Birds of Prey Page 22

  And that takes care of that, thought the Buzzard, as he bowed his head in reluctant acquiescence.

  Three days later they put Colonel Schreuder and his three companies of seasick musketeers ashore on a deserted beach and watched them march away into the African wilderness in a long untidy column.

  The African night was hushed but never silent. When Hal paused on the narrow path, his father’s light footfalls dwindled ahead of him, and Hal could hear the soft sounds of myriad life that teemed in the forest around him: the warbling call of a night bird, more hauntingly beautiful than ever musician coaxed from stringed instrument; the scrabbling of rodents and other tiny mammals among the dead leaves and the sudden murderous cry of the small feline predators that hunted them; the singing and hum of the insects and the eternal soughing of the wind. All were part of the hidden choir in this temple of Pan.

  The beam of the storm lantern disappeared ahead of him, and now he stepped out to catch up. When they had left the encampment, his father had ignored his question, but when at last they emerged from the forest at the foot of the hills, he knew where they were going. The stones that still marked the Lodge within which he had taken his vows formed a ghostly circle in the glow of the waning moon. At the entry to it Sir Francis went down on one knee and bowed his head in prayer. Hal knelt beside him.

  ‘Lord God, make me worthy,’ Hal prayed. ‘Give me the strength to keep the vows I made here in your name.’

  His father lifted his head at last. He stood up, took Hal’s hand and raised him to his feet. Then, side by side, they stepped into the circle and approached the altar stone. ‘In Arcadia habito!’ Sir Francis said, in his deep, lilting voice, and Hal gave the response.

  ‘Flumen sacrum bene cognosco!’

  Sir Francis set the lantern upon the tall stone and, in its yellow light, they knelt again. For a long while they prayed in silence, until Sir Francis looked up at the sky. ‘The stars are the ciphers of the Lord. They light our comings and our goings. They guide us across uncharted oceans. They hold our destiny in their coils. They measure the number of our days.’

  Hal’s eyes went immediately to his own particular star, Regulus. Timeless and unchanging it sparkled in the sign of the Lion.

  ‘Last night I cast your horoscope,’ Sir Francis told him. ‘There is much that I cannot reveal, but this I can tell you. The stars hold a singular destiny in store for you. I was not able to fathom its nature.’

  There was a poignancy in his father’s tone, and Hal looked at him. His features were haggard, the shadows beneath his eyes deep and dark. ‘If the stars are so favourably inclined, what is it that troubles you, Father?’

  ‘I have been harsh to you. I have driven you hard.’

  Hal shook his head. ‘Father—’

  But Sir Francis quieted him with a hand on his arm. ‘You must remember always why I did this to you. If I had loved you less, I would have been kinder to you.’ His grip on Hal’s arm tightened as he felt Hal draw breath to speak. ‘I have tried to prepare you and give you the knowledge and strength to meet that particular destiny that the stars have in store for you. Do you understand that?’

  ‘Yes. I have known this all along. Aboli explained it to me.’

  ‘Aboli is wise. He will be with you when I have gone.’

  ‘No, Father. Do not speak of that.’

  ‘My son, look to the stars,’ Sir Francis replied, and Hal hesitated, uncertain of his meaning. ‘You know which is my own star. I have shown it to you a hundred times before. Look for it now in the sign of the Virgin.’

  Hal raised his face to the heavens, and turned it to the east where Regulus still showed, bright and clear. His eyes ran on past it into the sign of the Virgin, which lay close beside the Lion, and he gasped, his breath hissing through his lips with superstitious dread.

  His father’s sign was slashed from one end to the other by a scimitar of flame. A fiery red feather, red as blood.

  ‘A shooting star,’ he whispered.

  ‘A comet,’ his father corrected him. ‘God sends me a warning. My time here draws to its close. Even the Greeks and the Romans knew that the heavenly fire is the portent of disaster, of war and famine and plague, and the death of kings.’

  ‘When?’ Hal asked, his voice heavy with dread.

  ‘Soon,’ replied Sir Francis. ‘It must be soon. Most certainly before the comet has completed its transit of my sign. This may be the last time that you and I will be alone like this.’

