.

‘We will be camping here for a while,’ Leon told him, ‘so we can make ourselves comfortable before the morani arrive.’ All the equipment for a fly camp was packed into the cargo hold of the Butterfly. It did not take Leon long to set it up. He sited the tents in the shade beneath the aircraft’s wings. Ishmael built his kitchen and cooking fire at a safe distance from the aircraft and was soon serving coffee and ginger snaps.

Leon drained his mug, then looked up at the sky to judge the time. ‘Loikot will be here any minute now,’ he told Graf Otto, and had barely finished the sentence when Loikot trotted out from among the trees.

Leon left the shade and walked into the sunlight to greet him. He was desperately eager to hear Loikot’s report, but he knew Loikot could not be hurried. The more portentous his tidings, the longer Loikot took to divulge them. First he took a little snuff, standing on one leg and leaning on his spear. Then they agreed that it had been three days since they had last seen each other, a long time, that the weather was hot for this season of the year, and that it would probably rain before sunset, which would be good for the grazing.

‘So, Loikot, mighty hunter and intrepid tracker, what of your lions? Do you still have them in your eye?’

Loikot shook his head lugubriously.

‘You have lost them?’ Leon asked angrily. ‘You have let them escape?’

‘No! It is true that the smallest lion has disappeared but I still have the largest one in my eye. I saw him no more than two hours ago. He is alone, still lying up from the heat on top of the hillock I pointed out to you earlier.’

‘We should not bewail the disappearance of the other,’ Leon consoled him. ‘One lion on his own will be easier to work with. Two together might be one too many.’

‘Where is Manyoro?’ Loikot asked.

‘After we left you we flew over the manyatta of Massana. The morani hunters were gathered there, but they must already be on their way to join us. The manyatta is not far off. They will be here soon.’

‘I will go back to keep watch on my lion,’ Loikot volunteered. ‘When it is dark, he might move a great distance. I will return early tomorrow morning.’

It was still two hours from sunset when they heard singing and saw the people coming through the open forest towards where they were camped on the edge of the pan. Manyoro was leading them, and he was followed by the long file of armed morani decked out in full hunting regalia, carrying shields and assegais.

Behind them came hundreds of men, women and children. They had gathered from every manyatta for fifty miles around. Like a flock of gorgeous sunbirds, the unmarried girls fluttered behind the regiment of eligible morani. By the time the sun had set, this agglomeration of humanity was encamped around the Butterfly, and the night air was redolent with the aromas from the cooking fires. Excitement was running at fever pitch and the singing and happy laughter of young people went on throughout the night.

The next morning, before it was light, Loikot returned from his scouting expedition. He reported that, by the light of the moon, the lion had taken a young kudu cow and was still feeding on the carcass. ‘He will not leave his kill,’ Loikot said with conviction.

The hunters waited for the sun with mounting anticipation. They sat around the fires preening and dressing their hair, sharpening their assegais and tightening the sinews of their shields. When the first rays of the sun struck the cliffs of the escarpment, the master of the hunt blew a blast on his whistle to signal the start. They sprang up from their sleeping mats and formed up on the white salt plain in their ranks. They began to dance and sing, softly at first but with increasing abandon as the excitement built up.

The young girls formed a ring around them. They started to ululate, to stamp their feet and jerk their hips, to clap their hands and bob their heads. They joggled their breasts and oscillated their plump round buttocks for the men, egging them on. The morani began to sweat as they danced. Their eyes glazed over with a ferment of blood-lust and arousal.

Suddenly Graf Otto appeared from the tent that had been erected in the shadow of the Butterfly’s wide wings and marched on to the white pan. A roar went up from the morani ranks when they saw him. He was dressed in a red tribal shuka. The skirt was belted around his waist and the tail was thrown back over one shoulder. The skin of his upper torso and limbs was exposed, white as an egret’s wing. The hair on his chest and forearms was as bright as copper wire. His shoulders were wide, his chest was broad and his limbs were hard and muscled, but his belly was full, beginning to bulge and soften with age and good living.

The young girls shrieked with laughter, and clung to each other in raptures of mirth. They had never imagined a mzungu to dress in tribal costume. They flocked to him and gathered around him, still giggling. They touched his milky skin, and stroked his red-gold body hair in wonder. Then Graf Otto began to dance. The girls backed away, and soon they were no longer giggling. They clapped the rhythm for him and urged him on with shrill, excited cries.

Graf Otto danced with extraordinary grace for such a big man. He leaped high, spun, stamped and stabbed at the air with the assegai in his right hand. He flourished the rawhide shield that he carried on his left shoulder. The prettiest and more daring of the girls took it in turns to come forward and dance face to face with him. They shot out their long, crane-like necks and rattled the collars of beadwork that festooned them. Their breasts were polished with fat and red ochre, and with each stiff-legged jump they bounced tantalizingly. The air was thick with the dust raised by their flying bare feet, musky with the smell of their sweat, and charged with the prospect of blood, death and carnality.

Leon leaned against the fuselage of the Butterfly and seemed to give his full attention to this display of primeval abandon. However, almost within arm’s length of where he stood Eva was perched on the leading edge of the Butterfly’s wing, legs dangling. From this angle he was able to study her face without seeming to do so. Eva showed no emotion at the display other than mild amusement. Once again, Leon wondered at her ability to hide her true feelings so completely.

Graf Otto was her man, and ostensibly she was his woman, yet he was participating in a blatantly sexual ritual with dozens of nubile, half-naked and frenzied young females. If she felt demeaned and insulted by his boorish behaviour, she did not show it, but Leon seethed on her behalf.

Almost as though she could feel his eyes on her, she looked down at him from her perch on the wing. Her expression was calm and her eyes were secretive, betraying nothing. Then, as their gazes locked, she allowed him to see into the secret, well-guarded places of her soul. Such manifest love for him shone forth from her violet eyes that he caught his breath. All at once he was aware of the depth of the change that had overtaken them. No matter what had gone before, they were now committed to each other. Nothing and nobody else counted. Looking into each other’s eyes they exchanged vows that were silent but irrevocable.

The moment was shattered by the blast of a whistle and a great shout from the morani. The hunters formed up in column. Loikot took his place in the front rank to guide them to where the quarry was lying up. Still singing the Lion Song, the morani followed him, winding through the trees, with the gleaming white body of Graf Otto in their midst. The spectators trooped after them. Gustav and Hennie were swallowed up in the crowd and borne away with it.

