A Spear of Summer Grass (14 page)

He held up a meaty hand. “I said it was easier for a white man to do it. But not this white man. I’m a farm manager, not a hunter. It’s not in my job description. Now, I’ve been accommodating since you arrived, Miss Drummond, very accommodating, and I’ve done many things that weren’t strictly speaking my responsibility. But I draw the line here, I do draw it here. I am a family man. What would become of my family if I died trying to kill a lion that wasn’t my place to kill?”

He was sweating, but his expression was smug. He had me. I couldn’t force him to risk his life to kill a man-eating lion. But I knew exactly who would do the job.

I said whatever words of comfort I could manage in Swahili and the Kikuyu accepted my promise that the lion would be dealt with. Dora turned away as they gathered up the blanket with its small, broken burden. I watched them leave then turned to Gates.

“You’re entirely correct, Mr. Gates. You are a farmer. So get back to your plow and I’ll talk to you when this is over.”

He slunk away and I headed into the house to dress. By the time I finished, Dora had seen to breakfast and I choked down a piece of toast and a cup of tea before I stood up.

“Wrap a few sandwiches for me, Do. I’ve got to find Ryder and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

She opened her mouth then clamped it shut again as the man himself stepped onto the veranda.

“Didn’t I tell you not to go looking for me?” he asked, his mouth quirked up. “You don’t listen very well.”

“Oh, thank God you’re here.”

He raised his brows. “That’s a greeting a man could get used to,” he said, settling himself at the table.

“May I offer you some breakfast?” Dora asked kindly. “There are plenty of eggs and we’ve toast and tea and some lovely preserves.”

She loaded a plate for him while I stewed. “This isn’t going to be a social call, Ryder. I need you to go kill a lion.”

He held up a hand. “I know all about your lion. That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, we ought to discuss terms.”

Dora rose and murmured something about making more tea as Ryder fixed me with an amused look. “Terms?”

“Yes, the terms of your employment.”

He laughed aloud. “Princess, you can’t afford me, so let’s just dismiss that idea right now.”

“How do you know what I can afford?”

He smiled, the lines at his eyes and mouth crinkling gently. “Because I know what I charge and it’s generally only royalty and Rockefellers who can match my prices.”

“Name it,” I challenged.

He did and I stared at him as he loaded a second plate with eggs from the chafing dish.

“Jesus Jiminy Christ, Ryder, if that’s how much you make you ought to be feeding me breakfast.”

He grinned. “Told you.”

“How on earth do you get away with charging that much?”

He shrugged. “People are always willing to pay for the best.”

I snorted. “I see modesty doesn’t number among your virtues.”

“No, but honesty does. I am a damned good hunter, princess, but I hate guiding for other people. I figured if I charged outrageous prices people would stop hiring me and I could do whatever I liked, but it hasn’t turned out that way.”

“No?”

He forked in a bit of egg and followed it with half a piece of toast. “It turns out that charging astronomical prices only makes people want you all the more. Apparently it offers
cachet,
” he said, tipping his head to the side.

“
Cachet
aside, you’re right. I can’t afford that. I could buy a flat in Paris for that kind of money.”

“So I’ll do it for free,” he finished.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why?”

He sat back and folded his arms. “What’s the matter? Don’t like the idea of being beholden to me?”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t.”

“Then come with me. I charge half as much to get rid of man-eaters if someone else takes the shot. You’ll only be half-beholden to me then.”

I hesitated for all the right reasons. And I accepted for all the wrong ones.

“Fine,” I said, putting out my hand.

He took it in his and shook it slowly. He was still holding on to it when Dora appeared with a fresh pot of tea. I jerked it back and she put on a deliberately blank expression.

Ryder rose and thanked her. “I’m going back to my place to put a few things in order. I’ll be back after luncheon and we’ll head out then.”

When he left, Dora looked up sharply from the teapot. “I don’t see why you must do this. Surely Sir Nigel never intended—”

“Nigel isn’t here,” I reminded her.

She went on patiently. “Even so, if he knew, I cannot believe he would want you to risk your very life over such a thing.”

