Lothar lay exhausted by the effort for almost an hour before he could drag himself back to the south side of the summit. He looked down at the dead horses lying in the sun.
Already their bellies were swelling, but the water bottles were still strapped to their saddles. The water is the magnet, he whispered. By now they will be really thirsty.
They will come for the water next. At first he thought the darkness was only in his mind again, but when he rolled his head and looked into the west he saw the last orange flash of the sunset in the sky. Before his eyes it faded and the sudden African night was upon them.
He lay and listened for them to try to reach the water, and he wondered as he had so often before at the mystic sounds of the African night, the gentle muted orchestra of insect and bird, the piping of the hunting bats flitting around the dome of rock and out on the plain the plaintive yip of jackal and the occasional outlandish grunting bark of the nocturnal honey badger. Lothar had to try to discount these distractions and listen for manmade sounds in the darkness directly below the cliff.
It was only the clink of a stirrup iron that alerted him, and he tossed the grenade with a full swing of his arm out over the abyss. The heavy crump of the explosion blew a puff of air into his face, and by the sudden flare of flame he saw far below the dark figures standing over the dead horse.
He made out two of them, though he could not be certain there were not others, and he tossed the second grenade.
In the brief burst of orange light he saw them racing back towards the trees; they ran so lightly that they could not have been burdened by water bottles.
Sweat it out, he taunted them, but he had only the one remaining grenade. He held it to his chest as though it were some rare treasure.
Must be ready when they come again.
Can't let them get the water. He was talking aloud, and he knew it was a sign of his delirium. Every time he felt the swimming dizziness he lifted his head and tried to focus on the stars.
Got to hold out, he told himself seriously. If I can only keep them here until noon tomorrow. He tried to make the calculations of time and distance but it was too much for him. Must be eight hours since Hendrick and Manie left.
They will keep going all night. They haven't got me to hold them back. They can make the river before dawn. If only I can hold them another eight hours they will get clear away But the weariness and the fever overwhelmed him and he cradled his forehead in the curve of his elbow.
Lothar! It was his imagination, he knew that, but then his name was called again. Lothar! And he lifted his head and shivered with the cold of the night and the memories that her voice summoned up.
He opened his mouth and then closed it. He would not reply, would give nothing away. But he listened avidly for Centaine Courtney to call again.
Lothar, we have a wounded man. He judged that she was at the edge of the forest. He could imagine her, determined and brave, that small firm chin lifted, those dark eyes.
Why do I still love you? he whispered.
We must have water for him. Strange how clearly her voice carried. He could pick out the inflection of her French accent and somehow he found that touching. It brought tears to his eyes.
Lothar! I am coming out to fetch the water., Her voice was closer, stronger, clearly she had left the shelter of the trees.
I'm alone, Lothar. She must be halfway across the open ground.
Go back! He tried to shout, but it was a mumble. I warned you.
I have to do it. He fumbled for the grenade.
Can't let you take the water, for Manie's sake. I have to do it. He hooked his finger through the firing ring of the grenade.
I have reached the first horse, she called. I am taking the bottle. just one bottle, Lothar., She was in his power. She was standing at the foot of the cliff. It wouldn't need a long throw. All he had to do was roll the grenade over the edge and it would fly out like a toboggan along the curve of the cliff and land at her feet.
He imagined the flash of the explosion, that sweet flesh that had cradled his, and harboured his son, torn and rent by razor-edged shrapnel. He thought how much he hated her, and realized that he loved her as much, and the tears in his eyes blinded him.
I'm going back now, Lothar. I have one bottle, she called, and he heard in her voice gratitude and an acknowledgement of the bond between them that no deed, no passage of time could sever. She spoke again, dropping her voice so it reached him as a faint whisper.
May God forgive you, Lothar De La Rey. And then no more.
Those gentle words wounded him as deeply as any he had ever heard from her. There was a finality to them that he found unbearable, and he dropped his head onto his arm to smother the cry of despair which rose in his throat, and the darkness rustled in his head like the wings of a black vulture as he felt himself falling, falling, falling.
This one is dead, Blaine Malcomess said quietly, standing over the prostrate figure. They had climbed the cliff at two places in the darkness; then in the dawn they had carried the summit in a concerted rush only to find it undefended.
Where are the others? Sergeant Hansmeyer hurried out of the shadowy cluster of boulders. There is no one else on the hill, sir. They must have got clean away. Blaine! Centaine called urgently. 'Where are you? What is happening? He had insisted that she remain at the foot of the kopje until they had captured the summit. He had not yet signalled her to come up, but here she was, only a minute behind their attack.
Over here, he snapped. And then, as she ran towards him, You disobeyed an order, madam. She ignored the accusation. Where are they? She broke off as she saw the body. Oh God, it's Lothar. She went down beside him.
