The Burning Shore

He laid down the pen and stared at her, and she was flustered by the direct gaze of those serene yellow eyes, but could not bring herself to apologize.

You were prying into things that did not concern you, she told him.

Yes, he agreed with her, and to cover her discomfort, she demanded, What have you written about me in your famous journal I And now, madam, it is you who are inquisitive, he told her as be closed his diary, placed it in the drawer of the bureau and stood up. If you will excuse me, I must make my rounds of the camp.

So she learned that she could not treat him the way she had treated her father, or even the way she had treated Michael Courtney. Lothar was a proud man and would not allow her to trespass on his dignity, a man who had fought his whole life for the right to be his own master.

He would not permit her to take advantage of his strong sense of chivalry to her and to little Shasa. She learned that she could not bully him.

The next morning she found herself dismayed by his formal aloof bearing, but as the day wore on she became angry. Such a small tiff, and he sulks like a spoiled child, she told herself. Well, we'll see who sulks longest and hardest. By the second day her anger had given way to loneliness and unhappiness. She found herself longing for his smile, for the pleasure of one of their long convoluted discussions for the sound of his laughter and his voice when he sang to her.

She watched Shasa tottering around the camp, hanging on to one of Lothar's hands and engaging him in loquacious conversation that only the two of them could understand, and was appalled to find that she was jealous of her own child.

I will give Shasa his food, she told him coldly. It is time I resumed my duties. You need no longer discommode yourself, sir.

Of course, Mrs Courtney. And she wanted to cry, Please, I am truly sorry, But their pride was a mountain range between them.

She listened all that afternoon for the sound of his horse returning. She heard only the sound of distant rifle fire, but it was after dark when Lothar rode in, and she and Shasa were already in their cots. She lay in the darkness and listened to the voices and the sounds as the carcasses of the springbok that Lothar had shot were offloaded from his hunting horse and hung upon the butchering rack.

Lothar sat late at the fire with his men, and bursts of their laughter carried to her as she tried to compose herself to sleep.

At last she heard him come to the shelter beside hers, and she listened to the splash of water as he washed in the bucket at the entrance, the rustle of his clothing and finally the creak of the lacings of his cot as he settled upon it.

Shasa's cries awoke her, and she knew instantly that he was in pain, and she swung her legs off the cot and still half-asleep groped for him. A match flared and lantern light bloomed in Lothar's shelter.

Shh! Quiet, my little one. She cradled Shasa against her chest, and his hot little body alarmed her.

May I enter? Lothar asked from the entrance.

Oh, yes. He stooped into the tent and set down the lantern.

Shasa, he's sick, Lothar took the child from her. He wore only a pair of breeches, his chest and feet were bare. His hair was tangled from the pillow.

He touched Shasa's flushed cheek and then slipped a finger into his squalling mouth. Shasa choked off his next howl and bit down on the finger like a shark.

Another tooth, Lothar smiled, I felt it this morning. He handed Shasa back to her and he let out a howl of rejection.

I'll be back, soldier, and she heard him rummaging in the medicine chest he kept bolted to the floor of his wagon.

He had a small bottle in his hand when he returned, and she wrinkled her nose at the pungent odour of oil of cloves as he pulled the cork.

We'll fix that bad old tooth, won't we just. Lothar massaged the child's gums as Shasa sucked on his finger. That's a brave soldier. He laid Shasa back in his cot and within minutes he had fallen asleep again.

Lothar picked up the lantern. Good night, Mrs Courtney, he said quietly, and went to the entrance.

Lothar! His name on her lips startled her as it did him.

Please, she whispered, I've been alone for so long.

Please, don't be cruel to me any more. She held out both arms towards him and he crossed to her and sank down on to the edge of the cot beside her.

Oh, Lothar- Her voice was choked and gusty, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Love me, she pleaded, oh, please love me, and his mouth was hot as fever on hers, his arms about her so fierce that she gasped as the breath was driven from her lungs.

Yes, I was cruel to you, he told her softly, his voice trembling in his throat, but only because I wanted so desperately to hold you, because I ached and burned with my love for you- Oh, Lothar, hold me and love me, and never ever let me go.

The days that followed were full recompense for all the hardships and loneliness of the months and years. It was as though the fates had conspired to heap upon Centaine all the delights that she had been denied for so long.

She woke each dawn in the narrow cot and before her eyes were open, she was groping for him with a tantalizing terror that he might no longer be there, but he always was. Sometimes he was feigning sleep and she had to try and open one of his eyelids with her fingertips, and when she succeeded, he rolled his eyeball upwards until only the white showed, and she giggled and thrust her tongue deeply into his ear, having discovered that that was the one torture he could not endure, and the gooseflesh sprang up on his bare arms and he came awake like a lion and seized her and turned her giggles to gasps and then to moans.

In the cool of the morning they rode out together with Shasa on the saddle in front of Lothar. For the first few days they kept the horses to a walk and stayed close by the camp. However, as Centaine's strength returned, they ventured further and on the return they covered the last mile at a mad flying gallop, racing each other, and Shasa, secure in Lothar's arms, shrieked with excitement as they tore into the camp, all of them flushed and ravenous for their breakfasts.

The long sultry desert noondays they spent under the thatched shelter, sitting apart, touching only fleetingly when he handed her a book or when passing Shasa between them, but caressing each other with their eyes and their voices until the suspense was a kind of exquisite torment.

As the heat passed and the sun mellowed, Lothar again called for the horses and they rode to the foot of the scree slope below the mountain. They hobbled the horses and with Shasa riding on Lothar's shoulder climbed up into one of the narrow sheer-sided valleys. Here, below a fresco of ancient Bushman paintings, screened by dense foliage, Lothar had discovered another of the thermal springs. It spurted from out of the cliff face and drained into a small circular rock pool.

On their first visit, it was Lothar who had to be coaxed out of his clothes, while Centaine, happy to be rid of long skirts and petticoats which still irked her, delighting in the freedom of nakedness to which the desert had accustomed her, splashed him with water and teased and challenged him until at last, almost defiantly, he dropped his breeches and plunged hurriedly into the pool. You are shameless, he told her, only half-jokingly.

Shasa's presence placed a restraint upon them, and they touched lightly and furtively under the concealment of the green waters, driving each other to trembling distraction, until Lothar could bear it no longer, and reached for her with that determined set to his jaw that she had come to know so well. Then she would evade his clutches with a maidenly squeal, and leap from the pool, slipping on her skirts over her long wet gleaming legs and her bottom that glowed pink from the heat of the water.

Last one home misses his dinner! It was only after she had laid Shasa in his cot, and blown out the lantern, that she crept breathlessly through to Lothar's shelter, He was waiting for her, strung out by all the touching and teasing and artful withdrawals of the day. Then they went at each other in a desperate frenzy, almost as though they were antagonists locked in mortal combat.

Much later, lying in the darkness in each other's arms, talking very softly so as not to disturb Shasa, they made their plans and their promises for a future that stretched before them as though they stood on the threshold of paradise itself.

It seemed he had been gone only a few days, when in the middle of a baking afternoon, on a lathered horse, Vark Jan rode back into camp.

He carried a package of letters, sewed up in canvas wrapping and sealed with tar. One letter was for Lothar, a single sheet, and he read it at a glance.

I have the honour to inform you that I have in my possession a document of amnesty in your favour, signed by both the Attorney-General of the Cape of Good Hope and the Minister of justice of the Union of South Africa.

I congratulate you on the success of your endeavours and I look forward to our meeting at the time and place nominated when I shall take pleasure in handing the document to you.

Yours truly, Garrick Courtney (Col.) The other letters were both for Centaine. One was also from Garry Courtney, welcoming her and Shasa to the family and assuring them both of all the love and consideration and privilege that that entailed.

From the most miserable creature, immersed in unbearable grief, you have transformed me at a stroke into the happiest and most joyful of all fathers and grandfathers.

I long to embrace you both.

Speed that day, Your affectionate and dutiful father-in-law, Garrick Courtney The third letter, many times thicker than the other two combined, was in Anna Stok's clumsy, semi-literate scrawl. Her face flushed with excitement, alternately laughing aloud with joy or her eyes sparkling with tears, Centaine read snatches aloud for Lothar's benefit, and when she had reached the end, she folded both letters carefully.

I long to see them, and yet I am reluctant to let the world intrude upon our happiness together. I want to go, and yet I want to stay here for ever with you. Is that silly? Yes, he laughed. It certainly is. We leave at sunset.

They travelled at night to avoid the heat of the desert day.

With Shasa sound asleep in the wagon cot, lulled by the motion of rolling wheels, Centaine rode stirrup to stirrup with Lothar. His hair shone in the moonlight, and the shadows softened the marks of hardship and suffering on his features, so she found it difficult to take her eyes from his face.

Each morning before the dawn, they went into laager.

If they were between water-holes, they watered the cattle and the horses from the bucket before they sought the shade of the wagon awnings to wait out the heat of the day.

In the late afternoon while the servants packed up the camp and inspanned for the night's trek, Lothar would ride out to hunt. At first Centaine rode with him, for she could not bear to be parted from him for even an hour.

Then one evening in failing light Lothar made a poor shot and the Mauser bullet ripped through the belly of a beautiful little springbok.

It ran before the horses with amazing stamina, a tangle of entrails swinging from the gaping wound. Even when at last it went down, it lifted its head to watch Lothar as he dismounted and unsheathed his hunting knife. After that Centaine stayed in camp when Lothar went out for fresh meat.

So Centaine was alone this evening when the wind came suddenly out of the north, niggling and chill. Centaine climbed up into the living wagon to fetch a warm jacket for Shasa.

The interior of the wagon was crammed with gear, packed and ready for the night's trek. The carpet bag which contained all the clothing that Anna had provided, was stowed at the rear and she had to scramble over a yellow wood chest to reach it. Her long skirts hampered her, and she teetered on the top of the chest and put out her hand to steady herself.

Her nearest handhold was the brass handle on the front of Lothar's travelling bureau which was lashed to the wagon bed. As she put her weight on it the handle gave slightly, and the drawer slid open an inch.

He has forgotten to lock it, she thought, I must warn him. She pushed the drawer closed and crawled over the chest, reached the stowed carpet bag, pulled out Shasa's jacket, and was crawling back when her eye fell again on the drawer of the bureau, and she checked herself sharply and stared at it.

Temptation was like the prickle of a burr. Lothar's journal was in that drawer.

What an awful thing to do, she told herself primly, and yet her hand went out and touched the brass handle again.

What has he written about me? She pulled the drawer open slowly and stared at the thick, leather-covered volume. Do I really want to know? She began to close the drawer again, and then capitulated to that overwhelming temptation.

I'll only read about me, she promised herself.

She crawled quickly to the wagon flap and peered out guiltily. Swart Hendrick was bringing up the draught oxen preparatory to inspanning. Has the master returned yet? s e called to him.

No, missus, and we have heard no shots. He will be late tonight. Call me if you see him coming, she ordered, and crept back to the bureau.

She squatted beside it with the heavy journal in her lap, and she was relieved to find it was written almost entirely in Afrikaans with only occasional passages in German. She riffled through the pages until she found the date on which he had rescued her. The entry was four pages long, the longest single entry in the entire journal.

Lothar had given a full account of the lion attack and the rescue, of their return to the wagons while she was unconscious, and a description of Shasa. She smiled as she read: A sturdy lad, of the same age as Manfred when last I saw him, and I find myself much affected.

Still smiling, she scanned the page for a description of herself, and her eyes stopped at the paragraph: I have no doubt that this is indeed the woman, though she is changed from the photograph and from my brief memory of her. Her hair is thick and fuzzy as that of a Nama girl, her face thin and brown as a monkey- Centaine gasped with affront -yet when she opened her eyes for a moment, I thought my heart might crack, they were so big and soft.

She was slightly mollified and skimmed forward, turning the pages quickly, listening like a thief for the sound of Lothar's horse. A word caught her eye in the neat blocks of teutonic script; Boesmanne. Her attention flicked to it. Bushmen', and her heart tripped, her interest entirely captivated.

Bushmen harassing the camp during the night. Hendrick discovered their spoor near the horse lines and the cattle. We followed at first light. A difficult huntThe word jag stopped Centaine's eye. Hunt? she puzzled. This was a word only applied to the chase, to the killing of animals, and she raced on.

We came up with the two Bushmen, but they almost gave us the slip by climbing the cliff with the agility of baboons.

We could not follow and would have lost them, but their curiosity was too strong, again, just like baboons. One of them paused at the top of the cliff and looked down at us. it was a difficult shot, at extreme upward deflection and long range The blood drained from Centaine's face. She could not believe what she was reading, each word reverberated in her skull as though it were an empty place, cavernous and echoing.

However, I held true and brought the Bushman down. Then I witnessed a remarkable incident. I had no need of a second shot, for the remaining Bushman fell from the cliff top. From below it seemed almost as though he threw himself over the edge. However, I do not believe that this was the case, an animal is not capable of suicide. It is more likely that in terror and panic, he lost his footing. Both bodies fell in difficult positions. However, I was determined to examine them. The climb was awkward and dangerous, but I was in fact, well rewarded for my endeavours. The first body, that of a very old man, the one that had slipped from the cliff, was unremarkable except that he carried a clasp knife made by "Joseph Rodgers"

of Sheffield on a lanyard about his waist.

Centaine began to shake her head from side to side. No! she whispered. No!

This, I believe, must have been stolen from some other traveller. The old rogue probably entered our camp in the hope of similar booty.

Centaine saw again little O'wa squatting naked in the sunlight with the knife in his hands and the tears of pleasure running down his withered cheeks.

