Blue Horizon

"I must speak to Rahmad, if there is some small chance that I caner the bloodshed now and save the lives of those wretches trapped wit hts the walls."

Then I must go with you," said Jim.

"I also." Mansur stepped up beside him.

Dorian's expression softened and he placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "Stay here, both of you. I will need someone to avenge me, if things go awry." He dropped his hands and loosened his sword-belt. He handed the weapon to Mansur. "Keep this for me." Then he looked at Jim: "Can you hold your friend Beshwayo and his hunting hounds on a leash for just a little longer?"

"Be quick, Uncle. Beshwayo is not famous for his forbearance. I know not how long I can hold him." Jim went with Dorian to where Beshwayo stood at the front of his imp is and spoke to him earnestly. At last Beshwayo grunted reluctantly, and Jim told Dorian, "Beshwayo agrees to wait until you return."

Dorian strode through the ranks of the Beshwayo imp is. They opened before him, for those warriors recognized the quality of nobility in him. Dorian's step was measured and stately as he strode towards the walls and stopped within easy pistol shot. He looked up at the figure on the parapet.

"Speak, Rahmad!" he ordered.

"You remember me ?" Rahmad sounded amazed.

"I know you well. I would not have trusted you otherwise. You are a man of honour."

"Majesty!" Rahmad bowed deeply. "Mighty Caliph."

"If you address me thus, why do you fight against me?"

Rahmad seemed for a moment overcome with shame. Then he raised his head. "I speak not only for myself but for every man within these walls."

Dorian raised his hand to stop him. "This is strange, Rahmad. You speak for the men? You do not speak for Zayn al-Din? Explain this to me."

"Mighty al-Salil, Zayn al-Din is..." Rahmad seemed to search for the right words. "We have requested Zayn al-Din to demonstrate to us and all the world that he, not you, is indeed the Caliph of Oman."

"In what way can he prove this?"

"In the traditional manner, when two men have an equal claim to the throne. In the sight of God, and before all this array, man to man in single combat, we have requested Zayn al-Din to fight to the death to prove that claim."

You propose a duel between us?"

We have taken an oath of allegiance to Zayn al-Din. We cannot surrender his person to you. We are bound to defend him with our own lives. However, if he were defeated in a traditional duel, we would

be released from our vow. Gladly then we would become your liege men."

Dorian understood their dilemma. They were holding Zayn al-Din prisoner, but they were unable to execute him or hand him over. He must kill Zayn himself in single combat. The alternative would be for him to allow the Beshwayo to slaughter Rahmad and all the Omani.

"Why should I place myself in such peril? You and Zayn al-Din are in my power." Dorian pointed at the black ranks of Beshwayo. "Why should I not send them in to massacre you all here and now?"

"A lesser man might do that. I know you will not, for you are the son of Sultan Abd Muhammad al-Malik. You will not desecrate our honour, or your own."

"What you say is true, Rahmad. It is my destiny to unite the kingdom of Oman, not split it asunder. I must take up that destiny with honour. I will fight Zayn al-Din for the caliphate."

With white ash the Omani elders and headmen marked out the duelling ring on the hard-baked ground below the walls of the fort. This was a circle twenty paces in diameter.

All the Arabs who had fought with Zayn al-Din and been trapped within the fort now lined the parapets. Dorian's forces, including the crews from the captured dhows who had declared their loyalty to him, were drawn up on the bayside of the ring, facing the opposing forces on the walls of the fort.

Jim had explained the rules and the object of the duel to Beshwayo, and he was enthralled. He no longer resented being deprived of the right to storm the fort and wipe out the defenders. For him this gladiatorial contest was even greater sport.

"This is a fine way to solve a dispute, Somoya. It is truly a warrior's thing. I shall make it my own custom in the future."

The entire Beshwayo army squatted in ranks behind Dorian's legions. The high parapet and the slope of the ground afforded every man present an unobstructed view of the ring.

Dorian, flanked by Jim and Mansur, stood at the forefront of this array, facing the closed gates of the fort. He wore only a simple white robe and his feet were bare. In accordance with the rules of the contest he was unarmed.

There was another blast on the ram's horn and the gates of the fort swung open. Four men marched out and came down the hill. They were in half-armour, bronze helmets and chain-mail over shirts with greaves

protecting their lower legs. They were big men with cold eyes and brutal faces, the executioners of the Omani court. Torture and death were their vocation. They took up their positions at the four points of the circle, and leaned on the hilts of their drawn swords.

There was a pause and then another trumpet blast. A second procession came down the slope. It was led by Mullah Khaliq. Behind him came Rahmad and four other tribal headmen. Then, with an escort of five armed men, the tall figure of Zayn al-Din limped after them. They stopped on the far side of the ring, facing Dorian.

Rahmad advanced into the centre of the ring. "In the Name of the One God and his True Prophet we are met here this day to decide the fate of our nation. Al-Salil!" He bowed towards Dorian. "And Zayn al Din." He turned and bowed again. "This day one of you will die and the other will ascend the Elephant Throne of Oman."

He held out his hands and the two headmen who flanked him passed Rahmad a pair of scimitars. Rahmad stabbed the point of one of these weapons into the earth just inside the ash line of the ring, and left it standing upright. Then he crossed the circle and placed the other weapon exactly opposite it.

"Only one of you will be permitted to leave this ring alive. The four referees," he pointed to the waiting executioners, 'have been strictly charged with the duty of killing immediately whichever of you is driven or thrown outside this line of ashes." He touched the line with the toe of his sandal. "Now Mullah Khaliq will lead the prayers begging for the guidance of God in these affairs."

