Power of the Sword

Would you agree with your husband on that, Mrs Malcomess," and Blaine laughed indulgently and answered for her.

I'm afraid my wife finds politics a total bore, don't you, my dear And I'm not sure that she isn't very perceptive in that belief. He drew a gold watch from the fob pocket of his dinner jacket.

it is after midnight. I have enjoyed myself so hugely that we have overstayed our welcome, I'm sure. You are right, darling. Isabella was relieved and eager to end it. Tara has been sickly. She complained of a stomach ache before we left. Tara, the little vixen, always complains of a stomach ache when she knows we are going out, he chuckled, but they all rose.

I won't let you go without the solace of a brandy and a cigar, Centaine demurred. Although I refuse to accept the barbaric custom of leaving the men to those pleasures alone while we poor females gather to giggle and talk babies so we will all go through to the saloon together. However, as she led them through, her secretary was hovering nervously.

Yes, what is it? She was annoyed until she saw that he was holding a telegraph flimsy like a warrant for his own execution.

From Dr TWentyman-Jones, ma'am, and it's urgent. She accepted the flimsy but did not unfold it until she had made sure that her guests had coffee and liqueurs and that both Blaine and Abe were each armed with a Havana.

Then she excused herself and slipped through to her bedroom.

For Juno. Strike committee headed by Gerhard Fourie has called out all white employees. Stop. Plant and pit under picket lines and shipment of goods embargoed. Stop.

Strikers demanding reinstatement of all retrenched white employees and guaranteed job security for all. Stop.

Request your instructions. Ends. Vingt.

Centaine sat down on her bed. The paper in her hand fluttered. She had never been more angry in her life. It was treachery, a gross and unforgivable betrayal. It was her mine, they were her diamonds. She paid their wages, and hers was the absolute right to hire and fire.

The shipment of goods that Twenty-man-Jones referred to was the parcel of diamonds on which her fortune hinged. Their demands, if pandered to, would render the H'ani Mine unprofitable. Who was this Gerhard Fourie, she wondered, and then remembered he was the chief transport driver.

She went to the door and opened it. Her secretary was waiting in the corridor.

Ask Mr Abrahams to come to me. When Abe stepped through the door she handed him the telegraph flimsy.

They don't have the right to do this to me, she said fiercely, and waited impatiently while he read it through.

Unfortunately, Centaine, they do have the right. Under the Industrial Conciliation Act of 1924

Don't spout acts at me now, Abe, she cut him off. They are a bunch of bolsheviks biting the hand that feeds them!

Centaine, don't do anything hasty. If we were to Abe, get the Daimler offloaded from the truck immediately and send Dr Twenty-man-Jones a telegraph. Tell him I'm coming and he is to do nothing, make no concessions nor promises until I arrive. You'll leave in the morning, of course? I will not, she snapped. I will leave in half an hour from now, just as soon as my guests have gone and you have the Daimler detrained. litis one in the morning, He saw her face and abandoned that fine of protest. I'll telegraph the staff at the first staging station to expect you. Just tell them to be ready to refuel. I won't be staying over. I'm driving straight through to the mine. And she went to the door, paused to compose herself and then, smiling easily, went back into the saloon.

Is something wrong, Mrs Courtney? The smile had not deceived Blaine Malcomess, and he rose to his feet. Is there anything I can do to help you? Oh, just a small nuisance. Trouble out at the mine. I have to go back there right away. Not tonight, surely? Yes, tonight 'On your own? He was troubled, and his concern pleased her. it's a long hard journey. I prefer to travel alone. Then she added with a meaningful intensity, Or to chose my travelling companion with great care. She paused, then went on, Some of my employees have called a strike. It's unreasonable and they have no case to justify their action. I'm certain that I can smooth it over.

However, sometimes these things get out of hand. There might be violence, or vandalism!

Quickly Blaine reassured her. I can guarantee you full government cooperation. A police detachment could be sent to maintain the peace, if you so wish!

Thank you. I would appreciate that. Knowing that I can call upon you is a great relief and comfort!

I will arrange it first thing tomorrow, he said. But of course it will take a few days! Again they were behaving as though they were alone; their voices were low and filled with significance beyond what the words suggested.

Darling, we should leave Mrs Courtney to prepare for her journey. Isabella spoke from her chair and he started as though he had forgotten she were there.

Yes, of course. We will leave at once. Centaine went with them down the railway platform to where Blaine's Chevrolet tourer was parked beneath the single streetlight. She walked beside Isabella's wheelchair.

I did so enjoy meeting you, Mrs Malcomess, and I'd love to meet your girls. Won't you bring them out to Weltevreden when next you are in Cape Town? I don't know when that will be, Isabella refused politely.

My husband will be immersed in his new appointment. They reached the waiting vehicle and while the chauffeur held the rear door open, Blaine lifted Isabella from the chair and seated her on the leather seat. He closed the door carefully and turned to Centaine. His back was to his wife, and the chauffeur was loading the wheelchair into the boot. They were alone for the time being.

She is a courageous and wonderful woman, he said softly as he took Centaine's hand. I love her and can never leave her, but I wish -he broke off and his grip on her fingers was painful.

Yes, Centaine answered as softly. I also wish, and she revelled in the pain of his grip. He ended it too soon for her and went around to the opposite side of the Chevrolet, while Centaine stooped to the crippled girl at the open window.

Please do remember my invitation, she began, but Isabella thrust her face closer and the serene and beautiful mask cracked so that the terror and the hatred showed through.

He's mine, she said. And I won't let you have him. Then she leaned back in her seat and Blaine slid in beside her and took her hand.

The Chevrolet pulled away, the official pennant on the bonnet fluttering, and Centaine stood under the streetlight and stared after it until the headlights faded.

Lothar De La Rey slept with the earphones of the telegraph tap on the sheepskin roll beside his head, so that the first bleep of the transmission woke him and he snatched up the headset and called to Swart Hendrick. Light the candle, Hennie, they are transmitting. At this time of night it must be important. Yet he was still unprepared for the import of the message when he scribbled it out in his notebook: 'Strike Committee headed by Gerhard Fourie has called out all white employees Lothar was stunned by Twenty-man-jones message.

Gerhard Fourie. What on earth is that miserable bastard playing at, he asked himself aloud, and then leapt up and went out of the dugout to pace agitatedly in the loose sand of the river-bed while he attempted to work it out.

A strike, why would he call a strike now? Shipment of goods embargoed. That has to mean the diamonds. The strikers are refusing to let the diamonds leave the mine. He stopped suddenly and punched his fist into his own palm.

That's it. That's what it's all about. He has called the strike to worm himself out of our bargain. His nerve has given in, but he knows I will kill him for it. This is his way out.

He isn't going to cooperate. The whole thing has fallen through., He stood out in the river-bed and a dark impotent rage overwhelmed him.

All the risks I have taken, all the time and work and hardship. The theft of the horses, all for nothing, all wasted because of one yellow-bellied If Fourie had been there he would have shot him down without compunction.

Baas! Hendrick yelled urgently. Come quickly! The telegraph! Lothar sprinted back to the dugout and snatched up the headset. The operator at the Courtney Mining and Finance Company in Windhoek was transmitting.

For Vingt. I am returning with all speed. Stop. Make no concessions nor promises. Stop. See that all loyal employees are armed and protected from intimidation. Stop. Assure them of my gratitude and material appreciation. Stop. Close the company store immediately, no food or supplies to be sold to strikers or their families. Stop. Cut off water reticulation and electricity supply to strikers cottages. Stop.

Inform Strike Committee that police detachment enroute.

Ends. Juno. Despite himself and his rage at Fourie, Lothar threw back his head and laughed with delight and admiration.

Fourie and his strikers don't realize what they are taking on, he roared. By God, I'd prefer to tickle an angry black mamba with a short stick than get in Centaine Courtney's way right now. He sobered and thought about it for a while, then he told Hendrick and Manfred quietly, I have a feeling that those diamonds will be coming through to Windhoek, strike or no strike. But I don't think Fourie will be driving the truck, in fact I don't give Fourie much chance of driving anything again. So we won't have a nice polite cooperative escort to hand the package over to us as we had planned. But the diamonds will be coming through, and we are going to be here when they do. The yellow Daimler passed their position at eleven o'clock the following night. Lothar watched the glow of the headlights gradually harden into solid white beams of light that swept across the plain towards him and then dipped and disappeared into the river-bed only to blaze up into the moonless sky as the Daimler pointed its nose up the cutting and climbed out of the river-bed again. The engine bellowed in low gear on the steep incline and then settled to a high whine as it shot over the top and sped away into the northeast towards the H'ani Mine.

Lothar struck a match and checked his watch. Say she left Windhoek an hour after her telegraph last night, that means she has reached here in twenty-two hours straight driving, over these roads in the dark. He whistled softly. If she keeps going like that, she'll be at the H'ani Mine before noon tomorrow. It doesn't seem possible. The blue hills rose out of the heat mirage ahead of Centaine, but this time their magic was unable to captivate her. She had been at the wheel for thirty-two hours with only brief intervals of rest while she refuelled at the staging posts, and once when she had pulled to the side of the road and slept for two hours.

She was tired. The weariness ached in the marrow of her bones, burned her eyes like acid and lay upon her shoulders and crushed her down in the leather seat of the Daimler as though she wore a suit of heavy chain mail. Yet her anger fuelled her, and when she saw the galvanized iron roofs of the mine buildings shining in the sun her weariness dropped away.

She stopped the Daimler and stepped down in the road to stretch and swing her arms, forcing fresh blood into her stiff stret limbs. Then she twisted the rearview mirror and examined her face in it. Her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed with little wet balls of mud and mucus in the corners. Her face was deathly white, powdered with pale dust and drained of blood by her fatigue.

She wet a cloth with cool water from the canvas water bag and cleaned the dust from her skin. Then from her toilet bag she took the bottle of eyewash and little blue eye-bath. She bathed her eyes. They were clear and bright again when she checked in the mirror, and she patted her pale cheeks until the blood rouged them. She readjusted the scarf around her head, stripped off the full-length white dust-jacket that protected her clothes and she looked clean and rested and ready for trouble.

There were little groups of women and children gathered at the corners of the avenues. They watched her sullenly and a little apprehensively as she drove past them on the way to the administration building. She sat straightbacked behind the wheel and looked directly ahead.

As she neared the office, she saw the pickets who had been lolling under the thorn tree outside the gates hastily reorganizing themselves.

There were twenty at least, most of the able-bodied white artisans on the mine. They formed a line across the road and linked arms facing her. Their faces were ugly and threatening.

Nothing goes in! Nothing goes out, they began to chant as she slowed. She saw that most of them had armed themselves with clubs and pick handles.

Centaine thrust the palm of her hand down on the button and the Daimler's horn squealed like a wounded bull elephant and she drove hard at the centre of the picket line with the accelerator pedal pressed to the floorboards. The men in the centre saw her face behind the windshield and realized that she would run them down. At the last minute they scattered.

one of them yelled, We want our jobs! and swung his pick handle against the rear window. The glass starred and collapsed over the leather seat, but Centaine was through.

She pulled up in front of the verandah just as Twenty-man-Jones hurried out of his office struggling with his jacket and necktie.

We weren't expecting you until tomorrow at the very earliest. 'Your friends were. She pointed at the shattered window, and his voice went shrill with indignation.

They attacked you? That's unforgivable. I agree, she said. 'And I'm not going to be the one who does the forgiving. Twenty-man-jones wore a huge service pistol bolstered on his skinny hip.

Behind him was little Mr Brantingham, the mine bookkeeper, his head bald as an ostrich egg and much too large for his narrow rounded shoulders. Behind his gold-rimmed pince-nez; he was close to tears, but he carried a double-barrelled shotgun in his pudgy white hands.

You are a brave man, Centaine told him. I won't forget your loyalty. She led Twenty-man-Jones into her office and sat down thankfully at her desk. How many other men are with us? Only the office staff, eight of them. The artisans and mine staff are all out, though I suspect there has been pressure on some of them. Even Rodgers and Maclear? They were her senior overseers. Are they out also? I'm afraid so. Both of them are on the strike committee. 'With Fourie?

The three of them are the ringleaders. I'll see that they never work again, she said bitterly, and he dropped his eyes and mumbled: I think we have to bear in mind that they haven't broken the law. They have the legal right to withhold their labour, and to bargain collectively Not when I am struggling to keep the mine running. Not when I am trying to ensure that there will be jobs for at least some of them. Not after all I've done for them., I'm afraid they do have that right,he insisted.

Whose side are you on, Dr TWentyman-jones? He looked stricken. 'You should never have to ask that question, he said. From the first day we met I've been your man. You know that. I was merely pointing out your legal position. Immediately contrite, Centaine stood up and reached for his arm to console him.