Oh, in the name of mercy, no! she whimpered, but her eye was drawn remorselessly on by the orderly ranks of brutal words.

The second body, however, yielded the greater trophy. It was that of a woman. If anything she was more aged than the man, but around her neck she wore a most unusual decorationThe book slid from Centaine's lap and she covered her face with both hands.

H'ani! she cried out in the San tongue. My old grandmother, my old and revered grandmother, you came to us. And he shot you down! She was rocking from side to side, humming in her throat, the San attitude of grief.

Suddenly she hurled herself at the bureau. She pulled the drawer from its runners, scattering loose pages of writing-paper and pens and sticks of wax on the floor of the wagon.

The necklace, she sobbed. The necklace. I have to be certain! She seized the handle of one of the small lower compartments and tugged at it. It was locked. She snatched the handle of the wagon jack from its slot in the frame, and with the steel point shattered the lock and jerked the compartment open. It contained a silver framed photograph of a plump blonde woman with a child in her lap and a wad of letters tied up with a silk ribbon.

She spilled them on to the floor and smashed open the next compartment. There was a Luger pistol in a wooden holster, and a packet of am-munition. She threw them on top of the letters, and at the bottom of the compartment she found a cigar box.

She lifted the lid. It contained a bundle wrapped in a patterned bandanna and as she picked it out with shaking hands, H'ani's necklace tumbled from the roll of cloth.

She stared at it as though it was a deadly mamba, holding her hands behind her back and blubbering softly, H'ani - oh, my old grandmother. She brought her hands to her mouth, and pressed her lips to stop them quivering. Then she reached out slowly for the necklace and held it up, but at the full stretch of her arms.

He murdered you, she whispered, and then gagged as she saw the black stains of blood still upon the gaudy stones. He shot you down like an animal. She hugged the necklace to her breast, and began to hum and rock herself again, her eyes tightly closed to dam back her tears. She was still sitting like that when she heard the drum of hooves and the shouts of the servants welcoming Lothar back to the wagons.

She stood up and swayed on her feet as an attack of giddiness seized her. Her grief was like an affliction, but then when she heard his voice, Here, Hendrick, take my horse! Where is the missus? her grief changed shape, and though her hands still shook, her chin lifted and her eyes burned not with tears but with a consuming rage.

She snatched up the Luger pistol and drew it from its curved wooden holster. She snapped back the slide and watched a shiny brass cartridge feed up into the chamber.

Then she dropped it into the pocket of her skirt and turned to the wagon flap.

As she jumped down, Lothar was coming towards her, and his face brightened with pleasure at the sight of her.

Centaine- he paused as he saw her expression. Centaine, something is wrong! She held out the necklace towards him, and it glittered and twinkled between her shaking fingers. She could not speak.

His face darkened and his eyes were hard and furious. You have opened my bureau! You killed her!

Who? He was truly puzzled, and then, Oh, the Bushwoman 'H'ani! I don't understand. My little grandmother. He was alarmed now. Something is very wrong, let me - He stepped towards her, but she backed away and screamed, Keep away, don't touch me! Don't ever touch me again! She reached for the pistol in her skirt.

Centaine, calm yourself. And then he stopped as he saw the Luger in her hands.

Are you mad? He gazed at her in amazement. Here, give that to me. Again he stepped forward.

You murderer, you cold-blooded monster, you killed her. And she held the pistol double-handed, the necklace entangled with the weapon, the barrel waving in erratic circles. You killed my little H'ani. I hate you for it! Centaine! He put out his hand to take the pistol from her.

There was a flash of gunsmoke and the Luger kicked upwards, flinging Centaine's hands above her head. The shot cracked like a trek whip, numbing her eardrums.

Lothar's body jerked backwards and he spun on his heels. His long golden locks flickered like ripe wheat in a high wind as he collapsed on to his knees, and then toppled on to his face.

Centaine dropped the Lugger and fell back against the side of the wagon, as Hendrick rushed forward and snatched the Luger out of her hand.

I hate you, she panted at Lothar. Die, damn you. Die and go to hell!

Centaine rode with a slack rein, letting her mount choose its own pace and path. She had Shasa on her hip with a sling under him to support his weight. She held his head in the crook of her arm, and he slept quietly against her.

The wind had scourged the desert for five days now without cease, and the driven sands hissed and slithered across the earth's surface like sea spume across a beach, and the round seed pods of tumbleweed trundled across the plain like footballs. The small herds of springbok turned their backs to its chilling blast and tucked their tails up between their legs.

Centaine had wound a scarf around her head like a turban, and thrown a blanket over her shoulders to cover Shasa and herself. She hunched down in the saddle and the cold wind tugged at the corners of the blanket and tang led her horse's long mane. She slitted her eyes against the gritty wind, and saw the Finger of God.

It was still far ahead, indistinct through the dun dustladen air, but it spiked the low sky, even in this haze visible from five miles off. This was the reason that Lothar De La Rey had chosen it. it was unique, there could be no confusion with any other natural feature.

Centaine pulled up the pony's head and urged him into a trot. Shasa whimpered a protest in his sleep at the change of gait, but Centaine straightened in the saddle, trying to throw off the sorrow and rage that lay upon her with a weight that threatened to crush her soul.

Slowly the silhouette of the Finger of God hardened against the dusty yellow sky, a slim pillar of rock, thrusting towards the heavens and then thickening into a flaring cobra's head, two hundred feet above the plain. Staring at it, Centaine was aware of the same superstitious awe that must have gripped the old Hottentots who named itMukurob.

Then from the base of the great stone monument a dart of light, reflected off metal, pricked her eyes and she shaded them with the blanket and peered intently.

Shasa, she whispered. They are there! They are waiting for us. She urged the weary pony into a canter, and rose in the stirrups.

in the shadow of the stone pillar was parked a motor vehicle, and beside it a small green cottage tent had been d. erected There was a camp fire burning in front of the tent, and a plume of smoke, blue as a heron's feather, smeared by the wind across the plain.

Centaine whipped the turban from her head and waved it like a banner. Here! she screamed. Hullo! Here I am! The two indistinct human figures rose from beside the fire, staring towards her.

She waved and hulloed, still at full gallop, and one of the figures broke into a run. It was a woman, a big woman in long skirts. She held them up over her knees, ploughing with desperate haste through the soft footing. Her face was bright scarlet with effort and emotion. Anna! Centaine screamed.

Oh, Anna! There were tears streaming down that broad red face, and Anna dropped her skirts and stood with her arms spread wide.

My baby! she cried, and Centaine flung herself from the saddle and clutching Shasa to her breast, ran into her embrace.

They were both weeping, holding hard to each other, trying to talk at once, but incoherently, laughing between the sobs, when Shasa, crushed between them, let out a protesting howl.

Anna snatched him from her and hugged him. A boy, he's a boy. Michel.

Centaine sobbed happily. I named him Michel Shasa. And Shasa let out a hoot and grabbed with of hands at t at marvelous face, so big and red as a fruit ripe for eating.

Michel! Anna wept as she kissed him. Shasa, who knew all about kissing, opened his mouth wide and smeared warm saliva down her chin.

Still carrying Shasa, Anna dragged Centaine by one arm towards the tent and the camp fire.

A tall, round-shouldered figure came towards them diffidently. His thinning sandy-grey hair was swept back from a high scholarly forehead, and his mild, vaguely myopic eyes were a muddier shade of the Courtney blue than Michael's had been; his nose, while every bit as large as General Sean Courtney's, seemed somehow to be ashamed of the fact.

I am Michael's father, he said shyly, and it was like looking at a faded and smudged photograph of her Michael. Centaine felt a rush of guilt, for she had been false to her vows and to Michael's memory. It was as though Michael confronted her now. For an instant she remembered his twisted body in the cockpit of the burning aircraft, and in grief and guilt she ran to Garry and threw her arms around his neck.

Papa! she said, and at that word Garry's reserve collapsed and he choked and clung to her.

I had given up hope- Garry could not go on, and the sight of his tears set Anna off again, which was too much for Shasa. He let out a doleful wall, and all four of them stood together beneath the Finger of God and wept.

The wagons seemed to swim towards them through the streaming dust, rolling and pitching over the uneven ground, and as they waited for them to come up, Anna murmured, We must be eternally grateful to this man-She sat in the back seat of the Fiat tourer with Shasa on her lap and Centaine beside her.

He will be well paid. Garry stood with one booted foot on the running-board of the Fiat. In his hand he held a rolled document, secured with a red ribbon. He tapped the roll against his artificial leg.

Whatever you pay him will not be enough, Anna affirmed, and hugged Shasa.

He is an outlaw and a renegade, Garry scowled. It goes very much against the grain- Please give him what we owe him, Papa, Centaine said softly, then let him go. I don't want ever to see him again. The small, half-naked Nama boy leading the ox-team whistled them to a halt, and Lothar De La Rey climbed down slowly from the wagon seat, wincing at the effort.

When he reached the ground, he paused for a moment, steadying himself with his free hand against the wagon body. His other arm was in a sling across his chest. His face was a yellowish putty colour beneath the smoothly tanned skin. His eyes were darkly underscored, the lines of suffering at the corners of his mouth accentuated, and a dense stubble of pale beard covered his jaws and sparkled even in the poor light.

He has been hurt, Anna murmured. What happened to him? And beside her Centaine silently turned her head away.

Lothar braced himself and went to meet Garry. Halfway between the Fiat and the wagon they shook hands briefly, Lothar awkwardly offering his uninjured left hand.

They spoke in low tones that did not reach to where Centaine sat. Garry offered him the roll of parchment, and Lothar loosened theribbon with his teeth and spread the sheet against his thigh, holding it with his one good hand as he stooped to read it.

After a minute he straightened and let the parchment spring back into a roll. He nodded at Garry and said something. His face was expressionless, and Garry shuffled selfconsciously and made an uncertain gesture, halfoffering another handshake and then thinking better of it, for Lothar was not looking at him.

He was staring at Centaine, and now he pushed past Garry and started slowly towards her. Immediately Centaine snatched Shasa off Anna's lap and crouched in the furthest corner of the seat, glaring at him, holding Shasa away from him protectively. Lothar stopped, lifted his good hand towards her in a small gesture of appeal, but let it drop to his side when her expression did not change.

Puzzled, Garry glanced from one to the other of them.

Can we go, Papa? Centaine spoke in a clear sharp voice.

Of course, my dear. Garry hurried to the front of the Fiat and stooped to the crank handle. As the engine fired, he ran round to the driver's seat and adjusted the ignition lever.

Is there nothing you wish to say to the man? he asked, and when she shook her head, he clambered up behind the wheel and the Fiat jerked forward.

Centaine looked back only once, after they had bumped over a mile of the sandy track. Lothar De La Rey still stood below the towering monument of rock, a tiny lonely figure in the desert, and he stared after them.

The green hills of Zululand were so utterly different from the desolation of the Kalahari or the monstrous dunes of the Namib, that Centaine had difficulty believing that she was on the same continent. But then, she remembered, they were on the opposite side of Africa, a thousand miles and more from the Finger of God.

Garry Courtney stopped the Fiat on the crest of the steep escarpment high above the Baboonstroom river and switched off the engine and helped both women down.

He took Shasa from Centaine and led them to the edge.

There, he pointed. That's Theuniskraal where both Sean and I, and then Michael, were all born. It stood at the foot of the slope, surrounded by rambling gardens. Even from this distance Centaine could see that the gardens were unkempt and overgrown as tropical jungle. Tall palms and flowering spathodea trees were hung with untrammelled mantles of purple bougainvillaea creepers, and the ornamental fish ponds were poisonous green with algae growth.

of course the house was rebuilt after the fire, Garry hesitated, and a shadow passed behind his muddy blue eyes, for in that fire Michael's mother had died, then he hurried on. I've added to it over the years. Centaine smiled, for the house reminded her of a haphazard old woman who had thrown on garments of a dozen different fashions, none of which suited her. Grecian columns and Georgian red brick glared sullenly at the white painted curlicue gables in the Cape Dutch style.

The twisted barley sugar chimney-pots huddled in uneasy alliance with crenellated buttresses and towers of stonework. Beyond it, stretching to the horizon, were waving fields of green sugar cane that moved in the light wind like the surface of a summer sea.

And over there is Lion Kop. Garry turned to point to the west, where the escarpment made a stately sweep, forming a heavily forested amphitheatre around the town of Ladyburg. That's Sean's land, all of it from my boundary. There!

Right as far as you can see. Between us, we own the whole escarpment. That's the homestead of Lion Kop, you can just make out the roof through the trees."It's so beautiful, Centaine breathed. Oh look, there are mountains beyond, with snow on the peaksrThe Drakensberg Mountains, a hundred miles away."And that? Centaine pointed over the roofs of the town, over the complex of sugar refinery and lumber mills, to an elegant white mansion on the slope of the valley. is that Courtney land also? Yes. Garry's expression changed. Dirk Courtney, Sean's son. I didn't know that General Courtney had a son."Sometimes he wishes he did not, Garry murmured, and then briskly, before she could pursue it, Come along everybody, it's almost lunchtime, and if we are in luck and the postman has delivered my cable, the servants will be expecting us. How many gardeners do you keep, Mijnheer? Anna asked, as the Fiat puttered up Theuniskraal's long twisting driveway, and Anna surveyed the confusion of vegetation with a disapproving frown. Four, I think, or maybe five. Well, Mijnheer, you are not getting your money's worth, Anna told him severely, and Centaine smiled at the certainty that from now on the unsuspecting bevy of gardeners would be earning every sou. of their wages. Then her attention was diverted.