Leon and Eva were left alone. He went to where she sat on the wing. ‘If we are to be in at the death, we must hurry.’

‘Help me down,’ she replied. She lifted her arms and leaned towards him. He reached up, placed his hands around her narrow waist, and when he set her on her feet she pressed against him for a brief moment. He smelled her particular perfume and felt the warmth of her belly against his. She read his eyes, and felt the stiffening of his loins through their clothing. ‘I know, Badger. I know so well how you feel. I feel it too. But we must be patient a little longer. Soon! Soon, I promise.’

‘Oh, God!’ He groaned. ‘I wish . . . Otto . . . the lion. If only . . .’

Her eyes quickened with real fear. ‘No, don’t say it!’ She placed a finger on his lips. ‘Don’t wish for that to happen. It would bring us the worst possible luck.’ She dropped her hand from his face, and he saw that Manyoro had come silently and was standing at his shoulder. He had the Holland rifle in one hand and the ammunition bandolier in the other.

‘Thank you, my brother,’ Leon said, as he took them.

‘Graf Otto said there were to be no guns on this hunt,’ Eva reminded him.

‘Can you imagine what might happen if he wounds that lion and it gets in among all those people?’ Leon asked grimly. ‘It’s one thing for him to have a pact with the devil, but quite another if he intends to include a dozen women and children in the bargain.’ He opened the breech of the rifle, and while he loaded it with two fat brass cartridges, he asked, ‘Can you run in that skirt and those boots?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then let’s see you do it.’ He took her arm and they raced after the column of morani, which was drawing away rapidly from the rabble of spectators.

Leon was surprised by how well Eva kept up. She lifted her long gabardine skirts to the tops of her knee-high boots and ran with the grace and lightness of a newly roused doe. He took her arm to steady her over the rougher footing, and boosted her up the steep bank of a ravine. They passed the stragglers and caught up with the main body of hunters, and were not far behind the leading warriors when the hunt master blew his whistle again. The morani evolved smoothly into their twin-horned battle formation.

‘They have caught up with the lion.’ Leon was breathing heavily with exertion.

‘How do you know? Can you see it?’ she panted.

‘Not from here, but they can. Judging from the way they’re moving, it must be lying up in that dense scrub at the foot of the kopje.’ He pointed ahead at a jumble of rocks and silver-leaf scrub.

‘Where is Otto?’ She gasped to catch her breath and leaned against him for a moment to rest. Her forehead was damp and shining with perspiration, and he delighted in her warm, womanly odour.

‘He’s right in the thick of it. Where else would we expect him to be?’ Leon pointed, and she saw his pale form standing out clearly in the first rank of dark warriors that was closing like a mailed fist around the rocky prominence of the hillock.

‘Can you see the lion yet?’ Her tone was agonized.

‘No. We’ll have to get closer.’ He took her arm and they began to run again. The first line of morani was no more than a hundred and fifty paces ahead of them when Leon stopped abruptly. ‘Oh, sweet God! There he is! There is the lion.’ He pointed.

‘Where? I can’t see it.’

‘There, on the high ground.’ He put an arm around her shoulders and turned her to face it. ‘That huge black thing on top of the highest rock. That’s him. Listen! The morani are challenging him.’

‘I can’t see . . .’ But then the lion raised and fluffed out his mane, and she gasped. ‘I was looking right at it. I never realized it would be so big. I thought it was a gigantic boulder.’

The lion swung his massive head from side to side, surveying the host of enemies that surrounded him. He snarled and bared his teeth. Even at that distance Leon and Eva could clearly see the ivory flash of his fangs and hear the furious crackling growls. Then he lowered his head and flattened his ears against his skull as he picked out the moon-pale flash of Otto von Meerbach’s body in the centre of the ranks. He had been driven off his kill and he was angry. He needed no further provocation than the sight of that alien body. He growled again, then launched his charge, bounding down the side of the kopje straight at Graf Otto.

A challenging shout went up from the morani ranks and they drummed on their shields, goading the lion. As he reached level ground at the foot of the slope he flattened out with the speed and power of his rush, snaking low to the earth, the dust spurting up from under the massive paws, grunting with every stride.

Without a moment’s hesitation Graf Otto lifted his shield and held it high as he charged forward to meet the great beast. Leon and Eva came up short and, with a sense of inevitability, watched it happen. Eva was clinging to Leon’s hand and he felt her finger-nails sink into his flesh, drawing blood. ‘It’s going to kill him!’ she whispered, but at the last possible instant Graf Otto moved with the timing and co-ordination of a consummate athlete. He dropped to one knee and covered himself with the rawhide war-shield. At the same time he brought up the assegai in his right hand and presented the point to the charging lion. The beast took it in the centre of his chest, and it went in full length, so deep that Graf Otto’s right hand, which held the haft, was buried in the coarse black fleece of the mane, and the lion’s heart was spitted cleanly by the razor steel. His jaws gaped wide as he roared, and from his throat shot a fountain of bright blood that sprayed over Otto von Meerbach’s head and shoulders. The lion reeled back with the spear still buried in his heart, staggered in a circle and collapsed into the grass, all four legs kicking in the air. It was a perfect kill.

Graf Otto threw aside the shield and bounded to his feet, bellowing triumphantly, whirling in a dervish dance, his face contorted under the glistening coating of the lion’s blood. A dozen morani rushed forward to stab the blades of their assegais into the corpse. The Graf confronted them, bellowing possessively, keeping them away from his kill. He ripped his own spear from the lion’s chest and shook it at the warriors as they crowded forward, driving them back, shouting in their faces, beating his chest with his fists in a berserker rage, threatening them with his raised spear. They yelled back furiously at him, drumming on their shields with their own blades. They were demanding to share the glory, their entitlement to wash their spears in the blood of the lion. Graf Otto lunged at one, and the morani was only just quick enough to deflect the thrust with his shield. Graf Otto screamed with rage and hurled the assegai at him, like a javelin. The warrior raised his shield but the blade cut through the rawhide targe and slashed open the blood vessels in his wrist. His companions roared with fury.

‘Dear God! The madness is on him,’ Eva panted. ‘Someone will be killed, either himself or the Masai. I must stop him.’ She started forward.

‘No, Eva. They’re all mad with blood rage. You cannot stop them. You will only be hurt.’ He seized her arm.

She tugged against his grip. ‘I’ve been able to quiet him before. He will listen to me . . .’ Again she tried to pull away, but now he grabbed her shoulders with his left arm, and hefted the rifle in his right hand. Strong as she was, and no matter how she struggled, she was helpless in his grip.

