Some mornings Louisa left George in the care of Sarah and Intepe, the lily, while she and Verity went out riding. This was an arrangement that suited George very well. Grandmama Sarah was an unending source of biscuits, toffee and other delights. She was also a captivating raconteur. Gentle Intepe was in George’s thrall and obeyed his lordly instructions without quibble. She was now Zama’s wife and had already borne him one lusty son. The baby was still at her breast, but her older boy was George’s liege man. Zama had made for each of them a miniature bow, and a sharpened stick to use as a spear. They spent a great amount of time hunting around the perimeter of the camp. To date they had only achieved one kill: a fieldmouse had made the mistake of running under George’s feet and, in an effort to avoid it, he had stood on its head. They cooked the tiny carcass in the flames of a large fire they built expressly for the purpose, and devoured the scorched, blackened flesh with relish.
These seemed idyllic days, but they were not. A dark shadow hung over the camp. Even in the midst of laughter the women would fall suddenly silent and look back along the wagon track that led down to the coast. When they mentioned the names of the men they loved, which they did often, their eyes were sad. In the night they started up at the whicker of one of the horses, or the sound of hoofs in the darkness. They called from one wagon to the other: “Did you hear aught, Mother?”
“It was only one of our own horses, Louisa. Sleep now. Jim will come soon.”
“Are you well, Verity?”
“As well as you, but I miss Mansur as much as you miss Jim.”
“Do not fret, girls,” Sarah calmed them. “They are Courtneys and they are tough. They’ll be back soon.”
Every four or five days a rider came up from Fort Auspice with a leather satchel over his shoulder that contained letters for them. His arrival was the highlight of their lives. Each of the women seized the letter addressed to her and rushed to her own wagon to read it alone. They emerged much later, flushed and smiling, filled with ephemeral high spirits to discuss the news they had received. Then they began the long, lonely wait until the rider came again.
Intepe’s grandfather, Tegwane, was the night-watchman. At his age he slept little and took his duties seriously. He prowled endlessly around the wagons on his stork-thin legs with his spear over his shoulder. Zama was the camp overseer. He had eight men under him, including the wagon drivers and the armed askari. Izeze, the flea, was growing into a robust youth, and a fine musket shot. He was the sergeant of the guard. On Jim’s orders Inkunzi had moved all the cattle herds up from the coast into the hills where they would be safe from any incursion by Zayn al-Din’s expeditionary force. He and all his Nguni herders were close at hand if any emergency arose.
After twenty-eight days in the river camp the women should have felt secure, but they did not. They should have been able to sleep soundly, but they were not. The premonition of evil hung over them all.
That particular night Louisa had not been able to sleep. She had hung a blanket over George’s cot to shield him from the light, while she lay on the cardell bed propped up on her pillows and read Henry Fielding by the light of the oil lamp. Suddenly she cast aside the book and rushed to the afterclap of the wagon. She pulled open the curtains and listened until she was certain, then she called, “Rider coming. It must be the mail.”
The lamps in the other wagons flared as the wicks were turned up, and all three women jumped down and stood in a huddle in front of the kitchen. They were talking excitedly as Zama and Tegwane piled logs on the fire and a shower of sparks flew upwards.
Sarah was the first to grow uneasy. “There is more than one horse.” She cocked her head to listen.
“Do you think it may be the men?” Louisa asked eagerly.
“I don’t know.”
“Perhaps we should take precautions,” Verity suggested. “We should not presume that because they are mounted and come without stealth they are friendly.”
“Verity is right. Louisa, fetch Georgie! Everyone else into the kitchen! We will lock ourselves in there until we know who they are.”
Louisa gathered up the skirts of her nightgown and raced back to her wagon, her long pale hair flying out behind her. Intepe came running from her hut with her children, and Sarah and Verity shepherded them into the kitchen. Sarah snatched a musket from the rack and stood at the doorway.