Oh, look! She stood up impulsively and gripped the front seat, holding on to her hat with the other hand. On the far side of the white-painted fence that ran beside the driveway, a troop of yearlings took mock alarm at the clattering Fiat and fled across the lush green kikuyu grass paddock, manes streaming, hooves flying and glossy hides flashing in the sunlight.

One of your duties, my dear, will be to see that the horses are kept in exercise. Garry twisted round in the driver's seat to smile at her. And we will have to pick out a pony for young Michel here."He is not yet two years old, Anna intervened. Never too young, Mevrou. Garry transferred the smile to her, and it changed to a lascivious leer. Or too old! Although her frown stayed firmly in place, Anna could not prevent the softening of her eyes before she turned her face away from him. Ah, good! The servants are expecting us after alP Garry exclaimed, and braked the Fiat to a halt before the double teak front doors. The servants stepped forward in order of seniority to be introduced, beginning with the Zulu chef in his tall white hat and ending with the grooms and the gardeners and stable boys, all of them clapping their hands respectfully and beaming with white teeth so that Shasa leaped in Centaine's arms and let out an excited shout. Ah, Bayete, the chef laughed, as he gave Shasa the royal salute, all hail, little chieftain, and may you grow as strong and straight as your father! They went into Theuniskraal, and Garry led them proudly through the cavernous rooms in their genteel disarray. Though Anna ran her finger over every object that came in range and scowled at the dust that came off on it, yet from the long baronial dinning-room with hunting trophies decorating the walls to the library with more expensive but dusty volumes stacked on the desk and the floor than on the shelves, the homestead of Theuniskraal possessed a benign and friendly atmosphere.

Centaine felt at home almost immediately. Oh, it will be so good to have young people here again, and pretty girls, and a small boy. Garry put it into words, The old place so needs livening up."And a little cleaning up won't hurt it either, growled Anna, but Garry was dashing up the central stair case, sprightly as a lad with excitement.

Come along, let me show you your rooms The room Garry had selected for Anna was beside his own suite, and although the significance of this was lost on Centaine, Anna lowered her eyes and looked like a demure bulldog as she noticed that a discreet door connected with Garry's dressing-room. This will be your room, my dear. Garry led Centaine along the upper gallery and ushered her into a huge sunny room with french doors opening on to a wide terrace that overlooked the gardens. It's lovely. Centaine clapped her hands with delight and ran out on to the terrace. Of course it needs redecorating, but you must choose your own colours and carpets and curtains, now, come alon, let's look at young Michel's room.

As Garry opened the door across the gallery facing Centaine's room, his mood changed dramatically, and as she stepped into the room, Centaine realized the reason.

Michael's presence was everywhere. From the framed photographs on the walls he smiled down at her; Michael in rugby football togs standing arms folded across his chest with fourteen other grinning young men, Michael in white cricket flannels with bat in hand, Michael with a shotgun and a brace of pheasant, and the shock drained the blood from Centaine's face. I thought it would be appropriate for Michel to have his father's room, Garry murmured apologetically. Of course, my dear, if you don't agree, there are fifteen other rooms to choose from. Slowly Centaine looked around her at the shotguns in their racks, and the fishing-rods and cricket-bats standing in the corner, at the books on the shelves above the writing-desk, at the oilskins and tweed jackets hanging from their pegs.

yes, she nodded. This will be Shasa's room, and we'll keep it just as it is.

Oh, good! Garry nodded happily. I'm so glad you agree.

And he bustled out into the gallery, shouting orders at the servants in Zulu.

Centaine moved slowly around the room, touching the bed on which Michael had slept, stopping to press a fold of the rough tweed jacket against her cheek and imagining she could smell that special clean odour of his body upon the cloth, moving on to his desk and tracing with her fingertips his initials MC carved in the oaken top, lifting down a copy of Jock of the Bushveld from the shelf and opening it at the fly leaf: This book was stolen from Michael Courtney. She closed the book and turned back to the door.

There was a mild commotion in the passageway, and bustled back directing two of the Zulu servants Garry who were staggering under the weight of a child's cot. Its high sliding sides and massive mahogany construction would have caged a full-grown lion.

This was Michael's, I think it should hold his son, what do you think, my dear? Before Centaine could answer, the telephone rang demandingly in the hall downstairs.

Show them where to put it, my dear, Garry called as he dashed out again. He was gone for almost half an hour, and Centaine heard the telephone jangling at irregular intervals. When Garry came rushing in again, he was bubbling over.

Damned telephone just won't stop. Everybody wants to meet you, my dear. You are a very famous lady.

Another ruddy journalist wants to interview you-'I hope you told them "no", Papa. It seemed that in the last two months every journalist in the Union had requested an interview. The story of the lost girl rescued from the African wilds with her infant had, for the moment, captivated the fickle interest of every newspaper editor from Johannesburg and Sydney to London and New York.

I sent him packing, Garry assured her. But there is someone else very eager to see you again. Who is it? My brother, General Courtney, he and his wife have come up from their home in Durban to their other home in Lion Kop. They want us to go across to have luncheon and spend the day with them tomorrow. I accepted on your behalf. I hope I did the right thing? Oh, yes, oh, indeed yes!

Anna refused to accompany them to the luncheon at Lion Kop.

There is too much that needs doing here! she declared.

The servants of Theuniskraal had already given her the name Checha'- Hurry Up! the first word of the Zulu language Anna had learned, and all of them had conceived for her a wary and growing respect.

So Garry and Centaine drove up the escarpment with Shasa on the seat between them and as they pulled up before the sprawling homestead of Lion Kop with its lovely thatched roof, the familiar burly, bearded figure came limping swiftly down the front stairs to take both of Centaine's hands in his.

It's like having you back from the dead, Sean Courtney said softly. Words cannot express what I feel. Then he turned to take Shasa from Garry's arms. So this is Michael's son! Shasa crowed with delight, grabbed a double handful of the general's beard and attempted to pull it out by the roots.

Ruth Courtney, Sean's wife, in that period of her life beyond forty years of age and below fifty when a magnificent woman reaches the zenith of her beauty and elegance, kissed Centaine's cheek and told her gently, Michael was a very special person to us, and you will take his place in our hearts. Waiting behind her was a young woman, and Centaine recognized her immediately from the framed photograph that the general had kept with him in France. Storm Courtney was even more beautiful than her photograph, with a skin like a rose petal and her mother's glowing Jewish eyes, but there was a pout to her lovely mouth and the petulant expression of a child indulged to the highest degree of discontent. She greeted Centaine in French.

Comment vas-tu, cherie? Her accent was atrocious.

They looked into each other's eyes and their dislike was strong, mutual and clearly acknowledged by both of them.

Beside Storm was a tall, slim young man with a serious mien and gentle eyes. Mark Anders was the general's private secretary, and Centaine liked him as instinctively as she had disliked the girl.

General Sean Courtney took Centaine on one arm and his wife on the other and led them into the homestead of Lion Kop.

Though the two houses were separated by only a few miles, they could have been worlds apart. The yellow wood floor of Lion Kop gleamed with wax, the paintings were in light cheerful colours, Centaine recognized a whimsical Tahitian scene by Paul Gauguin, and everywhere there were great bowls of fresh flowers.

If you'll excuse Garry and myself for a few minutes, ladies, we'll leave young Mark here to entertain you.

Sean led his brother away to his study while his secretary poured each of the ladies a cordial.

I was in France with the general, Mark told Centaine, as he brought her glass to her, and I know your village of Mort Homme quite well. We were billeted there while waiting to go up the line. Oh, how wonderful to have a memory of my home! Centaine cried, and impulsively touched his arm, and from across the drawing-room Storm Courtney, who was curled with an elaborately languid air on the silk-covered sofa, shot Centaine a look of such undiluted venom as to make her exult silently.

Alors, cherie! So that is the way it is! And she turned back to Mark Anders and looked up into his eyes and exaggerated her throaty French accent.

Do you perhaps recall the chAteau, beyond the church to the north of the village? she asked, making the question sound like an invitation to forbidden delights, but Ruth Courtney intuitively caught the whiff of gunpowder in the air and intervened smoothly.

Now, Centaine, come and sit by me, she ordered. I want to hear all about your incredible adventures. So Centaine repeated, for the fiftieth time since her rescue, her carefully edited version of the torpedoing and her subsequent wanderings in the desert.

Extraordinary! Mark Anders interjected at one stage. I have often admired the Bushman paintings in the caves of the Drakensberg; Mountains, some of them are really quite beautiful, but I did not realize that there were still wild Bushmen in existence. They were hunted out of these mountains sixty years ago, dangerous and treacherous little blighters by all accounts, and I understood that they had all been exterminated. on the silk sofa Storm Courtney shuddered theatrically. I just can't think how you could bear to let one of those little yellow monsters touch you, cherie. I know I would have simply expired! Bien ser, cherie, and you would not have enjoyed eating live lizards and locusts either? Centaine asked sweetly, and Storm paled.

Sean Courtney stumped back into the drawing-room and interrupted them. Well, now, it's good to see how already you are one of the family, Centaine. I know that you and Storm are going to be great chums, what? Indubitably, Pater, Storm murmured and Centaine laughed.

She is so sweet, your Storm, I love her already. Centaine chose.

unerringly the one adjective sweet that brought forth a blooming of furious roses in Storm's perfect cheeks.

Good! Good! Is the lunch ready, my love? and Ruth rose to take Sean's arm and lead them all out on to the patio where the table was set under a canopy of jacaranda.

The very air seemed coloured purple and green by the sunlight through the blossom-laden boughs, and they might have been in an underwater grotto.

The Zulu servants, who had been hovering expectantly, at a nod from Sean bore Shasa away like a prince to the kitchens. His pleasure in their smiling black faces was as obvious as their delight in him.

They'll spoil him, if you let them, Ruth warned Centaine. Only one thing a Zulu loves better than his cattle, and that's a boy child. Now, will you sit next to the general, my dear? During the luncheon Sean made Centaine the complete centre of attention, while Storm tried to look aloof and bored at the end of the table.

Now, my dear, I want to hear all about it. Oh God, Pater, we've just been over it all. Storm rolled her eyes.

Language, girl, Sean warned her, and then to Centaine, Begin on the last day I saw you, and don't leave anything out, do you hear? Not a single thing! Throughout the meal Garry was withdrawn and silent, in contrast to his ebullient mood of the last weeks, and after the coffee he stood up quickly when Sean said, Well, everybody, you must excuse us for a few minutes. Garry and I are taking Centaine off for a little chat. The general's study was panelled in mahogany, the books on the shelves were bound in maroon calf, while the chairs were upholstered in buttoned brown leather.

There were oriental carpets on the floor and an exquisite little bronze by Anton Van Wouw on the corner of his desk, ironically a sculpture of a Bushman hunter with his bow in his hand, peering out across the desert plains from under his other hand. It reminded Centaine so vividly of O'wa that she drew breath sharply.

With his cigar Sean waved her into the wingback chair facing his desk, and it seemed to dwarf her. Garry took another chair to the side.

I've spoken to Garry, Sean opened, without preliminaries. I've told him the circumstances of Michael's death, before the wedding. He sat down behind his desk and turned his own gold wedding ring on his finger thoughtfully.

We all of us here know that in every sense but the legal one, Michael was your husband, and the natural father of Michel. However, technically Michel is, he hesitated, Michel is illegitimate. In the eyes of the law, he is a bastard. The word shocked Centaine. She stared at Sean through the rising wreaths of cigar smoke while the silence drew out.

We can't have that, Garry broke it. He's my grandson.

We can't have that.

No, Sean agreed. We can't have that. With your consent, my dear, Garry's voice was almost a whisper, I should like to adopt the lad. Centaine turned her head towards him slowly, and he hurried on, It would only be a formality, a legal device to ensure his status in the world. It could be done most discreetly, and it would in no way affect the relationship between you. You would still be his mother and have custody of him, while I would be honoured to become his guardian and do for him all the things that his father cannot. Centaine winced, and Garry blurted, Forgive me, my dear, but we have to talk about it. As Sean has said, we all accept that you are Michael's widow, we would want you to use the family name and we would all treat you as though the ceremony had taken place that day, he broke off, and coughed throatily. Nobody would ever know, except the three of us in this room, and Anna. Would you give your consent, for the child's sake? Centaine stood up and crossed to where Garry sat.

She sank on to her knees before him and placed her head in his lap.

Thank you, she whispered. You are the kindest man I know. You have truly taken the place of my own father now.

The months that followed were the most contented that Centaine had ever known, secure and sunny and rewarding, filled with the sound of Shasa's laughter, and with the benign if diffident presence of Garry Courtney always in the background and the more substantial figure of Anna in the foreground.

Centaine rode every morning before breakfast and again in the cool of the evening, and often Garry accompanied her, regaling her with tales of Michael's childhood or relating the family history as they climbed the forested tracks along the escarpment or paused to water the horses at the pool below the falls of the river where the spray and white water fell a hundred feet over wet black rock.

The rest of the day was spent in choosing curtaining and wallpaper, and supervising the artisans who were redecorating the house, consulting with Anna on the restructuring of Theuniskraal's domestic arrangements, romping with Shasa and trying to prevent the Zulu servants from spoiling him utterly, taking instruction from Garry Courtney in the subtle art of steering and driving the big Fiat tourer, in pondering the printed invitations that arrived with every day's mail, and generally taking over the management and running of Theuniskraal as she had that of the chateau at Mort Homme.

Every afternoon she and Shasa took tea with Garry in the library where he had been ensconced for most of the day, and with his gold-rimmed spectacles on the end of his nose he would read aloud to her his day's writings.