“Such a thing?” I kept my voice gentle. “A child is dead, Dora.”

She winced. “I know. And I don’t mean to sound uncaring—”

“Then don’t.”

Her pale complexion flushed deeply. “I say, that isn’t fair. I take an interest in their welfare, a healthy interest,” she said, stressing the word
healthy.
“But I think it shows a strange sort of arrogance to involve oneself so deeply in their affairs.”

“Arrogance?”

“Yes,” she said, two spots of colour still high on her cheeks. “We are not meant to understand them, Delilah. Their ways are simply too different. The role of the white in Africa ought to be a simple one—to set an example of learning, of civilisation, of good management.”

I let her ramble on in that vein for a few minutes before I stopped her with an upraised hand and a thin smile.

“I’ve heard it before, Dora. You forget, I was brought up in a place not terribly different from this. The blacks do their work, the whites count their money—at least that’s what most people think. The reality is quite different. There has to be understanding on both sides. And it begins with not being afraid of them.”

The hot colour ebbed. “That isn’t fair.”

“Isn’t it? I see how you draw back when you have to speak to an African.”

“That isn’t because of their skin,” she returned hotly. “I’m simply unaccustomed to giving orders. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“You do well enough back in England. You bawl out the butcher if the chops are too fatty or tear a strip off the boy at the garage if he tries to charge too much to mend a puncture on your bicycle. You’ve no trouble speaking your mind to them.”

“Of course not! They’re—” She broke off, setting her lips stubbornly. “Oh, never mind. But I still say it’s wrong, it’s very wrong for you to mix with them as if you were friends. You ought to hold yourself above them to set the very best example you can.”

“I’m nobody’s best example,” I reminded her. “Anything else?”

“Yes, in fact, there is. He’s a good man, Delilah.” She didn’t say his name, but there was no mistaking who she meant.

“Is he? I’m not sure I would know a good man if I saw one.”

“Then take my word for it. He is a good man.”

I shrugged. “If you say so. But you probably don’t know the half of it.”

“I’m not talking about local gossip. I know he’s a bit of a philanderer and his morals are unique.”

I snorted, but she went on, her cheeks heating up again. “Laugh if you like, but there’s something fine about him. Underneath the wildness, there’s something pure.”

Pure
might have been the last word I would have chosen to describe Ryder White, but Dora did have a point. I decided not to tell her about his threat to violate me and feed me to the hyenas. Her illusions were too pretty to shatter. Besides, for all I knew she was right.

She broke a piece of toast to bits and threw it out into the garden.

“What did you do that for?”

“There’s a tortoise living under the veranda. He likes toast.”

I rose and she put her hand to my arm. “I know you think I’m a fool, but I mean it, Delilah. Don’t hurt him.”

I thought of the miserable bet he’d made about getting me into bed. If I did hurt him, it would only be fair. He’d drawn first blood.

“I’m not sure I could,” I told her.

“Then you’re not half as smart as I gave you credit for,” she said, releasing my arm.

“Go feed your tortoise, Do,” I told her as kindly as I could. “And leave my life to me.”

* * *

True to his word, Ryder appeared after luncheon, Gideon trotting quietly behind. I had prepared as best I could, packing a small bag with necessities and making sure my guns were clean. I left Dora in charge of Fairlight, or at least, as in charge as she could be with Gates around. Moses waved goodbye from the pasture where he stood with the cattle, saluting his brother. Gideon lifted his spear in farewell and we were off.

We hiked down the Nairobi road some distance toward Rex’s place then turned abruptly down a narrow track of beaten earth.

“Where are we going?” I asked Ryder.

“Nyama Ranch. I need to see Tusker before we set out. We’ll need some men, and she’ll probably want to come along. She loves a good lion hunt.”

“She makes a habit of hunting lions?”

“Don’t look so surprised. She breeds racehorses, and lions are her biggest nuisance. She doesn’t bother with them until they come in and bother the horses. Same with leopards.”

I shuddered.

“What’s the matter, princess? Lost your taste for this? You can turn back now. I’ll have Gideon walk you home.”

“Absolutely not. That thing is a man-eater and I want to see it taken care of. It’s just easy to forget.”