Forgive me. I'm tired and jumpy. She had stood up too quickly and the blood drained from her head. She turned deathly pale and swayed giddily on her feet. He seized her and steadied her.

When did you last sleep? You have driven from Windhoek without rest. He led her to the leather sofa and forced her gently down upon it.

You are going to sleep now, for at least eight hours. I'll have fresh clothes brought down from your bungalow., I must speak to the ringleaders. No. He shook his head as he drew the curtains. Not until you are refreshed and strong again. Otherwise you could make mistakes of judgement. She sagged back and pressed her fingers into her closed eyelids. You are right, as always., I'll wake you at six this evening, and I'll inform the strike committee that you will interview them at eight. That will give us two hours to plan our strategy. The three members of the strike committee filed into Centaine's office, and she stared at them for fully three minutes without speaking. She had deliberately had all the chairs removed except those in which she and Twenty-man-Jones sat. The strikers were forced to stand before her like schoolboys.

There are over a hundred thousand men out of work in this country at the present time, she said in a dispassionate voice. Any one of whom would go down on his knees for your jobs. That won't bloody work, said Maclear. He was a nondescript-looking man, of medium height and uncertain age, but Centaine knew he was quick-witted, tenacious and resourceful. She wished he was with her rather than against.

If you are going to use foul language in front of me, Mr Maclear, she said, you can leave immediately. That won't work either, Mrs Courtney. He smiled sadly in acknowledgement of her spirit. You know our rights, and we know our rights. Centaine looked at Rodgers. How is your wife, Mr Rodgers? A year previously she had paid for the woman to travel to Johannesburg for urgent treatment by one of the leading abdominal surgeons in the Union. Rodgers had gone with her on full pay, and all expenses paid.

She's well, Mrs Courtney, he said sheepishly.

What does she think of this nonsense of yours? He looked down at his feet. She's a sensible lady, Centaine went on.

I would think she is worrying about her three little ones. We are all together, Fourie cut in. We are all solid, and the women are behind us. You can forget all that, Mr Fourie, please do not interrupt me when I am speaking. Playing the high and mighty lady muck-a-muck around here is going to get you nowhere, he blustered. 'We've got you and your bloody mine and your bloody diamonds over a barrel. You are the one who has got to do the listening when we speak, and that's the plain fact of the matter. He grinned cockily and looked to his mates for approbation. The grin concealed his trepidation. On one side he had Lothar De La Rey and his threat. If he could not come up with a good enough excuse for not performing his obligations he knew he was a dead man. He had to aggravate the strike until someone else transported the diamonds and gave him an escape. You aren't going to get one single bloody diamond off this property until we say so, lady. We're keeping them here as hostages. We know you've got a really whopping packet sitting there in the strongroom, and that's where it will stay, until you listen to what we have to say. He was a good enough judge of character to guess what Centaine Courtney's reaction to that threat would be.

Centaine studied his face intently. There was something that did not ring true, something devious and convoluted in his manner. He was being too deliberately aggressive and provocative.

All right, she agreed quietly. I'll listen. Tell me what you want. She sat quietly while Fourie read the list of demands.

Her face was impassive, the only signs of her anger that TWentyman-Jones knew so well were the soft flush of blood that stained her throat and the steady rhythmic tap of her foot on the wooden floor.

Fourie reached the end of the reading and there was another long silence. Then he proffered the document.

This is your copy. Put it on my desk, she ordered, disdaining to touch it.

The people that were retrenched from this mine last month were given three months pay in lieu of notice, she said, Three times more than they were entitled to, you know that. They were all given good letters of reference, you know that also. They are our mates, Fourie said stubbornly. Some of them our family. All right. She nodded. 'You have made your position clear. You may leave now. She rose and they looked at one another in consternation.

Aren't you going to give us an answer? Maclear asked.

Eventually, she nodded.

When will that be? When I am ready and not before. They filed towards the door, but before he reached it, Maclear turned back and faced her defiantly.

They've closed the company store and cut off the water and electricity to our cottages, he challenged her.

On my orders, she agreed.

You can't do that. I don't see why not. I own the store, the generator, the pumphouse and the cottages. We've got wives and children to feed. You should have thought about them before you started your strike!

We can take what we want, you know. Even your diamonds. You can't stop us. Make me a very happy woman, she invited. Do it. Break into the store and steal the goods from the shelves. Dynamite the strongroom and take my diamonds. Assault my loyal people. Nothing would please me more than to see the three of you in gaol for life, or dancing on the gallows tree!

As soon as they were alone again, she turned to Twenty-man-Jones.

He is right. The first and only consideration is the diamonds. I have to get them safely into the bank vaults in Windhoek. We can send them in under police escort, he agreed, but she shook her head.

It might take five more days for the police to reach here.

There is all sorts of red tape before they can move. No, I want those diamonds away from here before dawn. You know the insurance doesn't cover riot and civil disturbance.

If something happens to them I will be ruined, Dr Twenty-man-Jones.

They are my lifeblood. I cannot risk them falling into the hands of these ignorant arrogant brutes. Tell me what you intend. I want you to take the Daimler round to its garage in the rear. Have it refuelled and checked. We will load the diamonds through the back door. She pointed across her office to the concealed door she used sometimes when she wished to avoid being seen entering or leaving. At midnight when the pickets are asleep you will cut the barbed-wire fence directly opposite the garage door. Good. He was following her intentions. 'That will let us out into the sanitary lane. The pickets are at the main gates on the opposite side of the compound. They haven't posted anyone on the rear side. Once we are clear of the lane it's a straight run out onto the main road to Windhoek, we'll be clear in a matter of seconds. Not we, Dr Twenty-man-Jones, she said, and he stared at her.

You don't intend going alone? he asked.

I have just made the journey alone, swiftly and with not the least sign of trouble. I anticipate no problem with the return. I need you here. You know I cannot leave the mine to Brantingham or one of the clerks. You have to be here to deal with these strikers. Without you they may wreck the plant or sabotage the workings. It would only take a stick or two of dynamite. He wiped his face with his open hand, from forehead to chin, in an agony of indecision, torn between two duties: the mine which he had built up from nothing and which was his pride, and the woman who he loved as dearly as a daughter or a wife he had never had. At last he sighed. She was right, it had to be that way.

Then take one of the men with you, he pleaded.

Brantingham, bless him? she asked, raising her eyebrows, and he threw up both hands as he saw how ridiculous that idea was.

I'll take the Daimler around to the back, he said. Then I'll get a telegraph through to Abe in Windhoek. He can send out an escort immediately to meet you on the road, that is if the strikers haven't cut the wires yet. Don't send that until I am clear, Centaine instructed.

The strikers may just have had enough sense to have put a tap on the line, in fact that is probably why they have not cut it yet. Twenty-man-Jones nodded. Very well. What time do you intend breaking out? Three o'clock tomorrow morning, she said, without hesitation. it was the hour when human vitality was at its lowest ebb. That was when the strike picket would be least prepared for swift reaction.

Very well, Mrs Courtney. I will have my cook prepare you a light dinner, and then I suggest you get some rest. I will have everything ready and wake you at two-thirty. She woke the instant he touched her shoulder and sat up.

Half past two o'clock, Twenty-man-Jones said. The Daimler is refuelled and the diamonds loaded. The barbed wire is cut. I have drawn you a bath and there is a selection of fresh clothes from the bungalow. I will be ready in fifteen minutes, she said.

They stood beside the Daimler in the darkened garage and spoke in whispers. The double doors were open, and there was a crescent moon lighting the yard.

I have marked the gap in the wire. Twenty-man-Jones pointed and she saw the small white flags drooping from the barbed wire strands fifty yards away.

The canisters of industrial diamonds are in the boot, but I have put the package of top stones on the passenger seat beside you. He leaned through the open window and patted the black despatch box. It was the size and shape of a small suitcase, but of japanned steel with a brass lock.

Good. Centaine buttoned her dust-jacket and pulled on her soft dog-skin driving gauntlets.

The shotgun is loaded with Number Ten bird-shot, so you can fire at anybody who tries to stop you without risk of committing murder. It'll just give them a good sting. But if you mean business, there is a box of buckshot in the glove compartment. Centaine slid in behind the wheel and pulled the door closed gently so as not to alert a listener out in the silent night. She placed the double-barrelled shotgun on top of the diamond chest and cocked both hammers.

There is a basket in the boot, sandwiches and a Thermos of coffee. She looked at him out of the side window and said seriously, 'You are my tower. Don't let anything happen to you, he said. A pox on the diamonds, we can dig more of them. You are unique, there's only one of you. Impulsively he unbuckled the service revolver from around his waist and leaned into the Daimler to Push it into the pocket at the back of the driver's seat.

It's the only insurance I can offer you. Remember there is a cartridge under the hammer, he said. Pray you never need it. He stepped back and gave her a laconic salute. God speed! She started the Daimler and the great seven-litre engine rumbled softly. She flipped of the hand-brake, switched on the headlights and gunned the Daimler out through the open doors and across the yard, going up through the gears in a deft series of racing changes.

She aimed the mascot on the bonnet between the white markers, roared through the gap in the fence at forty miles an hour, and felt a loose strand of barbed wire scrape down the side of the coachwork. Then she tramped down on the brake and spun the wheel, steering the front wheels onto the dusty lane, meeting the skid and then going flat on the accelerator pedal again. She shot down the lane with the Daimler roaring at full power.

Above the engine she heard faint shouts and saw the dark indistinct figures of a mob of strikers racing down the fence from the main gate to try and intercept her at the corner of the lane. She picked up the shotgun and thrust the double muzzles through the window beside her. In the headlights the faces of the running men were ugly with rage, their mouths dark pits as they shouted at her.

Two of them were swifter than their mates, and they reached the corner of the lane just as the Daimler came level.

one of the strikers flung his pick handle and it cartwheeled through the beam of the headlights and clanged off the bonnet.

Centaine depressed the shotgun, aiming for their legs, and fired both barrels, with long spurts of orange flame and blurts of sound. Bird-shot lashed their legs and the strikers howled with shock and pain and leapt off the road as Centaine roared past them and turned onto the main road down the slope and out into the desert.

For Pettifogger. Urgent and Imperative. Juno un-accompanied departed this end 3 am instant carrying goods. Stop.

immediately despatch armed escort to intercept her enroute. Ends. Vingt.

Lothar De La Rey stared at the message he had copied onto his pad by the guttering flame of the candle.

Unaccompanied, he whispered. Juno unaccompanied.

Carrying goods. By Christ Almighty, she's coming through alone, with the diamonds. He calculated swiftly. She left the mine at three am. She'll be here an hour or so after noon. He left the dugout and climbed the bank. He found a place to sit and lit one of his precious cheroots. He looked at the sky, watching the crescent moon sink into the desert. When the dawn turned the eastern horizon into a peacock's tail of colour, he went down to the camp and blew flame from last night's ashes.

Swart Hendrick came out of the dugout and went to urinate noisily in the sand. He came back to the fire buttoning his breeches, yawning widely and sniffing the coffee in the billy.

We are changing the plan, Lothar told him, and Hendrick blinked and became warily attentive.

Why?, The woman is bringing the diamonds through alone. She won't give in easily. I don't want her hurt in any way. I wouldn't,

The hell you wouldn't. When you get excited, you shoot, Lothar cut him off brusquely. But that's not the only reason. He ticked off the others on his fingers. First: one woman alone requires only one man. I have time enough to re-rig the ropes to bring down the boulders into the cutting from my position. Two: the woman knows you, it doubles the risk of having us recognized. Three, he paused, the true reason was that he wanted to be alone with Centaine again.

it would be the last time. He would never be coming back this way again. We will do it this way because I say we will. You will stay here with Manfred and the horses, ready to ride as soon as I have done the job., Hendrick shrugged. I will help you rig the ropes, he grunted.

Centaine stopped the Daimler at the head of the cutting and left the engine running as she jumped out onto the runningboard and surveyed the crossing.

Her own outward tracks were still clear and sharp and untouched in the soft lemon-coloured dust. There had been no other traffic through the drift since she had passed the night before last. She unhooked the water bag and drank three mouthfuls, and then corked it again and hung it on the spare wheel bracket, climbed back into the cab, slammed the door and let off the hand-brake.

She let the Daimler trundle down the incline, swiftly gathering speed, when suddenly there was a rush of earth and rock, a swirling cloud of dust obscured the cutting directly ahead of her and she hit the brake hard.

The bank had collapsed on one side, and had almost filled the cutting with rock and loose earth.

Merde! she swore. It would mean a delay while she cleared the rubble or found another place to cross. She snapped the Daimler into reverse and twisted in her seat looking back through the missing rear window that the striker had knocked out, preparing to back up the incline, and she felt the first flutter of alarm against her ribs.

The bank had collapsed behind the Daimler also, sliding down in a soft churned ramp. She was trapped in the cutting, and she leaned out of the open window and looked about her anxiously, coughing in the dust that still billowed around her vehicle.