“Hurry, Louisa!” she shouted urgently. The sound of hoofs swelled louder, and out of the night galloped a large band of horsemen. They charged into the camp and reined in, their horses milling about, knocking over buckets and chairs, kicking up a haze of dust in the firelight.
“Who are you?” Sarah called sharply, still standing foursquare in the doorway. “What do you want with us?”
The leader of the band rode towards her and pushed his hat on to the back of his head so that she could see he was a white man. “Put down that gun, woman. Get all your people out here in the open. I am taking charge here.”
Verity stepped up beside Sarah. “It’s my father,” she told Sarah softly. “Guy Courtney.”
“Verity, you treacherous child. Come out of there. You have much to answer for.”
“You leave her be, Guy Courtney. Verity is under my protection.”
Guy laughed bitterly as he recognized her. “Sarah Beatty, my beloved sister-in-law. It’s been many a long year since we parted.”
“Not long enough for my taste,” Sarah told him grimly. “I’ll have you know that I am no longer Beatty, but Mrs. Tom Courtney. Now be gone and leave us alone.”
“You should not boast of marriage to such a black rogue and lecher, Sarah. However, I cannot leave so soon. You have in your possession things that have been stolen from me. My gold and my daughter. I have come to reclaim them.”
“You will have to kill me before you get your hands on either of them.”
“That would cause me no hardship, I assure you.” He laughed again and looked back at Peters. “Tell the men to search the wagons.”
“Stop!” Sarah raised the musket.
“Shoot!” Guy invited her. “But I swear it will be the last thing you ever do.”
While Sarah hesitated, Guy’s men jumped off their horses and rushed to the wagons. There was a shout and Peters told Guy, “They have found the gold chests.”
Then there was a scream and two of the Arabs dragged Louisa from her wagon. She had George in her arms and she was struggling wildly with her captors. “Leave me! Leave my baby.”
“Who is this brat?” Guy reached down, grabbed the child by one arm and tore him from Louisa’s grip. He looked at Sarah across the fire. “Do you know anything about this little bastard?”
Verity tugged surreptitiously at the back of Sarah’s nightdress, and whispered urgently, “Don’t let him know what George means to you. He will use him ruthlessly.”
“So, my darling daughter is conniving with her father’s enemies. Shame on you, child.” His eyes swivelled back to Sarah’s face. He saw that it had turned frosty pale, and he smiled coldly. “No relation of yours, Sarah? You make no claim to him? Then let’s get rid of him.”
He leaned from the saddle and dangled George over the flames of the campfire. The child felt the heat on his bare legs and shrieked at the pain. Louisa screamed as loudly, and Verity shouted, “No, Daddy, please let him go.”
“No, Guy, no.” Sarah’s reaction was the strongest of all. She rushed forward. “He is my grandson. Please, do not hurt him. We will do as you say, only let Georgie go.”
“That is so much more reasonable.” Guy lifted the child away from the flames.
“Give him to me, Guy.” Sarah held up both arms to him. “Please, Guy.”
“Please, Guy!” He mimicked her. “That is much more civil. But I fear I must keep young George with me to make certain that you do not have a change of heart. Now, I want all your servants to throw down their weapons and come out from wherever they are hiding with their hands over their heads. Give them the order!”
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bsp; “Zama! Tegwane! Izeze! All of you. Do as he says,” Sarah ordered. They came shuffling out reluctantly from among the wagons and the surrounding trees. Guy’s men grabbed their muskets, tied their hands behind their backs and led them away.
“Now, Sarah, you, Verity and this other wench,” he pointed at Louisa, “get back inside the hut. Remember, I have this fine fellow with me.” He pinched George’s cheek between his nails until the tender skin tore and the child shrieked in pain. The women struggled in the arms of the men who held them, but they were dragged back into the kitchen. The door slammed shut, and two of Guy’s men stood guard over it.