The holy man's voice droned in the silence as he commended the combatants to God and their fate. Dorian and Zayn stared across the ting at each other. Their faces were expressionless but their eyes burned with hatred and anger. The mullah ended his prayer: "In God's Name let it begin!"

"In God's Name, make ready!" Rahmad called.

Jim and Mansur lifted the loose robe over Dorian's head. He wore only a white loincloth under it. Where the sun had not touched him his skin was smooth and white as cream in a jug. At the same time his escort helped Zayn remove his robe. Now he wore only a loincloth, and his skin was the colour of old ivory. Dorian knew that Zayn was his senior by only two years. They were both in their middle forties, and the effects of age were becoming apparent on their bodies. There were streaks of grey in their hair and beards, and a fleshiness round their waistlines. However, their limbs were clean and hard and their movements were lithe as they stepped into the ring. Even the impediment in Zayn's step seemed more sinister than inhibiting. They were matched in

height but Zayn was the heavier man, bigger boned and wider in the shoulder. Since childhood both had been trained in the warrior's way, but they had matched against each other once only before this day. However, they had been children then, and they and the world about them were altered.

They stood just out of arm's reach of each other. Neither spoke, but they assessed each other carefully. Rahmad stepped between them. He carried a length of silken cord, light as gossamer and strong as steel. He had measured its length and cut it precisely five paces shorter than the diameter of the ring.

Rahmad went to Zayn first. Though he knew full well that he was left-handed, Rahmad asked formally, "Which hand?"

Disdaining a reply Zayn proffered his right hand. Rahmad tied the end of the cord round his wrist. He was a sailor and the knot would neither tighten nor slip, yet it would hold like a steel cuff. Rahmad came to Dorian with the other end of the cord. Dorian gave him his left hand and he tied it with the same type of knot. The two combatants were linked together: only the death of one could part them now.

"Mark your swords!" Rahmad ordered them, and they glanced back at the scimitar that stood behind each man on the perimeter of the ring. The silk cord was too short to allow them simultaneously to reach a weapon.

"A blast on the ram's horn will begin this contest, but only death will end it," intoned Rahmad. He and the four headmen left the ring. A terrible silence descended on the field. Even the breeze seemed to still, and the gulls ceased their mewing cries. Rahmad looked to the trumpeter on the parapet and raised his hand. The trumpeter lifted the curled horn to his lips. Rahmad dropped his hand and the blast sobbed and echoed off the cliffs of the bluff. A huge wave of sound swept over the ring as every man in the convocation shouted together.

Neither contestant moved. They faced each other still, leaning back on the cord, keeping it taut, taking the strain, assessing each other's weight and strength, the way a fisherman feels a heavy fish after the strike. Neither could reach his scimitar unless he could force the other to give ground. They strained silently. Suddenly Dorian darted forward, and Zayn reeled back as the cord went slack. Then he whirled and ran for his sword. Grimly Dorian noted the slight clumsiness as he turned; into his crippled side. Dorian ran after him and gathered in a double arm's length of the slack in the cord. He gained the centre of the ring, and shortened the length of cord between them by almost half. From this position he dominated the ring, but he had sacrificed precious ground for that. Zayn was reaching out for the hilt of his scimitar.

Dorian took a turn of the cord round his wrist and planted his feet. He anchored the cord and Zayn came up hard against the end of it with such force that it snapped him round on to his bad side. For a moment he was off-balance and Dorian heaved him backwards and gained another arm's length of the cord.

Abruptly Dorian changed the angle of his pull. He made himself the fulcrum around which Zayn pivoted. Like the stone on the end of a slingshot, Dorian used the impetus to launch Zayn towards the white ash line, straight at one of the executioners who waited with drawn sword to meet him. As it seemed he must be hurled backwards out of the ring, Zayn found purchase with his stronger leg and checked the slingshot effect. He teetered on the line and raised a puff of white ash, but he managed to stop himself going out. The executioner stood behind him with the blade raised to make the stroke. Now there was slack in the cord and Dorian had lost the leverage. He raced forward to crash into Zayn with his shoulder and drive him that last yard across the line. Zayn saw him coming, braced his legs and dropped his shoulder to meet him.

They came together with a force that jarred every bone in their bodies, and stood like a carving in marble, straining and grunting. Dorian had the heel of his right hand under Zayn's chin and forced his head back. Slowly Zayn's spine arched over the line, and the executioner moved forward a pace to meet him as he stepped over it. Zayn drew a hissing breath and summoned the last vestige of his strength. His face seemed to darken and swell with the effort, but slowly his back straightened. He pushed Dorian back a step.

The noise was deafening. A thousand voices joined in, and the Beshwayo warriors were dancing and drumming on their shields. A hurricane of sound swept over the ring. Zayn exerted his greater weight and gradually worked his shoulder down under Dorian's armpit, then suddenly heaved upwards. He took the weight off Dorian's legs and forced him to lose traction and grip. The bare soles of his feet skidded in the dust, and he was driven back a yard, then another. Dorian was pitting all his strength against Zayn's thrust. Abruptly Zayn jumped back. Dorian staggered forward off-balance. Swift as a lizard on his crippled foot Zayn darted away, straight back to where his sword was pegged into the earth.

Dorian tried to snatch up the slack in the cord to restrain him again, but before he could bring it tight Zayn had reached the weapon and had a firm grip on the hilt. Dorian jerked him backwards, but Zayn came willingly, rushing at him with the point of the blade levelled at Dorian's throat. Dorian ducked under it and they circled each other. They were still linked by the umbilical cord of silk.