Oh, it must be wonderful to have such a gift! she exclaimed, and he lowered the sheaf of manuscript. You admire those of us that write2 he asked. You are a breed apart. Nonsense, my dear, we are very ordinary people except that we are vain enough to believe that other people might want to read what we have to say. I wish I could write. You can, your penmanship is excellent."I mean really Write."You can. Help yourself to paper and get on with it. If that's what you want. But, she stared at him aghast, what could I write about? Write about what happened to you out there in the desert. That would do very well for a beginning, I should say. it took three days for her to accustom herself to the idea, and brace herself to the effort. Then she had the servants move a table into the gazebo at the end of the lawns and sat down at it with a pencil in her hand, a pile of Garry's blank paper in front of her and terror in her heart. She experienced that same terror each day thereafter when she drew the first blank sheet of paper towards her, but it passed swiftly as the ranks of words began to march down across the emptiness.

She moved pleasant and familiar things into the gazebo to alleviate the loneliness of creative endeavour a pretty rug for the tiled floor, a Delft vase on the table-top which Anna filled with fresh flowers each day, and in front of her she placed O'wa's clasp knife. She used it to resharpen her pencils.

At her right hand she placed a velvet-lined jewelbox and in it she laid H'ani's necklace. Whenever she lacked inspiration, she threw down her pencil and took up the necklace. She rubbed the bright stones between her fingets like Greek worry beads and their smooth touch seemed to calm her and recharge her determination.

Every afternoon from the end of lunch until it was time to take tea with Garry in the library, she wrote at the table in the gazebo, and Shasa slept in the cot beside her or climbed over her feet.

it did not take many days for Centaine to realize that she could never show what she was putting on to the paper to another living soul. She found that she could hold nothing back, that she was writing with a brutal candour that admitted no reserve or equivocation.

Whether it was the details of her lovemaking with Michael, or the description of the taste of rotten fish in her mouth as she lay dying beside the Atlantic, she knew that nobody could read them without being shocked and horrified.

It's for myself alone, she decided. At the end of each session when she laid the handwritten sheets on the jewelbox on top of H'ani's necklace, she was suffused with a sense of satisfaction and worthwhile achievement.

There were, however, a few jarring notes in this symphony of contentment.

Sometimes in the night she would rise to the surface of consciousness and reach instinctively for the lithe golden body that should have been beside hers, longing for the feel of hard smooth muscle and the touch of long silky hair that smelled like the sweet grasses of the desert.

Then she would come fully awake and lie in the darkness hating herself for her treacherous longings and burning with shame that she had so debased the memory of Michael and O'wa and little H'ani.

On another morning Garry Courtney sent for her and, when she was seated, handed her a package.

This came with a covering note to me. It's from a lawyer in Paris. What does it say, Papa? My French is awful, I'm afraid, but the gist of the matter is that your father's estates at Mort Homme have been sold to defray his debts."Oh, poor Papa. They had presumed that you were dead, my dear, and the sale was ordered by a French court. I understand The lawyer read of your rescue in a Parisian paper, and has written to me explaining the situation. Unfortunately the Comte de Thiry's debts were considerable, and as you are too well aware, the chateau and its contents were destroyed in the fire. The lawyer has set out an accounting, and after all the debts were paid and the legal expenses including this fellow's not inconsiderable fees, were deducted, there is very little that remains to you. Centaine's healthy acquisitive instincts were aroused. How much, Papa? she asked sharply.

A little less than 2,000 sterling, I'm afraid. He will send a bank draft when we return the acknowledgement to him duly signed and attested. Fortunately I am a commissioner of oaths, so we can do the business privately. When the draft finally arrived, Centaine deposited the most part with the Ladyburg Bank at 3,- percent interest, indulging only her new passion for speed. She used 120 pounds to buy herself a T model Ford, resplendent in brass and glistening black paintwork, and when for the first time she tore up the driveway of Theuniskraal at thirty miles per hour, the entire household turned out to admire the machine. Even Garry Courtney hurried from the library, his gold-rimmed spectacles pushed up on top of his head, and it was the first time he ever chided her.

You must consult me, my dear, before you do these things, I will not have you squandering your own savings. I am your provider, and besides which- he looked lugubrious -I was looking forward to buying you a motor-car for your next birthday. You have gone and spoiled my plans Oh, Papa, do forgive me. You have given us so much already, and we love you for it. It was true. She had come to love this gentle person in many ways as she had loved her own father, but in some ways even more strongly, for her feelings towards him were bolstered by growing respect for and awareness of his unvaunted talents and his hidden qualities, his deep humanity and his fortitude in the face of a fate that had deprived him of a limb, a wife and a son, and had withheld from him until this late hour a loving family.

He treated her like- the mistress of his household, and this evening he was discussing the guest-list for the dinner-party they were planning.

I must warn you about this fellow Robinson. I gave myself pause before inviting him, I'll tell you! Her mind had been on these other things, however, not on the invitation list, and she started.

I am so sorry, Papa, she apologized, I did not hear what you were saying. I am afraid I was dreaming. Dear me, Garry smiled at her. I thought I was the only dreamer in the family. I was warning you about our guest of honour. Garry liked to entertain twice a month, not more often, and there were always ten dinner guests, never more.

I like to hear what everybody has to say, he explained. Hate to miss a good story at the end of the table. He had a discerning palate and had accumulated one of the finest cellars in the country. He had stolen his Zulu chef from the Country Club in Durban, so his invitations were sought after even though acceptance usually involved a train journey and an overnight stay at Theuniskraal.

This fellow Joseph Robinson may have a baronetcy, which in many cases is the mark of an unprincipled scoundrel too cunning to have been caught out, he may have more money than even old Cecil John ever accumulated - the Robinson Deep and Robinson Goldmine belong to him, as does the Robinson Bank, but he is as mean as any man I've ever met. He'll spend $10,000 on a painting and grudge a starving man a penny. He is also a bully and the greediest most heartless man I've ever met. When the prime minister first tried to get a peerage for him, there was such an outcry that he had to drop the idea."If he is so awful, why do we invite him, papa? Garry sighed theatrically. A price I have to pay for my art, my dear. I am going to try to prise from the fellow a few facts that I need for my new book. He is the only living person who can give them to me."Do you want me to charm him for you? Oh no, no! We don't have to go that far, but you could wear a pretty dress, I suppose. Centaine chose the yellow taffeta with the embroidered seed-pearl bodice that exposed her shoulders, still lightly tanned by the desert sun. As always, Anna was there to prepare her hair and help her dress for the dinner.

Centaine came through from her private bathroom, which was one of the great luxuries of her new life, with a bathrobe wrapped around her still-damp body and a hand towel around her head. She left wet footprints on the yellow wood floor as she crossed to her dressing-table.

Anna, who was seated on the bed restitching the hook and eye on the back of the yellow dress, bit off the thread, spat it out and mumbled, I have let it out three full centimetres. Too many of these fancy dinner-parties, young lady. She laid out the dress with care and came to stand behind Centaine.

I do wish you would sit down to dinner with us, Centaine grumbled. You aren't a servant here. Centaine would have had to be blind not to have realized the relationship that was flourishing between Garry and Anna. So far, however, she had not found an opportunity of discussing it, though she longed to share Anna's joy, if only vicariously.

Anna seized the silver-backed brush and attacked Centaine's hair with long powerful strokes which jerked her head backwards.

You want me to waste my time listening to a lot of fancy folk hissing away like a gaggle of geese? She imitated the sibilance of the English tongue so cleverly that Centaine giggled delightedly. No, thank you, I can't understand a word of that clever chatter and old Anna is a lot happier and more useful in the kitchen keeping an eye on those grinning black rogues. Papa Garry so wants you to join the company, he's spoken to me ever so often. I think he is becoming so fond of you. Anna pursed her lipsand snorted. That's enough of that nonsense, young lady, she said firmly, as she set down the brush and arranged the fine yellow net over Centaine's hair, capturing its springing curls in the spangled mesh set with yellow sequins. Pas mal! She stood back and nodded critical approval. Now for the dress. She went to fetch it from the bed, while Centaine stood up and slipped the bathrobe from her shoulders. She let it fall to the floor and stood naked before the mirror.

The scar on your leg is healing well, but you are still so brown, Anna lamented, and then broke off and stood with the yellow dress half-extended, frowning thoughtfully, staring at Centaine.

Centaine" Her voice was sharp. When did you last see your moon? she demanded, and Centaine stooped and snatched up the fallen robe, covering herself with it defensively.

I was sick, Anna. The blow on my head, and the infection. How long since your last moon? Anna was remorseless.

You don't understand, I was sick. Don't you remember when I had pneumonia I also missed- Not since the desert! Anna answered her own question. Not since you came out of the desert with that German, that cross-breed German Afrikaner. She threw the dress on to the bed and pulled the covering robe away from Centaine's body.

No Anna, I was sick. Centaine was trembling. Up to that minute she had truly closed her mind against the awful possibility that Anna now presented.

Anna placed her big callused hand on Centaine's belly, and she cringed from the touch.

I never trusted him, with his cat's eyes and yellow hair and that great bulge in his breeches, Anna muttered furiously. Now I understand why you would not speak to him when we left, why you treated him like an enemy, not a saviour. Anna, I have missed before. It could be- He raped you, my poor child! He violated you! You could not help it. That is how it happened? Centaine recognized the escape that Anna was offering her, and she yearned to take it.

He forced you, my baby, didn't he? Tell Anna. No, Anna. He did not force me. You allowed him, you let him? Anna's expression was formidable.

I was so lonely. Centaine sank down on to the stool and covered her face with her hands. I had not seen another white person for almost two years, and he was so kind and beautiful, and I owed him my life. Don't you understand, Anna? Please say you understand! Anna enfolded her in those thick powerful arms, and Centaine pressed her face into her soft warm bosom. Both of them were silent, shaken and afraid.

You cannot have it, Anna said at last. We will have to get rid of it. The shock of her words racked Centaine, so she trembled afresh and tried to hide from the dreadful thought.

We cannot bring another bastard to Theuniskraal, they would not stand for it. The shame would be too much.

They have taken one, but Mijnheer and the general could not take another. For the sake of all of us, Michael's family and Shasa, for yourself, for all those whom I love, there is no choice in the matter. You must get rid of it."Anna, I can't do that. Do you love this man who put it in your belly? Not now. Not any more. I hate him, she whispered. Oh God, how I hate him!

Then get rid of his brat before it destroys you and Shasa and all of us.

The dinner was a nightmare. Centaine sat at the bottom of the long table and smiled briefly, though her eyes burned with shame and the bastard in her belly felt like an adder, coiled and ready to strike.

The tall elderly man beside her droned on in a particularly rasping and irritating tone, directing his monologue almost exclusively at Centaine. His bald head had been turned by the sun to the colour of a plover's egg, but his eyes were strangely lifeless, like those of a marble statue.

Centaine could not concentrate on what he was saying, and it became unintelligible as though he were speaking an unknown language. Her mind wandered off to pluck and worry at this new threat that had loomed up suddenly, a threat to her entire existence and that of her son.

She knew that Anna was right. Neither the general nor Garry Courtney could allow another bastard into Theuniskraal. Even if they were able to condone what she had done, and it was beyond reason or hope that they could, even then they could not allow her to bring disgrace and scandal not only upon Michael's memory, but upon the entire family. It was not possible, Anna's way was the only escape open to her.

She jumped in her seat and almost screamed aloud.

Below the level of the dinner-table, the man beside her had placed his hand upon her thigh.

Excuse me, Papa. She pushed back her chair hurriedly, and Garry looked down the length of the table with concern. I must go through for a moment, and she fled into the kitchen.

Anna saw her distress and ran to meet her, then led her into the pantry. She locked the door behind them.

Hold me, please Anna, I am so confused and afraid and that awful man - she shuddered.

Anna's arms quieted her, and after a while she whispered, You are right, Anna. We must get rid of it We will talk about it tomorrow, Anna told her gently. Now bathe your eyes with cold water and go back to the dining-room before you make a scene. Centaine's rebuff had served its purpose, and the tall, bald-headed mining magnate did not even glance at her when she came back to her seat beside him. He was addressing the woman on his other hand, but the rest of the company was listening to him with the attention due to one of the richest men in the world.

Those were the days, he was saying. The country was wide open, a fortune under every stone, by gad. Barnato started with a box of cigars to trade, bloody awful cigars too, and when Rhodes bought him out he gave him a cheque for $3,000,000, the largest cheque ever issued up to that time, though I can tell you I myself have written a few bigger since thenAnd how did you start, Sir Joseph? Five pounds in my pocket and a nose to sniff out a real diamond from a schlenter, that's how I got my start."And how do you do that, Sir Joseph? How do you tell a real diamond? The quickest way is to dip it into a glass of water, my dear. If it comes out wet, it's a schlenter. If it comes out dry, it's a diamond. The words passed Centaine without seeming to leave any impression, for she was so preoccupied, and Garry was signalling her from the head of the table that it was time to take the ladies through.

However, Robinson's words must have made a mark deep in her subconscious, for the next afternoon as she sat in the gazebo staring unseeingly out across the sundrenched lawns, fiddling miserably with H'ani's necklace, rubbing the stones between her fingers, almost without conscious t ught she suddenly leaned over the table and from the crystal carafe poured a tumbler full of spring water.

Then she lifted the necklace over the tumbler and slowly lowered it into the water. After a few seconds she lifted it out and studied it distractedly. The coloured stones glistened with water, and then suddenly her heart began to race. The white stone, the huge crystal in the centre of the necklace, was dry.