‘It’s too late, Eva,’ he hissed into her ear and, holding the heavy rifle as though it were a pistol, he pointed with the barrel over the heads of Graf Otto and the wounded morani. ‘Look up there, on top of the kopje.’

She looked as he directed, and saw the second lion, the missing twin. He was standing on the crest of the hillock, a huge creature, bigger even than the one Graf Otto had killed, but his mane was fully erect with rage so he seemed to double in size. He hunched his back, opened his jaws wide and held them close to the ground as he roared, a full-throated earth-splitting blast. The hubbub of the watchers, the tumult of Graf Otto and the embattled warriors died away into a deathly silence. Every head was turned to the summit of the kopje and the beast that stood there.

The two lions had separated three days previously when the elder had been lured away by an irresistible perfume on the cool pre-dawn breeze. It was the odour of a mature lioness in full oestrus. He had left his younger twin and hurried to answer the wind-borne invitation.

He found the lioness an hour after sunrise, but another lion was already mating with her, a younger, stronger and more determined suitor. The two had fought, roaring, slashing and ripping at each other with fangs and bared claws. The older lion had been injured, driven off with a deep gash across the ribs and a bite in the shoulder that had cut down to the bone. He had come back to join his twin, limping with pain and aching with humiliation. The two lions had been reunited a little after moonrise and the wounded one had fed on the carcass of the kudu killed by his twin, then retreated to a rocky overhang in the side of the hill where he had lain up to rest and lick his wounds.

He had been too sore and stiff to take any part in the attack by the morani hunters, but the angry roaring and the death throes of his twin had brought him out of his hiding place. Now he looked down on the killing ground where the corpse of his sibling lay. He did not know the human feelings of grief, sorrow or loss, but he knew rage, a terrible consuming rage against the world and especially against the puny creatures in front of him. The figure of Graf Otto was closest, and the pale colour of his body acted as a focal point for the lion’s anger. He sprang forward and charged down the slope.

A dreadful wail went up from the women, who scattered like a flock of chickens before the stoop of a peregrine. The morani were taken completely off-guard: one minute they had been brawling with Graf Otto and then the lion had appeared, as if by virtue of his magical powers.

By the time they had rallied to face this new threat the beast had covered most of the ground to reach Graf Otto. Leon thrust Eva behind him and shouted at her, ‘Stay here. Don’t come any closer!’ Then he raced forward in an attempt to protect his client. He and the morani were far too late.

At the last instant Graf Otto threw up his arms in a futile effort to protect himself, but the lion smashed into him with all its speed and massive weight. He was bowled over backwards with the beast on top of him. It enfolded him in the crushing embrace of its forelegs, and drove its claws like butcher’s meat-hooks deep into the flesh of his back. At the same time its back legs raked the front of his lower body and thighs, cutting deep gouges into his flesh and slicing open his belly. Now it was crouched on top of him and went for his face and throat, but Graf Otto thrust his forearm into the gaping jaws in an effort to keep it away. The lion bit down, and as Leon ran up he heard the bones splinter. The lion bit again, this time crushing Graf Otto’s right shoulder. Like a kitten worrying a ball of wool, its back legs were busy, ripping long yellow claws through Graf Otto’s thighs and belly.

Leon slipped the safety catch off the rifle and rammed the muzzles into the lion’s ear. At the same instant he pulled both triggers. The bullets tore through the skull and blew out through the opposite ear, taking most of the brains with them. The lion flopped on to its side and rolled off Graf Otto.

Leon stood over the man, ears singing from the blast of the rifle, and stared in horrified disbelief at the damage the animal had inflicted in just a few seconds. For the moment he could not bring himself to touch Graf Otto: he was awash with blood, and more spurted from the hideous wounds in his arm and shoulder. It poured, too, from the deep gouges in the front of his thighs and from the slashes in his belly.

‘Is he still alive?’ Eva had ignored his instruction to stay back. ‘Is he alive or dead?’

‘A little of each, I think,’ Leon told her grimly, but her voice had snapped him out of the inertia of horror that had gripped him. He handed the rifle to Manyoro as he ran up, then dropped to his knees beside his client’s body, drew his hunting knife from its sheath and started to cut away the blood-soaked shuka.

‘Sweet God, it’s torn him to shreds. You’ll have to help me. Do you know anything about first aid?’ he asked Eva.

‘Yes,’ she said, as she knelt beside him. ‘I’ve had training.’ Her tone was calm and businesslike. ‘First we must stop the bleeding.’

Leon stripped away the last of Graf Otto’s tattered shuka and cut it into strips as bandages. Between them they placed tourniquets on the shattered arm and the torn thighs. Then they strapped pressure pads to the other deep punctures left by the lion’s fangs.

Leon watched Eva’s hands as she worked quickly and neatly. She showed no repugnance although she was bloodied to the elbows. ‘You know what you’re doing. Where did you learn?’

‘I could ask you the same question,’ she retorted.

‘I was taught the basics in the army,’ he replied.

‘The same with me.’

He stared at her in astonishment. ‘The German Army?’

‘One day I may tell you my life story, but for the moment we must get on with the job.’ She wiped her bloody hands on her skirt while she appraised what they had done, then shook her head. ‘He may survive the injuries, he’s tougher than most, but infection and mortification will probably kill him,’ she said.

‘You’re right. The fangs and claws of a lion are more deadly than poison arrows. They’re caked with rotten flesh and dried blood, a seething hothouse of germs. Dr Joseph Lister’s little friends. We must get him to Nairobi right away, so that Doc Thompson can stew him in a hot iodine bath.’

‘We can’t move him until we’ve done something about the tears in his belly. If we try to lift him now, his bowels will fall out. Can you stitch him?’ she asked.

‘I wouldn’t know where to begin,’ Leon said. ‘That’s a job for a surgeon. We’ll just strap him up and hope for the best.’ They bound up his stomach with lengths of shuka. Leon was watching Eva, waiting for her to express some emotion. She did not seem to be grieving. Did she have any feelings for him at all? She seemed to be working with professional detachment and avoided his eyes so he could not be certain.

At last they were able to lift Graf Otto on to a war-shield. Six of the morani took up the burden and carried him at a run in the direction of the salt pan where the Butterfly stood waiting.

Under Manyoro’s supervision they lifted the makeshift litter into the cockpit and Leon lashed it to the ring bolts in the deck. Then he looked up at Eva. Pale and dishevelled, she was squatting opposite him, her skirts filthy with blood and dust.