Zayn was laughing silently, but it was a sound without joy. He mock charged at Dorian, forcing him to dodge back, and as soon as he had made slack in the cord for the move Zayn darted to where Dorian's scimitar was still standing at the far end of the circle. Before Dorian could bring the rope tight, Zayn had grabbed the second weapon out of the ground. Now he turned to face Dorian with a blade in each hand.

A silence fell over the multitude and they watched in awful fascination as Zayn stalked Dorian round the ring, while the executioners shadowed him from behind, waiting for him to step out of the ash circle. Watching him carefully, Dorian realized that though he favoured his left hand Zayn was almost as dexterous with his right. As if to demonstrate this he rushed forward and cut right-handed at Dorian's head. When Dorian ducked out of the stroke he thrust with his left and Dorian could not avoid it. Although he twisted aside, the point scored his ribs and the crowd howled to see blood spurt.

Mansur clutched at Jim's arm with such strength that his fingernails cut through the skin. "He is hurt. We must stop it."

"No, coz," Jim said softly. "We cannot intervene."

The pair in the ring kept turning, as though the cord that linked them was a spoke of a wheel. Dorian still held the slack of the line between his hands.

Zayn was quivering with eagerness for the kill, his mouth working, his eyes burning darkly. "Bleed, pig, and when you have shed your last drop, I will hack your carcass into fifty pieces and send each bit to the furthest corners of my empire so that all men will know the penalty for treachery."

Dorian did not reply. He held his end of the cord lightly in the fingers of his right hand. With total concentration he watched Zayn's eyes for the signal that he would charge again. Zayn feigned a move with his bad leg, then sprang forward off his strong side. It was exactly what Dorian had anticipated. He flicked out the bight in the cord, and then, with a snap of his wrist, shot the loop forward like a whiplash. The silk cord slashed across Zayn's right eye with such force that the ; blood vessels burst, the pupil and the cornea shattered, and in an instant the eyeball was transformed into a fragile pink sack of jelly.

Zayn screamed, high-pitched and shrill as a girl. He dropped both swords and cupped his hands over his injured eye. He stood blind and shrieking in the centre of the ring. Dorian stooped and picked up one of the scimitars. As he came upright again, as gracefully as a dancer, he drove the point into Zayn's belly.

The shriek was cut off from Zayn's lips. One hand was still clasped over his eye but with the other hand he groped down and found the

gaping wound in his guts from which blood, intestinal gas and detritus bubbled. He sank forward on to his knees and bowed his head. His neck was stretched forward. Dorian raised the scimitar on high, then swung it down. The air fluted, softly as the call of a mourning dove, over the steel, which found the joint of the vertebrae and sheared through. Zayn's head jumped from his shoulders and thumped on to the hard-baked earth. His trunk remained kneeling for a moment, with the severed arteries pumping, then toppled forward.

Dorian stooped, took a handful of the silver-streaked hair, then lifted high the severed head. The eyes were wide open and darted from side to side with a louche expression.

Thus I avenge the Princess Yasmini. Thus I claim the Elephant Throne of Oman," Dorian shouted in triumph.

A thousand voices joined in the cry: "Hail to al-Salil! Hail to the Caliph!"

Beshwayo's imp is leaped to their feet and, led by the king himself, thundered out the royal salute: "Bayete, Inkhosil Bayetel'

Dorian dropped the head, and reeled from the effects of his wound. The blood was still streaming down his flank and he might have fallen, had not Mansur and Jim rushed into the ring and supported him at each side. They half carried him into the fort. The rooms had been stripped of every stick of furniture, but they took Dorian to his own bedroom and laid him on the bare floor. Mansur ordered Rahmad to call Zayn al-Din's personal surgeon, who had been waiting at the door for this summons. He hurried in at once.

While he bathed the wound and stitched it closed with catgut, Dorian spoke softly to Mansur and Jim. "Tom made me give my word that I would not tell you this until the fighting here was over. Now I am released from that promise. As soon as our defenders abandoned the fort, our brother Guy came ashore with a squad of armed men. They stormed into the fort. When Guy found that we had emptied the treasury, he came out on to the parapet and saw the wagon tracks. He must have realized we had sent the gold away. Zayn had already landed his horses on the beach by this time. Guy commandeered mounts for himself and twenty of his men, and rode out along the wagon road. There can be no doubt that he intends to capture the wagons." The two young men stared at him aghast.

Jim found his voice first. "The women! Little Georgie!"

"As soon as we realized what was happening, Tom took Smallboy and his musketeers. They chased after Guy."

"Oh, God!" Mansur groaned. "That was yesterday. There is no way of telling what has happened since then. Why did you not tell us before?"

"You know why I could not, but now I am freed of my promise to Tom."

As he turned to Mansur, Jim's voice cracked with anxiety for his family Sarah, Louisa and Georgie: "Are you with me, coz?"

"Will you let me go, Father?"

"Of course, my son, and all my blessings with you," Dorian replied.

Mansur sprang to his feet. "I am with you, coz!" They ran to the door.

Jim was already shouting for Bakkat: "Saddle up Drumfire. We ride at once."

In addition to being at a safe distance from the coast, the gorge was a lovely place. Sarah had chosen it as the campsite for that reason. The river came down out of the mountains in a series of cascades and waterfalls. The pools below each of these were clear and placid, filled with yellow fish. Tall trees shaded the site of their laager. Flowering fruits in the leafy canopy attracted birds and vervet monkeys.