As it cleared she saw that the road ahead was only partially blocked. On the opposite side to the landslide there was still a narrow gap, not sufficient for the wide track of the Daimler to get through, but there was a spade strapped to the roof-rack. A few hours work in the burning sun should clear the way enough for her to work the Daimler through, but the setback galled her. She reached for the door handle, then a premonition of danger stopped her hand and she looked up the bank beside her.

There was a man standing at the top of the rise, looking down at her. His boots at the level of her eyes were scuffed and white with dust. There were dark sweat patches on his blue shirt. He was a tall man, but he had the lean hard look of a soldier or a hunter. However, it was the rifle that he carried across his hip, pointing down into her face and the mask he wore that terrified her.

The mask was a white flour bag. She could read the red and blue lettering on it: Premier Milling Co. Ltd', an innocuous kitchen article endowed with infinite menace by the two eye-holes that had been cut into the cloth. The mask and the rifle told her exactly what to expect.

A whole series of thoughts flashed through her mind as she sat frozen at the wheel staring up at him.

The diamonds are not insured. That was the thought at the forefront of her mind. The next staging post is forty miles ahead, was the next thought, and then: I forgot to reload the shotgun, spent shells in both barrels.

The man above her spoke, his voice muffled by the mask and obviously disguised.

Switch off the engine! He gestured with the rifle to enforce the order. Get out! She got out and looked around her desperately, her terror gone now, burned away by the need to think and act. Her eyes fastened directly ahead on the narrow gap left between the soft ramp of raw earth where the landslide had poured down in front of her and the steep firm bank on the other side.

I can get through, she thought, or at least I can try. And she ducked back into the cab.

Stop! The man above her yelled, but she slammed the Daimler into low gear.

The rear wheels spun in the fine yellow dust, throwing it back in twin fountains. The Daimler lurched forward, the tail swaying and skidding, but it gathered speed sharply and Centaine aimed the bonnet at the narrow gap between the bank and the slide of earth and rock.

She heard the man above her shout again, and then a warning rifle shot cracked over the top of the cab but she ignored it and concentrated on taking the Daimler out of the trap.

She rode her offside wheels high up the incline of the bank, and the Daimler reared over on its side almost to the point of capsizing, but its speed was still building up.

Centaine was heavily shaken and tossed about so that she had only her grip on the steering wheel to keep her in her seat as the big car canted even further over.

Still the gap was too narrow; her nearside wheels smashed into the piled earth and rock. The Daimler bucked wildly, throwing its nose high, flying up and forward like a hunter at a fence. Centaine was hurled towards the windshield, but she flung up a hand to brace herself and clung to the wheel with the other.

The Daimler came down again with a rending crash, jerking Centaine back against the padded leather seat. She felt unyielding rock slam up into the Daimler's belly like a boxer taking a heavy body blow, and the back wheels crabbed over the pile of broken earth, the rubber tyres screeching as they sought purchase on the tumbled boulders. Then they caught and flung the Daimler forward again.

it dropped down the far side of the obstacle, and hit hard.

Centaine heard something break, the clanging rupture of one of the steering rods and the wheel spun without resistance in her hands. The Daimler had fought its way over the barrier, but it was mortally wounded and out of control. The steering gone and the throttle linkage jammed wide open.

Centaine screamed and clung to the walnut dashboard as it roared down the cutting towards the river-bed, slamming into one bank and then hurling across and crashing into the other, the coachwork banging and ripping and buckling at each impact.

She tried desperately to reach the ignition switch, but the speedometer needle was flicking at the 30 mph notch and she was thrown across the passenger seat. The steel corner of the diamond case gouged her ribs, then she was thrown back the other way.

The door beside her burst open just as the Daimler roared out of the cutting into the river-bed and Centaine was hurled out through it. Instinctively she doubled herself into a ball, as though she were taking a fall from a galloping horse, and she rolled in the soft white sand, head over heels, coming up at last on her knees.

The Daimler was slewing wildly across the river-bed, the engine still roaring, and one of the front wheels, damaged by the rocks of the barrier, flew off, bounding and leaping like a wild creature until it struck the far bank.

The front end of the Daimler dropped and the nose dug into the sand. The engine was still roaring and the huge vehicle somersaulted end over end and came down on its back. The three remaining wheels pointed at the sky, spinning in a blur, the glass in the windows crackling and splintering into diamond chips, the cab buckling and sagging, hot oil pouring out of the slats in the bonnet and soaking into the sand.

Centaine pushed herself up and was running as she regained her feet. The sand clung to her ankles. It was like running in a bath of treacle, and terror had heightened her senses so that time seemed to stand still. It was like one of those terrible dreams in which all her movements were reduced to slow motion.

She dared not look behind her. That menacing masked figure must surely be close. She tensed for the grip of the hand that would seize her at any instant or the slam of a bullet into her back, but she reached the Daimler and dropped on her knees in the sand beside it.

The driver's door had been torn off and she crawled halfway into the aperture. The shotgun was wedged against the steering control but she dragged it clear and ripped open the small door of the glove compartment. The cardboard box of shotgun shells was scarlet with black lettering: ELEY KYNOCH 12GAUGE 25X SSG it broke open under her frantic fingers and the red brasst tipped shells spilled into the sand around her knees.

She pushed across the breech lock of the shotgun with her thumb and broke open the gun. The two empty bird-shot cartridges flew out with a crisp click-click of the ejectors and the gun was snatched out of her hands.

The masked man stood over her. He must have moved like a hunting leopard to come down the bank and across the river-bed so quickly. He flung the empty shotgun out across the sand. It landed fifty feet away, but the impetus of the throw had swung him off balance. Centaine launched herself at him, coming off her knees and driving her whole weight into his chest, just below the raised left arm that he had used to throw the shotgun.

It was unexpected, and he was balanced on one foot. They went over together in the sand. For an instant Centaine was on top of him, and then she wriggled away, came to her feet and floundered back towards the Daimler. The engine was still racing, blue smoke pouring from the engine as the oil drained away from the sump and it overheated.

The pistol! Centaine seized the handle of the rear door and threw her weight against it. Through the window she could see the leather holster and the chequered butt of Twentyrnan-Jones service revolver protruding from the seat pocket, but the door was jammed.

She ducked back to the gaping front door and tried to reach it over the back of the driver's seat, but bone-hard fingers dug into her shoulders and she was dragged bodily out of the doorway. instantly she spun in his grip, and his face was very close to hers. The thin white cotton bag covered his entire head, like the head of a Ku-Klux Klansman.

The eye-holes were dark as the hollow sockets in a skull, but there was a glint of human eyes deep in the shadow and she went for them with her fingernails.

He jerked his head away but her forefinger hooked in the thin cloth and ripped it down to his chin. He seized her wrists and instead of pulling away she hurled herself against him and drove her right knee up into his groin. He twisted violently and caught her knee on the side of his upper thigh.

She felt the shock of the blow drive into the rubbery muscle of his leg, but his grip on her wrists tightened as though she had been caught in the jaws of a steel gin trap.

She ducked her head and fastened her teeth into his wrist like a ferret, at the same time kicking and kneeing him in the lower body and shins, raining blows at him, most of them slogging into his hard flesh or bouncing off bone.

He was grunting and trying to control her. Obviously he hadn't expected this type of wild resistance, and the pain in his wrist must have been excruciating. Already the hinges of her jaws were cramping with the force of her bite. She could feel tissue and flesh splitting and tearing between her teeth and his blood welled into her mouth, hot and coppery and salt-tasting.

With his free hand the masked man seized a handful of her thick curly hair and tried to pull her head back. She was breathing through her nose, snuffling like a bulldog and gritting her teeth in with all her strength, and she reached the bone. It grated under her teeth, and the man was tugging and jerking at her head, giving small agonized cries and grunts.

She closed her eyes, expecting him at any moment to slam his fist into the side of her head and break the grip of her teeth, but he was strangely gentle and considerate in his reaction, not attempting to inflict injury or pain, merely trying to pull her off.

She felt something burst in her mouth. She had bitten through an artery in his wrist. Blood pumped against the roof of her palate with hot spurts that threatened to choke and drown her. She let it pour from the corners of her mouth without relaxing her bite. It sprayed from her lips and splattered them both as he jerked her head from side to side. He was moaning with agony now, and at last he used punitive force.

He dug thumb and forefinger into the hinges of her jaw.

His fingers were like iron spikes. Pain shot down into her locked jaws and up behind her eyes, and she opened her mouth and flung herself backwards, again taking him by surprise, breaking out of his grip and darting away back towards the Daimler.

This time she thrust her arm over the back of the driver's seat and reached up to the butt of the revolver. It slipped from the greased holster, and while she fumbled with a shaking hand to get a hold on it, the mas man seized her hair from behind and jerked her backwards. The heavy pistol fell through her fingers and clattered against the steel of the inverted cab.

She rounded on him again, snapping at his face with teeth that were still stained pink with his blood. The torn mask flapped over his face, blinding him for an instant and he stumbled and fell holding her in his arms. She was kicking and scratching and slashing at him as he rolled on top of her and pinned her with his full weight, holding her arms spread like a crucifix, and suddenly she stopped struggling and stared up at him.

The flap of his mask hung open and she could see his eyes. Those strange pale topaz-coloured eyes with the long dark lashes, and she gasped.

Lothar! He stiffened with the shock of his name, and they lay, locked like lovers, legs entangled, their lower bodies pressed together, both panting wildly and smeared with his blood, staring at each other wordlessly.

Abruptly he released her and stood up. He pulled the mask off his head and his tousled golden locks fell about his ears and tumbled down his forehead into his eyes as he wrapped the mask tightly around his mutilated wrist. He realized that it was seriously injured, the tendons and bone were exposed and the flesh was mangled and tattered where she had chewed it. Bright scarlet arterial blood soaked through the white cloth immediately and dripped into the sand.

Centaine pulled herself into a sitting position and watched him. The engine of the Daimler had stalled, and there was silence except for their breathing.

Why are you doing this? she whispered.

You know why. He knotted the cloth with his teeth, and suddenly she flung herself sideways and reached desperately into the cab, her fingers scrabbling again for the pistol. She touched it, but could not get her fingers around the butt before he pulled her away and pushed her over backwards in the sand.

He picked up the pistol and unclipped the lanyard. He wound the lanyard around his forearm as a tourniquet and grunted with satisfaction as the seep of blood shrivelled.

-Where are they? He looked down at her where she lay.

What are you talking about? He stooped and looked into the cab of the Daimler, then pulled out the black japanned despatch box.

Keys? he asked.

She stared back at him defiantly and he squatted and placed the box firmly in the sand, then stepped back a pace.

He cocked the pistol and fired a single shot. The report was stunning in the desert silence, and Centaine's ear drums buzzed with the memory. The bullet had torn the lock of the despatch box away and a circle of the black paint flaked from the lid leaving the metal beneath shiny and bright.

Lothar pocketed the pistol, and knelt and lifted the lid.

The case was filled with small packages, each neatly wrapped in brown paper and sealed with red wax. He picked out one package, favouring his injured hand, and read aloud the inscription in Twentyrnan-Jones ornate old-fashioned penmanship:

156 PIECES TOTAL 382 CARATS

He tore open the heavy cartridge paper with his teeth and shook out a sprinkle of gems into the palm of his injured hand. In the white sunlight they had that peculiar soapy sheen of uncut diamonds.

Very pretty, he murmured and dropped the loose stones into his pocket. He packed the torn parcel back into the despatch case and closed the lid.

I knew you were a murderer, she said. I never thought you a common thief. You stole my boats and my company. Don't talk to me about thieves. He tucked the despatch case under his arm and stood up.

He went round to the boot of the Daimler and managed to open it a crack, even though the vehicle was inverted, and he checked the contents.

Good, he said. You've had the sense to bring spare water.

Twenty gallons will last you a week, but they'll find you before then. Abrahams is sending out an escort to meet you. I intercepted the instruction from Twenty-man-jones. You swine, she whispered.

I will cut the telegraph wires before I leave. As soon as that happens they will realize at both ends that something is wrong. You'll be all right. Oh God, I hate you. Stay with the vehicle. That's the first law of desert survival. Don't go wandering off. They will rescue you in about two days, and I will have two days Start. I thought I hated you before, but now I know the real meaning of the word. I could have taught it to you, he said quietly, as he picked the abandoned shotgun out of the sand. I came to know it well, over the years that I was rearing your son. Then again when you came back into my life only to tear down everything I ever dreamed about and worked for. He swung the shotgun like an axe against one of the boulders. The butt shattered but he went on until it was bent and battered and useless. He dropped it.

Then he slung the Mauser over his shoulder and transferred the despatch case to his other hand. He held the injured hand in its blood-wet wrapping against his chest.