‘I don’t think he’ll make it, Eva. He’s lost too much blood. But perhaps Doc Thompson can pull off one of his miracles, if we get him to Nairobi in time.’

‘I’m not coming with you,’ Eva said softly.

He stared at her in amazement. It was not only the words themselves, but also the language in which she had spoken them. ‘You speak English. That’s a Geordie accent,’ he said. Its lyrical cadence was sweet to his ears.

‘Yes.’ She smiled sadly. ‘I am from Northumberland.’

‘I don’t understand.’

She pushed the hair back from her eyes and shook her head. ‘No, Badger, you cannot understand. Oh, God! There’s so much you don’t know about me, and which I can’t tell you . . . yet.’

‘Tell me one thing. What do you truly feel for Otto von Meer-bach? Do you love him, Eva?’

Her eyes widened, then darkened with horror. ‘Love him?’ She gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘No, I don’t love him. I hate him with all my heart and to the depths of my soul.’

‘Then why are you here with him? Why do you behave towards him as you do?’

‘You’re a soldier, Badger, as I am. You know about duty and patriotism.’ She drew a long, deep breath. ‘But I’ve had enough. I cannot go on. I’m not going with you to Nairobi. If I do I’ll never be able to escape.’

‘Who are you trying to escape from?’

‘Those who own my soul.’

‘Where will you go?’

‘I don’t know. Some secret place where they cannot find me.’ She reached out to him and took his hand. ‘I was relying on you, Leon. I hoped you could find a place where I might hide. Somewhere to which we could escape together.’

‘What about him?’ He indicated the blood-smeared body lying on the deck between them. ‘We cannot leave him to die, as he surely will if we don’t do something soon.’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Despite my feelings towards him, we cannot do that. Find me a place to hide. Leave me there. Come back for me as soon as you can. That is my only chance of winning my freedom.’

‘Freedom? Aren’t you free now?’

‘No. I am the captive of circumstances. You don’t believe that I chose to be what I have become, what they have made me, do you?’

‘What are you? What have you become?’

‘I have become a whore and an impostor, a liar and a cheat. I am caught in the jaws of a monster. Once I was like you, good, honest and innocent. I want to be like that again. I want to be like you. Will you have me? Shop-soiled and dirty as I am, will you take me?’

‘Oh, God, Eva, there’s nothing I want more. I’ve loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you.’

‘Then no more questions now. I beg you. Hide me here in the wilderness. Take Otto to Nairobi. If anybody there asks about me, and I mean anybody at all, don’t tell them where I am. Tell them simply that I’ve disappeared. Leave Otto at the hospital. If he survives they will send him back to Germany. But as soon as you can, you must return to me. I will explain everything to you then. Will you do it? The Lord knows there’s no reason why you should, but will you trust me?’

‘You know I will,’ he said softly, then he shouted, ‘Manyoro! Loikot!’ They were waiting close at hand. The orders he had for them were short and to the point. It took him less than a minute to issue them. He turned back to Eva. ‘Go with them,’ he told her. ‘Do as they tell you. You can trust them.’

‘I know I can. But where will they take me?’

‘To Lonsonyo Mountain. To Lusima,’ he answered, and watched all the worry disappear from her violet eyes.

‘To our mountain?’ she said. ‘Oh, Leon, from the first moment I saw it I knew Lonsonyo had a special significance for us.’

While they were speaking Manyoro had found the carpet bag in which Eva carried her personal things. He dragged it out of the stowage hatch at the rear of the cockpit and tossed it down to Loikot, who was standing below the fuselage, then vaulted over the side. For the moment Leon and Eva were alone together. They gazed at each other wordlessly. He reached out to touch her, and she came into his arms with a swift, lissom grace. They clung to each other, as though they were trying to meld their bodies into a single entity. Her lips quivered against his cheek as she whispered, ‘Kiss me, my darling. I have waited so long. Kiss me now.’

Their lips came together, as lightly at first as two butterflies touching in flight, then stronger, deeper, so that he could taste her essence and savour the warmth of her tongue and the pink, fragrant recesses of her mouth. That first kiss seemed to last an instant yet all of eternity. Then with an effort, they broke apart and stared at each other in awe.

‘I knew I loved you, but not until this moment did I realize how much,’ he said softly.

‘I know, for I feel it also,’ she replied. ‘Until this moment, I never knew what it would be like to trust and love somebody completely.’

‘You must go,’ he told her. ‘If you stay another minute I cannot trust myself to let you go.’

She tore her eyes from his and looked out across the pan to where the morani and the villagers were streaming back towards them. Some were carrying the carcasses of the two lions slung on poles, their heads hanging.

‘Gustav and Hennie are coming,’ she said. ‘They must not see me leave or know where I have gone.’ She kissed him again swiftly, then broke away. ‘I shall wait for you to come back to me, and every second that we are apart will be agony and an eternity.’ Then, with a rustle and flurry of skirts, she sprang out of the cockpit. With Manyoro and Loikot on each side of her she ran for the trees, screened from Gustav and Hennie by the fuselage of the aircraft. When they reached the treeline Eva paused to look back. She waved, then vanished into the forest. He was surprised by the desolation that came over him now that she was gone, and he made a conscious effort to shake off the mood and brace himself to meet Gustav, who was scrambling into the cockpit.

He fell on his knees beside Graf Otto’s body. ‘Oh, my God, my good God!’ he cried. ‘He is killed!’ Unaffected tears streamed down his weathered cheeks. ‘Please, God, spare him! He was more than my own father to me.’ Apparently Gustav had forgotten the existence of Eva von Wellberg.

‘He’s not dead,’ Leon told him brusquely, ‘but he soon will be if you don’t get the engines started so I can take him to a doctor.’ Gustav and Hennie sprang to work, and within a few minutes all four engines were rumbling and popping blue smoke scented with castor oil as they warmed up. Leon swung the Butterfly’s nose to the wind, and waited for the engines to settle down to a steady beat, then shouted at Gustav and Hennie, ‘Hold him steady!’

They crouched beside the makeshift stretcher on which Graf Otto lay and took a firm grasp. Leon pushed the throttles forward to the stops. The aircraft roared and rolled forward. As he lifted her over the trees he looked over the side, searching for Eva. He saw her then. She and the Masai had covered the ground, and they were already a quarter of a mile beyond the perimeter of the pan. She was running a little behind the other two. She stopped and looked up, swept off her hat and waved. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders and she was laughing, and he knew that her laughter was for his encouragement. He felt his heart squeezed by her courage and fortitude, but he dared not return her wave for it might draw Gustav’s attention to the little figure far below. The Butterfly roared on, climbing towards the rampart of the Rift Valley wall.