Although Tom had prevailed on Sarah to cache most of the furniture and her other possessions within a few miles of the fort, in the same hiding-place as some off the ivory, Sarah had insisted on loading all her real treasures on to the wagons. She did not look upon the chests of gold bars that Tom had foisted on her as being of especial importance. When they reached the campsite she had not even bothered to have them unloaded. When Louisa and Verity politely queried the wisdom of this, Sarah laughed. "Wasted effort. We will just have to load them all up again when it's time to go home."

On the other hand, she spared no effort in providing the camp with all the comforts of home. Chief of these was a fine mud-walled kitchen and refectory. The roof was a masterpiece of the thatcher's art. The floor was plastered with clay and cow dung. Sarah's harpsichord had pride of place in the centre of the room and every evening they gathered around it to sing while Sarah played.

During the days they picnicked beside the pool, and watched George swim like a naked little fish, and applauded as he jumped in from the high bank with the loudest splash he could make. They painted and sewed. Louisa gave George riding lessons, perched up on Trueheart's back like a flea. Verity worked on her translations of the Qur'an and the Ramayana. Sarah took George with her to collect wild flowers. Back in the laager she sketched the plants and wrote descriptive notes of them to add to her collection. Verity had brought a box of her favourite books from her cabin in the Arcturus, and she read aloud to the other women.

They marvelled over James Thomson's Seasons and giggled together like schoolgirls over Rage on Rage.

Some mornings Louisa left George in the care of Sarah and Intepe, the lily, while she and Verity went out riding. This was an arrangement that suited George very well. Grandmama Sarah was an unending source of biscuits, toffee and other delights. She was also a captivating raconteur. Gentle Intepe was in George's thrall and obeyed his lordly instructions without quibble. She was now Zama's wife and had already borne him one lusty son. The baby was still at her breast, but her older boy was George's liege man. Zama had made for each of them a miniature bow, and a sharpened stick to use as a spear. They spent a great amount of time hunting around the perimeter of the camp. To date they had only achieved one kill: a fieldmouse had made the mistake of running under George's feet and, in an effort to avoid it, he had stood on its head. They cooked the tiny carcass in the flames of a large fire they built expressly for the purpose, and devoured the scorched, blackened flesh with relish.

These seemed idyllic days, but they were not. A dark shadow hung over the camp. Even in the midst of laughter the women would fall suddenly silent and look back along the wagon track that led down to the coast. When they mentioned the names of the men they loved, which they did often, their eyes were sad. In the night they started up at the whicker of one of the horses, or the sound of hoofs in the darkness. They called from one wagon to the other: "Did you hear aught, Mother?"

"It was only one of our own horses, Louisa. Sleep now. Jim will come soon."

"Are you well, Verity?"

"As well as you, but I miss Mansur as much as you miss Jim."

"Do not fret, girls," Sarah calmed them. "They are Courtneys and they are tough. They'll be back soon."

Every four or five days a rider came up from Fort Auspice with a leather satchel over his shoulder that contained letters for them. His arrival was the highlight of their lives. Each of the women seized the letter addressed to her and rushed to her own wagon to read it alone. They emerged much later, flushed and smiling, filled with ephemeral high spirits to discuss the news they had received. Then they began the long, lonely wait until the rider came again.

Intepe's grandfather, Tegwane, was the night-watchman. At his age he slept little and took his duties seriously. He prowled endlessly around the wagons on his stork thin legs with his spear over his shoulder. Zama was the camp overseer. He had eight men under him, including the

wagon drivers and the armed ask ari Izeze, the flea, was growing into a robust youth, and a fine musket shot. He was the sergeant of the guard.

On Jim's orders Inkunzi had moved all the cattle herds up from the coast into the hills where they would be safe from any incursion by Zayn al-Din's expeditionary force. He and all his Nguni herders were close at hand if any emergency arose.

After twenty-eight days in the river camp the women should have felt secure, but they did not. They should have been able to sleep soundly, but they were not. The premonition of evil hung over them all.

That particular night Louisa had not been able to sleep. She had hung a blanket over George's cot to shield him from the light, while she lay on the car dell bed propped up on her pillows and read Henry Fielding by the light of the oil lamp. Suddenly she cast aside the book and rushed to the afterclap of the wagon. She pulled open the curtains and listened until she was certain, then she called, "Rider coming. It must be the mail."

The lamps in the other wagons flared as the wicks were turned up, and all three women jumped down and stood in a huddle in front of the kitchen. They were talking excitedly as Zama and Tegwane piled logs on the fire and a shower of sparks flew upwards.

Sarah was the first to grow uneasy. "There is more than one horse." She cocked her head to listen.

"Do you think it may be the men?" Louisa asked eagerly.

"I don't know."

"Perhaps we should take precautions," Verity suggested. "We should not presume that because they are mounted and come without stealth they are friendly."

"Verity is right. Louisa, fetch Georgie! Everyone else into the kitchen! We will lock ourselves in there until we know who they are."

Louisa gathered up the skirts of her nightgown and raced back to her wagon, her long pale hair flying out behind her. Intepe came running from her hut with her children, and Sarah and Verity shepherded them into the kitchen. Sarah snatched a musket from the rack and stood at the doorway.

"Hurry, Louisa!" she shouted urgently. The sound of hoofs swelled louder, and out of the night galloped a large band of horsemen. They charged into the camp and reined in, their horses milling about, knocking over buckets and chairs, kicking up a haze of dust in the firelight.

"Who are you?" Sarah called sharply, still standing four-square in the doorway. "What do you want with us?"

The leader of the band rode towards her and pushed his hat on to the back of his head so that she could see he was a white man. "Put down that gun, woman. Get all your people out here in the open. I am taking charge here."

Verity stepped up beside Sarah. "It's my father," she told Sarah softly. "Guy Courtney."

