Golden Lion (44 page)

To the south a herd of several hundred buffalo darkened the savannah, grazing peacefully in the long grass. Their bellows, low grunts and croaks carried across the open space and Judith considered following the beasts, for she knew they would lead her to water later in the day. But she decided it was better to keep moving east while it was still light, and soon the buffalo were far behind them.

‘It’s safe in Westbury,’ Ann said, picking up on the earlier thread. ‘There’s a church, the Holy Trinity, and the vicar lets me climb all the way to the top of the bell tower. From there you can see for miles around. It has a fine peal of six bells. Six! You should hear them, Judith! Oh but you would love the sound. It’s quite beautiful.’ Judith did not discourage the girl. It was clear that thoughts of home gave Ann strength, and so Judith allowed her to construct this fantasy. And yet she could not bring herself to indulge Ann completely. Even were they to make it safely to the coast and find a ship with a sympathetic captain, the thought of one day setting foot in the country of her beloved’s birth, without Hal himself, was unbearable.

What a fool I have been
, Judith thought.
Insisting on going to Zanzibar when I could have been safe aboard the
Bough.
What would it have mattered if Hal had bought the wrong medicines?
No matter how sick she had been, she would have been better off than she was now.

But it was too late to worry about that. She had fallen into her enemies’ trap and the child inside her would never know its father. That was the price she had paid for her folly, and it sickened her.

‘Look,’ Ann said, diverting Judith from her sombre contemplation. The girl was pointing to a small shifting black mass amongst the yellow grass in the middle distance off to the north-east. ‘What
is
that?’ she asked. ‘Looks like birds. But surely they’re too big.’ She was shielding her eyes against the sun as she tried to make it out.

‘Vultures,’ Judith said, as suddenly the black congregation fragmented, several of the birds flapping and hopping, lumbering away to reveal a sight that stopped Judith’s heart. Lions. Ann saw them too for she froze as Judith had done, the two of them slaves to instinct and fear which gripped their limbs and dried their mouths and raised the hairs on the backs of their necks.

One of the beasts turned and growled at a couple of birds which had the audacity to sidle in close enough to peck at the carcass, and they hopped away though not for long. Judith counted five in the pride, but knew there could easily be more lying unseen in the long grass.

‘They are too busy to concern themselves with us,’ Judith said, hoping she was right. Hoping that the kill – a bushbuck or lesser kudu by the looks – still had plenty of meat left on its bones to keep the lions busy.
Eat well
, she thought, watching the beasts tearing into the flesh, the carcass seeming to convulse, its legs jerking as if it were still alive.
Eat well so that you will be fat and lazy tomorrow
, she told them silently,
and so that we may be on our way
.

They continued south-east to give the pride a wider berth, trekking uphill for a while and panting with the effort of it, barely sweating because they had taken so little water. Their lips were dry and split, and Ann’s once pale skin was red, burnt and blistered though she did not complain. They followed an escarpment edge for a while before tending right, away from the edge and into woodland, and at sunset they crossed a small stream from which they filled their flasks, but only after drinking until they were fit to burst.

‘We should camp here, Judith. By the stream,’ Ann said.

‘No.’ Judith shook her head. ‘See there?’ She pointed south to where the stream widened and impala and a dozen or so suni antelope stood lapping up the water, drinking with as much appetite as the women had done. ‘Leopard and lion, maybe cheetah too will know that this is where those animals come at dusk. It is not safe for us here.’

Ann smiled in spite of it all. ‘We don’t have to worry about such things in Westbury-on-Trym,’ she said. ‘My ma’s ginger tom is the fiercest animal round our way,’ and even Judith laughed at that.

It was dark when they made camp. Judith decided that this time they would have a fire. If not for the lions she would never have risked a fire in case the masked man was nearby. Besides, both she and Ann had spent almost as much time looking behind them as in front in the last days and neither had seen any sign of men following them.

With the flint and steel she had taken from the dead Portuguese sailor, and using an old weaver bird’s nest for tinder, she coaxed some embers into flaming life, but only after digging a hole in the ground so that the flame itself could not be seen. The glow from it probably could though, so she did her best to screen it with some soft woody branches from a shrub which was studded with yellow-gold flowers. Without a blade it had taken much effort to twist and break the branches off but it was worth it. She told herself that the lions and any other beasts would smell the smoke and turn tail. And should they need to use the musket, the fire would mean that they could light the match quickly.

‘It’s strange how even a small fire like that can lift the spirits,’ Ann said, a smile on her cracked lips as she stared into the flames. The night chorus of insects and countless other unknown creatures seemed to fill the darkness around them, but the feeble flame was something to cling to, so that Judith was almost certain she had made the right decision.

They ate fruit that Judith had picked from a huge baobab tree. She told Ann that it was called monkey bread, and while they ate, she used strips of tree bark as bandages to bind Ann’s bleeding feet. Then, when Ann fell asleep, Judith chewed some more of the khat leaves that she had saved. But even they could not keep her awake.

Dawn was still a long way off when the last of the flames flickered and died.

And then the hyenas came.

he second day of pursuit had ended and the Buzzard’s personal slave, Jomo by name, was pouring water into his bone-dry mouth. It was a moment in the day that the Buzzard craved more than any other and yet hated also, for the way in which he sucked at the metal spout, like a baby suckling its mother’s teat, only served to emphasize his helplessness. Jomo knew this and was accustomed to his master being even more curt and demanding than at other times as he sought to re-establish his power. It was not, therefore, a good time to approach him with anything resembling a request. Yet the two porters had pestered him until he felt that he had no choice but to speak on their behalf.