Guy swung down from the saddle and threw his reins to one of the men. He dragged George along with him and when the child balked he stooped over him and shook him until his teeth rattled together and he lost his breath so that he could no longer yell. “Shut your mouth, you little swine, or I will shut it for you.” He straightened up and called to Peters, “Tell them to unload the gold chests. I want to check the contents for myself.”
It took longer than Guy expected for his men to manhandle the heavy crates out of the wagons and unscrew the lids, but when he stood over them at last and gazed down on the shining yellow bars his face took on a deeply religious expression. “It’s all here,” he whispered dreamily, “every last ounce.” Then he roused himself. “Now, it remains only to get it safely back to the ships. We will need at least two of these wagons.” He tucked George under one arm, and strode across to where the servants huddled under armed guard. “Which of you are the wagon drivers?” He picked them out. “Go with my men and bring in your oxen. Inspan them to these two wagons. Work quickly. If you try to escape you will be shot.”
As soon as the kitchen door slammed shut behind them Sarah turned to the girls. Verity was pale but calm. Louisa was shaking and weeping softly.
“Verity, you stay by the door and warn us if anyone tries to open it.” She put one arm round Louisa. “Come, darling, be brave. This won’t help George.”
Louisa straightened her shoulders and sniffed back her tears. “What do you want me to do?”
“Help me.” Sarah went across to the military chest that stood against the side wall. She rummaged in the bottom drawer and brought out a blue leather case. When she opened it a pair of silver duelling pistols lay in their velvet-lined nests. “Tom taught me to shoot with these.” She handed one to Louisa. “Help me load.”
Now that she had a task, Louisa pulled herself together quickly and loaded the weapon with swift, sure hands. Sarah had watched her at practice and knew that Jim had made her an expert shot.
“Hide it in your bodice,” Sarah ordered, and tucked the other pistol down the front of her night clothes. She went back to the door and listened. “Have you heard anything?”
“The two Arab guards are talking,” Verity whispered back.
“What are they saying?”
“There has been fighting at the bay. They are very worried. While they were on the road here they heard the sound of a battle raging behind them, heavy cannon fire and a number of explosions that they think were Zayn’s ships blowing up. They are discussing deserting my father and trying to make a run for it to the coast. They don’t want to be abandoned here if Zayn is defeated.”
“So all is not lost, then. Tom and Dorian are still fighting.”
“It sounds as if that is what is happening,” Verity agreed.
“Keep listening, Verity. I want to try the window.”
Sarah left her at the door and placed a chair under the single high window. While Louisa held it steady she climbed on to it. She lifted aside the edge of the kudu-skin curtain that covered it, and peered out.
“Can you see George?” Louisa’s voice shook.
“Yes, Guy has him. He looks frightened but not badly hurt.”
“My poor baby,” Louisa sobbed.
“Now, don’t start that again,” Sarah snapped. To keep the minds of the two girls occupied, she began a commentary of all that she could see taking place outside. “They are unloading the gold chests from the wagons and opening the lids. Guy is checking them.”
She described how, once the chests had been sealed and reloaded into the two wagons, the drivers brought in the ox teams and, under the scrutiny of Guy’s henchmen, inspanned them.
“They are ready to leave,” Sarah said with relief. “Guy has all that he came for. Surely he must give George back to us now and leave us in peace.”
“I don’t think he will do that, Aunt,” Verity disagreed reluctantly. “I think we are his passport back to the coast. From what I overheard the guards saying, our men are still fighting. My father will know that as long as he has us women and Georgie as his hostages they will be powerless to attack him.”
Within minutes she was proved right. There was a tramp of feet outside and the door was thrown open. Five Arabs crowded through it and one spoke harshly to Verity. She translated for the others: “He says we must dress quickly in warmer clothes and be ready to leave at once.”
They were led to their wagons and the guards stood over them as they pulled on heavy coats over their nightdresses and hastily threw a few necessities into a valise. Then the three were led out to where horses had been saddled for them. The two wagons carrying the gold were drawn up one behind another, pointed back along the track. Guy was at the head of his men.