"Verity, you treacherous child. Come out of there. You have much to answer for."

"You leave her be, Guy Courtney. Verity is under my protection."

Guy laughed bitterly as he recognized her. "Sarah Beatty, my beloved sister-in-law. It's been many a long year since we parted."

"Not long enough for my taste," Sarah told him grimly. Till have you know that I am no longer Beatty, but Mrs. Tom Courtney. Now be gone and leave us alone."

"You should not boast of marriage to such a black rogue and lecher, Sarah. However, I cannot leave so soon. You have in your possession things that have been stolen from me. My gold and my daughter. I have come to reclaim them."

"You will have to kill me before you get your hands on either of them."

That would cause me no hardship, I assure you." He laughed again and looked back at Peters. "Tell the men to search the wagons."

"Stop!" Sarah raised the musket.

"Shoot!" Guy invited her. "But I swear it will be the last thing you ever do."

While Sarah hesitated, Guy's men jumped off their horses and rushed to the wagons. There was a shout and Peters told Guy, "They have found the gold chests."

Then there was a scream and two of the Arabs dragged Louisa from her wagon. She had George in her arms and she was struggling wildly with her captors. "Leave me! Leave my baby."

"Who is this brat?" Guy reached down, grabbed the child by one arm and tore him from Louisa's grip. He looked at Sarah across the fire. "Do you know anything about this little bastard?"

Verity tugged surreptitiously at the back of Sarah's nightdress, and whispered urgently, "Don't let him know what George means to you. He will use him ruthlessly."

"So, my darling daughter is conniving with her father's enemies. Shame on you, child." His eyes swivelled back to Sarah's face. He saw that it had turned frosty pale, and he smiled coldly. "No relation of yours, Sarah? You make no claim to him? Then let's get rid of him."

He leaned from the saddle and dangled George over the flames of the

campfire. The child felt the heat on his bare legs and shrieked at the pain. Louisa screamed as loudly, and Verity shouted, "No, Daddy, please let him go."

"No, Guy, no." Sarah's reaction was the strongest of all. She rushed forward. "He is my grandson. Please, do not hurt him. We will do as you say, only let Georgie go."

"That is so much more reasonable." Guy lifted the child away from the flames.

"Give him to me, Guy." Sarah held up both arms to him. "Please, Guy."

"Please, Guy!" He mimicked her. "That is much more civil. But I fear I must keep young George with me to make certain that you do not have a change of heart. Now, I want all your servants to throw down their weapons and come out from wherever they are hiding with their hands over their heads. Give them the order!"

"Zama! Tegwane! Izeze! All of you. Do as he says," Sarah ordered. They came shuffling out reluctantly from among the wagons and the surrounding trees. Guy's men grabbed their muskets, tied their hands behind their backs and led them away.

"Now, Sarah, you, Verity and this other wench," he pointed at Louisa, 'get back inside the hut. Remember, I have this fine fellow with me." He pinched George's cheek between his nails until the tender skin tore and the child shrieked in pain. The women struggled in the arms of the men who held them, but they were dragged back into the kitchen. The door slammed shut, and two of Guy's men stood guard over it.

Guy swung down from the saddle and threw his reins to one of the men. He dragged George along with him and when the child balked he stooped over him and shook him until his teeth rattled together and he lost his breath so that he could no longer yell. "Shut your mouth, you little swine, or I will shut it for you." He straightened up and called to Peters, "Tell them to unload the gold chests. I want to check the contents for myself."

It took longer than Guy expected for his men to manhandle the heavy crates out of the wagons and unscrew the lids, but when he stood over them at last and gazed down on the shining yellow bars his face took on a deeply religious expression. "It's all here," he whispered dreamily, 'every last ounce." Then he roused himself. "Now, it remains only to get it safely back to the ships. We will need at least two of these wagons." He tucked George under one arm, and strode across to where the servants huddled under armed guard. "Which of you are the wagon drivers?" He picked them out. "Go with my men and bring in your oxen.

Inspan them to these two wagons. Work quickly. If you try to escape you will be shot."

A soon as the kitchen door slammed shut behind them Sarah turned to the girls. Verity was pale but calm. Louisa was shaking and weeping softly.

"Verity, you stay by the door and warn us if anyone tries to open it." She put one arm round Louisa. "Come, darling, be brave. This won't help George."

Louisa straightened her shoulders and sniffed back her tears. "What do you want me to do?"

"Help me." Sarah went across to the military chest that stood against the side wall. She rummaged in the bottom drawer and brought out a blue leather case. When she opened it a pair of silver duelling pistols lay in their velvet-lined nests. Tom taught me to shoot with these." She handed one to Louisa. "Help me load."

Now that she had a task, Louisa pulled herself together quickly and loaded the weapon with swift, sure hands. Sarah had watched her at practice and knew that Jim had made her an expert shot.

"Hide it in your bodice," Sarah ordered, and tucked the other pistol down the front of her night clothes. She went back to the door and listened. "Have you heard anything?"

"The two Arab guards are talking," Verity whispered back.

"What are they saying?"

There has been fighting at the bay. They are very worried. While they were on the road here they heard the sound of a battle raging behind them, heavy cannon fire and a number of explosions that they think were Zayn's ships blowing up. They are discussing deserting my father and trying to make a run for it to the coast. They don't want to be abandoned here if Zayn is defeated."

"So all is not lost, then. Tom and Dorian are still fighting."

"It sounds as if that is what is happening," Verity agreed.

"Keep listening, Verity. I want to try the window."

Sarah left her at the door and placed a chair under the single high window. While Louisa held it steady she climbed on to it. She lifted aside the edge of the kudu-skin curtain that covered it and peered out.