Clearly the pain was fierce; he had paled under his deep bronze tan and there was a catch in his voice as he went on.

I tried not to hurt you, if you hadn't struggled-! he broke off. We will not meet again, ever. Goodbye, Centaine. We will meet again, she contradicted him. You know me well enough, you must realize that I will not rest until I have full retribution for this day's work. He nodded. I know you will try. He turned away.

Lothar! she called sharply, and then softened her voice when he turned back. I'll make you a bargain, your company and your boats free of all debt for my diamonds. A bad bargain. He smiled sadly. 'By now the plant and boats are worth nothing, while your diamonds 'Plus fifty thousand pounds and my promise not to report this affair to the police. She tried to keep the edge of desperation out of her voice.

Last time it was I who was begging, do you recall? No, Centaine, even if I wanted, I could not go back now. I have burned my bridges. He thought about the horses, but could not tell her. No bargain, Centaine. Now I must go. Half the diamonds, leave half, Lothar.

Why?

For the love we once shared. He laughed bitterly. You will have to give me a better reason than that. All right. if you take them you will destroy me, Lothar. I cannot survive their loss. Already I am finely drawn. I will be utterly ruined. As I was when you took my boats. He turned and trudged through the sand to the bank, and she stood up.

Lothar De La Rey! she shouted after him. You refused my offer - then take my oath instead. I swear, and I call on God and all his saints to witness, I swear that I will never rest again until you swing by the neck from the gallows., He did not look back, but she saw him flinch his head at the threat. Then cradling his injured wrist and burdened by the rifle and the despatch case, he climbed the high bank and was gone.

She sank down on the sand and a wave of reaction swept over her. She found she was shaking wildly and uncontrollably. Despondency and humiliation and despair came at her in waves like a storm surf battering an unresisting beach, sweeping over it then sucking back and gathering and rushing forward again. She found she was weeping, thick, slow tears dissolving the clots of his drying blood from her lips and chin, and her tears disgusted her as much as the taste of blood at the back of her throat.

Disgust gave her the strength and resolution to pull herself to her feet and cross to the Daimler. Miraculously the water bag was still on its bracket. She washed away the blood and the tears. She gargled the taste of his blood from her mouth and spat it pink into the sand and she thought of following him.

He had taken the revolver and the shotgun was a battered and twisted piece of steel.

Not yet- she whispered, but very soon. I have given you my oath on it, Lothar De La Rey. Instead she went to the boot of the inverted Daimler. She had to scoop away the sand with her hands before she could get it fully open. She took out the two ten-gallon cans of water and the canisters of industrial diamonds, carried them to the shade of the bank and buried them in the sand to hide them and to keep the water as cool as possible.

Then she returned to the Daimler and impatiently unpacked the other survival equipment that she always carried, suddenly deadly afraid that the telegraph tap had been offloaded or forgotten, but it was there in the tool box with the wheel jack and spanners.

She lugged the reel of wire and the haversack containing the tap as she followed Lothar's tracks up the bank and found where he had tethered his horse.

He said he was going to cut the telegraph, She shaded her eyes and peered along the river course. He should have guessed I would have carried a tap with me. He isn't going ge his two days start. She picked out the line of telegraph poles cutting across the road loop and the bend of the river. The tracks of Lothar's horse followed the bank, and she broke into a run and trotted along them.

She saw the break in the wires from two hundred yards off. The severed copper wires dangled to earth in two lazy inverted parabolas and she quickened her pace. When she reached the spot where the telegraph line crossed the river and looked down the bank she immediately recognized the remnants of Lothar's camp. Sand had been hastily kicked over the fire, but the embers still smouldered.

She dropped the coil of wire and the haversack and scrambled down the bank. She found the dugout and realized that more than one man had been living here for some considerable time. There were three mattresses of cut grass.

Three. She puzzled over it for a few moments, and then worked it out. He has his bastard with him. She still couldn't bring herself to think of Manfred as her son. And the other one will be Swart Hendrick. He and Lothar are inseparable. She ducked from the dugout and stood for a moment undecided. It would take time to rig the tap to the severed wires, and it was vitally important to find out which way Lothar had ridden if she was to set the pursuit on him before he got clear.

She made her decision. I'll rig the telegraph after I know which way to send them. It was unlikely he would head east into the Kalahari.

There was nothing out there.

He'll head back towards Windhoek, she guessed, and she made her first cast in that direction. The area around the camp was thickly trodden with spoor of horse and men.

They had been here for at least two weeks, she judged. Only her Bushman training enabled her to make sense of the tangled tracks.

They didn't go out that way, she decided at last. Then they must have headed south for Gobabis and the Orange river. She made her next cast in that direction, circling the southern perimeter of the camp, and when she found no spoor fresher than the previous day, she looked to the north.

Surely not. She was confused. There is nothing out there before the Okavango river and Portuguese territory, the horses will never make it across the wastes of Bushmanland. Nevertheless she made her next cast across that northern segment and almost immediately cut the outgoing spoor, fresh and cleanly printed in the soft earth.

Three riders each leading a spare horse, not an hour ago.

Lothar must be taking the northern route after all. He is crazy, or he has worked out something. She followed the fresh spoor for a mile, to make certain that he had not doubled or backtracked. The spoor ran straight and unwavering into the shimmering heat mists of the northern wastes, and she shivered as she remembered what it was like out there.

He must be crazy, she whispered. But I know he isn't.

He's going for the Angola border. That's his old base from the ivory-poaching days. If he reaches the river we'll never see him again. He has friends over there, the Portuguese traders who bought his ivory. This time Lothar will have a million pounds of diamonds in his pocket and the wide world to choose from. I have to catch him before he gets across. Her spirits quailed at the enormity of the idea and she felt despondency come at her again. He has prepared this carefully, everything is in his favour. We'll never catch him. She fought off the beast of despair. Yes, we will. We have to. I have to outwit and beat him. I simply have to, just to survive. She whirled and ran back to the abandoned camp.

The severed telegraph wires drooped to earth and she gathered the ends and clipped the bridging wires from the coil to them, drawing them just taut enough to keep them clear of the earth.

She put her tap into the circuit and screwed the terminals to the pack of dry-cell batteries. The batteries had been renewed before she left Windhoek. They should still be full of life. For a dreadful moment her mind went blank and she could not remember a single letter of the Morse code, then it returned with a rush and she hammered quickly on the brass key.

Juno for Vingt. Acknowledge. For long seconds there was only echoing silence in her headphones, then the startling beep of the reply: f Vingt for Juno. Go ahead. She tried to pick the short word and terse abridged phrase as she told Twenty-man-Jones of the robbery and gave her position, then went on: Negotiate stand-off with strikers as recovery of goods mutually essential. Stop. Take truck to northern tip of O'chee Pan and locate Bushman encampment in mongongo forest. Stop. Bush-leader named Kvii. Stop. Tell Kwi "Nam Child kaleya". Repeat "Nam Child kaleya, and she gave thanks that the word kaleya bore phonetic rendition into the Roman alphabet and required neither the complicated tonals nor the clicks of the Bushman language. Kaleya was the distress call, the cry for help that no clan member could ignore. Bring Kwi with you, she went on and continued with her further instructions; and when she signed off Twenty-man-Jones acknowledged and then sent: Are you safe and unharmed. Query. Vingt. Affirmative. Ends. Juno. She mopped the sweat off her face with the yellow silk scarf. She was sitting in the direct rays of the sun. Then she flexed her fingers and bent once more to the keyboard and tapped out the call sign of her operator in the offices of Courtney Mining and Finance Company in Windhoek.

The acknowledgement was prompt. Obviously the operator had been following her transmission to Twenty-man-Jones, but she asked: Have you copied previous? Affirmative, he tapped back.

Relay previous to Administrator Colonel Blaine Malcomess plus following for Malcomess. Quote: Request cooperation in capture of culprits and recovery of stolen goods.

Stop. Do you have report on large number stolen horses or purchase of horses by one Lothar De La Rey within last three months. Respond soonest. Ends. Juno. The distant operator acknowledged and then continued: Pettifogger for Juno. Abe must have been summoned to the telegraph office the minute they received their first transmission.

Greatly concerned for your safety. Stop.

Remain your present position. Stop. And Centaine exclaimed irritably, I sucked that egg long ago, Abe. But she copied the rest of it.

Armed escort left Windhoek 5 am instant. Stop. Should reach you early tomorrow. Stop. Stand by for Malcomess.

Ends. Pettifogger. The wires were long enough to allow her to move the keyboard into the strip of shade below the bank and while she waited she gave all her concentration to the task ahead.

Certain facts were apparent and the first of these was that they were never going to catch Lothar De La Rey in a stern chase. He had too long a lead, and he was going into country over which he had travelled and hunted for half his life. He knew it better than any living white man, better than even she did, but not better than little Kwi.

We have to work out his route and cut him off, and we will have to use horses. Trucks will be useless over that terrain. Lothar knows that, he is banking on that. He will choose a route that trucks can never follow. She closed her eyes and visualized a map of the northern territory, that vast forbidding sweep of desert called Bushmanland.

She only knew of surface water at two points, one the place she always thought of as Elephant Pan, and the other a deep seep below a hillock of shale. They were secret Bushman places, both of which old O'wa, her adopted grandfather, had shown her fifteen years before. She wondered if she could find either water-hole again, but she was certain that Lothar knew them and could ride directly to them. He probably knew of other water-holes that she did not.

The beep of the telegraph disturbed her and she reached for it eagerly.

Malcomess for Juno. Police report theft of 26 horses from military remount depot Okahandja 3rd of last month. Stop.

Only two animals recovered. Stop. State your further requirements. I was right! Lothar has set up staging posts across the desert, she exclaimed, and she closed her eyes and tried to visualize a map of the northern territory, estimating distances and times. At last she opened her eyes again, and bent to the telegraph key.

Convinced fugitives attempting to reach Okavango river direct. Stop. Assemble small mobile force of desert-trained men with spare horses. Stop. Rendezvous Kalkrand Mission Station soonest. Stop. I will join you with Bushman trackers. Twenty-man-Jones reached her before the escort from Windhoek. O'chee Pan was on his direct route, only a few miles from the road. The company truck came rumbling over the plain and Centaine ran down the tracks to meet it, waving both hands above her head and laughing wildly with relief.

She had changed into breeches and riding-boots from her luggage in the Daimler.

Twenty-man-jones jumped down from the cab and came to her in a long-legged lolloping run. He caught her and held her to his chest.

Thank God, he muttered fervently. Thank God you are safe. It was the first time ever that he had embraced her and he was immediately embarrassed. He released her and stepped back scowling to cover it.

Did you get Kwi? she demanded.

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

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

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

She hugged them like frightened children, murmuring assurance and endearments.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hello, Constable, who is in charge here

and then she broke off and stared as a tall figure appeared on the verandah of the stone-walled building beside the little church.

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

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

Then, when he still held his hand towards her, she took it

again. His grip was firm and dry and reassuring.

You aren't going into the desert with us, are you? You have your duties as administrator. If I don't go, then you don't either. He smiled. I have received strict instructions from both the prime minister, General Hertzog, and from the leader of the opposition, General Smuts, that I am not to let you out of my personal charge. Apparently, madam, you have a reputation for headstrong action. The two old gentlemen are very perturbed. I have to go, she broke in. 'Nobody else can handle the Bushman trackers. Without them the robbers will get clean away. He inclined his head in agreement. I am sure the intention of the two worthy generals is that neither of us go, but I chose to interpret their orders rather as instruction that both of us should. And suddenly he grinned like a naughty schoolboy about to play truant. You are stuck with me, I'm afraid. She thought of being with him out in the desert, far from his wife. For a moment she forgot Lothar De La Rey and the diamonds, and suddenly she realized that they were still holding hands and that everybody was watching them. She dropped his hand and asked briskly: When can we leave? in reply he turned and bellowed, Up-saddle! Up-saddle! We ride immediately! While the troopers ran to the horses, he turned back to her, businesslike and competent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which is your star? she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He and the diamonds were not far ahead of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THIS WELL IS POISONED

The empty can was bright red with a black skull and crossbones device and below that the dreaded title:

ARSENIC

Blaine had come up beside her and they were both so silent that Centaine imagined she could hear the shale beneath them ticking softly like a cooling oven, then Blaine spoke: The dead horses, he said, 'that accounts for it. The dirty bastard. His voice crackled with outrage. He pulled his horse around and galloped across to join the troop. Centaine heard him calling, Sergeant. Check the water that is left. The well is poisoned, and Sergeant Hansmeyer whistled softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let her drink! Blaine ordered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What are you staring at? he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They stared at each other.

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

And to hell with the consequences, he said harshly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He turned to look back across the plain with its sparse covering of scrub and camel-thorn, but the movement brought on another wave of giddiness and he swayed and snatched at the despatch case to prevent himself falling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm all right, she protested.