It was late afternoon and the sun was setting when Leon set the Butterfly down on the Nairobi polo ground. It was deserted, for nobody was expecting them. He taxied to the hangar where the hunting car was parked, shut down the engines and, between them, they manhandled the stretcher over the side of the cockpit and lowered Graf Otto to the ground.

Leon examined him briefly. He could detect no breathing, and Graf’s skin was deathly pale, damp and cold to the touch. He showed no signs of life. Leon felt a guilty jolt of relief that his wish for the man’s death had been so swiftly realized. But then he touched Graf Otto’s neck under the ear and felt the carotid artery throbbing feebly and irregularly. Then he placed his ear to the man’s lips and heard the faint hiss of air, in and out of his lungs.

Any normal human being would have been dead long ago, but this bastard is as tough as the skin on an elephant’s backside, he thought bitterly. ‘Bring the hunting car,’ he told Gustav. They placed the litter across the back seat, where Gustav and Hennie held it securely while he drove carefully to the hospital, avoiding the ruts and bumps in the track.

The hospital was a small building of mud-brick and thatch, across the road from the new Anglican church. It comprised a clinic, a rudimentary operating theatre and two small, empty wards. The entire building was deserted and Leon hurried to the cottage at the rear.

He found Doc Thompson and his wife sitting down to their dinner, but they left it on the table and rushed with Leon to the hospital. Mrs Thompson was the only trained nursing sister in the entire colony and took over immediately. Under her supervision Gustav and Hennie carried Graf Otto into the clinic and lifted him off the stretcher on to the examination table. While the doctor cut away the makeshift bandages, they dragged in a galvanized iron bath and filled it with hot water into which Mrs Thompson emptied a quart bottle of concentrated potassium of iodine. Then they lifted Graf Otto’s broken body off the table and lowered him into the steaming brew.

The pain was so excruciating that he was jerked out of the dark fog of coma, shrieking and struggling as he tried to drag himself out of the caustic antiseptic. They held him down mercilessly so that the iodine could soak into the deep, terrible wounds. Despite his antipathy towards the man, Leon found the spectacle of his agony harrowing. He backed to the door and slipped quietly out of the clinic into the sweet evening air.

By the time he reached the polo ground the sun had set. Paulus and Ludwig, two of the Meerbach mechanics, had got there before him: they had heard the Butterfly’s earlier landing and had come to find out what was happening. Leon gave them a brief account of the Graf’s mauling, then said, ‘I must get back. I don’t know what has happened to Fräulein von Wellberg. She is there alone. She may be in danger. The Butterfly’s fuel tanks are almost empty. What about the Bumble Bee?’

‘We filled her up after you brought her in,’ Ludwig told him.

‘Help me to get the engines started.’ Leon went to the aircraft, and the mechanics ran after him.

‘You cannot fly in darkness!’ Ludwig protested.

‘The moon is only two nights from full and will rise within the next hour. Then it will be as bright as day.’

‘What if it clouds over?’

‘Not at this time of year,’ Leon told him. ‘Now, stop arguing. Give me a hand to get her started.’ He climbed into the cockpit and began the routine, but halfway through he stopped and tilted his head to listen to the galloping hoofbeats coming up the track from the town. ‘Damn it to hell,’ he muttered. ‘I was hoping to sneak away without attracting any unwelcome attention. Who’s this?’ He crouched below the cockpit coaming and watched the dark shape of horse and rider materialize out of the night. Then he sighed as he recognized the tall, portly figure in the saddle, even though he could not yet make out the face. ‘Uncle Penrod!’ he called.

The rider reined in. ‘Leon? Is that you?’

‘None other, sir.’ Leon tried to keep the tone of resignation from his voice.

‘What’s happening?’ Penrod asked. ‘I was having dinner with Hugh Delamere out at the Muthaiga Country Club when we heard the aircraft arriving. Almost immediately there were all sorts of rumours flying around the bar. Somebody had seen von Meerbach brought in on a stretcher. They were saying he’d been in an accident, bitten by a lion, and that Fräulein von Wellberg was dead or missing. I went up to the hospital but I was told that Doc was operating and wouldn’t talk to me. Then I realized that as there are only two people in the colony who can fly an aeroplane, and von Meerbach was apparently in no condition to do so, it had to have been you who had flown in. I came to look for you.’

Leon laughed ruefully. It was not easy to beat Brigadier General Ballantyne to the punch. ‘Uncle, you’re a bloody genius.’

‘So everybody keeps telling me. Now, my boy, I want a full report. What in the name of all that’s holy are you up to? What has really happened to von Meerbach, and where is the lovely Fräulein?’

‘Some of the rumours you heard are correct, sir. I brought von Meerbach in from the field. He was badly mauled by a lion, as you heard. I left him with Doc. I don’t think he’ll pull through. He’s badly hurt.’

‘How could you let it happen, Leon?’ Penrod’s tone betrayed his outrage. ‘By Gad, all my hard work gone to pot.’

‘He insisted on taking on the lion in the Masai fashion with the assegai. It had him down before I had a chance to prevent it.’

‘The man’s a bloody fool,’ Penrod snapped, ‘and you’re not much better. You should never have let him get himself into such a position. You knew how important it was, how much we were hoping to learn from him. Damn it! You should have stopped him. You should have looked after him as though he was a baby.’

‘A big bad baby with a mind of his own, sir. Not easy to look after.’ Leon’s tone was sharp with anger.

Penrod changed tack smoothly. ‘Where is von Wellberg? I hope you haven’t fed her to the lions too.’

The taunt riled Leon, as Penrod had intended it to. The truthful reply leaped angrily to his lips but, with an effort, he stopped it there. Eva’s warning echoed in his ears: If anybody there asks about me, and I mean anybody at all, don’t tell them where I am. Tell them simply that I’ve disappeared.

Anybody at all. Had she meant to include Penrod in that warning? His mind raced. He recalled the incident at the regimental dinner when he had come across them in the garden. His suspicions at that time must have been well founded. Eva would never have dropped her guard like that unless there was some special understanding between them. Then he recalled how Eva had adumbrated her connections to the military. Penrod was the commander of the armed forces in the colony. It was all starting to take on a shadowy shape in his mind.