"Can you see George?" Louisa's voice shook.

"Yes, Guy has him. He looks frightened but not badly hurt."

"My poor baby," Louisa sobbed.

"Now, don't start that again," Sarah snapped. To keep the minds of the two girls occupied, she began a commentary of all that she could see taking place outside. "They are unloading the gold chests from the wagons and opening the lids. Guy is checking them."

She described how, once the chests had been sealed and reloaded into the two wagons, the drivers brought in the ox teams and, under the scrutiny of Guy's henchmen, in spanned them.

"They are ready to leave," Sarah said with relief. "Guy has all that he came for. Surely he must give George back to us now and leave us in peace."

"I don't think he will do that, Aunt," Verity disagreed reluctantly. "I think we are his passport back to the coast. From what I overheard the guards saying, our men are still fighting. My father will know that as long as he has us women and Georgie as his hostages they will be powerless to attack him."

Within minutes she was proved right. There was a tramp of feet outside and the door was thrown open. Five Arabs crowded through it and one spoke harshly to Verity. She translated for the others: "He says we must dress quickly in warmer clothes and be ready to leave at once."

They were led to their wagons and the guards stood over them as they pulled on heavy coats over their night dresses and hastily threw a few necessities into a valise. Then the three were led out to where horses had been saddled for them. The two wagons carrying the gold were drawn up one behind another, pointed back along the track. Guy was at the head of his men.

"Let me take George from you," Sarah pleaded.

"Once, long ago, you played me for the fool, Sarah Beatty. It will not happen again. I shall keep your grandson firmly under my hand." He drew the dagger from the sheath on his belt and held the blade to George's throat. The child was too terrified to cry out. "You must not doubt for a minute that I shall slit his throat without compunction if you give me cause. If we meet Tom or Dorian or any of their vile brood on the road you will tell them that. Now hold your tongue."

They mounted the horses that Zama, Izeze and Tegwane were holding for them. As Louisa settled on Trueheart's back she leaned forward and whispered to Zama, "Where are Intepe and her children?"

"I have sent them into the forest," he answered quietly. "No one tried to stop them."

"Thank God for that at least."

Guy called out the order to advance, and Peters repeated it in a loud voice. The trek whips popped and the wagons rolled forward. Guy led

the convoy, with George carried awkwardly on his hip. The escort of Arabs forced the women to follow close behind him. They crowded them together so that their knees touched. The rumble of the wheels and the creak and rattle of equipment covered Sarah's voice as she whispered to the girls, "Have you the pistol ready, Louisa?"

"Yes, Mother. I have my hand upon it."

"Good. Then this is what we must do." She went on speaking softly, and the two girls murmured acknowledgement. "Wait for my word," Sarah warned them. "Our only chance is to take them by surprise. We must act in concert to have any chance of success."

The cavalcade wound down the hills towards the littoral. The horses were constrained to the speed of the plodding oxen. After a while nobody spoke. Captors and prisoners rode in a lethargic silence, which slowly became torpor. George had long ago sunk into an exhausted sleep. His head lolled on Guy's shoulder. Every time Sarah looked at him her heart squeezed with dread.

Every once in a while she would reached across and touch one of the girls to keep them awake and alert. She had been studying the horses that the Arab captors rode. They were thin and in poor condition, and she guessed they had endured a long, debilitating voyage in small ships. They would be no match for the mounts that she and the girls rode. Of their three horses Trueheart was the swiftest. Louisa was a light weight to carry and she and Trueheart would run away from any of them, even if she was carrying George with her.

The Arab riding next to Sarah let his head drop forward on his chest. He started to slide sideways out of the saddle. Sarah knew that he had fallen asleep. Before he toppled from his horse's back, the man's head flew up as he woke with a start.

They are all exhausted, Sarah told herself. They have had no rest since they left the coast. Their horses are in no better case. It is nearly time for us to break away, and make a run for it.

In the moonlight she recognized this section of the road. They were approaching a ford over one of the tributaries of the main river. On the outward journey up from Fort Auspice, Zama and his men had spent days digging out the banks. It was a narrow and steep crossing that the wagons could only negotiate with difficulty. She knew that they would not find a better place at which to make the break. She estimated that there was still an hour of darkness to cover their escape, and by that time she hoped they would be clear of the weakened, exhausted horses of their pursuers.

She reached stealthily across to each of the girls in turn. She squeezed

their hands and shook them lightly to alert them. The three pressed their mounts gently and moved up together until they were riding within touching distance of the rump of Guy's horse.

Sarah reached under her coat and slipped the duelling pistol out of her bodice. She used the folds of her sheepskin coat to muffle the click as she drew back the hammer to half-cock. The trigger of the weapon was set very lightly and she dared not cock it fully until the moment of firing. Fifty yards ahead she saw the gap in the river bank appear out of the darkness, with the road running down into it. She waited until Guy reined in his horse as he studied the cutting that led down to the ford.

Before Guy could call out, Sarah deliberately rode into his horse. The girls on each side of her pressed forward, and for a moment there was confusion as the horses bumped each other and milled about.

"Keep your damned horses under control," Guy exclaimed with annoyance.

Then another voice roared from the darkness of the cutting just ahead. "Stand where you are! I have fifty muskets loaded with goose shot trained on you."

Tom!" Sarah exulted. "It's Tom!" Of course he had heard the wagons from a mile off, and he would choose the river crossing to ambush them. i

Tom Courtney!" Guy shouted back. "I have your grandson, and my.." dagger to his throat. My men have your wife Sarah, and the other women of your family. Stand aside and let us pass if you want any of them alive."