He slowed a little, slanting me a curious look under the brim of his hat. “Forget what?”

“How vicious this place is. How life can just turn on a dime. My mother breeds horses, too, you know. She has a fine stable in England, and she says a hundred different things can kill her stock. She worries about bad water and bad food and hoof-and-mouth, but the one thing she doesn’t ever have to worry about is some damned cat clawing her horses to pieces in the middle of the night.”

“True, but does she have all this?” he asked, sweeping an arm out to take in the country before us. The flat savannah stretched for miles, dotted with thornbushes and acacia trees as it ran up to a tall purple escarpment in the distance. A herd of elephants grazed at the foot of the escarpment, heavy grey shadows moving in the bushes. Over it all, a dome of vast blue sky rose so high I got dizzy just looking up at it. Ryder moved on then, not waiting for an answer. I slowed to walk with Gideon. I smiled at him.

“You seem in very good spirits, Gideon. For a man that usually means a woman, but I’m guessing for a Masai man, it means a lion.”

“You begin to understand us,
Bibi,
” he said, returning the smile with interest.

“Gideon, I hope you don’t think me rude, but may I ask about the gap between your teeth? I’ve noticed most of the natives here have it.”

He put a finger to the space where his two lower teeth ought to have been. “They are pulled when we are very small children. Then when our second teeth come, these also are pulled. It is so we may be fed if we are sick with the lockjaw.”

It made perfect sense; it was actually a rather clever solution to the problem of tetanus. Most people who got it starved to death because they couldn’t take in food. Pulling the teeth at least meant there was a way to nourish them until the fever passed and the jaw muscles unclenched.

“But Moses’ teeth haven’t been pulled.”

It was as if a shutter came down over his eyes. “No,
Bibi.
It was his mother’s wish that he be left as he was born.”

“Why? If he gets tetanus, he’ll almost certainly die.”

“His mother would not mourn,” Gideon said, his tone edged in bitterness. “She is an unkind woman and her heart is closed. She does not love her son as she should.”

“You mean she’s content for him to die? Is it because he won’t speak?”

“No,
Bibi.
It is because of his leg. He was born with a twisted leg, and she was beaten very badly by our father for adultery. He said all of his other children were born straight and tall, and this child must not be his. His mother was very angry and her anger has turned against her son.”

“Was she telling the truth? Or had she committed adultery?”

“Both, possibly. She was caught with one of my brothers in age. This is a very bad thing. A woman may lie with her husband and sometimes with the men who were circumcised with him. But to lie with a man from another age group is a very bad thing indeed. My father beat her when he caught her. She says Moses is his son and already growing inside her when she lay with the other man and that it was my father’s beating that caused him to grow a twisted leg. My father beats her for saying such a thing.”

“You mean they’re still together?”

He shrugged. “She is very lovely. My father drinks
moratina
and forgets why he hates her. Then he drinks more and remembers again. They fight very much, and my father has sold his cattle to buy
moratina.
”

“What is
moratina?
”

“Honey beer. It makes him forget how to be a good man and he raises his stick to his younger children. Most of them are out of his house now. The girls have married, bad marriages, because they had few cattle to take to their husbands. And the younger boys get up to much mischief and are often beaten by the
morani
for their disrespect. He has not taught them to speak with dignity and to be useful. He has taught them only to despise others and so they are despised. Only Moses is free of him.”

“How?”

“One day when our father was drinking much
moratina,
I stood over him as he lifted his stick to Moses. I told him for every blow he struck my brother, I would strike one upon him. I am taller than my father,” he said with a small, sad smile. “My father was frightened of me and he shoved Moses into my arms and said he would be as my son now and I would have the care of him. I took him to my mother’s father, my
babu.
He is a very good man,
Bibi.
He opened his home to the child of his daughter’s husband’s other wife, and this is not often done.”

“Your
babu
is generous.”

Gideon’s brow furrowed. “Yes, but he grows old,
Bibi.
And when he dies, his cattle will be given to his sons and daughters, as they must be. There are no cattle for Moses. This is why I am happy Moses has work. He will be a man with cattle because of you.”