She dropped the necklace back into the water and pulled it out again. Her hand began to shake. Like the breast of a swan, shining white, the stone had shed even the tiniest droplets, although it glistened more luminously than the wet stones that surrounded it.

Guiltily she looked around her, but Shasa slept on his back with a thumb deep in his mouth and the lawns were deserted in the noonday heat. For the third time she lowered the necklace into the glass and when the white stone came out dry once again, she whispered softly, H'ani, my beloved old grandmother, will you save us again? It is possible that you are still watching over me?

Centaine could not consult the Courtney family doctor in Ladyburg, so she and Anna planned a journey to the capital town of the province of Natal, the sea port of Durban. The pretext for the journey was the perennial feminine favourite, shopping to be done.

They had hoped to get away from Theuniskraal on their own, but Garry would not hear of it.

Leave me behind, forsooth! You've been on at me, both of you, about a new suit. Well, it's a fine excuse for me to visit my tailor, and while I'm about it I might even pick up a pair of bonnets or some other litt e gewgaws for two ladies of my acquaintance. So it was a full-scale family expedition, with Shasa and his two Zulu nannies, with both the Fiat and the Ford needed to convey them all down the winding dusty hundred and fifty miles of road to the coast. They descended on the Majestic Hotel on the beach front of the Indian Ocean, and Garry took the two front suites.

It needed all the ingenuity of both Anna and Centaine to evade him for a few hours, but they managed it. Anna had made discreet enquiries and had the name of a doctor with consulting-rooms in Point Road. They visited him under assumed names, and he confirmed what they had both known to be true.

My niece has been a widow for two years, Anna explained delicately. She cannot afford scandal. I'm sorry, madam.

There is nothing I can do to help you, the doctor replied primly, but when Centaine paid him his guinea, hu murmured, I will give you a receipt. And he scribbled on the slip of paper a name and an address.

In the street Anna took her arm. We have -an hour before Miinheer expects us back at the hotel. We will go to make the arrangements.

No, Anna, Centaine stopped. I have to think about this. I want to be alone for a while There is nothing to think about, said Anna gruffly.

Leave me, Anna, I will be back long before dinner.

We will go tomorrow. Anna knew that tone and that expression. She threw up her hands and climbed into the waiting rickshaw.

As the Zulu runner bore her off in the high two-wheeled carriage, she called, Think all you like, child, but tomorrow we do it my way. Centaine waved and smiled until the rickshaw turned into West Street, then she spun round and hurried back towards the harbour.

She had noticed a shop when they passed it earlier: m.

NA11300. JEWELLER.

The interior was small, but clean and neat, with inexpensive jewellery set out in glass-topped display cabinets.

The moment she entered, a plump, dark-skinned Hindu in a tropical suit came through the bead screen from the rear of the building.

Good afternoon, honoured madam, I am Mr Moonsarny Naidoo at madam's service. He had a bland face and thick wavy hair dressed with coconut oil until it glowed like coal fresh from the face.

I would like to look at your wares. Centaine leaned over the glass-topped counter and studied the display of silver -filigree bracelets.

A gift for a loved one, of course, good madam, these are truly loo percent pure silver hand-manufactured by learned craftsmen of the highest calibre. Centaine did not reply. She knew the risks that she was about to take, and she was trying to form some estimate of the man. He was doing the same to her. He looked at her gloves and shoes, infallible gauges of a lady's quality.

of course, these trinkets are mere bagatelle. If esteemed madam would care to see something more prince or more princessly?

Do you deal in, diamonds? Diamonds, most reverend madam? His bland plump face creased into a smile. I can show you a diamond fit for a king, or a queen. And I will do the same for you, Centaine said quietly, and placed the huge white crystal on the glass counter top between them.

The Hindu jeweller choked with shock, and apped his hands like a penguin. Sweet madam! he gasped. Cover it, I beseech you. Hide it from my gaze! Centaine dropped the crystal back into her purse and turned towards the door, but the jeweller was there before her.

An instant more of your time, devout madam. He drew down the blinds over the windows and the glass door, then turned the key in the lock, before he came back to her.

There are extreme penalties, his voice was unsteady, ten years of durance of the vilest sort, and I am not a well man. The goalers are most ugly and unkind, good madam, the risks are infinite-'I will trouble you no further. Unlock the door."Please, dear madam, if you will follow me."He backed towards the bead screen, bowing from the waist and making wide flourishing gestures of invitation.

His office was tiny, and the glass-topped desk filled it so there was barely room for both of them. There was one small high window. The air was stifling and redolent with the aroma of curry powder.

May I see the object again, good madam? Centaine place it on the centre of the desk, and the Hindu screwed a jeweller's loupe into his eye before he picked up the stone and held it towards the light from the window.

Is it permitted to ask where this was obtained, kind madam? No. He turned it slowly under the magnifying lens, and then placed in on the small brass tray of the jeweller's balance that stood on the side of the desk. As he weighed he murmured, IDB, madam, Illicit Diamond Buying oh, the police are most strict and severe. Satisfied with the weight, he opened the drawer of the desk and brought out a cheap glass-cutter, shaped like a pen, but with a sharp chip of boart, the black industrialgrade diamond, set in the tip.

What are you going to do? Centaine asked suspiciously.

The only real test, madam, the jeweller explained. A diamond will scratch any other substance on earth except another diamond. To illustrate the point he drew the stylus of boart across the glass top of the desk. it screeched so that Centaine's skin prickled and her teeth were set on edge, but the point left a deep white scratch across the glass surface. He looked up at her for permission and then Centaine nodded, he braced the white stone firmly against the desk-top, and drew the point of the stylus across it.

It slipped smoothly over one plane of the crystal as though it had been lubricated, and it left no mark on the surface.

A droplet of sweat fell from the Hindu's chin and splashed loudly on the glass. He ignored it, and made another stroke across the stone, putting more strength behind the stylus. There was no sound, no mark.

His hand began to tremble, and this time he leaned the full weight of his arm and shoulder as he attempted to make the cut. The wooden shaft of the stylus snapped in half, but the white crystal was unmarked. They both S stared at it, until Centaine said softly, How much? The risks are terrible, good madam, and I am an excessively honest man. How much?

One thousand pounds, he whispered.

Five, said Centaine.

Madam, dear sweet madam, I am a man of impeccably high reputation. If I were apprehended in the act of IDB

Tive, she repeated.

Two, he croaked, and Centaine reached for the stone.

Three, he said hurriedly, and Centaine held back.

Tour, she said firmly.

Three and a half dear madam, my very last and most earnest offer. Three'and a half thousand pounds. Done, she said.

Where is the money? I do not keep such vast sums of lucre on my person, good madam. I will return tomorrow at the same time, with the diamond. Have the money ready.

I don't understand, Garry Courtney wrung his hands miserably. Surely all of us could accompany you No, Papa. It is something I have to do alone. One of us, then, Anna or myself? I just can't let you go off again. Anna must stay and look after Shasa."I will come with you, then. You need a man-'No, Papa. I beg your indulgence and understanding. I have to do this alone. Entirely on my own.

Centaine, you know how much I have come to love you. Surely I have some rights, the right to know where it is you are going, what you intend doing? Iam desolated, for much as I love you in return, I cannot tell you. To do so would destroy the whole point of my going. Think of it as a pilgrimage which I am obliged to make. That is all I can tell you Garry rose from his desk, crossed to the tall library windows and stood looking out into the sunlight with his hands clasped behind his back.

How long will you be gone? am not sure, she told him quietly. I do not know how long it will take, some months at least, perhaps much longer, and he lowered his head and sighed.

When he returned to the desk he was sad but resigned. What can I do to help? he asked. Nothing, Papa, except look after Shasa while I am gone and forgive me for not being able to confide in you fully. money? ou know I have money, my inheritance."Letters of introduction? You will at least let me do that for you? They will be invaluable, thank you With Anna it was not so easy. She suspected part of what Centaine planned and she d stubborn.

was angry an I cannot let you go. You will bring disaster on yourself and on all of us. Enough of this madness. Get rid of it the way I have arranged, it will be swift and final. No, Anna, I cannot murder my own baby, you can't make me do that-I forbid you to leave. No. Centaine went to her and kissed her. You know you can't do that either. just hold me a while, and look after Shasa once I am gone."At least tell Anna where you are goingNo more questions, dearest Anna. just promise me that you will not try to follow me, and that you will prevent Papa Garry from doing so, for you know what he will find if he does. Oh, you wicked stubborn girl! Anna seized her in a bear-hug. If you don't come back, you will break old Anna's heart."Don't even talk like that, you silly old worrian.

The smell of the desert was like the smell of flint struck off steel, a burnt dry odour that Centaine could detect underlying the harsher odour of coal smoke from the locomotive. The bogey clattered to the rhythm of the cross-ties and the carriage kept the beat, lurching and swaying in time.

Centaine sat in the corner of the small coups compartment upon the green leather seat and stared through the window. A flat yellow plain stretched to the long far horizon, while the sky above it was traced the faint promise of blue mountains. There were clusters of springbok grazing on the plain, and when the steam whistle of the locomotive shrilled abruptly, they dissolved into pale cinnamon-coloured smoke and blew away towards the horizon. The animals closest to her carriage pranced high in the air, and painfully Centaine remembered little O'wa miming that arched-back and head-down stotting gait.

Then the pain. passed and only the joy of his memory remained to her, and she smiled as she stared out into the desert.

The great spaces, seared by the sun, seemed to draw out her soul, like iron to the magnet, and slowly she became aware of a sense of building anticipation, that peculiar excitement that a traveller feels on the last homeward mile of along journey.

When later the evening shadows turned the plains soft mauve, they gave definition to the land so that the undurations and low hillocks emerged from the glare of the midday and the glassy curtains of heat mirage, and she looked upon this austere and majestic landscape and felt a deep sense of joy.

At sunset she put a coat around her shoulders and went out on to the open balcony at the rear of the coach. In turning dusty reds and orange the sun went under, and the stars pricked out through the purple night. She looked up and there were two particular stars, Michael's star and hers with only the ghostly Magellanic clouds shining between them.

I haven't looked up at the sky, not since I left this wild land, she thought, and suddenly the green fields of her native France and the lush rolling hills of Zululand were only an effete and insipid memory. This is where I belong - the desert is my home now.

Garry Courtney's lawyer met her at the Windhoek railway station. She had telegraphed him before the train left from Cape Town. His name was Abraham Abrahams, and he was a dapper little man with large pricked-up ears and sharp alert eyes, very much like one of the tiny battered desert foxes. He waved away the letter of introduction from Garry that Centaine offered him.

My dear Mrs Courtney, everybody in the territory knows who you are. The story of your incredible adventure has captured all our imaginations. I can truthfully say that you are a living legend, and that I am honoured to be in a position to render you assistance. He drove her to the Kaiserhof Hotel and after he had made sure she was settled and well cared for, he left her for a few hours to bath and rest.

The coal dust gets into everything, even the pores of the skin, he sympathized.

Whet- he returned and they were seated in the lounge with a tray of tea between them, he asked, Now, Mrs Courtney, what can I do for you? I have a list, a long list. She handed it to him. And as you see, the first thing I want you to do is to find a man for me. That won't be too difficult. He studied the list. The man is well known, almost as well known as you are.

The road was rough, the surface freshly blasted rock, sharp as knife-blades. Long ranks of black labourers, stripped to the waist and glistening with sweat, were pounding the rock with sledgehammers, breaking up the lumps and levelling the roadway. They stood aside, resting on their hammers, as Centaine drove up the pass in Abraham Abrahams dusty Ford, bumping slowly over the jagged stone, a nd when she shouted a question, they grinned and pointed on upwards.

The road became steeper as it wound into the mountains and the gradients became so severe that at one place Centaine had to turn the Ford and reverse up the slope.

At last she could go no further. A Hottentot foreman ran down the rough track to meet her, waving a red flag over his head.

Paso PI missus! Look out, madam! They are going to fire the charges. Centaine parked on the verge of the half-built road under a sign-board that read: De La Rey Construction Company Road-building and Civil-Engineering And she climbed down, and stretched her long legs. She was wearing breeches and boots and a man's shirt, The Hottentot foreman stared at her legs until she told him sharply, That will be all. Go about your duties, man, or your boss will know of it. She unwound the scarf from around her head and fluffed out her hair. Then she dampened a cloth from the canvas water-cooler that hung on the side of the Ford and wiped the dust from her face. It was fifty miles from Windhoek, and she had been driving since before dawn. She lifted the wicker basket off the back seat and set it beside her as she settled on the running-board of the Ford. The hotel chef had provided ham and egg sandwiches and a bottle of cold sweetened tea, and she was suddenly hungry.

As she ate she gazed out across the open plains far below her. She had forgotten how the grass shone in the sunlight like woven silver cloth, then suddenly she thought of long blond hair that shone the same way, and against her will she felt a rising heat in the pit of her belly and her nipples tightened and started out.

instantly she was ashamed of that momentary weakness, and she told herself fiercely, I hate him, and I hate this thing he has placed inside me. Almost as though the thought might have triggered it, it squirmed with her, a deep and secret movement, and her hatred wavered like a candle flame in the draught.

I must be strong, she told herself. I must be constant, for Shasa's sake. From behind her, up at the head of the pass, there came the distant shrilling of a warning whistle, followed by a brittle waiting silence. Centaine stood up and shaded her eyes, involuntarily tensing in expectation.