To reinforce the threat he lifted George off his shoulder and held him up with both hands. "It's your grandfather, child. Speak to him. Tell him you are safe." He pricked George's arm with the dagger. From behind Guy's shoulder Sarah saw the blood start on the white skin, black and shiny in the moonlight.

"Grandpapa!" George shrieked at the top of his lungs. "There is a horrid man hurting me."

"By God, Guy! You touch a hair of that child's head and I'll kill you with my bare hands," Tom's voice rang out with angry frustration.

"Hear the piglet squeal," Guy shouted back, and pricked George again. Throw down your weapons and show yourselves, or I will send you your grandson's guts on a silver tray."

Sarah drew the pistol from under her coat and cocked the hammer. She reached forward and pressed the muzzle into the small of Guy's back at the level of the kidneys. She fired and the shot was muffled by Guy's clothing and flesh. Guy's back arched in his agony as the ball shattered

his vertebrae. He loosened his grip and George fell out of his raised hands.

"Now, Louisa!" Sarah screamed.

But Louisa did not need the order. She leaned out of the saddle and caught George as he fell. She clasped him to her bosom and kicked her heels into Trueheart's ribs. "Ha! Ha!" she shouted to the mare. "Run, Trueheart! Run!"

Trueheart jumped forward. One of the Arabs reached out to seize her, but Louisa fired the second pistol into his bearded face, and he fell backwards out of the saddle. Verity turned her horse in behind Trueheart to screen George and his mother from any musket bullets fired by the escort. She was only just quick enough. One of the Arabs, more alert than his companions, threw up his jezail and the long flame of the discharge ripped through the darkness. Sarah heard the ball strike flesh. Verity's horse collapsed under her, and she was thrown forward over its head.

Sarah spurred forward just as Guy toppled backwards and fell limply from the saddle into her path. Her horse tried to jump over him, but one of the metal-shod hoofs struck Guy's temple and she heard the brittle bone break like ice. Her horse recovered its balance and Sarah steered it towards where Verity was struggling to her feet.

"I am coming, Verity!" Sarah called to her, and made an arm for her. Verity hooked hers through Sarah's as the horse swept past her. Neither of them had the strength to swing Verity up astride, but she managed to throw her free arm over the horse's withers and cling on desperately as they followed Trueheart down into the river ford.

Tom!" Sarah yelled. "It's us. Don't shoot!"

The rest of the Arab escort had recovered their wits and were galloping after Sarah in a tight band. Suddenly a volley of musket fire erupted from the edge of the bank where Smallboy and the rest of Tom's men were lying. Three horses went down in a tangle, and the rest of the Arabs reined in and turned back. They raced for the shelter of the wagons and huddled behind them.

Tom jumped down from the bank and, as Sarah reined in, he seized her and Verity and dragged them down. He pulled them into safety behind the bank.

"Louisa!" Sarah gasped. "Catch Louisa and George."

"No one can catch Trueheart when she has the bit between her teeth. But they are safe out there as long as we keep the Arabs pinned down here." Tom embraced Sarah. "By God, I'm pleased to see you, woman."

Sarah pushed him away. "There'll be plenty of time for that nonsense later, Tom Courtney. You still have work to do here."

"Right you are!"

Tom ran back to the top of the bank, and called to the dark wagons behind which the Arabs were sheltering: "Guy! Do you hear me?"

"He's dead, Tom," Sarah interrupted him. "I shot him."

Then you beat me to it," Tom said grimly. "I was looking forward to it myself." He realized that Verity was standing beside him, "I'm sorry, my dear. He was your father."

"If I had had a pistol in my hand, I would have done it myself," Verity said calmly. "What he has done to me over the years is of no account, but when he started torturing Georgie... No, Uncle Tom, he deserved that and more."

"You are a brave girl, Verity." He hugged her spontaneously.

"We Courtneys are made of rawhide," she said, and hugged him back. Tom chuckled and released her.

"Now, if you call those blackguards out from behind the wagons, I would be much obliged. You can tell them that we will not harm them and they will have free passage back to the coast as long as they abandon the wagons. Tell them I have a hundred men with me, which is a lie. If they don't surrender we will attack and wipe them out to the man."

Verity called the message across to them in Arabic. There was a delay while they discussed what she had said. She could hear their heated voices and she caught some of the words. Some were arguing that the effendi was dead, and there was no reason to remain here. Others were talking about the amount of gold, and what Zayn al' Ding would do when he learned that they had lost it. One loud voice reminded them of the sounds of battle they had heard coming from the bay. "Perhaps Zayn al Din is dead also," the speaker said.

Guy Courtney's body was still lying where it had fallen and the dawn light was strengthening so that Verity could see her father's dead face. Despite her brave words she had to turn away her eyes.

At last one of the Arabs called back their reply: "Let us go in peace and we will hand over our weapons and surrender the wagons."

Jim and Mansur pushed their horses hard, riding through the night. They were leading spare horses and when their mounts tired they changed saddles quickly and went on. They rode mostly in silence, locked in their own thoughts, which were darker than the night. When they spoke it was mostly in monosyllables or in curt sentences, and their eyes were fixed ahead.

"Less than six miles to the laager at the gorge," Jim said, as they climbed a steep rise. In the first light of morning he recognized the tree that stood on the skyline. "We will be there in an hour."

"Please God!" said Mansur, and they rode up on to the crest and looked ahead. They saw the river winding below them, but then the first rays of the sun touched the belly of the cloud and lit the valley with dramatic suddenness. They both saw the dust at the same moment.

"Rider coming at the gallop!" Jim exclaimed.