  ‘Is there nothing that we can do to avert this misfortune? Can we not fly from it?’

  ‘We do not know whence it comes,’ Sir Francis said gravely. ‘We cannot escape what has been decreed. If we run, then we will certainly run straight into its jaws.’

  ‘We will stay to meet and fight it, then,’ said Hal, with determination.

  ‘Yes, we will fight,’ his father agreed, ‘even if the outcome has been ordained. But that was not why I brought you here. I want to hand over to you, this night, your inheritance, those legacies both corporal and spiritual which belong to you as my only son.’ He took Hal’s face between his hands and turned it to him so that he looked into his eyes.

  ‘After my death, the rank and style of baronet, accorded to your great-grandfather, Charles Courtney, by good Queen Bess after the destruction of the Spanish Armada, falls upon you. You will become Sir Henry Courtney. You understand that?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘Your pedigree has been registered at the College of Arms in England.’ He paused as a savage cry echoed down the valley, the sawing of a leopard hunting along the cliffs in the moonlight. As the dreadful rasping roars died away Sir Francis went on quietly, ‘It is my wish that you progress through the Order until you attain the rank of Nautonnier Knight.’

  ‘I will strive towards that goal, Father.’

  Sir Francis raised his right hand. The band of gold upon his second finger glinted in the lantern light. He twisted it off, and held it to catch the moonlight. ‘This ring is part of the regalia of the office of Nautonnier.’ He took Hal’s right hand, and tried the ring on his second finger. It was too large, so he placed it on his son’s forefinger. Then he opened the high collar of his cloak, and exposed the great seal of his office that lay against his breast. The tiny rubies in the eyes of the lion rampant of England, and the diamond stars above it, sparkled softly in the uncertain light. He lifted the chain of the seal from around his own neck, held it high over Hal’s head and then lowered it onto his shoulders. ‘This seal is the other part of the regalia. It is your key to the Temple.’

  ‘I am honoured but humbled by the trust you place in me.’

  ‘There is one other part to the spiritual legacy I leave for you,’ Sir Francis said, as he reached into the folds of his cloak. ‘It is the memory of your mother.’ He opened his hand and in his palm lay a locket bearing a miniature of Edwina Courtney.

  The light was not strong enough for Hal to make out the detail of the portrait, but her face was graven in his mind and in his heart. Wordlessly he placed it in the breast pocket of his doublet.

  ‘We should pray together for the peace of her soul,’ said Sir Francis quietly, and both bowed their heads. After many minutes Sir Francis again raised his head. ‘Now, it remains only to discuss the earthly inheritance that I leave to you. There is firstly High Weald, our family manor in Devon. You know that your uncle Thomas administers the house and lands in my absence. The deeds of title are with my lawyer in Plymouth …’ Sir Francis went on speaking for a long while, listing and detailing his possessions and estates in England. ‘I have written all this in my journal for you, but that book may be lost or plundered before you can study it. Remember all that I have told you.’

  ‘I will not forget any of it,’ Hal assured him.

  ‘Then there are the prizes we have taken on this cruise. You were with me when we cached the spoils from both the Heerlycke Nacht and from the Standvastigheid.When you return with that booty to England, be sure to pay over to
each man of the crew the share he has earned.’

  ‘I will do so without fail.’

  ‘Pay also every penny of the Crown’s share to the King’s customs officers. Only a rogue would seek to cheat his sovereign.’

  ‘I will not fail to render to my king.’

  ‘I should never rest easy if I were to know that all the riches that I have won for you and my king were to be lost. I require you to make an oath on your honour as a Knight of the Order,’ Sir Francis said. ‘You must swear that you will never reveal the whereabouts of the spoils to any other person. In the difficult days that lie ahead of us, while the red comet rules my sign and dictates our affairs, there may be enemies who will try to force you to break this oath. You must bear always in the forefront of your mind the motto of our family. Durabo! I shall endure.’

  ‘On my honour, and in God’s name, I shall endure,’ Hal promised. The words slipped lightly over his tongue. He could not know then that when they returned to him their weight would be grievous and heavy enough to crush his heart.