“Let me take George from you,” Sarah pleaded.
“Once, long ago, you played me for the fool, Sarah Beatty. It will not happen again. I shall keep your grandson firmly under my hand.” He drew the dagger from the sheath on his belt and held the blade to George’s throat. The child was too terrified to cry out. “You must not doubt for a minute that I shall slit his throat without compunction if you give me cause. If we meet Tom or Dorian or any of their vile brood on the road you will tell them that. Now hold your tongue.”
They mounted the horses that Zama, Izeze and Tegwane were holding for them. As Louisa settled on Trueheart’s back she leaned forward and whispered to Zama, “Where are Intepe and her children?”
“I have sent them into the forest,” he answered quietly. “No one tried to stop them.”
“Thank God for that at least.”
Guy called out the order to advance, and Peters repeated it in a loud voice. The trek whips popped and the wagons rolled forward. Guy led the convoy, with George carried awkwardly on his hip. The escort of Arabs forced the women to follow close behind him. They crowded them together so that their knees touched. The rumble of the wheels and the creak and rattle of equipment covered Sarah’s voice as she whispered to the girls, “Have you the pistol ready, Louisa?”
“Yes, Mother. I have my hand upon it.”
“Good. Then this is what we must do.” She went on speaking softly, and the two girls murmured acknowledgement. “Wait for my word,” Sarah warned them. “Our only chance is to take them by surprise. We must act in concert to have any chance of success.”
The cavalcade wound down the hills towards the littoral. The horses were constrained to the speed of the plodding oxen. After a while nobody spoke. Captors and prisoners rode in a lethargic silence, which slowly became torpor. George had long ago sunk into an exhausted sleep. His head lolled on Guy’s shoulder. Every time Sarah looked at him her heart squeezed with dread.
Every once in a while she would reach across and touch one of the girls to keep them awake and alert. She had been studying the horses that the Arab captors rode. They were thin and in poor condition, and she guessed they had endured a long, debilitating voyage in small ships. They would be no match for the mounts that she and the girls rode. Of their three horses Trueheart was the swiftest. Louisa was a light weight to carry and she and Trueheart would run away from any of them, even if she was carrying George with her.
The Arab riding next to Sarah let his head drop forward on his chest. He started to slide sideways out of the saddle. Sarah knew that he had fallen asleep. Before he toppled from his horse’s back, the man’s head fl
ew up as he woke with a start.
They are all exhausted, Sarah told herself. They have had no rest since they left the coast. Their horses are in no better case. It is nearly time for us to break away, and make a run for it.
In the moonlight she recognized this section of the road. They were approaching a ford over one of the tributaries of the main river. On the outward journey up from Fort Auspice, Zama and his men had spent days digging out the banks. It was a narrow and steep crossing that the wagons could only negotiate with difficulty. She knew that they would not find a better place at which to make the break. She estimated that there was still an hour of darkness to cover their escape, and by that time she hoped they would be clear of the weakened, exhausted horses of their pursuers.
She reached stealthily across to each of the girls in turn. She squeezed their hands and shook them lightly to alert them. The three pressed their mounts gently and moved up together until they were riding within touching distance of the rump of Guy’s horse.
Sarah reached under her coat and slipped the duelling pistol out of her bodice. She used the folds of her sheepskin coat to muffle the click as she drew back the hammer to half-cock. The trigger of the weapon was set very lightly and she dared not cock it fully until the moment of firing. Fifty yards ahead she saw the gap in the river bank appear out of the darkness, with the road running down into it. She waited until Guy reined in his horse as he studied the cutting that led down to the ford.
Before Guy could call out, Sarah deliberately rode into his horse. The girls on each side of her pressed forward, and for a moment there was confusion as the horses bumped each other and milled about.
“Keep your damned horses under control,” Guy exclaimed with annoyance.
Then another voice roared from the darkness of the cutting just ahead. “Stand where you are! I have fifty muskets loaded with goose-shot trained on you.”