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

What is it? she demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody here, he grunted. Buffalo and Legs, where are they? He broke into a run, spraying water at each pace as he headed for the primitive hut that stood in the shade of the nearest umbrella acacia.

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

They've deserted. Lothar anticipated Hendrick's report.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choose, Manie, he ordered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His modesty made her smile.

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

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

They are desperate, Blaine said, as they saw the pile of

abandoned equipment beneath the acacia tree. Saddles and

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

His condition is worsening, Centaine murmured, but strangely there was no gloating in her voice, no triumph in her eyes. I think he is a dying man, Blaine. Unaccountably he felt the need to commiserate with her, to console her. If we can get him to a doctor,

he broke off, the impulse was ludicrous. They were hunting a vicious criminal who, Blaine knew, would not hesitate to shoot him down at the first opportunity.

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

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

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

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

And now? she asked.

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

Blaine, I have been alone for a long time with a small child to protect and to plan for. When I came to this land as a girl, I served a hard, unrelenting apprenticeship in this desert. I learned that there was nobody I could rely upon but myself, no way to survive but through my own strength and determination. That hasn't altered. I still have nobody but myself on whom I can rely. Isn't that so, Blaine? I wish it were not. He did not attempt to avoid her gaze but looked back at her candidly. I wish,, He broke off and she finished the statement for him. But, you have Isabella and your girls. He nodded. Yes, they cannot fend for themselves. And I can!, isn't that right, Blaine? Don't be bitter with me, please. I did not seek this. I have never made you any promises. I'm sorry. She was immediately contrite. You are right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody spoke from choice. All orders were terse and monosyllabic, every word an effort.

I won't be the first to give in, Centaine decided grimly, and then she was alarmed that the thought had even occurred to her. 'Nobody will give in. We have to catch them before the river and the river is not far ahead. She found she was focusing only on the earth at her feet, interest in her surroundings, and she knew that was losing a dangerous sign, the first small surrender. She forced herself to look up. Blaine was ahead of her. She had fallen back in those few paces, and she made a huge effort and dragged her horse forward until she was side by side with him again.

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

Blaine smiled at her, but she saw that it had cost him an

effort also. Those kopjes are not marked on the map, he said.

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

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

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

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

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

The Bushmen circled the dying animal and then conferred excitedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you all right? she yelled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two or three, Hansmeyer called.

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

We will be able to recover the other bottles, just as soon as it's dark, he assured them, and then briskly, Sergeant, take two troopers with you, try and work your way around the other side of the kopje. Make sure nobody leaves by the back door. Lothar De La Rey sat propped against one of the huge round granite boulders at the top of the kopje. He sat in the shade, with the Mauser across his lap. He was bare-headed and his long golden hair blew softly across his forehead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will look after the boy, he said simply, and Lothar nodded.

I want to talk to Manie. He licked his dry, cracked lips and shivered briefly with the heat of the poison in his blood.

Wait for him at the bottom. It will take only a minute. Come. Hendrick jerked his head, and Klein Boy stood up beside him. Together they moved with the swiftness of hunting panthers to the cliff, and Klein Boy slipped over the edge. Hendrick paused and looked back. He raised his right hand.

Stay in peace, he said simply.

Go in peace, old friend, Lothar murmured. He had never called him friend before and Hendrick flinched at the word.

Then he turned his head so Lothar could not see his eyes, and a moment later he was gone.

Lothar stared after him for long seconds, then shook himself lightly, driving back the self-pity and the sickly sentiment and the fever mists which threatened to close in and unman him completely.

Manfred, he said, and the boy started. He had been sitting as close as he dared to his father, watching his face, hanging on every word, every gesture he made.

Pa, he whispered. I don't want to go. I don't want to leave you. I don't want to be without you., Lothar made an impatient gesture, hardening his features to hide this softness in him. You will do as I tell you. Pa, I You have never let me down before, Manie. I have been proud of you. Don't spoil it for me now. Don't let me find out that my son is a coward I'm not a coward! Then you will do what you have to do, he said harshly, and before Manfred could protest again he ordered, Bring me the haversack. Lothar placed the bag between his feet and with his good hand unbuckled the flap. He took one of the packages from it and tore open the heavy brown paper with his teeth. He spilled the stones into a small pile on the granite beside him and then spread them. He picked out ten of the biggest and whitest gems.

Take off your jacket, he ordered, and when Manfred handed the garment to him Lothar pierced a tiny hole in the lining with his clasp knife.

These stones will be worth thousands of pounds. Enough to see you full grown and educated, he said, as he stuffed them one at a time into the lining of the jacket with his forefinger.

But these others, there are too many, too heavy, too bulky to hide. Dangerous for you to carry them with you, a death warrant. He pushed himself to his feet with an effort.

Come! He led Manfred amongst the cluster of huge boulders, bracing himself against the rock to keep himself from falling while Manfred supported him from the other side.

Here! He grunted and lowered himself to his knees, Manfred squatting down beside him. At their feet the granite cap was cracked through as though split with a chisel. At the top the crack was only as wide as two hand-spans, but it was deep, they could not see the bottom of it though they peered down thirty feet or more. The crack narrowed gradually as it descended and the depths of it were lost in shadow.

Lothar dangled the haversack of diamonds over the aperture. Mark this place well, he whispered. Look back often when you go northwards so that you will remember this hill. The stones will be waiting for you when you need them. Lothar opened his fingers and the haversack dropped into the crack. They heard the canvas scraping against the sides of the granite cleft as it fell, and then silence as it jammed deep down in the narrow throat of the crack.

Side by side they peered down, and they could just make out the lighter colour and the contrasting texture of the canvas thirty feet down, but it would escape even the concentrated scrutiny of anyone who did not know exactly where to look for it.

That is my legacy to you, Manie, Lothar whispered, and crawled back from the aperture. All right, Hendrick is waiting for you. It is time for you to go. Go quickly now. He wanted to embrace his son for the last time, to kiss his eyes and his lips and press him to his heart, but he knew it would undo them both. If they clung to each other now, they could never bring themselves to part.

Go! he ordered, and Manfred sobbed and flung himself at his father.

I want to stay with you, he cried.

Lothar caught his wrist and held him at arm's length.

Do you want me to be ashamed? he snarled. Is that how you want me to remember you, snivelling like a girl? Pa, don't send me away, please. Let me stay. Lothar drew back, released his grip on Manfred's wrist and immediately whipped his open palm across his face and then swung back with his knuckles. The double slap knocked Manfred onto his haunches, leaving livid red blotches on his pale cheeks, and a tiny serpent of bright blood crawled from his nostril down over his upper lip. He stared at Lothar with shocked and incredulous eyes.

Get out of here, Lothar hissed at him, summoning all his courage and resolve to make his voice scornful and his expression savage. I won't have a blubbering little ninny hanging around my neck. Get out of here before I take the strap to you! Manfred scrambled to his feet and backed away, still staring with horrified disbelief at his father.

Go on! Get away! Lothar's expression never wavered, and his voice was angry and disdainful and unrelenting. Get out of here! Manfred turned and stumbled to the edge of the cliff.

There he turned once more and held out his hands. Pa!

Please don't, Go, damn you. Go! The boy scrambled over the edge, and the sounds of his clumsy descent dwindled into silence.

only then Lothar let his shoulders droop, and he sobbed once, then suddenly he was weeping silently, his whole body shaking.

It's the fever, he told himself. The fever has weakened me. But the image of his son's face, golden and beautiful and destroyed with grief, still filled his mind and he felt something tearing in his chest, an unbearable physical pain.

Forgive me, my son, he whispered through his tears. There was no other way to save you. Forgive me, I beg you. Lothar must have relapsed into unconsciousness, for he awoke with a start and could not remember where he was or how he had got there. Then the smell of his arm, sick and disgusting, brought it back to him, and he crawled to the edge of the cliff and looked out towards the south. He saw his pursuers then for the first time, and even at the distance of a mile or more he recognized the two wraith-like little figures that danced ahead of the column of horsemen.

Bushmen, he whispered. Now he understood how they had come so swiftly. She has put her tame Bushmen onto me. He realized then that there had never been any chance of throwing them off the spoor; all that time Lothar had used in covering their sign and in anti-tracking subterfuges had been wasted. The Bushmen had followed them with barely a check over the worst going and most treacherous tracking terrain.

Then he looked beyond the trackers an counted the number of men coming against him. Seven, he whispered, and his eyes narrowed as he tried to pick out a smaller feminine figure amongst them, but they were dismounted leading their horses and the intervening mopani obscured his vision.

He transferred all his attention from the approaching horsemen to his own preparations. His only concern now was to delay the pursuit as long as possible, and to convince the pursuers that all of his band were still together here upon the summit. Every hour he could win for them would give Hendrick and Manie just that much more chance of escape.

It was slow and awkward working with one hand, but he jammed Klein Boy's rifle into a niche of the granite with the muzzle pointing down towards the plain. He looped a strap from one of the water bottles over the trigger and led the other end to his chosen shooting stance in the shadows, protected by a flare of the granite ledge.

He had to pause for a minute to rest, for his vision was starring and breaking up into patches of blackness, and his legs felt too weak to support his weight. He peeped over the edge and the horsemen were much closer, on the point of emerging from the mopani forest into the open ground. Now he recognized Centaine, slim and boyish in her riding-breeches, and he could even make out the bright yellow speck of the scarf around her throat.

Despite the fever heat and the darkness in his head, despite his desperate circumstances, he still found a bitter-sweet admiration for her. By God, she never gives up, he muttered. She'll follow me over the other side to the frontiers of hell. He crawled to the pile of discarded water bottles and dragging them after him, arranged them in three separate piles along the lip of the ledge, and he knotted the leather straps together so that he could agitate all the piles simultaneously with a single twitch of the strap in his hand.

Nothing else I can do, he whispered, except shoot straight. But his head was throbbing and his vision danced with the hot mirage of his fever. Thirst was an agony in his throat and his body was a furnace.

He unscrewed the stopper on the water bottle and drank, carefully controlling himself, sipping and holding it in his mouth before swallowing. Immediately he felt better, and his vision firmed. He closed the water bottle and placed it beside him with the spare ammunition clips. Then he folded his jacket into a cushion on the lip of granite in front of him and laid the Mauser on top of it. The pursuers had reached the foot of the kopje and were clustered about his abandoned horse.

Lothar held up his good hand in front of his eyes with fingers extended. There was no tremor, it was steady as the rock on which he lay and he cuddled the butt of the Mauser in under his chin.

The horses, he reminded himself. They can't follow Manie without horses, and he drew a long breath, held it, and shot Blaine Malcomess chestnut mare in the centre of the white blaze.

As the echoes of the shot still bounced from the cliffs of the surrounding hills, Lothar flicked the bolt of the Mauser and fired again, but this time he jerked the strap attached to the other rifle and the report of the two shots overlapped.

The double report would deceive even an experienced soldier into believing there was more than one man on the summit.

Strangely, in this moment of deadly endeavour, the fever had receded. Lothar's vision was bright and clear, the sights of the Mauser starkly outlined against each target and his gun hand steady and precise as he swung the rifle from one horse to the next and sent each one crashing to earth with a head shot. Now they were all down except one: Centaine's mount.

He picked Centaine up in the field of his gunsight. She was galloping back towards the mopani, lying flat over her horse's neck, her elbows pumping, a man hanging from her stirrup, and Lothar lifted his forefinger from the curve of the trigger. It was an instinctive reaction; he could not bring himself to send a bullet anywhere near her.

Instead he swung the barrel away from her. The riders of the downed horses, all four of them, were straggling away towards the mopani. Their thin cries of panic carried to the summit. They were easy marks; he could have knocked them down with a single bullet for each, but instead he made it a game to see how close he could come without touching one of them. They ducked and cavorted as the Mauser fire whipped around them. It was comical, hilarious.

He was laughing as he worked the bolt, and suddenly he heard the wild hysterical quality of his laughter ringing hollowly in his own skull and he bit it off. I'm losing my head, he thought. Got to last it out. The last of the running men disappeared into the forest and he found himself shaking and sweating with reaction.

Got to be ready, he encouraged himself. Got to think.

Can't stop now. Can't let go. He crawled to the second rifle and reloaded it, then rolled back to his shooting stance in the shadow of the summit boulders.

Now they are going to try and mark me, he guessed.

They'll draw fire and watch for- He saw the helmet being offered invitingly above the lip of the ravine at the edge of the forest and grinned. That was a hoary old trick; even the red-necked pommy soldiers had learned not to fall for it as far back as the opening years of the Boer War. It was almost insulting that they should try to entice him with it now.

All right then! he taunted them. We'll see who foxes who? He fired both rifles simultaneously, and a moment later jerked the straps attached to the piles of empty water bottles.