"Only a messenger rides like that," Mansur said softly. "Let us hope he has favourable tidings."

They both reached for their telescopes, and for a moment were struck speechless as they picked up the rider in the lens.

Trueheart!" Jim shouted.

"In the Name of God! It's Louisa on her back. Look at her hair shine in the sunlight," Mansur agreed. "She carries something in her arms. It's Georgie."

Jim waited for no more. He turned loose the spare horse he was leading and shouted to Drumfire, "Run, my lovely! Run with all your heart."

Mansur could not keep pace with them as they raced down the track.

George saw them coming and wriggled and twisted in Louisa's arms like a fish. "Papa!" he screamed. "Papa!"

Jim jumped down from Drumfire's back the moment the horse slid to a halt, lifted them down from Trueheart's saddle and hugged them both, crushing Louisa and George to his chest.

Mansur rode up. "Where is Verity? Is she safe?"

"At the ford of the river with the wagons. Tom and Sarah have her."

"God love you, Louisa." Mansur spurred on, and left Louisa and Jim weeping with happiness in each other's arms, and George tugging with both hands at Jim's beard.

They dug a grave for Guy Courtney beside the wagon road, and wrapped his body in a blanket before they lowered him into it. "He was a vile bastard," Tom murmured, in Sarah's ear. "He deserved to be left for the hyena, but he was my brother."

"And my brother-in-law on both sides and I was the one who killed him. That will be on my conscience for the rest of my life."

"Let it sit lightly, for you are without guilt," Tom said, and they looked , across to where Verity and Mansur stood hand in hand on the far side of the open grave.

"We are doing the right thing, Thomas," Sarah said. ;

"It does not feel like it," he grunted. "Let's get it over with and head out for Fort Auspice. Dorian is wounded, and even if he is now a king, ; he needs us with him." ;

They left Zama and Muntu to fill in the grave and cover it with rocks to stop the hyena digging it open, and Mansur and Verity followed them down the hill to where Smallboy had the two gold wagons in spanned Mansur and Verity walked hand in hand, but though her face was pale J Verity's eyes were dry.

Jim and Louisa were waiting at the wagons. Both had refused to attend the burial. "Not after what he did to Louisa and Georgie." Jim| scowled when Tom had suggested it. Now Jim looked enquiringly at his| father, and Tom nodded. "It is done."

They mounted and turned the horses' heads down towards the coast|j and Fort Auspice.

It took several weeks to repair the stranded war-dhow, the Sufi, ari&f float her off the beach. Rahmad and his crew took her out and| anchored her in the middle of the bay. Already the captured trans*| port dhows were ready for the long voyage back to Muscat, their holds| crammed with ivory.

Dorian leaned heavily on Tom's shoulder as he hobbled down to thfij beach. The wound he had received from Zayn al-Din was not yet j entirely healed and Sarah was in close attendance on her royal patienfc When they were settled in the longboat, Jim and Mansur rowed theffl"| out to the Arcturus. Verity and Louisa, with George chirping on her hip: were waiting to welcome them aboard. Verity had the farewell banquetj laid out on trestle tables on the quarter-deck. They laughed and ate and*|

drank together for the last time, but Ruby Cornish was watching for the turning of the tide. At last he stood up regretfully and said, "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but the tide and the wind stand fair."

"Give us one last toast, brother Tom," Dorian said.

Tom stood up just a trifle unsteadily. "A swift and safe voyage. May we all meet again, and that right soon."

They drank the toast and embraced, then those who were remaining at Fort Auspice went down into the longboat. From the beach they watched the Arcturus weigh anchor. Dorian was at the rail supported by Mansur and Verity. Suddenly he began to sing, his voice as strong and beautiful as ever:

"Farewell and adieu to you, fair Spanish ladies, Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain, For we've received orders to sail for old England, But we hope in a short time to see you again.

The Arcturus led the fleet of dhows out through the channel. When the mainland was a low blue outline on the horizon Ruby Cornish came to where Dorian sat against the windward rail. "Your Majesty, we have made good our offing."

Thank you, Captain Cornish. Will you be good enough to lay the ship on course for Muscat? We have some unsettled business there."

The wagons were loaded and Smallboy and Muntu led the oxen in from the pasture and in spanned them. "Where are you going?" Sarah asked.

Louisa shook her head. "Mother, you must ask that of Jim, for I know not the answer."

They both looked at him and he laughed. "Beyond the next blue horizon," he replied, picking up George and placing him on his shoulder. "But fear not, we will be back soon enough with the wagons groaning under the weight of the ivory and diamonds they carry."

Tom and Sarah stood on the parapet of Fort Auspice and watched the wagon convoy wind away up the hills, heading into the hinterland. Jim and Louisa were in the van, with Bakkat and Zama riding a short distance behind them. Intepe and Letee were walking beside the lead wagon, the children clustered about their legs.

At the crest of the hill Jim turned in the saddle and waved back at

them. Sarah whipped off her bonnet and waved it furiously until they dropped out of sight over the far side.

"Well, Thomas Courtney, it's just you and I again," she said softly.

"I like it well enough that way," he said, and placed his arm round her waist.

Jim looked ahead and his eyes shone with wanderlust. Perched on his shoulders George yelled, "Horsy! Giddy-up, horsy." "Hedgehog, you have given birth to a monster," Jim said. Louisa leaned across and squeezed his arm, smiling secretively. "I shall hope to do better on my next attempt."

Jim stopped dead in his tracks, and stared back at her. "No, you aren't! Are you?"

"Oh yes, I am!" she replied. "Why did you not tell me before this?" "Because you might have left me behind." "Never!" he said, with great force.

The End