Then the earth leaped beneath her and the shock wave of the explosion beat upon her eardrums. A dust column shot high into the blue desert air, and the mountai in was cleaved as though by a garantuan axe-stroke. Sheets of grey-blue shale peeled away from the slope and slid in a liquid avalanche down into the valley below. The echoes of the explosion leapt from kloof to kloof, dwindling gradually, and the dust column blew softly away.

Centaine remained standing, staring up the slope, and after a while the figure of a horseman was outlined on the high crest. Slowly he rode down the raw track, the horse picking its way gingerly over the broken treacherous footing, and he was tall in the saddle, graceful and limber as a sapling in the wind.

If only he were not so beautiful, she whispered.

He lifted the wide-brimmed hat with its ostrich feathers from his head and slapped the dust from his breeches. His golden hair burned like a beacon fire, and she swayed slightly on her feet. At the foot of the slope, a hundred paces from Centaine, he threw his leg over the horse's neck, slipped to the ground, and threw the reins to the Hottentot foreman.

The foreman spoke urgently and pointed to where Centaine waited.

Lothar nodded and came striding down towards her. Halfway, he stopped abruptly and stared at her. Even at that distance she saw his eyes turn bright as yellow sapphires and he launched into a run.

Centaine did not move. She stood stiffly, staring up at him, and ten paces from her he saw her expression and halted again.

Centaine. I never thought to see you again, my darling. He started forward.

Don't touch me, she said coldly, fighting down the panic rising within her. I warned you once, don't ever touch me again.

Why do you come here then? he asked harshly. Isn't it enough that your memory has plagued me these long lonely months since I last saw you? Must you come in the flesh to torment me? I have come to make a bargain with you. Her voice was icy, for she had control over herself now. I come to offer you a trade. What is your bargain? If you are a part of it, then I accept before you state your terms. No, she shook her head. I would kill myself first. His chin came up angrily, though his eyes were wretched and hurting. You are without mercy."That I must have learned from you! State your terms. You will take me back to the place in the desert where you found me. You will provide transport and servants and all that is necessary for me to reach the mountain, and to exist there for a year. Why do you want to go there? That does not concern you. That is not true, it does concern me. Why do you need me? I could search for years, and die without finding it. He nodded.

You are right, of course, but what you are asking will cost a great deal. Everything I have is in this company, I don't have a shilling in my pocket. I want your services only, she told him. I will pay for the vehicles, the equipment and the wages of the servants. Then it is possible, but what about my side of the bargain? In exchange, she placed her right hand over her stomach, I will give you the bastard you left in me. He gaped at her.

Centaine- Slow, deep joy spread over his face. A child! You are to have our child! Instinctively, he came towards her again, Stay back, she warned him, not our child. It's yours alone. I want nothing to do with it after it is born. I don't even want to see it. You will take it from the childbed, and do whatever you want with it. I don't want it. I hate it, and I hate the man who put it in me.

With Lothar's wagons the journey from the Place of All Life to their rendezvous with Garry Courtney at the Finger of God had taken weeks. Their return to the mountain range took only eight days, and would have been quicker, except that they had to build the road for the all, motor vehicles through several rocky valleys and numerous dry river beds. Twice Lothar had to resort to dynamite to break a way through obdurate rock.

The convoy consisted of the Ford and two lorries, which Centaine had purchased in Windhoek. Lothar had chosen six camp servants, two black drivers for the lorries, and as a bodyguard for Centaine and camp overseer, he selected i Swart Hendrick, his Ovambo henchman.

I cannot trust him, Centaine had protested. He's like a man-eating lion. You can trust him, Lothar assured her, because he knows that if he fails you in even the smallest degree, I will kill him very, very slowly. He said it in front of Swart Hendric, who grinned, c It is true, missus, he has done it to others. Lothar travelled in the lead truck with Swart Hendrick and the construction gang. In forest country the black gang r an ahead of the slow-moving convoy, hacking out the road, and when the forest opened, they swarmed on to the back of the truck and the convoy bowled forward at a good speed. The second lorry, heavily laden with stores and equipment, followed the first, and Centaine brought up the rear at the wheel of the Ford.

Each night she ordered her tent to be set up well separated from the rest of the camp. She ate her meals there and slept with a loaded shotgun beside the bed. Lothar seemed to have accepted her terms of contract; his bearing was proud, but he became increasingly silent and he spoke to her only when the conduct of the expedition demanded it.

Once in the middle of the morning when they halted unexpectedly, Centaine climbed down from the Ford and impatiently hurried up to the head of the convoy. The lead truck had hit a spring-hare burrow and broken a half-shaft. Lothar and the driver were working on it, and Lothar had stripped off his shirt. He had his back to her and did not hear her come up.

She stopped abruptly when she saw the pale muscles of his back bulging as he pumped on the jack-handle, and she stared fascinated at the ugly purple scar where the Luger bullet had torn out of his back. How close it must have come to his lung! She felt quick sharp remorse and turned away, the angry words that had been on her lips left unspoken, and she went softly back to her place at the end of the column.

When at last on the eighth day the mountain appeared ahead of them, floating on its glistening lake of mirage like some great ark of orange stone, Centaine stopped and climbed up on to the bonnet of the Ford, and as she stared at it, she relived a hundred memories and found herself swayed by many conflicting emotions, borne up on the joy of homecoming and at the same time crushed down by the leaden burden of grief and doubt.

Lothar roused her from her reverie; he had come back from the head of the column without her even seeing him.

You have not told me exactly where you wish me to take you. To the lion tree, she told him. To the place where you found me. The marks of the beast's claws were still slashed into the trunk of the mopani, and its bones were scattered in the grass, beneath it, white as stars and shining in the sun.

Lothar worked with his construction gang for two days to establish a permanent camp for her. He built a private stockade of mopani poles around the solitary tree and piled Thorn branches against the exterior wall of the stockade to reinforce it and make it proof against predators.

He dug a screened latrine pit connected to the stockade by a tunnel of poles and woven Thorn branches, and then he set up Centaine's tent in the centre of the stockade, shaded by the mopani, and built an open hearth for her camp fire in front of it. At the entrance to her stockade he constructed a -heavy timber gate and a guard house.

Swart Hendrick will sleep here, always within call, he told Centaine.

At the edge of the forest, two hundred paces from her camp, he built another larger stockade for the servants and labourers, and when it was all finished, he came to Cen .

tame again. I have done all that is necessary. She nodded. Yes, you have completed your side of the bargain, she agreed. Come back in three months time, and I will complete my side.

He left within the hour in the second truck, taking only the black driver with him and sufficient water and gasoline for the return journey to Windhoek.

As they watched the truck disappear into the mopani, Centaine said to Swart Hendrick, I will wake you at three o'clock tomorrow morning. I want four of the construction men to come with us. They must bring their blankets and cooking pots, and rations for ten days The moon lit their way as Centaine led them up the narrow valley to the cavern of the bees. At the dark entrance, she explained where she was going to take them, and Swart Hendrick translated for those who could not understand Afrikaans.

There is no danger if you remain calm and do not run But when they heard the deep hum resound through the cavern, the labourers backed out hurriedly, threw down t their loads and got ere into a mutinous, sullen bunch.

Swart Hendrick, tell them they have a choice, Centaine ordered. They can either follow me through or you will shoot them, one at a time. Hendrick repeated this with such relish, and unslung his Mauser in such workmanlike fashion, that they hurriedly gathered up their loads again and crowded up behind Centaine. As always, the transit of the cavern was nerve-racking but swift, and as they filed out into the secret valley, the moon was silvering the mongongo grove and polishing the high surrounding cliffs.

There is much work to do, and we will live here, in this valley, until it is finished. That way you will only have to pass through the place of the bees one more time.

That is when we leave. Abraham Abrahams had instructed Centaine in every aspect of pegging a mining claim. He had written out a sample notice for her and showed her how to set it up.

With a steel measuring tape he had demonstrated the trick of squaring a claim across the diagonals, and how to overlap each claim slightly so that there were no holes to give a claim-jumper a toehold.

Still it was hot, exhausting and monotonous work.

Even with the four labourers and Swart Hendrick to help her, Centaine had to make every measurement herself and write out each claim notice and attach it to the claim posts of Mongongo timber that they set up ahead of her.

At dusk every evening, Centaine dragged herself wearily down to the thermal pool in the subterranean grotto and soaked away her sweat and the aches of her body in the steaming waters. She was already starting to feel the drag of her advancing pregnancy. She was bigger this time and it seemed harder and more wearying than Shasa's pregnancy had been, almost as though the foetus sensed her feeling towards it, and was responding vindictively. Her back ached particularly viciously, and by the end of the ninth day she knew that she could not continue much longer without a rest.

However, the bottom land of the valley was crisscrossed with neat lines of claim pegs, each standing on its little cairn of stones. The gang had by now become accustomed to the work and it was going more quickly.

One more day, she promised herself, and then you can rest. On the evening of the tenth day it was done. She had pegged out every square foot of the valley bottom.

Pack up, she told Swart Hendrick. We are going out tonight. And as he turned away, Well done, Hendrick, you are a lion and you can be Sure I will remember that on pay day. Hard work shared had made them companions.

He grinned at her. If I had ten wives as strong as you, and who worked like you, missus, I could sit in the shade and drink beer all day long. That is the nicest compliment anyone ever Paid me, she replied in French, and found just enough strength left for a short, breathless laugh.

Back in Lion Tree Camp Centaine rested for a day and then the next morning settled down at her camp table in the mopani shade and filled in the claim forms. This was also monotonous and demanding work, for there were claims to process, and every number had to be transposed from her notebook and then fitted into her sketchmap of the valley. Abraham Abrahams had explained to her just how important this was, for each claim would be scrutinized by the government mining inspector and his surveyor and a careless error could invalidate the entire property.

It was another five days before she placed the last completed form on the pile and then bundled them into a brown paper package and sealed them with wax.

Dear Mr Abraham she wrote, please file the accompanying claims with the mining office in my name and deposit the claim deeds with the Standard Bank in Windhoek to the account over which you hold my power of attorney.

I would be grateful if you could then make enquiries for the most eminent independent mining consultant available.

Make a contract with him to survey and evaluate the property which is the subject of these claims and send him to me here by return of the vehicle which brings you this letter.

When the vehicle returns to me, please see that it is loaded with the stores I have listed below and pay for these from my account.

One final favour. I would be most grateful if, without disclosing my whereabouts, you would be good enough to telegraph Colonel Garrick Courtney at Theuniskraal to make enquiry of my son, Michel, and my companion, Anna Stok.

Convey to all three of them my affection and duty, assure them of my good health and my longing to see them again.

To you my sincere thanks and good wishes.

Centaine de Thiry Courtney She gave the package and letter to the driver of the lorry and set him on the track back to Windhoek. Because the track was now well blazed and all the difficult placeshad been made good, the truck was back within eight days. There was a tall elderly gentleman sitting up beside the driver in the cab.

May I introduce myself, Mrs Courtney? My name is Rupert Twenty-man-Jones. He looked more like an undertaker than a mining engineer. He even affected a black alpaca jacket with high collar and black string tie. His hair was dead black and sleeked down, but his sideburns were fluffy and white as cotton wool. His nose and the tips of his ears were eroded by rodent ulcers from the tropical sun so that they looked as though mice had been nibbling at them. There were bags under his eyes like those of a basset, and he wore the same lugubrious expression.

How do you do, Mr Jones. Dr Twenty-man-Jones, he corrected her mournfully. Double barrel, as in shotgun. I have a letter for you from Mr Abrahams. He handed it over like an eviction notice.

Thank you, Dr Twenty-man-jones. Won't you take a cup of tea while I read it?

Please do not be misled by the man's sad mien, Abraham.

Abrahams assured her in the letter. He was assistant to Doctor Merensky who discovered the elevated diamond terraces of the Spieregebied, and is now regularly consulted by the directors of the De Beers Consolidated Mines. if further evidence of his standing is required, consider the fact that his fee for this contract is 1,200 guineas.

I am assured by Colonel Courtney that both Mevrou Anna Stok and your son Michel are in astonishingly good health and all of them send their loving wishes and hopes for your swift return.

I am sending the stores you require, and after paying for these and settling Dr Twenty-man-Jones fee in advance, the balance standing to the credit of your account at the Standard Bank is `60. us. 6d. The deeds to your claims are safely deposited in the bank's strong room Centaine folded the letter carefully. Of her inheritance and the proceeds of the sale of H'ani's diamond, there was little over S-66 remaining, she did not even have the price of a fare back to Theuniskraal, unless she sold the vehicles.

However, Twenty-man-Jones had been paid and she could survive for three months longer on the stores she had in camp.

She looked up at him, sitting on her camp chair sipping hot tea. Twelve hundred guineas, sir, you must be goodVNo, madam,he shook his head mournfully. I am quite simply the best.

She led Twenty-man-jones through the cavern of the bees in the night, and when they emerged into the secret valley, he sat down on a rock and mopped his face with a handkerchief.

This really isn't good enough, madam. Something must be done about those revolting insects. We will have to get rid of them, I'm afraid.

No. Centaine's reply was swift and decisive. I want as little damage done to this place and its creatures as possible, until- Until, madam? Until we discover if it is necessary. I do not like bees. I swell most horribly from their stings. I will return the balance of the fees to you, and you can find another consultant. He began to stand up.

Wait! Centaine restrained him. I have explored the cliffs over there. There is a way to get into this valley over the crest. It will, unfortunately, mean rigging a bucket and pulley system from the top of the cliffs."That will greatly complicate my endeavours."Please, Dr Twenty-man-jones, without your help -'and he made grumpy little noncommittal noises and stumped off into the darkness, holding his lantern high.