At that range the movement of the round felt-covered bottles would show against the skyline just like the heads of hidden riflemen.

Now they will send men to circle the hill, he guessed, and watched for movement amongst the trees on his flanks, the Mauser ready, blinking his eyes rapidly to clear them.

Five hours until dark, he told himself. Hendrick and Manie will be at the river by dawn tomorrow. Got to hold them until then. He saw a flash of movement out on the right flank: men crouching and running forward in short bursts, outflanking the kopje, and he aimed for the trunks over their heads.

Mauser fire whiplashed and bark exploded from the mopani, leaving wet white wounds on the standing timber.

Keep your heads down, myne heeren! Lothar was laughing again, hysterical, delirious cackles.

He forced himself to stop it, and immediately the image of Manie's face appeared before him, the beautiful topaz eyes swimming with tears and the flash of blood on his upper lip.

My son, he lamented. Oh God, how will I live without you! Even then be would not accept that be was dying, but blackness filled his skull and his head dropped forward onto the filthy pus-stained bandage that swaddled his arm. The stench of his own decaying flesh became part of the delirious nightmares which continued to torment him even in unconsciousness.

He came back to reality gradually, and he was aware that the sunlight had mellowed and the terrible heat had passed.

There was a tiny breeze fanning the hilltop and he panted for the cooler air, sucking it gratefully into his lungs. Then he became aware of his thirst and his hand shook as he reached for the water bottle; it required an enormous effort to remove the stopper and lift it to his lips. One gulp and the bottle slipped from his grip and precious water splashed the front of his shirt and glugged from the bottle, pooling on the rock, evaporating almost immediately. He had lost fully a pint before he could retrieve the bottle and the loss made him want to weep.

Carefully he screwed the stopper closed, then lifted his head and listened.

There were men on the hill. He heard the distinct crunch of a steel-shod boot biting into a granite foothold and he reached for one of the potato masher grenades. With the Mauser over his shoulder he crawled back from the edge and used the rock to pull himself to his feet. He could not stand unassisted, and he had to lean his way around the boulder.

He crept forward cautiously with the grenade ready.

The summit was clear; they must still be climbing the cliff. He held his breath and listened with all his being. He heard it again, close at hand, the scrape and slide of cloth against granite and a sharp involuntary inhalation of breath, a gasp of effort as somebody missed and then retrieved a foothold just below the summit.

They are coming up from behind, he told himself as though explaining to a backward child. Every thought required an effort. 'Seven-second delay on the fuse of the grenade. He stared down at the clumsy weapon that he held by its wooden handle. Too long. They are very close. He lifted the grenade and tried to pull the firing-pin. It had corroded and was firmly stuck. He grunted and heaved at it and the pin came away. He heard the primer click and he began to count.

A thousand and one, a thousand and two, And at the fifth second he stooped and rolled the grenade over the edge.

Out of sight, but close by, someone shouted an urgent warning.

Christ! It's a grenade! And Lothar laughed wildly.

Eat it, you jackals of the English! He heard them sliding and slipping as they tried to escape and he braced himself for the explosion, but instead he heard only the clatter and rattle of the grenade as it bounced and dropped down the slope.

Misfire! He stopped laughing. job damn it to hell. Then abruptly, but belatedly, the grenade exploded, far down the cliff. A crash of sound followed by the rattle and whine of shrapnel on the rock, and a man cried out.

Lothar fell to his knees and crawled to the edge. He looked over.

There were three khaki-uniformed men on the cliff, sliding and scrambling downwards. He propped the Mauser on the lip and fired rapidly. His bullets left lead smears on the rock close beside the terrified troopers. They dropped the last few feet and started back towards the trees. One of them was hurt, hit by shrapnel; his companions supported him on each side and dragged him away.

Lothar lay exhausted by the effort for almost an hour before he could drag himself back to the south side of the summit. He looked down at the dead horses lying in the sun.

Already their bellies were swelling, but the water bottles were still strapped to their saddles. The water is the magnet, he whispered. By now they will be really thirsty.

They will come for the water next. At first he thought the darkness was only in his mind again, but when he rolled his head and looked into the west he saw the last orange flash of the sunset in the sky. Before his eyes it faded and the sudden African night was upon them.

He lay and listened for them to try to reach the water, and he wondered as he had so often before at the mystic sounds of the African night, the gentle muted orchestra of insect and bird, the piping of the hunting bats flitting around the dome of rock and out on the plain the plaintive yip of jackal and the occasional outlandish grunting bark of the nocturnal honey badger. Lothar had to try to discount these distractions and listen for manmade sounds in the darkness directly below the cliff.

It was only the clink of a stirrup iron that alerted him, and he tossed the grenade with a full swing of his arm out over the abyss. The heavy crump of the explosion blew a puff of air into his face, and by the sudden flare of flame he saw far below the dark figures standing over the dead horse.

He made out two of them, though he could not be certain there were not others, and he tossed the second grenade.

In the brief burst of orange light he saw them racing back towards the trees; they ran so lightly that they could not have been burdened by water bottles.

Sweat it out, he taunted them, but he had only the one remaining grenade. He held it to his chest as though it were some rare treasure.

Must be ready when they come again.

Can't let them get the water. He was talking aloud, and he knew it was a sign of his delirium. Every time he felt the swimming dizziness he lifted his head and tried to focus on the stars.

Got to hold out, he told himself seriously. If I can only keep them here until noon tomorrow. He tried to make the calculations of time and distance but it was too much for him. Must be eight hours since Hendrick and Manie left.

They will keep going all night. They haven't got me to hold them back. They can make the river before dawn. If only I can hold them another eight hours they will get clear away But the weariness and the fever overwhelmed him and he cradled his forehead in the curve of his elbow.

Lothar! It was his imagination, he knew that, but then his name was called again. Lothar! And he lifted his head and shivered with the cold of the night and the memories that her voice summoned up.

He opened his mouth and then closed it. He would not reply, would give nothing away. But he listened avidly for Centaine Courtney to call again.

Lothar, we have a wounded man. He judged that she was at the edge of the forest. He could imagine her, determined and brave, that small firm chin lifted, those dark eyes.

Why do I still love you? he whispered.

We must have water for him. Strange how clearly her voice carried. He could pick out the inflection of her French accent and somehow he found that touching. It brought tears to his eyes.

Lothar! I am coming out to fetch the water., Her voice was closer, stronger, clearly she had left the shelter of the trees.

I'm alone, Lothar. She must be halfway across the open ground.

Go back! He tried to shout, but it was a mumble. I warned you.

I have to do it. He fumbled for the grenade.

Can't let you take the water, for Manie's sake. I have to do it. He hooked his finger through the firing ring of the grenade.

I have reached the first horse, she called. I am taking the bottle. just one bottle, Lothar., She was in his power. She was standing at the foot of the cliff. It wouldn't need a long throw. All he had to do was roll the grenade over the edge and it would fly out like a toboggan along the curve of the cliff and land at her feet.

He imagined the flash of the explosion, that sweet flesh that had cradled his, and harboured his son, torn and rent by razor-edged shrapnel. He thought how much he hated her, and realized that he loved her as much, and the tears in his eyes blinded him.

I'm going back now, Lothar. I have one bottle, she called, and he heard in her voice gratitude and an acknowledgement of the bond between them that no deed, no passage of time could sever. She spoke again, dropping her voice so it reached him as a faint whisper.

May God forgive you, Lothar De La Rey. And then no more.

Those gentle words wounded him as deeply as any he had ever heard from her. There was a finality to them that he found unbearable, and he dropped his head onto his arm to smother the cry of despair which rose in his throat, and the darkness rustled in his head like the wings of a black vulture as he felt himself falling, falling, falling.

This one is dead, Blaine Malcomess said quietly, standing over the prostrate figure. They had climbed the cliff at two places in the darkness; then in the dawn they had carried the summit in a concerted rush only to find it undefended.

Where are the others? Sergeant Hansmeyer hurried out of the shadowy cluster of boulders. There is no one else on the hill, sir. They must have got clean away. Blaine! Centaine called urgently. 'Where are you? What is happening? He had insisted that she remain at the foot of the kopje until they had captured the summit. He had not yet signalled her to come up, but here she was, only a minute behind their attack.

Over here, he snapped. And then, as she ran towards him, You disobeyed an order, madam. She ignored the accusation. Where are they? She broke off as she saw the body. Oh God, it's Lothar. She went down beside him.

So this is De La Rey. Well, he's dead, I'm afraid, Blaine told her.

Where are the others? Centaine looked up at him anxiously. She had been both dreading and anticipating finding Lothar's bastard; she still tried to avoid using the boy's name, even to herself.

Not here. Blaine shook his head. Given us the slip. De La Rey fooled us and put up a good rear guard delay. They have got clear away.

They'll be across the river by now. Manfred. Centaine capitulated and thought of him by name. Manfred, my son. And her disappointment and sense of loss was so strong that it shocked her. She had wanted him to be there. To see him at last. She looked down at his father, and other emotions, long buried and suppressed, rose in her.

Lothar lay with his face cradled in the crook of his elbow.

The other arm, bound up in strips of stained blanket, was outflung. She touched his neck below the ear, feeling for the carotid artery, and exclaimed immediately she felt the fever heat of his skin.

He's still alive. Are you sure? Blaine squatted beside her. Between them they rolled Lothar onto his back, and they saw the grenade lying under him.

You were right, Blaine said softly. He did have another grenade. He could have killed you last night., Centaine shivered as she stared down at Lothar's face. He was no longer beautiful and golden and brave. The fever had ruined him, his features had collapsed like those of a corpse and he was shrunken and grey.

He is badly dehydrated, she said. Is there water left in that bottle? While Blaine dribbled water into his mouth, Centaine unwrapped the festering rags from his arm.

Blood poisoning. She recognized the livid lines beneath the skin and the stench of his rotting flesh. That arm will have to come off. Though her voice was steady and businesslike, she was appalled at the damage she had wrought. It seemed impossible that a single bite could have caused that.

Her teeth were one of her good features and she was proud of them, always kept them clean and white and cared for.

That arm looked as though it had been savaged by one of the carrion eaters, by a hyena or a leopard.

There is a Portuguese Roman Catholic mission at Cuangar on the river, Blaine said. But he'll be lucky if we can get him there alive.

With all but one of the horses dead, we'll all be lucky to make it as far as the river ourselves., He stood up. Sergeant, send one of your men to fetch the first-aid kit and then have the rest of them search every inch of this hilltop. A million pounds worth of diamonds are missing. Hansmeyer saluted and hurried away, rapping out orders at his troopers.

Blaine sank down beside Centaine. While we are waiting for the medical kit, I suppose we had better search his clothing and equipment in the off-chance that he kept any of the stolen diamonds with him. 'It's an off-chance all right, Centaine agreed with bitter resignation.

The diamonds are almost certainly with his son and that big black Ovambo ruffian of his. And without our Bushmen trackers, She shrugged.

Blaine spread Lothar's dusty stained tunic on the rock and began examining the seams, while Centaine bathed Lothar's injured arm and then bound it up with clean white bandages from the medical kit.

Nothing, sir. Hansmeyer reported back. We've gone over every inch

of this rock, every nook and cranny. Very well, Sergeant. Now we have to get this beggar off the kopje without letting him fall and break his neck. Not that he doesn't deserve it. Blaine grinned. He does deserve it. But we don't want to do the hangman out of his five guineas, do we now, Sergeant? They were ready to move out within the hour. Lothar De La Rey was strapped into a drag litter of mopani saplings behind their single remaining horse, and the wounded trooper, the grenade shrapnel still in his back and shoulder, rode up in Centaine's saddle.

Centaine lingered on at the foot of the kopje after the column had started northwards towards the river once more, and Blaine came back to stand beside her.

He took her hand and she sighed and leaned lightly against his shoulder. Oh, Blaine, for me so much has ended here in this God-forsaken wilderness, on this sun-blasted lump of rock. I think I can understand how much the loss of the diamonds means. Do you, Blaine? I don't think so. I don't think even I can take it in yet. Everything has changed, even my hatred for Lothar There is still a chance we will recover the stones. No, Blaine. You and I both know there is no chance. The diamonds are gone. He did not attempt to deny it, did not offer false comfort.

I have lost it all, everything I ever worked for, for me and my son. It's all gone. I didn't realize, he broke off and looked down at her with pity and deep concern. I understood it would be a hard blow, but everything? Is it that bad? Yes, Blaine, she said simply. Everything. Not all at once, of course, but now the whole edifice will start to crumble and I will struggle to shore it up. I will borrow and beg and plead for time, but the foundation is gone from under me.

A million pounds, Blaine, it's an enormous sum of money. I will stave off the inevitable for a few months, a year perhaps, but it will go faster and faster, like a house of cards, and at the end it will come crashing down around me. Centaine, I am not a poor man, he began. I could help you, I She reached up and laid her forefinger on his lips.