I am caught in the jaws of a monster, she had said. Was Penrod the monster? If so, then Leon had been on the point of betraying her. He took a deep breath and said firmly, ‘She disappeared, sir.’

‘What in hell do you mean, “disappeared”?’ Penrod barked.

His swift, sharp reaction confirmed Leon’s suspicions. Penrod was at the centre of the murky mystery.

You are a soldier, Badger, as I am. You know about duty and patriotism.

Yes, he was a soldier, and here he was, lying to his superior officer. Once before he had been found guilty of disobeying a superior officer and dereliction of duty. Now he was committing the same capital offences, but this time he was doing it deliberately and wilfully. Like Eva, he was caught in the jaws of the monster.

‘Come on, boy, spit it out. What do you mean she disappeared? People don’t just disappear.’

‘At the time of the lion attack I was trying to protect von Meerbach. He was the one in real jeopardy, not . . .’ he had almost said ‘Eva’ but corrected himself ‘. . . not the lady. I told her to stay well back, and I ran forward among the Masai. I lost sight of her in the confusion. Then, when the lion got von Meerbach down and ripped him up, I had only one thing on my mind, and that was to patch him up and get him to Doc Thompson. I didn’t think about Fräulein von Wellberg again until I was airborne, and by then it was too late to turn back for her. I trusted Manyoro and Loikot to find her and take care of her. I believe they will have taken her to safety. But right now I’m going to risk a night flight into the valley to make sure she’s all right.’

Penrod pushed his horse close alongside the fuselage and glared up at Leon, who was certain that his guilt must be stamped clearly on his features. He blessed the darkness that hid his face from Penrod’s harsh scrutiny.

‘Listen to me, Leon Courtney! If any harm comes to her you will answer to me. Now, here are my orders. Mark them well. You will go back to where you left Eva von Wellberg in the bush and bring her out. You will conduct her to me – directly to me and nobody else. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Abundantly, sir.’

‘If you let me down, I will teach you the meaning of the words “pain” and “suffering”. What Freddie Snell did to you will seem like a pat on the head in comparison. You have been warned.’

‘Indeed I have, sir. Now, if you will kindly move away from the wash of the propellers, I’ll be on my way to obey your orders.’

Ludwig drove the big von Meerbach truck to the far end of the polo ground and parked it so that its headlights lit the landing strip. As Leon roared down the field on the take-off run, he saw Penrod, silhouetted by the headlights, hunched on his mount. He could almost feel the heat of his uncle’s anger.

As soon as he had cleared the tops of the bluegum trees at the end of the field he turned on to a heading for Percy’s Camp. As he gained altitude the moon seemed to rush eagerly over the black horizon to light him on his way. From fifteen miles out, the hill above the camp was gilded by moonlight, guiding him in on the last leg of the journey. To attract Max Rosenthal’s attention he circled the camp three times, revving the engines, then throttling back. On the last circuit he saw headlights switched on below him, then watched the truck grind its way over the rough track to the airstrip. Max understood what was required of him and lined up the vehicle to orientate Leon for the landing.

As soon as Leon had parked the Bumble Bee he threw his pack over the side, then grabbed the Holland rifle and bandolier from the locker where Manyoro had left them. He scrambled down and hurried towards the truck.

‘Max, I want four of our best horses and one of the grooms to go with me. We’ll each ride a horse, and take the spares on lead reins.’

‘Jawohl, boss. Where are you going? When do you want to leave?’

‘Don’t worry about where I’m going, and I want to leave at once.’

‘Himmel! It’s eleven o’clock at night. Can’t it wait until morning?’

‘I’m in a hurry, Max.’

‘Ja, so it seems.’

Leon hurried to his tent and threw a few essential items into his light pack, then went down to the picket lines. There, the horses were already waiting, but instead of four animals, as he had ordered, there were five. Leon’s frown cleared, replaced by a grin as he recognized the figure mounted on the black mule. ‘May the Prophet shower blessings on you!’ he greeted him.

Ishmael’s teeth flashed white in the moonlight. ‘Effendi, I knew that you would starve without me.’

They rode hard for the rest of that night, changing horses twice. In the dawn the shadowy blue bulk of Lonsonyo Mountain lay low on the distant horizon ahead. By noon it filled half of the eastern sky, but this aspect was unfamiliar to Leon. He had never before approached the mountain from this direction. Now it was presenting its more rugged northerly slope, the one he and Eva had flown over with Graf Otto at the controls of the Butterfly.

By this time they had been riding for almost thirteen hours since leaving Percy’s Camp and he had pushed the horses hard. Despite his impatience to be reunited with Eva he knew he could not demand more of the animals or the men. He had to rest the men and let the horses graze and drink. They unsaddled beside a small waterhole and hobbled the animals, then turned them loose to graze.

While they were busy Ishmael brewed coffee, then cut slices of cold venison and pickled onions on to a hunk of unleavened bread. When he had eaten Leon slept until nightfall. Then they saddled up and rode on into the darkness. In the cool night the horses went with a will and at dawn the mountain towered above them. Leon stared up at its cliffs in awe: the high walls were decked with brilliantly coloured lichens. He picked out the silvery gleam of falling water in one of the gorges that rent the massive ramparts. Although from this low angle the circular dark pool was hidden, he realized that this must be the waterfall he and Eva had looked down upon from the air.

Leon knew from Loikot that there was a pathway beside the waterfall that scaled the cliffs to the summit, and this was the route by which they had intended to take Eva to Lusima. But he was still too far off to pick out the track even with the help of binoculars. Instead he concentrated on estimating the distances and direction from which the others would come, hoping he might intercept them before they began their ascent. It was more likely, though, that they were already on the path ahead of him.

Either way he knew Eva was close at hand, and his spirits soared. Ishmael and the groom were unable to keep pace with him as he urged his mount forward. Within another hour he reined in sharply, swung down from the saddle and squatted beside one of the numerous game trails that crisscrossed the savannah. Three sets of human footprints were freshly impressed in the fine dust. Manyoro had been in the lead – Leon would have recognized that limp anywhere: the slight drag of the toe was unmistakable. Loikot had followed, with his long, lithe paces, Eva behind them.

‘Oh, my darling!’ Leon murmured, as he touched one of her neat, narrow prints. ‘Even your little feet are beautiful.’

The tracks were headed directly towards the mountain, and he remounted and followed them at a canter. The path climbed the first pitch of the slope, becoming steeper with each pace. The cliff reared up until it seemed to fill the sky and the clouds sailing above gave Leon the uncomfortable delusion that the mountain was collapsing on top of him.