‘Master,’ he began, taking advantage of the fact that the Buzzard could not speak so long as he kept the spout in his mouth hole. ‘Forgive me, but I speak for my brothers, too. We wish you to know, oh great one, that we are now very close to the women you seek. If we keep going a little longer we may find them soon enough, even in the dark.’

The Buzzard gave a rough shake of his head to free his mouth. ‘May find them, you say?’

‘Yes, master.’

‘Not “will find them” then?’

‘Master, it is impossible to be certain about the future. That is the will of God. But it is likely.’

‘Is it likely that it will be easier to find them in the morning?’

‘Yes, master.’

‘Then that is what we will do. So get me my food and stop babbling at me like a black baboon.’

Jomo went away to make the master’s soft porridge, though he seasoned it with a helping of his own piss and snot.

A few hours later, however, he had grabbed the Buzzard’s shoulder and was shaking it hard to wake him. The beak turned and the grinning, frowning, terrible visage stared at him.

Before it could speak, Jomo said, ‘Master! Master! We have to go now … the women!’

‘What the hell do you mean?’ the Buzzard asked.

‘Listen, master … listen to the night!’

So the Buzzard fell silent. And he listened. And a moment later he was jumping to his feet and shouting, ‘Get up! Get up you scurvy scum!’ and then he picked up his sword and ran off into the night as though his very life were at stake.

As indeed it was.

Judith woke to a depraved whooping and lowing. Two hyenas, the biggest she had ever seen, were running back and forth through the long grass in front of where she and Ann lay, their feral excitement filling Judith with terror.

Ann woke, saw the hyenas and screamed, ‘Go away!’ She crawled back deeper into the bushes, trying to escape. ‘Go away you devils!’

Far from scaring the hyenas off, her fear only agitated them more, making them giggle and whoop.

Stiff, shivering with cold and fear, Judith crawled over and peered into the fire pit. The ashes were still warm so she took a stick and stirred them but there were no glowing embers to be seen.

‘Shoot them!’ Ann pleaded. ‘Shoot one and the other will run away!’

But without a flame to light the match cord the musket was useless. And anyway, Judith thought she knew what that ungodly whooping meant and if she were right …

On her knees she took up the little leather pouch containing the flint and steel, fumbling at the drawstring, her hands numb from the cold night. Out they fell onto the dirt. She picked them up. The stench of the creatures filled her nose.

‘Hurry!’ Ann said.

She made a little pile of tinder from what was left of the bird’s nest. Struck the flint against the steel and a few sparks flew into the air. But they were not enough to light the tinder, nowhere near.

‘Please, Judith. Hurry!’

Most hyenas were timid around humans. They were cowardly creatures, Judith knew, particularly those with striped pelts. But these two with their grey-red coats and dark brown spots were bold bristling beasts. One of them darted in close to Ann, swinging its large head up and down and laughing.

Ann screamed and the creature cackled and whooped and backed off.

‘Oh God!’ Ann cried. ‘Oh God help us … please!’

The night was suddenly filled with a savage, insane cacophony. Judith did not look up. She did not need to. She knew the first two were calling the rest of their clan, inciting them to come and join the slaughter, and now the beasts were all around them, whirling in the dark, eyes and teeth flashing.

Her hands shook uncontrollably as she struck sparks into the tinder.

‘We’re going to die,’ she heard Ann whimper.

But then, at last, the first spark landed and a tiny flame fluttered into life. She picked the ball of tinder up and cupped her hands round it, blowing softly to breathe strength into the delicate fire within.

‘Judith!’

A flame burst from the old grass and the hyenas backed away from her, whooping and chattering, suddenly wary of the fire, and Judith glanced but could not see Ann now for the two dozen or more hunched animals skipping and whirling around her. There was a small pile of sticks beside the ashes but it would take too long to get another fire going. Nor would the kindling burn for long. But she
did
have the musket.

Lord help us, Judith prayed, placing the end of the slow match into the flame and leaving it there while she grabbed hold of the musket, shot pouch and powder flask.

‘Away, you devils!’ she yelled, lifting the musket and opening the priming pan. She pulled the flask’s stopper with her teeth, poured a measure of black powder into the pan, then slid the pan cover back and blew off the excess powder. Then she dropped the musket’s butt onto the ground and poured the main powder charge down the muzzle.

‘I’m coming, Ann!’ she called, crouching and pulling up some grass which she pressed into her mouth and began to chew. She would be aiming low and without a wad to tamp the bullet down it might roll harmlessly out of the barrel. Then she took a ball, thumbed it down the muzzle and spat the grass down after it.

‘Don’t let them eat me!’ Ann begged as Judith drew the wooden scouring stick from its place in the musket’s stock and reversed it, striking it against her own chest to shorten it to a handful. She rammed the wad and ball down and saw that the kindling had burnt out but that the slow match had caught and she snatched it up, blowing on the tip so that the cord, which was impregnated with saltpetre, glowed red like a little evil eye in the darkness.

Leave her!
the unborn child in Judith’s belly said.
We may only get one chance to fire the musket. Do not waste it on the girl. Save it! We will need it. See, the beasts are coming for us too!

And they were. Whilst most of the hyenas swarmed round Ann, six or seven of the beasts had turned their attentions on Judith again. Stiff-haired, their tails held high and forward over their backs, they ran in close, snapping their bone-crushing jaws at her, rousing one another to go for the kill.

She fitted the match cord into the clamp and pulled the trigger, relieved to see the glowing tip come down onto the pan cover, meaning she had judged the length correctly so that it would hit the powder when she uncovered the pan and opened fire.

‘Away!’ she shrieked. ‘Away!’ She stamped a foot and thrust the musket’s barrel at the nearest hyena which grunted and cackled and gave ground even as others tried to come at her from behind. Judith twisted, swinging the musket to fend them off, though she did not fire. Not yet.