There is one thing I would ask from you, she whispered.

Not money, but in the days ahead, I will need some comfort. Not often, just when it gets very bad. I will be there whenever you need me, Centaine. I promise you that. You have only to call. Oh, Blaine. She turned to him. if only! Yes, Centaine, if only. And he took her in his arms.

There was no guilt nor fear, even the terrible threat of ruin and destitution that hung over her seemed to recede when she was in his arms.

I wouldn't even mind being poor again, if only I had you beside me always, she whispered, and he could not reply.

In desperation he bowed his head over her and stopped her lips with his mouth.

The Portuguese priest doctor at Cuangar Mission took off

Lothar De La Rey's arm two inches below the elbow. He operated by the bright flat white light of the Petromax lantern, and Centaine stood at his side, sweating behind the surgical mask, responding to the doctor's requests in French, trying to prevent herself freezing in horror at the rasping of the bone saw and the suffocating stench of chloroform and gangrene that filled the daub and thatch hut that served as an operating theatre. When it was over, she slipped away to the earthpit lavatory and vomited up her revulsion and pity.

Alone in the mission hut that had been allocated to her, under the billowing ghostly mosquito net, she could still taste it in the back of her throat. The gangrene smell seemed to have impregnated her skin and lingered in her hair. She prayed that she might never smell it again, nor ever be forced to live through another hour as harrowing as watching the man she had once loved shorn of a limb, turned into a cripple before her eyes.

The prayer was in vain, for at noon the following day the priest doctor murmured regretfully, Desole, mais j'ai manque I'infection. Il faut couper encore une fois, I am sorry, but I have missed the infection. It is necessary to cut again. The second time, because she now knew what to expect, seemed even worse than the first. She had to press her fingernails into the palms of her hands to prevent herself fainting as the priest took up the gleaming silver saw and cut through the exposed bone of Lothar's humerus only inches below the great joint of the shoulder. For three days afterwards Lothar lay in a pale coma, seeming already to have passed the division between life and death.

I cannot say. The priest shrugged away her anxious plea for reassurance. It is up to the good Lord now. Then on the evening of the third day when she entered his hut, the sapphire-yellow eyes swivelled towards her in their deep coloured sockets, and she saw recognition flare for an instant before Lothar's eyelids dropped down over them.

However, it was two days more before the priest allowed

Blaine Malcomess to enter the hut. Blaine cautioned Lothar and placed him under formal arrest.

My sergeant will have complete charge of you until you are passed fit to travel by Father Paulus. At that time you will be brought by boat down river to the border post at Runtu under strict guard, and from there by road to Windhoek where you will stand your trial. Lothar lay against the bolster, pale and skeletal thin. His stump, wrapped in a turban of gauze bandage, the end stained yellow with iodine, looked like a penguin's wing. He stared at Blaine expressionlessly.

Now, De La Rey, you don't need me to tell you that you will be a lucky man to escape the gallows. But you will give yourself a fighting chance of leniency if you tell us where you have hidden the diamonds, or what you have done with them. He waited for almost a minute, and it was difficult not to be ruffled by that flat yellow stare with which Lothar regarded him.

Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, De La Rey? he broke the silence, and Lothar rolled his head away, stared out of the paneless window of the hut down towards the riverbank.

I think you know that I am administrator of the territory.

I have power to review your sentence; my recommendation for clemency would almost certainly be acceded to by the minister of justice. Don't be a fool, man. Give up the diamonds. They are no use to you where you are going, and I will guarantee you your life in return. Lothar closed his eyes.

Very well, De La Rey. We understand each other then.

Don't expect any mercy from me. He called Sergeant Hansmeyer into the hut. Sergeant, the prisoner has no privileges, none at all. He will be under guard day and night, twenty-four hours a day, until you hand him over to the appropriate authority in Windhoek. You will be directly responsible to me. You understand? Yes, sir. Hansmeyer drew himself to attention.

Look after him, Hansmeyer. I want this one. I want him badly. Blaine strode out of the hut, down to where Centaine sat alone under the open-sided thatched setengi on the riverbank. He dropped into the camp chair beside hers and fit a cheroot. He inhaled the smoke, held it a moment and then blew it out forcefully and angrily.

The man is intransigent, he said. I offered him my personal

guarantee of leniency in exchange for your diamonds.

He didn't even deign to reply. I don't have the authority to offer him a free pardon but, believe me, if I did I wouldn't hesitate. As it is there is nothing more I can do. He drew on the cheroot again and glared out across the wide green river. I swear he will pay for what he has done to you, pay in full measure. Blaine. She laid her hand lightly on his muscular brown forearm. Spite is too petty an emotion for a man of your stature. He glanced sideways and, despite his rancour, he smiled.

Don't credit me with too much nobility, madam. I am many things, but not a saint. He looked boyish when he grinned like that, except that his green eyes took on a wicked slant and his ears stuck out at the most endearing angle.

Oh la, sir, it might be amusing to test the limits of your nobility and sanctity, one day. He chuckled with delight. What a shameless but interesting proposal. And then he became serious again. 'Centaine, you know that I should never have come on this expedition.

At this moment my duties are being sadly neglected, and I will certainly have incurred the justified wrath of my superiors in Pretoria. I must get back to my office just as soon as I can. I have arranged with Father Paulus for canoes and paddlers to take us down river to the border post at Runtu. I hope we will be able to requisition a police truck from there. Hansmeyer and his troopers will stay on to guard De La Rey and bring him in as soon as he is fit enough to travel. Centaine nodded. Yes, I also have to get back and start picking up the pieces, papering over the cracks., We can leave first light tomorrow. Blaine, I would like to speak to Lothar, to De La Rey, before we leave. When he hesitated, she went on persuasively: A few minutes alone with him, please Blaine. It's important to me. Centaine paused in the doorway of the hut while her eyes adjusted to the gloom.

Lothar was sitting up, bare to the waist, a cheap trade blanket spread over his legs. His body was thin and pale; the infection had burned the flesh off his bones and his ribs were a gaunt rack.

Sergeant Hansmeyer, will you leave us alone for a minute? Centaine asked, and she stood aside.

As he passed her, Hansmeyer said quietly, I'll be within call, Mrs Courtney. In the silence that followed, Centaine and Lothar stared at each other, and it was she who gave in and spoke first.

If you set out to ruin me, then you have succeeded, she said, and he wriggled the stub of his missing arm, a gesture which was at once both pathetic and obscene.

Who has ruined whom, Centaine? he asked, and she dropped her eyes.

Won't you give me back at least a part of what you have stolen from me? she asked. For the sake of what we shared once long ago? He did not reply, but instead lifted his hand and touched the ancient puckered scar on his chest. She winced, for it was she who had fired that shot from the Luger pistol at the time of her disillusion and revulsion.

The boy has the diamonds, hasn't he? she asked. Your she was about to say, Your bastard? but she changed it: Your son? Lothar remained silent and she went on impulsively: Manfred, our son. I never thought I'd hear you say that. He could not disguise the pleasure in his tone. Will you remember he is our son, conceived in love, when you are tempted to destroy him also? Why should you think I would do that? I know you, Centaine, he said.

No. She shook her head vehemently. You do not know me. If he stands in your way, you will destroy him, he said, flatly.

Do you truly believe that? She stared at him. Do you really believe that I am so ruthless, so vindictive, that I would take my revenge on my own son? You have never acknowledged him as that. I have now. You have heard me do it more than once in the last few minutes. Are you promising me that you will not harm him? I do not have to promise you, Lothar De La Rey. I am merely saying it. I will not harm Manfred. And naturally you expect something from me in return, he demanded, leaning forward. He was breathing with difficulty, sweating with the effort of fighting off his physical weakness. His sweat had a rank and sour smell in the gloomy confines of the hut.

would you offer me anything in return? she asked quietly.

No, he said. Nothing! And he sank back against the bolster, exhausted but defiant. Now let me hear you withdraw your promise. I made no promise, she said quietly. But, I repeat, Manfred, our son, is safe from me. I will never deliberately do anything to harm him. I do not give you the same assurance, however. She turned and called. 'Thank you, Sergeant, we have finished our business. And she stooped to leave.

Centaine, he cried weakly, and he wanted to tell her, Your diamonds are in the cleft on the summit of the hill. But when she turned back he bit down on the words and said only, Goodbye, Centaine.

It is finished at last. The Okavango is one of Africa's most beautiful rivers. It rises in the highlands of the Angolan plateau above 4,000 feet and flows south and east, a wide deep torrent of green water that it seems must reach the ocean, so swift and determined is its flow. However, it is a landlocked river, debauching first into the mis-named Okavango Swamps, a vast area of lucid lagoons and papyrus banks, studded with islets on which graceful ivory nut palms and great wild figs stand tall. Beyond that the river emerges again but shrivelled and weakened as it enters the desolation of the Kalahari Desert and disappears for ever beneath those eternal sands.

This section of the river that Centaine and Blaine set out upon was that above the swamps where the river was at its grandest. Their craft was a native mukoro, a dugout canoe fashioned from a single tree-trunk over twenty feet long, rounded but not perfectly straight.

The owl and the pussy cat put to sea in a beautiful banana-shaped boat, quoth Blaine, and Centaine laughed a little apprehensively until she saw how masterfully their paddlers handled the mis-shapen craft.

They were two amiable coal-black giants of the river tribe.

They had the balance of gymnasts and their bodies were forged and hardened to Grecian perfection by a lifetime of wielding their paddles and their long punting poles. They stood at the stern and bows, singing their melodious work chant and trimming their narrow unstable craft with a relaxed, almost instinctive ease.

Amidships Blaine and Centaine lolled on cushions of raw-hide stuffed with the fluffy heads of the papyrus reeds. The narrow beam forced them to sit in tandem, with Blaine in the lead, his Lee Enfield rifle across his lap ready to discourage the close approach of any of the numerous hippopotami which infested the river. The most dangerous animal in Africa by far, he told Centaine.

What about lions and elephants and poisonous snakes? she challenged.

The old hippo gets two humans for every one killed by all the other species put together. This was Centaine's first venture into these parts. She was a creature of the desert, unacquainted with the river or the swamps, unfamiliar with the boundless life they supported.

Blaine, on the other hand, knew the river well. He had first been ordered here when serving with General Smuts' expeditionary force in 1915 and had since returned often to hunt and study the wildlife of the region. He seemed to recognize every animal and bird and plant, and he had a hundred stories, both true and apocryphal, with which to amuse her.

The mood of the river changed constantly; at places it narrowed and raced through rock-lined gaps and the long canoe flew like a lance upon it. The paddlers directed it past outcrops of fanged rock upon which the current humped up and split, and with delicate touches of the paddles took them through the creaming whirlpools beyond and into the next flying stretch where the surface was moulded like green Venetian glass into standing waves by its own speed and momentum. Centaine whooped breathlessly, half in terror and half in exhilaration, like a child on a roller coaster. Then they emerged onto broad shallow stretches, the flow broken by islands and sandbanks and bordered by wide flood plains on which grazed herds of wild buffalo, massive indolent seeming beasts, black as hell and crusted with dried mud, great bossed horns drooping mournfully over their trumpet-shaped ears, standing belly-deep in the flood plains, lifting their black drooling muzzles in comical curiosity to watch them pass.

Oh Blaine! What are those? I've never seen them before. Lechwe. This is as far south as you will find them. There were vast herds of these robust water antelope with coarse wiry red coats, the rams standing as tall as a man's chest and carrying long gracefully recurved horns. The hornless ewes were fluffy as children's toys. So dense were the herds that when they fled from the human presence they churned the water until it sounded like the thunderous passage of a steam locomotive heard at a distance.

On nearly every tall tree along the river's banks were posted pairs of fish eagles, their white heads shining in the Sunlight. They threw back their heads, belting out their throats to chant their weird yelping call as the mukoro glided past.

On the white sandbanks the long saurian shapes of the crocodiles were silhouetted, ugly and evil as they lifted themselves on their stubby deformed legs and waddled swiftly to the water's edge, then slipping away below the surface, only the twin knobs of their scaly eyebrows still showing.

In the shallows clusters of smooth rounded boulders, dark grey edged with baby pink, caught Centaine's attention, but she did not recognize them until Blaine warned: Watch them! and the paddlers sheered off as one of the huge boulders moved, raising a head the size of a beer keg, gaping red, the mighty jaws lined with tusks of yellow ivory, and it bellowed at them with the deep sardonical laughter of a demented god.

Blaine shifted the rifle slightly. Don't be taken in by that jovial haw haw haw, he isn't really amused, he told Centaine as he worked the bolt and pushed a cartridge into the breech.