Soon the path was so steep that he was forced to dismount and lead his horse. At intervals he picked up the tracks Eva’s boots had left, which encouraged him to keep on upwards at his best speed. The severity of the slope made it impossible to see more than a short way ahead, but he strode on, the rest of his party struggling after him but losing ground rapidly. He reached a step in the mountainside, and as he topped it he stared in wonder.

Before him lay the circular pool. It was much larger than it had seemed from the aeroplane, but its size was dwarfed by the magnitude of the cliff above it and the thunderous white deluge of the waterfall. So copious was the flood that it sent eddies of cool air swirling around the rock cauldron.

Then he heard a voice, faint and almost drowned by the din of cascading waters. It was hers, and his heart surged with excitement. Eagerly he scanned the cliffs on both sides of the pool, for the echoes were deceptive and he was uncertain of the direction from which she was calling. ‘Eva!’ he shouted at the cliffs, and the diminishing echoes mocked him.

‘Leon! Darling!’ This time the direction was more obvious. He turned to the left side of the pool and threw back his head. He saw a flash of movement high above and realized she was standing on a ledge that angled up the cliff face. But as he watched she started back down towards him, running with the speed and agility of a rock hyrax over the treacherous footing.

‘Eva!’ he yelled. ‘I’m coming, my darling!’ He dropped his horse’s reins and scrambled up the mountainside to meet her. Now he could see the two Masai on the path above her. Even at this distance he could read the astonishment on their faces as they watched this extraordinary display. He and Eva reached the beginning of the ledge at almost the same time, but he was below the lip and she was on top of it, six feet above his head.

‘Catch me, Badger!’ she called and, trusting in his strength, flung herself over the edge. As she dropped he caught her, but her weight and momentum brought him to his knees. He knelt over her, hugging her protectively to his chest as they laughed.

‘I love you, you crazy girl!’

‘Never let me go again!’ she said, as their lips came together.

‘Never!’ he promised, speaking into her sweet mouth.

Much later when they drew apart to breathe, they saw that Manyoro and Loikot had followed Eva back down the path, and were squatting on the ledge just above them, watching their performance with grins of delight.

‘Go and make nuisances of yourselves somewhere else!’ Leon ordered them. ‘You’re not welcome here. Take my horse and go down the mountain until you meet Ishmael. Tell him to make camp at the foot. Wait for us. We’ll sleep there tonight.’

‘Ndio, Bwana,’ Manyoro answered.

‘And stop giggling like that.’

‘Ndio, Bwana!’

Manyoro’s voice was muffled with mirth as he scrambled down, but Loikot remained on the ledge above him. Suddenly he squeaked at Manyoro, in a falsetto imitation of Eva’s voice, ‘Cashy mia, Bazzer!’ and threw himself from the ledge as Eva had done. He crashed into Manyoro with such force that he bowled him over. The two rolled down the slope locked in each other’s embrace, howling and hooting with laughter. ‘Cashy mia!’ they screamed. ‘Cashy mia, Bazzer.’

Neither Leon nor Eva could contain themselves and burst out laughing again. Eventually Leon found his voice: ‘Go, you idiots!’ he ordered them. ‘Get out of my sight. I don’t want to see either of you again for a long, long time!’

They staggered down the mountain, still racked with paroxysms of laughter, hugging themselves and each other with glee.

‘Cashy mia, Bazzer!’ Manyoro howled.

‘Luff you, clazy gel!’ Loikot slapped his cheeks and shook his head. ‘Luff you!’ he repeated, and jumped three feet into the air.

‘That was, without doubt, the funniest incident ever to be recorded in the history of Masailand. You and I will go down in tribal mythology,’ Leon told Eva, as the two men disappeared down the path. He picked her up in his arms and she locked hers around his neck. He carried her to a flat ledge beside the pool and sat with her in his lap. ‘You don’t know how I’ve longed to hold you like this,’ he whispered.

‘All my life,’ she replied. ‘That’s how long I’ve waited for this to happen.’

He stroked her face, tracing the arches of her eyebrows with his fingertips, then burrowed his fingers into the tresses of her hair, filling his hands with the thick, glossy locks, gloating on every facet of her beauty, like a miser fondling his hoard of gold coins. She seemed so fragile and delicate that he was afraid he might hurt her, startle or alarm her. Her loveliness awed him. She was nothing like the other women he had known. She made him feel inadequate, unworthy.

She understood his dilemma. His timidity reawakened in her feelings of tenderness such as she had not experienced for a very long time. But she wanted him desperately and could not wait. She knew she must take the lead.

He felt her unbuttoning his shirt and one of her hands slipped through the opening and began to caress the muscles of his chest. He shivered with delight. ‘You’re so hard, so strong,’ she murmured.

‘And you’re so soft and tender,’ he countered.

She leaned back a little way so that she could look into his eyes. ‘I’m not breakable, my Badger. I’m flesh and blood as you are. I want what you want.’ She took the lobe of his ear between her teeth and nibbled it softly. He felt goosebumps rise on the nape of his neck. When she thrust her tongue deep into his ear he shuddered deliciously.

‘I have sensitive places, just like you do.’ She took his hand and placed it on her breast. ‘If you touch me here and here, like this and that, you will see for yourself.’

He felt the hooks and eyes of her blouse under his fingers and slipped open the top one. He did it diffidently, expecting a rebuke, but she drew back her shoulders so that her breasts swelled out to meet his exploring fingers.

‘There’s a clever boy! You found one of my places without any help from me.’

Her words, and the tone in which she uttered them, roused in him a feverish impatience. He threw aside all restraint and caution, plucked open her blouse and reached inside. Her breasts were hot and silky, and he felt the tips harden and pucker. Her breathing was coming faster as she whispered, ‘They are yours, my darling. All I have is yours.’

She drew back just enough and moved so that her breasts brushed lightly against his face. She shrugged off her blouse and silken slip, and was naked to the waist. Again she let her breasts swing against his face, and he took one of her nipples into his mouth. She gasped and lay back in the circle of his arms, then took a double handful of the hair at the back of his head and used it to direct his mouth to the other.