As the dawn light strengthened, he began his preliminary survey. All that day as Centaine sat in the shade of the mongongo, she caught glimpses of his lanky figure striding here and there, chin against his chest, pausing every few minutes to pick up a chip of rock or a handful of soil, and then disappearing again amongst the trees and the rocks.

It was late afternoon before he returned to where she waited.

Well? she asked.

I you are asking for my opinion, madam, then you are a little premature. It will take me some months before- Months? Centaine cried out in alarm.

Certainly- and then he saw her face, and his voice dropped. You didn't pay me all that money for a guess. I have to open it up and see what's down there. That will take time and hard work. I will need all the labourers you have available, as well as those I have with me."I hadn't thought of that.

Tell me, Mrs Courtney, he asked gently, just what is it you are hoping to find here? She drew a deep breath and behind her back she made the sign of the horns, which Anna had taught her averted the evil eye.

Diamonds, she said, and was immediately terrified that saying it out aloud would bring the worst possible luck upon her.

Diamonds! Twenty-man-jones repeated, as though it was news of his father's death. We'll see."His expression was lugubrious. We'll see! When do we start? We, Mrs Courtney?

You will remain out of this place.

I do not allow anyone else around me when I am working."But, she protested, am I not allowed even to watch? That, Mrs Courtney, is a rule I never vary, you will have to contain yourself, I'm afraid So Centaine was banished from her valley, and the days in Lion Tree Camp passed slowly. From her stockade she could see Twenty-man-jones's labour gangs toiling up the cliff path under their loads of equipment to the summit and then disappearing over the crest.

After almost a month of waiting she made the ascent herself. It was an onerous and taxing climb, and she was aware of the load in her womb every step of the way.

However, from the top she had an exhilarating eagle's view of the plains that seemed to stretch to the ends of the earth, and when she looked down into the secret valley, it was as though she were looking into the very core of the earth.

The pulley and rope system from the lip of the cliff looked as insubstantial as a spider's thread, and she shuddered at the thought of stepping into the canvas bucket and being lowered down into the depths of the amphitheatre. Far below she could make out the antlike specks of the prospect teams and the mounds of earth they had thrown up from their potholes. She could even distinguish Twenty-man-Jones lank storklike gait as he passed from one to another of the prospects.

She sent down a note to him in the bucket. Sir, have you found anything? And the reply came back an hour later. Patience, madam, is one of the great virtues. That was the last time she went up the cliff, for the child seemed to be growing like a malignant turnour. She had borne Shasa with joy, but this pregnancy brought pain and discomfort and unhappiness. She found no surcease even in the books she had brought with her, for she found it difficult to concentrate to the end of a page.

Always her eyes would go up from the printed word to the cliff path, as though for sight of that lanky figure coming down to her.

The heat became every day more oppressive as the summer advanced into the suicide days of late November, and she could not sleep. She lay in her cot and sweated away the nights, then dragged herself out again in the dawn, feeling drained and depressed and lonely. She was eating too much, her only opiate against the boredom of those long sultry days. She had developed a craving for devilled kidneys, and Swart Hendrick hunted every day to bring them fresh to her.

Her belly swelled and the child grew huge, so that it forced her knees apart when she sat, and it buffeted her mercilessly, thumping and kicking and rolling inside her like a great fish struggling on the end of a line until she moaned, Be still, you little monster, oh God, how I long to be rid of you.

Then one afternoon, when she had almost despaired, Twenty-man-jones came down the mountain. Swart Hendrick saw him on the cliff path and came hurrying to her tent to warn her, so that she had time to rise from her cot, bathe her face and change her sweat-damp clothes.

When he strode into the stockade, she was seated at her camp table, concealing her great belly behind it, and she did not rise to greet him.

Well, madam, there is your report. He laid a thick folder on the table before her.

She untied the tapes and opened it. There, in his neat pedantic handwriting, was page after page of figures and numbers, and words she had never seen before. She turned the pages slowly while Twenty-man-Jones watched her sadly. Once he shook his head and looked as though he were about to speak, instead he pulled the handkerchief from his top pocket and noisily blew his nose.

Finally, she looked up at him.

I'm sorry, she whispered, I don't understand any of this. Explain it to me.

I'll be brief, madam. I sank forty-six prospect holes, each to a depth of fifty feet and sampled at six-foot intervals.

Yes, she nodded. But what did you find? I found that there is a layer of yellow ground overlaying the entire property to an average depth of thirty-five feet. Centaine felt dizzy and sick. Yellow ground sounded so ominous. Twenty-man-Jones broke off and blew his nose again. It was quite obvious to Centaine that he did not want to say the final words that would kill for ever her hopes and dreams.

Please, go on, she whispered.

Below this stratum we ran into- his voice fell and he looked as though his heart was aching for her -we ran into blue ground.

Centaine lifted her hand to her mouth, and she thought she would faint.

Blue ground. It sounded even worse than yellow ground, and the child heaved and struggled in her, and despair came down upon her like a flow of poisonous lava.

All for nothing, she thought, and she was no longer listening as he went on.

It's the classic pipe formation, of course, the decomposing breccia composite above with the harder impermeable slaty-blue formation below. So there were no diamonds after all, she said softly, and he stared at her.

Diamonds! Well, madam, I've worked out an average value of twenty-six carats to a hundred loads. I still don't understand, she shook her head stupidly. What does that mean, sir? What is a hundred loads? A hundred loads is approximately eighty tons of earth. And what does twenty-six carats mean? Madam, the Jagersfontein assays at eleven carats to a hundred loads, even the Wesselton goes only sixteen carats to a hundred loads, and they are the two richest diamond mines in the world. This property is almost twice as rich. So there are diamonds after all? She stared at him, and from the side pocket of his alpaca jacket he took a bundle of small buff-coloured envelopes, tied together with string, and placed these on top of the report folder.

Please do not mix them up, Mrs Courtney, the stones from each prospect hole are in separate envelopes, all carefully notated. With fingers that felt numb and swollen, she untied the string and fumbled open the top envelope. She poured the contents into her hand. Some of the stones were chips not much bigger than sugar grains, one was the size of a large ripe pea.

Diamonds? she asked again, wanting his assurance.

Yes, madam, and of peculiarly good quality on the average. She stared dumbly at the little pile of stones in her hand, they looked murky and small and mundane.

You will excuse the liberty, madam, but may I ask you a question? You might of course, choose not to answer. She nodded.

Are you a member of a syndicate, do you have partners in this venture? She shook her head.

You mean, you are the sole holder and owner of this property? That you discovered this pipe and pegged the claims entirely on your own account? She nodded again.

Then, he shook his head mournfully, at this moment, Mrs Courtney, you are probably one of the wealthiest women in the world.

Twenty-man-Jones remained at Lion Tree Camp for three days longer.

He went over every line of his report with her, explaining any item of which her understanding was unclear. He opened each of the packages of sample stones, and picked out unusual or typical diamonds with a pair of jeweller's forceps, laid them on the palm of her hand and pointed out their special features to her.

Some of these are so small, do they have any worth at all? She rolled the sugar-grain chips under the forefinger.

Those industrials, madam, will be your bread and butter. They will pay your costs. And the big jewellery grade stones, like this one, will be the jam on top of it all. Strawberry jam, madam, of the very best quality Crosse and Blackwell, if you like! It was as close as she ever heard him come to a witticism, and even then his expression was morose.

The last section of his report was twenty-one pages of recommendations for the exploitation of the property.

You are extremely fortunate, madam, to be able to open this pipe systematically. All the other great diamond pipes, from Kimberly to Wesselton, were pegged by hundreds of individual miners, and each started working independently of his neighbour's efforts. The results was utter chaos. He shook his head and tugged at his fluffy white sideburns mournfully. Hundreds of plots each thirty feet square all going down at different speeds, with roadway in between the a tangle of wires and pulleys and buckets connecting each to the lip. Chaos, madam, pandemonium! Costs inflated, men killed in cave-ins, thousands of extra labourers required, madness! He looked up at her. While you, madam, have here the opportunity of constructing a model working, and this report, he laid his hand upon it, explains exactly how you should do it. I have even surveyed the ground and put in numbered pegs to guide you. I have calculated your volumes of earth at each stage. I have laid out your first incline shaft for you, and explained how you should plan each level of excavation. Centaine broke in on his dissertation. Dr TwentymanJones, you keep saying "you". You don't expect me personally to perform all these complicated tasks, do you? Good Lord, no! You will have to have an engineer, a good man, with experience of earth-moving. Ultimately I envisage that you will be employing several engineers and many hundreds, possibly thousands, of men at thehe hesitated -do you have a name for the property? The Courtney Minc, perhaps? She shook her head. The H'ani Mine, she told him.

Unusual. What does it mean? It is the name of the San woman who guided me here."Very appropriate, then. Now, as I was saying, you will require a good engineer to put in hand the initial developments that I have outlined. Do you have a man in mind, sir? Difficult, he mused.

Most of the best men are employed permanently by De Beers, and of the others the one that comes to mind first was recently crippled in a blasting accident. He thought for a moment. Now then, I have heard good reports of a young Afrikaner chappie.

Never worked with him myself, damn me, what was his name again. Oh, yes, that's it. De La Rey! No! Centaine exclaimed violently. I'm sorry, madam. Do you know him? Yes. I don't want him."As you wish, I'll try and think of someone else. In her cot that night Centaine tossed from side to side, trying to get comfortable, trying to adjust the suffocating weight of the child so that she could sleep, and she thought of Twenty-man-Jones's suggestion and sat up slowly.

Why not? she said aloud in the darkness. He must return here, anyway. A stranger coming here at this time might see more than I would wish him to. And she cupped both hands under her belly. It need only be for the initial development stages. I'll write Abraham Abrahams right now and tell him to send Lothaff And she lit the lantern and waddled across the tent to her camp table.

In the morning Twentiman Jones was ready to leave, All his gear was packed into the back of the lorry and his black labourers were sitting on top of it.

Centaine handed him back the report.

Would you be so good as to give your report to my lawyer in Windhoek, sir, together with this letter? Of course, madam.

He will want to go over the report with you, and then, as I have instructed Mr Abrahams to solicit a loan from my bank, the bank-manager will probably want to speak to you as well, to have your views on the value of the property. I expected that, he nodded. You can rest assured that I will inform him of the enormous value of your discovery."Thank you. In this letter I have instructed Mr Abrahams to pay you from the loan an amount equal again to your original fee. That is unnecessary, madam, but very generous. You see, Dr Twenty-man-jones, at some future date I might wish to retain your services as a permanent consultant to the H'ani Mine, I wish you to have a good opinion of me. It does not require a fee for that, Mrs Courtney, I find you an extraordinarily plucky, intelligent and comely young lady. I would consider it an honour to work with you again. Then I will ask one final service of you. Anything, madam.

Please do not repeat anything of my personal circumstances that you may have observed here. His eyes dropped for just a fleeting instant to the front of her dress.

Discretion, madam, is not the least prerequisite of my profession. Besides which I would never do anything to injure a friend.

A good friend, Dr Twenty-man-Jones, she assured him, as she held out her right hand.

A very good friend, Mrs Courtney, he agreed, as he took her hand, and for one incredible moment she thought he was going to smile. But he controlled himself and turned from her to the waiting lorry.

Once again the journey and the return from Lion Tree Camp to Windhoek took her truck-driver eight days, and Centaine wondered more than once during that time if she had not left it too late. The child in her was big and urgent. Impatiently it demanded release, so that when she at last heard the distant beat of the motors of the returning vehicles, her relief was intense.

From the canvas flap she watched the arrival. In the lead truck rode Lothar De La Rey, and though she tried to ignore it, she felt her pulse quicken when she watched him climb down from the cab, tall and elegant and graceful, despite the dust and heat of the long journey.

The next traveller whom Lothar handed down from the truck took Centaine by surprise. A nun in habit and hood of the Benedictine order.

I told him a nurse, I didn't expect a sister, she muttered angrily. In the back of the truck were two young Nama girls. Golden-brown skins and pretty little cheerful pug faces, each of them with an infant on her hip, their breasts heavy with milk beneath the cotton print trade dresses they wore, so much alike that they must be sisters.

The wet nurses, she realized, and now that they were here, these brown strangers of another race that would give suck to her child, Centaine felt the first truly bitter pang of regret of what she must do.

Lothar came to her tent, his bearing still aloof and reserved, and handed her a packet of letters before introducing the nun to her.

This is Sister Amehana of the hospital of St Anne, he told her. She is of my mother's family, a cousin. She is a trained midwife, but she speaks only German. We can rely upon her completely. A gaunt, white-faced woman, Sister Arneliana had the smell of dried roses petals about her, and her eyes were frosty and disapproving as she looked at Centaine and said something to Lothar.

She wishes to examine you, Lothar translated. I will return later to discuss the work you have for my company. She does not like me. Centaine returned Sister Ameliana's flat hostile stare, and Lothar hesitated before he explained.

She does not approve of our bargain. Her whole life is devoted to the birth and care of babies. She does not understand how you can give up your own infant, as is apparent, neither do U Tell her that I do not like her either, but she is to perform the task- she came for and not place herself in judgment over me. Centaine- he protested.

Tell her, Centaine insisted, and they spoke rapidly in German before he turned back to Centaine.

She says that you understand each other. That is good.

She has come only for the child. As to judgment, she leaves that to our Heavenly Father. Tell her to get on with the examination then. After Sister Arneliana had finished and left, Centaine read her letters. There was one from Garry Courtney, full of all of Theuniskraalls news, and at the end he had affixed Shasa's inky thumbprint below his own signature with the notation: Michel Courtney, his mark. Anna's voluminous wad of notepaper, covered with her large ill-formed scrawl though difficult to decipher, left Centaine with a warm after-glow of pleasure.