As he spoke the bull hippo charged at them through the shallows, breaking the water into white foam with his elephantine bounds, blaring his hoarse menacing laughter, his jaws gaping, clashing the long curved yellow ivories whose razor edges could scythe the thick fibrous papyrus stems, or crush in the frail sides of a mukoro, or cut a swimming man into two pieces with equal ease.

p The mukoro drove forward under the long powerful thrusts of the two oarsmen, but the hippopotamus gained on them rapidly and Blaine sprang to his feet, balancing in the unstable craft. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder and fired so rapidly that the reports blended together, and Centaine flinched at the whiplash of gunfire over her head and looked back, expecting to see the bullets strike on the great fleshy grey head and blood spurt from between those glassy pink-shot little eyes. But Blaine had aimed inches over the beast's forehead. The bristly ears twitched and fluttered like sunbirds wings to the shock of passing shot, and the bull broke his charge and came up short, just his head showing above the surface, blinking rapidly with comical astonishment.

The mukoro pulled swiftly away, and the bull submerged in a huge swirl of green water as if to cover his embarrassment at his own ineffectual performance.

Are you all right, Centaine? Blaine lowered the rifle.

That was a little frosty. She tried to keep her voice level with only partial success.

Not as bad as it seemed, sound and fury, not too much of the deadly intent. He smiled at her.

I'm glad you didn't kill him. Not much point in turning the old boy into four tons of rotting carrion and making twenty widows of his fat wives. Is that why he chased us, protecting his females? 'Probably, but you can never tell with wild animals. Perhaps one of his cows is calving, or he has unpleasant memories of human hunters, or perhaps he just felt plain bolshy today., His coolness in crisis had impressed her almost as much as his humanity in sparing the threatening beast.

Only school-girls worship their heroes, she reminded herself firmly as the canoe sped onwards, and then found herself studying the breadth of Blaine's shoulders and the way he held his head upon them. His dark hair was cut short down the back of his neck, and his neck was strong but not bulled, pleasingly proportioned and smooth, only his ears were too large, and the tips were pink where the sunlight seemed to shine through them. She felt an almost irresistible urge to lean forward and kiss the soft skin just behind where they jutted out, but she controlled herself with a giggle.

He turned and demanded with a smile, What's so funny? A girl always feels weak and giggly after Prince Charming saves her from a fire-breathing dragon. ,mythical creatures, dragons. Don't scoff, she chided him. Anything is possible here, D even dragons and princes. This is never-never land. Santa Claus and the good fairy are waiting just around the next bend. ,you are just a little bit crazy, do you know that? Yes, I know that, she nodded. And I think I should warn you, it's both contagious and infectious. Your warning comes too late. He shook his head sadly.

I think I've caught it already., Good, she said, and giving in to her whim, she leaned forward and kissed that soft spot behind his ear.

He shivered theatrically. Now look what you've done. He turned again and showed her the gooseflesh standing in little pimples on his forearms. You must promise never to do that again. It's too dangerous. Like you, I never make promises. She saw the quick shadow of regret and guilt in his eyes and cursed herself for alluding to his lack of commitment to her and thereby spoiling the mood.

Oh, Blaine, look at those birds. Surely they aren't real are they? It proves me right, this is never-never land. She tried to retrieve the mood.

They were drifting past a high sheer bank of red clay bright as a blood orange that was perforated by thousands of perfectly round apertures, and a living swirling cloud of marvellously coloured birds hung over the bank, darting in and out of the myriad entrances to their nesting burrows.

Carmine bee-eaters, Blaine told her, sharing her wonder at the glory of the flashing darts of flaming pink and turquoise blue, with their long delicately streaming tail feathers and pointed wing-tips sharp as stilettos. They are so unearthly, I am beginning to believe you, he said. Perhaps we passsed through the mirror. we have indeed pas They spoke little after that, but somehow their silences seemed to bring them even closer. They only touched once

more when Centaine laid her hand, palm open, along the

side of his neck, and for a moment he covered her hand with his own, a gentle fleeting exchange.

Then Blaine spoke briefly to the leading oarsman.

What is it, Blaine? she asked.

I told him to find a good place to camp for the night., Isn't it still very early? She glanced at the sun.

Yes. He turned and smiled at her, almost sheepishly. But then I'm trying for the record trip between Cuangar and Runtu. The record? Slowest journey ever. Blaine chose one of the large islands.

The white sandbar folded upon itself to form a secret lagoon, clear and green and screened by tall waving papyrus. While the two paddlers piled driftwood for the fire and cut papyrus fronds to thatch night shelters for them, Blaine picked up his rifle.

Where are you going? Centaine asked.

See if I can get a buck for dinner. Oh, Blaine, please don't kill anything, not today. Not this special day. Aren't you tired of bully beef? Please, she insisted and he set his rifle aside with a smile and a rueful shake of his head and went to make sure than the huts were ready and the mosquito nets rigged over each separate bed. Satisfied, Blaine dismissed the paddlers and they climbed into the mukoro.

Where are they off to? Centaine demanded as they poled out into the current.

I told them to camp on the mainland, Blaine answered, and they each looked away, suddenly awkward and shy and intensely aware of their isolation as they stared after the departing canoe.

Centaine turned and walked back to the camp. She knelt beside her saddle bags, which were her only luggage, and without looking up told him, I haven't bathed since last night. I'm going to swim in the lagoon. She had a bar of yellow soap in her hand.

Do you have a last message for the folks back home? What do you mean? This is the Okavango river, Centaine. The crocodiles here gobble little girls as hors d'oeuvres. You could stand guard with the rifle Delighted to oblige. I, and with your eyes closed! Rather defeats the object, doesn't it? He scouted the edge of the lagoon and found shallow water below an outcropping of black water-polished rock where the bottom was white sand and an approaching crocodile would show clearly, and he sat on the highest pinnacle of rock with the Lee Enfield loaded and the safety-catch off.

You are on your honour not to peek, she warned, standing on the beach below him, and he concentrated on a flock of spur-wing geese flogging their heavy wings as they passed across the lowering sun, but acutely aware of the rustle of her falling clothing.

He heard the water ripple, and her little gasp and then, All right, now you can watch for crocodiles., She was sitting on the sandy bottom, just her head above the surface, her back towards him and her hair scraped up and tied on top of her head.

It's heavenly, so cool and refreshing. She smiled over her shoulder, and he could see the gleam of her white flesh through the green water and he thought he might not be able to bear the pain of his wanting. He knew that she was deliberately provoking him, but he could neither resist her nor steel himself against her wiles.

Isabella Malcomess had been thrown from her horse almost five years previous an since then they had not known each other as man and woman. They had attempted it only once, but he could not bear to think about the agony and humiliation they had both suffered at their failure.

He had a healthy lusty body and a huge appetite for living.

It had taken all his strength and determination to discipline himself to this unnatural monastic existence. He had succeeded at last, so that he was now unprepared for the savage escape of all those fettered desires and instincts.

Eyes closed again, she called gaily. I'm going to stand and work up some suds. He was unable to reply; he only just contained the groan that came up his throat, and he stared down fixedly at the rifle in his lap.

Centaine screamed on a wild rising note of terror. Blaine! He was on his feet in that instant. Centaine was standing thigh deep, the green water just lapping the deep cleft of her small round buttocks, the naked swell of her hips narrowing into a tiny waist. Her exquisitively sculpted back and shoulders were stiff with horror.

The crocodile was coming in from deep water with slashing sweeps of its long cocks-combed tail, a bow wave spreading back from its hideous armoured snout in a sharp arrowhead of ripples. The reptile was almost as long as the mukoro, twenty feet from its nose to the tip of its crested tail.

Run, Centaine, run! he bellowed, and she whirled and floundered back towards him. But the reptile was moving as swiftly as a horse at full gallop, the water breaking into a roiling wake behind it, and Centaine was blocking Blaine's aim, running directly back towards him.

Blaine sprang down from the rock and waded knee-deep into the water to meet her, his rifle held at high port across his chest.

Down! he shouted at her. Fall flat! And she responded instantly, diving forward at full length, and he fired over her back, a snap shot for the huge reptile was almost upon her.

The bullet cracked against the armoured scales of its bideous skull. The crocodile arched its back, exploding out of the water, drenching Blaine and covering Centaine in a breaking wave of foam. it stood on its massive tail, its dwarfed forelegs clawing desperately, its creamy belly chequered with symmetrical patterns of scales, the long angular snout pointed to the sky, and with a bellow it collapsed over backwards.

Blaine dragged Centaine to her feet and with one arm around her backed towards the beach, pointing the rifle like a pistol with his free hand. The crocodile was in monstrous convulsions, its primitive brain damaged by the bullet. It rolled and thrashed in uncontrolled erratic circles, snapping its jaws so that the jagged yellow teeth clashed like a steel gate slamming in a high wind.

Blaine thrust Centaine behind him and with both hands lifted the rifle. His bullets rang against the scaly head, tearing away chunks of flesh and bone, and the reptile's tail fluttered and lashed weakly. It dived over the edge of the shallow sandbank into the dark green beyond, came up in one last swirl and then was gone.

Centaine was shaking with terror, her teeth chattering so she could hardly speak. Horrible, oh what an awful monster! and she threw herself against his chest, and clung to him. Oh Blaine, I was terrified. Her face was pressed to his chest so that her voice was blurred.

It's all right now. He tried to calm her. Easy, my darling, it's all over. It's gone. He propped the rifle against the rocks and enfolded her in his arms.

He was stroking her and soothing her, at first without passion, as he would have gentled one of his own daughters when she woke from a nightmare screaming for him; then he became acutely aware of the silkiness of her bare wet skin under his hands. He could feel every plane of her back, the smooth curves of muscle on each side of her spine, and he could not prevent himself tracing with his fingertips the ridge of her spine. It felt like a string of polished beads beneath her skin; he followed it down until it disappeared into the divide of her small hard bottom.

She was quiet now, only breathing in little choking gasps, but at his touch she curled her spine like a cat, inclining her pelvis towards him, and he seized one of her buttocks in each hand and pulled her to him. She did not resist, but her whole body thrust forward to meet his. Blaine. She said his name and lifted her face.

He kissed her savagely, with the anger of a man of honour who knows he can no longer keep his vows, and they locked together breathing each other's breath, their tongues twisting together, kneading, pressing, so deep that they threatened to choke each other with their fervour. She pulled away. Now, she stammered. It has to be now, and he lifted her in his arms like a child and ran with her, back through the clinging white sand to the thatched shelter, and he fell onto his knees beside the mattress of papyrus fronds and lowered her gently onto the blanket that covered it.

I want to look at you, he blurted, pulling back onto his haunches, but she squirmed up and reached for him.

Later, I can't wait, please, Blaine. Oh God, do it now. She was tearing at the buttons on his shirt front, clumsy with haste, desperate with haste.

He ripped off his sodden shirt and threw it away, and she was kissing him again, smothering his mouth, while both of them fumbled with his belt buckle, getting in each other's way, wildly laughing and gasping, bumping their noses together, bruising their lips between their teeth.

Oh God, hurry, Blaine. He tore away from her and hopped on one leg as he tried to rid himself of his wet clinging breeches. He looked awkward and ungainly and he almost toppled over into the soft white sand in his haste. And she laughed wildly, breathlessly, he was so funny and beautiful and ridiculous and she wanted him so, and if he took a second longer something inside her would burst and she knew she would die.

Oh please, Blaine, quickly come to me. Then at last he was naked as she was and as he came over her she seized his shoulder with one hand and fell backwards, pulling him with her, spreading her knees and lifting them high, with the other hand groping for him, finding him and guiding him.

Oh Blaine, you're so, oh yes, like that, I can't, I want to scream. Scream! He encouraged her as he plunged and rocked and thrust above her. There is no one to hear you. Scream for both of us! And she opened her mouth wide and gave vent to all her loneliness and wanting and incredulous joy in a rising crescendo that he joined at the end, roaring wildly with her in the most complete and devastating moment of her existence.

Afterwards she wept silently against his bare chest and he was puzzled and compassionate and concerned.

I was too rough, forgive me! I did not mean to hurt you. She shook her head and gulped back her tears. No, you never hurt me, it was the most beautiful Then why do you cry? Because everything that is good seems so fleeting, the more wonderful it is, the sooner it is past, while the wretched vile times seem to last for ever. Don't think like that, my little one. I don't know how I will go on living without you. It was hell before, but this will only make it a thousand times worse. I don't know where I will find the strength to walk away from you, he whispered in agreement. It will be the hardest thing I ever have to do in my life. How much longer do we have? Another day, then we will be at Rundu. When I was a little girl my father gave me a brooch of amber with an insect embedded in it. I wish we could preserve this moment like that, capture it eternally in the precious amber of our love. Their parting was a gradual process, not a merciful guillotine stroke, but over the following days a slow intrusion of events and people that prised them apart so that they must suffer the smallest tear, each new wrench, in all its detailed agony.