  For his entire military career Colonel Cornelius Schreuder had campaigned with native troops rather than with men of his own race and country. He much preferred them, for they were inured to hardship and less likely to be affected by heat and sun, or by cold and wet. They were hardened against the fevers and plagues that struck down the white men who ventured into these tropical climes, and they survived on less food. They were able to live and fight on what frugal fare this savage and terrible land provided, whereas European troops would sicken and die if forced to undergo similar privations.

  There was another reason for his preference. Whereas the lives of Christian troops must be reckoned dear, these heathen could be expended without such consideration, just as cattle do not have the same value as men and can be sent to the slaughter without qualm. Of course, they were famous thieves and could not be trusted near women or liquor, and when forced to rely upon their own initiative they were as little children, but with good Dutch officers over them, their courage and fighting spirit outweighed these weaknesses.

  Schreuder stood on a rise of ground and watched the long column of infantry file past him. It was remarkable how swiftly they had recovered from the terrible affliction of seasickness that only the previous day had prostrated most of them. A night’s rest on the hard earth and a few handfuls of dried fish and cakes of sorghum meal baked over the coals, and this morning they were cheerful and strong as when they had embarked. They strode past him on bare feet, following their white petty-officers, moving easily under their burdens, chattering to each other in their own tongues.

  Schreuder felt more confidence in them now than at any time since they had embarked in Table Bay. He lifted his hat and mopped at his brow. The sun was only just showing above the tree-tops but already it was hot as the blast from a baker’s oven. He looked ahead at the hills and forest that awaited them. The map that the red-haired Scotsman had drawn for him was a rudimentary sketch that merely adumbrated the shoreline and gave no warning of this rugged terrain that they had encountered.

  At first he had marched along the shore, but this proved heavy going – under their packs the men sank ankle deep into sand at each pace. Also, the open beaches were interspersed with cliffs and rocky capes, which could cause further delay. So Schreuder had turned inland and sent his scouts ahead to find a way through the hills and forest.

  At that moment there was a shout from up ahead. A runner was coming back down the line. Panting, the Hottentot drew himself up and saluted with a flourish. ‘Colonel, there is a wide river ahead.’ Like most of these troops he spoke good Dutch.

  ‘Name of a dog!’ Schreuder cursed. ‘We will fall further behind and our rendezvous is only two days from now. Show me the way.’ The scout led him towards the crest of the hill.

  At the top of the slope a steep river valley opened beneath his feet. The sides were almost two hundred feet deep and densely covered with forest. At the bottom the estuary was broad and brown, racing out into the sea with the tide. He drew his telescope from its leather case and carefully scanned the valley where it cut deeply into the hills of the hinterland. ‘There does not seem to be an easier way to cross and I cannot afford the time to search further.’ He looked down at the drop. ‘Fix ropes to those trees at the top to give the men purchase on the slope.’

  It took them half the morning to get two hundred men down into the valley. At one stage a rope snapped under the weight of fifty men leaning on it to keep their footing as they descended. However, although most sustained grazes, cuts and sprains as they rolled down to the riverbank, there was one serious casualty. A young Sinhalese infantryman’s right leg caught in a tree root as he fell, and was fractured in a dozen places below the knee, the sharp splinters of bone sticking out of his shin.

  ‘Well, we’re down with only one man lost,’ Schreuder told his lieutenant, with satisfaction. ‘It could have been more costly. We might have spent days searching for another crossing.’

  ‘I will have a litter made for the injured man,’ Lieutenant Maatzuyker suggested.

  ‘Are you soft in the head?’ Schreuder snapped. ‘He would hold up the march. Leave the clumsy fool here with a loaded pistol. When the hyena come for him he can make his own decision who to shoot, one of them or himself. Enough talk! Let’s get on with the crossing.’

  From the bank Schreuder looked across a hundred-yard sweep of river, the surface dimpled with small whirlpools as the outgoing tide spurred the muddy waters on their race for the sea.

  ‘We will have to build rafts—’ Lieutenant Maatzuyker ventured, but Schreuder snarled, ‘Nor can I afford the time for that. Get a rope across to the other bank. I must see if this river is fordable.’