‘Forgive me, my darling, but I cannot wait any longer,’ she cried, her tone almost desperate as she wriggled off his lap and knelt in front of him, her naked breasts heavy and full, just brushing his face as she tugged at his belt. When she had opened the buckle and unbuttoned his fly, he lifted himself just enough to enable her to push his breeches down to his knees. She hoisted her long skirt to her lower ribs – she wore nothing under it – and her waist was fluted, like the neck of a Grecian vase, curving into the swell of her hips. The skin of her belly was nacreous and unblemished. Her thighs were strong but shapely and between them nestled her womanly bush, dark and curling luxuriantly in its marvellous profusion. She raised one of her knees over him, mounting him as she would a horse, and as her thighs parted he glimpsed, through the dark curtain of hair, the gape of her sex. It was pouting and damp with the lubricious juices of her arousal. Then, with a single adroit thrust of her hips, she engulfed him to the hilt, and they cried out together as though in pain.

For both, it happened so swiftly and intensely that they were left unable to speak, barely able to move, clinging together like the survivors of some devastating earthquake or typhoon. It took them some time to drift back from the far frontiers of their minds and bodies to which they had been transported.

Eva spoke first: ‘I never imagined it could be like that.’ She laid her head on his chest to listen to his heart. He stroked her hair and she closed her eyes. They slept, and came awake to the barking of a troop of baboons high on the cliff face, their challenge reverberating through the gorge. She sat up slowly and pushed the hair back from her face. It was still wet with sweat and her cheeks were flushed. ‘How long were we asleep?’ She blinked.

‘Is it important?’ he asked.

‘It’s very important. I don’t want to waste a single moment of the time we have together in sleeping.’

‘We have the rest of our lives.’

‘I pray God that is so. But this world is so cruel.’ She looked forlorn and bereft. ‘Please don’t ever leave me.’

‘Never,’ he said fiercely, and when she smiled the violet lights glowed in her eyes.

‘You’re right, Badger. We’re going to be happy for ever. I refuse to be sad on this wonderful day. The world can never catch us.’ She sprang to her feet and pirouetted on the ledge. ‘This day will last for ever,’ she sang, and as she danced she shed her clothing, scattering it over the rock.

‘What are you doing, you shameless hussy?’ He laughed with delight as she danced for him, naked in the sunlight. Her body was very lovely, young and perfectly proportioned, her movements lithe and graceful.

‘I’m going to take you for a swim in our magical pool,’ she cried. ‘Throw off those dusty old clothes, sir, and come with me.’ She stopped dancing and watched with her full attention as he hopped on one foot to pull off his boots.

‘All of your things bounce and joggle when you do that,’ she observed.

‘So do yours.’

‘Mine aren’t as pretty and useful as yours.’

‘Oh, yes, they jolly well are.’ He flung aside his breeches and started after her. ‘Let me show you just how useful yours really are.’ She squealed with mock-alarm, ran to the end of the ledge and paused there for just long enough to make certain he was still pursuing her. Then she clasped her hands above her head and dived into the pool. She struck the water like an arrow, her limbs perfectly aligned with her body so that there was almost no splash as she slipped beneath the surface. She went deep, her image wavering beneath the ripples, then shot up again so swiftly that her white body burst out to the level of her belly button before she fell back with her hair slicked over her shoulders, like the pelt of an otter.

‘It’s cold! My bet is that you’re too much of a sissy to chance it,’ she shouted.

‘You lose your bet, and here I come for my payment.’

‘You must catch me first.’ She laughed and set off for the far side of the pool, kicking up a froth behind her.

He dived in and ploughed after her with long, powerful, overhead strokes. He caught her before she was halfway across, and seized her from behind. ‘Pay up!’ he demanded, and turned her to face him.

She placed both arms around his neck and her lips on his. Kissing, they sank deep below the surface only to come up again, spluttering, choking and laughing. She had her long legs locked around his waist and her arms around his neck. She lifted herself out of the water and used her weight to force his head under, then twisted out of his grip and darted away. She only looked back when she reached the far side of the pool. The waterfall thundered down in two separate streams, leaving an area of quiet water between them. In the centre of this haven a single rock thrust its top above the surface, black and smooth, polished by the waters. She pulled herself up on to it and sat with her legs dangling below the surface. With both hands she thrust her wet hair back from her eyes as she looked around for Leon. At first she was laughing, but then, as she saw no sign of him, she became anxious. ‘Badger! Leon! Where are you?’ she cried.

He had followed her across the pool, but as she approached the black rock he had taken a deep breath and duck-dived, swinging his legs high in the air so that their weight forced his body under. Once he was below the surface he swam on downwards. He had imagined that the pool was probably bottomless, for he had seen no overflow at the surface. The huge volume of water pouring over the falls must have another means of escape. But as he swam down he found he had been mistaken. The bottom appeared below him and, even at this depth, the water was so clear that he could see it was covered with a jumble of rocks that must have fallen from the cliffs.

By now his eardrums were aching with the pressure and he stopped to clear them, holding his nose and blowing air through the Eustachian tubes. His ears squealed and popped, the pain subsided and he swam on down. He reached the bottom and found that among the rocks was scattered a bizarre collection of Masai artefacts: ancient assegais and axes, mounds of pottery shards, necklaces and bracelets made from trade beads, small carvings of hardwood and ivory, primitive jewellery and other artefacts so old and rotten that they were unidentifiable, all offerings made by the Masai over the ages to their tribal gods.

By now he had expended most of his oxygen so he took one last look around, and the mystery of the overflow was solved. The wall below the waterfall was pierced by a number of almost horizontal adits that had probably been blown out in antiquity by boiling lava and gas from the volcano under the mountain. It was these dark and sinister passages that drained away the overflow from the pool and kept it at a constant level. By now his lungs were heaving for air and he swam for the surface. As the light strengthened he saw above him a pair of long, shapely feminine legs dabbling below the surface. He swam up under them, seized the ankles and jerked their owner into the pool on top of him. They came to the surface again, clinging together and gasping for air.

Eva recovered her voice before he did. ‘You heartless swine! I thought you were drowned or swallowed by a crocodile. How can you play such a cruel trick on me?’

They swam back to where they had left their clothes.

‘We don’t want you to catch your death of cold,’ Leon told her, and made her stand naked on the ledge while he dried her with his shirt.

She held her hands above her head and revolved slowly to allow him to reach the difficult places. ‘What big eyes you have, sir. You’re doing a great deal more looking than drying. So is your one-eyed friend down there. I should make both of you wear a blindfold,’ she said, as she came around to face him.

‘And who is the heartless one now?’ he asked.

‘Not me!’ she cried. ‘Let me prove to both of you what a kind heart I have.’ She reached out and grasped his friend firmly but tenderly. In the first divine madness of their passion they were insatiable.