Then she broke the seal of Abraham Abrahams's letter, the last in the package.

My dear Mrs Courtney, Your letter and Dr Twenty-man-Jones's intelligence have thrown me into a fever of incredulous amazement. I cannot find the words to express my admiration for your achievement nor the pleasure I feel for your great good fortune. However, I will not weary you with my felicitations and will come directly to business.

Dr Twenty-man-Jones and I have conducted extensive negotiations with the directors and managers of the Standard Bank, who have studied and evaluated the samples and report. The bank has agreed to make available to you a loan at 5% percent interest per annum in the sum of $100,000. You may draw upon this as you require it, and it is further agreed that this is merely a preliminary figure, and that additional amounts will be forthcoming to you in future. The loan is secured by the claim deeds of the H'ani Mine.

Dr Twenty-man-jones has also met with Mr Lothar De La Rey, and set out for him in detail the requirements of phase one of the development of the property.

Mr De La Rey has tendered a contract price of 5,000 pounds for the commission of this work. By Virtue of your authority, I have accepted this tender and delivered to him the initial payment of 11,000 f or which I hold his receipt Centaine skimmed through the rest of the letter, smiling at Abrahams's comment: I have sent you the stores you required. However, I am much intrigued by the two dozen mosquito nets you have asked for. Perhaps one day you will explain what you intend to do with these, and thereby allay my burning curiosity.

Then she set the letter aside for later rereading and sent for Lothar.

He came immediately. Sister Ameliana assures me that all is well, that the pregnancy proceeds naturally without any complication, and that it is very nearly over. Centaine nodded and indicated the camp chair facing her.

I have not yet congratulated you on your discovery, he said as he sat down. Doctor Twenty-man-jones puts a conservative value on your mining property Of S,3,000,000 sterling. It almost surpasses belief, Centaine. She inclined her head slightly and told him in a straight and level voice, As you are working for me and because of the circumstances of our personal relationship, I believe the correct address in future will be Mrs Courtney. The use of my given name suggests a familiarity that no longer exists between us. His smile shrivelled and died. He remained silent.

You wish me to begin at once, not after the birth? At once, sir, she said sharply, and I will personally oversee the clearing of the tunnel that leads into the valley, which is the first step. We will begin tomorrow night.

By dusk they were ready. The pathway leading up the valley to the entrance of the cavern of the bees had been cleared and widened, and Lothar's labour gangs had carried up the cords of mopani wood and stacked -them at hand.

It was as though the bees of the great hive were aware of the threat, for as the sun set, its rays were shot through with the darting golden motes of the swift little insects, and the heated air trapped between the cliffs vibrated with the hum of their wings as they swirled about the heads of the sweating labourers. If it had not been for the protective mosquito nets, it was certain that all of them would have been stung repeatedly.

As the darkness fell, however, the flights of disturbed insects vanished back into the depths of the cavern. Centaine allowed an hour to pass, for the hive to quieten and settle for the night, then she told Lothar quietly, You can light the smoke-pots. Four men, Lothar's most reliable, bent over their pots.

These were five-pound bully-beef cans, the sides perforated, the insides packed with charcoal and the herbs which Centaine had pointed out to them for gathering.

The secret of the herbs was a legacy to her from O'wa, and she thought of the old Bushman now as they lit the smoke-pots and the acrid odour of burning herbs prickled her nostrils. Lothar's men were swinging the smoke-pots on short lengths of wire, to fan the charcoal. They reminded Centaine of the incense-bearers in the Easter procession to the cathedral of Arras on Good Friday.

When all four smoke-pots were burning evenly, Lothar gave a quiet order to his men and they moved towards the entrance of the cavern. In the lantern light, they looked like wraiths. Their lower bodies were protected by heavy calf boots and leather breeches, while over their heads and torsos were draped the ghostly white mosquito nets. One by one they stooped into the entrance of the cavern, thick blue smoke boiling up from the swinging smoke-pots.

Centaine let another hour pass before she and Lothar followed them into the cavern.

The acrid smoke had fogged the interior so that she could only see a few paces ahead, and the eddying blue clouds made her giddy and nauseated. However, the dynamo hum of the great hive had been lulled by the smoke. The multitudes of glittering insects hung in drugged clusters from the ceiling and the honeycombs. There was only a sleepy whisper of sound.

Centaine hurried out of the cavern and lifted the net from her sweating face, drinking down draughts of the cool sweet night air to still her nausea, and when she could speak again, she told Lothar, They can begin stacking the cordwood now, but warn them not to disturb the combs. They hang low from the roof. She did not enter the dark cavern again, but sat aside while Lothar's men carried in the cords of mopani.

It was after midnight when he came out to report to her.

It is ready. I want you to take your men and go down to the bottom of the valley. Stay there for two hours, and then return."I don't understand."I want to be alone here for a while. She sat alone and listened to their voices receded down into the dark gut of the valley. When it was silent, she looked up and there was O'wa's star above the valley.

Spirit of great Lion Star, she whispered, will you forgive this thing? She stood up, and moved heavily to the cliff face.

Standing below it she raised the lantern high over her head and stared up at the gallery of Bushman painting that glowed in the yellow light. The shadows wavered so that the giant paintings of Eland and Mantis seemed to pulse with life.

Spirit of Eland and of Mantis, forgive me. All you guardians of the "Place where nothing must die" forgive me for this slaughter. I do it not for myself but to provide good water for the child who was born in your secret place. She went back to the entrance of the cavern, moving heavily with child and remorse and guilt.

Spirits of O'wa and of H'ani, are You watching? Will you withdraw your protection once this is done? Will you still love and protect us, Nam Child and Shasa, after this terrible betrayal?

She sank down on her knees and prayed in silence to all the spirits of all the San gods and she did not realize that two hours had passed until she heard the voices of the men coming back up the valley.

Lothar De La Rey held a can of gasoline in each hand as he stood before her at the entrance to the cavern.

Do it! she said, and he went into the cavern of the bees.

She heard the clank of a knife-blade piercing the thin metal of the cans, and then the gurgle of running liquid.

The pungent stench of raw gasoline flooded from the dark narrow entrance in the rock, and in her ears was the sound of a million bees roused from their smoke-drugged stupor by the reek.

Lothar came out of the cavern, running backwards, spilling the last of the gasoline on the rocky floor, leaving a wet trail behind him, then dropped the empty can and ran back past her.

Quickly! he panted. Before the bees come out! Already bees were darting about in the lantern light, settling on the netting that screened her face, and more and still more boiled from the apertures in the cliff face above her.

Centaine backed away, and then swung the lantern over her head and hurled it into the entrance of the cavern. The lantern bounced off the rock, the glass shattered and it rolled over the uneven floor. The little yellow flame flickered and was almost snuffed from the wick and then suddenly the spilled gasoline caught. in a whooshing implosion that seemed to rock the earth beneath Centaine's feet and which hurled her backwards, a great breath of flame shot down the mountain's throat and its gaping mouth filled with fire. The cavern was shaped like a blast furnace, a gale of wind was sucked into it and red flames shot from the openings high up in the cliff-face, burning like fifty torches, illuminating the valley with noon light. The rushing wind swiftly drowned out the agonized din of a million burning bees, and within seconds there remained only the steady roar of the flames.

As the stacked mopani timbers caught and burned, she could feel the heat leap out at her like a savage thing, and Centaine backed away from it and gazed with a horrid fascination at the destruction. From the fiery cavern she heard a new sound that puzzled her, the sound of soft heavy weights thudding to the stone floor, almost as though many living bodies were dropping from the roof of the cavern. She did not understand what it was until she saw a snake of dark liquid, slow and viscous as oil, creep out of the cavern's entrance.

Honey! she whispered. The honeycombs are melting! Those huge combs, the product of a century of labour by a myriad bees, were softening in the heat and falling, a hundredweight at a time, from the high roof into the flames below. The trickle of molten honey and wax turned into a running rivulet, then into a flood of boiling

steaming liquid that seethed in the ruddy furnace glow.

The hot sweet stench of boiling honey seemed to thicken the air, and the flood of molten gold drove Centaine back before it.

Oh God, she whispered, oh God, forgive me for what I have done.

Centaine stood by as the flames burned through the rest of that night, and in the dawn light the cliffs were blackened with soot, the cavern was a ruined black maw and the floor of the valley was coated thickly with a caramelized layer of black sticky sugar.

When Centaine staggered wearily into the stockade of Lion Tree Camp, Sister Amehana was waiting to help her to her cot, and to bathe the sugar-reeking soot from her face and body.

An hour after noon, Centaine went into labour.

It was more like mortal combat than giving birth.

Centaine and the child fought each other through the rest of that burning afternoon and on into the night.

I will not cry out, Centaine muttered through clenched teeth, you will not make me cry, damn you And the pain came in waves that made her think of the high surf of the Atlantic breaking on the barren beaches of the Skeleton Coast. She rode them, from their crests into the depths of each sickening trough.

Each time, at the pinnacle of pain, she tried to struggle up into the squatting birthing stance that H'ani had taught her, but Sister Ameliana pushed her down on to her back, and the child was locked within her.

I hate you, she snarled at the nun, and the sweat burned her eyes and blinded her. I hate you, and I hate this thing inside me. And the child felt her hatred and ripped at her, twisting its limbs to block her.

Out! she hissed. Get out of me! and she longed to feel H'ani's thin strong arms around her, sharing the strain as she bore down.

Once Lothar asked at the tent, How does it go, Sister?

It's a terrible thing, she fights like The nun replied, a warrior, not a mother. Two hours before dawn in one last spasm that seemed to cleave through her spine and separate the joints of her thighs from her pelvis, Centaine forced out the child's head, big and round as a cannon-ball, and a minute later the birth cry rang out into the night.

You cried, she whispered triumphantly, not me! As she subsided on to the strength and resolve and r, so she was left an empty, aching husk.

hatred flowed out of he When Centaine awoke, Lothar was standing at the foot of her cot. The dawn was lighting the canvas of the tent behind him, so he was in dark silhouette only. It's a boy, he told her.

You have a son."No, she croaked. Not mine. He's yours. A son, she thought, a boy, part of me, part of my body, blood of my blood. His hair will be gold, Lothar said. I didn't want to know, that was our bargain. So his hair will burn in the sunlight, she thought, and will he be as beautiful as his father? His name is Manfred, after my firstborn."Call him what you will, she whispered, and take him far away from me. Manfred, my son, and she felt her heart breaking, tearing like silk in her chest.

He is at the nurse's breast now, she can bring him to you if you wish to see him. Never. I never want to see him. That was our bargain.

Take him away. And her swollen untapped breasts ached to give suck to her golden-headed son.

Very welP He waited for a minute for her to speak again, but she turned her face away from him. Sister Ameliana will take him with her. They are ready to leave for Windhoek immediately. Tell her to go, and let her take your bastard with her. The light was behind him, so she could not see his face.

He turned and left the tent and minutes later she heard the motor of the truck, as it started and then dwindled away a cross the plain.

She lay in the quiet tent watching the sunrise through the green canvas of the wall. She breathed the flinty desert air that she loved, but it was tainted by the sweet odour of blood, the birth blood of her son, or was it the blood of a little old San woman clotting and congealing in the hot Kalahari sun? The image of H'ani's blood on the rocks changed in her mind's eye, and became dark seething puddles of boiling honey running like water from the sacred places of the San, and the choking sugary smoke blotted out the smell of blood.

Through the smoke she thought she saw H'ani's little heart-shaped face peering sadly out at her.

Shasa, my baby, may you always find good water. But his image smudged also and his dark hair turned to gold. You, too, my little one, I wish you good water also. But it was Lothar's face now, or was it Michael's face - she was no longer certain. f her I'm so alone! she cried into the silent spaces o soul. And I don't want to be alone Then she remembered the words: At this moment, Mrs Courtney, you are probably one of the wealthiest women in the world. She thought, I would give it all, every single diamond in the H'ani Mine, for the right to love a man, and have him love me, for the chance to have both my babies, both my sons, for ever at my side.

She crushed down the thought angrily. Those are the woolly sentimental notions of a weak and cowardly woman. You are sick and weary. You will sleep now, she told herself harshly. And tomorrow- she closed her eyes -you will be brave again, tomorrow.

The End

Wilbur Smith was born in Central Africa in 1933. He was educated at Michaelhouse and Rhodes University. He became a full-time writer in 1964 after the successful publication of When the Lion Feeds, and has since written twenty-four novels, meticulously researched on his numerous expeditions worldwide. His work is now translated into twenty-five languages. He normally travels from November to February, often spending a month skiing in Switzerland, and visiting Australia and New Zealand for sea fishing. During his summer break he visits environments as diverse as Alaska and the dwindling wilderness of the African interior. He has an abiding concern for the peoples and wildlife of his native continent, an interest strongly reflected in his novels.

He is married to Danielle, to whom his last twenty books have been dedicated.

The novels of Wilbur Smith

The Courtney Novels:

When the Lion Feeds

The Sound of Thunder

A Sparrow Falls

The Burning Shore

Power of the Sword

Rage

A Time to Die

The Ballantyne Novels:

A Falcon Flies

Men of Men

The Angels Weep

The Leopard Hunts in Darkness

Also:

The Dark of the Sun

Shout at the Devil

Gold Mine

The Diamond Hunters

The Sunbird

Eagle in the Sky

The Eye of the Tiger

Cry Wolf

Hungry as the Sea

Wild justice

Golden Fox

Elephant Song

River God

Power of the Sword