  ‘The current is strong,’ Maatzuyker pointed out tactfully.

  ‘Even a simpleton can see that, Maatzuyker. Perhaps that is why you had no difficulty in making the observation,’ said Schreuder ominously. ‘Pick your strongest swimmer!’

  Maatzuyker saluted and hurried down the ranks of troops. They guessed what was in store and every one found something of interest to study in sky or forest, rather than meeting Maatzuyker’s eye.

  ‘Ahmed!’ he shouted at one of his corporals, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him out of the huddle of men where he was trying to make himself inconspicuous.

  Resignedly Ahmed handed his musket to a man in his troop and began to strip. His naked body was hairless and yellow, sheathed in lithe, hard muscle.

  Maatzuyker knotted the rope under his armpits and sent him into the water. As Ahmed edged out into the current it rose gradually to his waist. Schreuder’s hopes for a swift, easy crossing rose with it. Ahmed’s mates on the bank shouted encouragement as they paid out the line.

  Then, when he was almost half-way across, Ahmed stumbled abruptly into the main channel of the river, and his head disappeared below the surface.

  ‘Pull him back!’ Schreuder ordered, and they hauled Ahmed back into the shallower water, where he struggled to regain his footing, snorting and coughing up the water he had swallowed.

  Suddenly Schreuder shouted, with more urgency, ‘Pull! Get him out of the water!’

  Fifty yards upstream he had seen a mighty swirl on the surface of the opaque waters. Then a swift V-shaped wake sped down the channel to where the corporal was splashing about in the shallows. The team on the rope saw it then and, with yells of consternation, they hauled Ahmed in so vigorously that he was plucked over backwards and dragged thrashing and kicking towards the bank. However, the thing below the surface moved more swiftly still and arrowed in on the helpless man.

  When it was only yards from him its deformed black snout, gnarled and scaled as a black log, thrust through the surface, and twenty feet behind the head a crested saurian tail exploded out. The hideous monster raced across the gap, and rose high out of the water, its jaws open to display the ragged files of yellow teeth.

  Then Ahmed saw it, and shrieked wildly. With a crash like a falling portc
ullis the jaws closed over his lower body. Man and beast plunged below the surface in a whirlpool of creaming foam. The men on the line were jerked off their feet and dragged in a struggling heap down the bank.

  Schreuder leapt after them and seized the rope’s end. He took two turns around his wrist and flung his weight back on the line. Out in the brown tide-race there was another boiling explosion of foam as the huge crocodile, its fangs locked in Ahmed’s belly, rolled over and over at dizzying speed. The other men on the line recovered their footing and hung on grimly. There was a sudden stain of red on the brown water as Ahmed was torn in half, the way a glutton might twist the leg off the carcass of a turkey.

  The bloodstain was whipped away and dissipated downstream by the swift current, and the straining men fell back as the resistance at the other end of the rope gave way. Ahmed’s upper torso was dragged ashore, arms jerking and mouth opening and shutting convulsively, like that of a dying fish.

  Far out in the river the crocodile rose again, holding Ahmed’s legs and lower torso crosswise in its jaws. It lifted its head to the sky and gulped and strained to swallow. As the dismembered carcass slid down into its maw, they saw it bulge the soft, pale scaly throat.

  Schreuder was roaring with rage. ‘This foul beast will delay us for days, if we allow it.’ He rounded on the shaken musketeers who were dragging away Ahmed’s sundered corpse. ‘Bring that piece of meat back here!’

  They dropped the corpse at his feet and watched in awe as he stripped off his own clothing, and stood naked before them, flat, hard muscle rippling his belly and his thick penis jutting out of the mat of dark hair at its base. At his impatient order they tied a rope under his armpits, then handed him a loaded musket with the match burning in the lock, which Schreuder shouldered. With his other hand he grabbed Ahmed’s limp dead arm. An incredulous hum of amazement went up from the bank as Schreuder stepped into the river dragging the bleeding remnants with him. ‘Come, then, filthy beast!’ he bellowed angrily, as the water reached his knees and he kept going. ‘You want to eat? Well, I have something for you to chew on.’