throat.
‘Now,’ grunted Louren beside me, and I let it all come, rearing back against it with my vision starting to star and pin-wheel. It came away smoothly in our hands, and I heard the gasps and startled exclamations from the watchers.
We lifted the front of the truck clear of the ravine, went around to the back and did the same there. Then we started to laugh, a little shakily at first, but building up to a full gale. Louren put his arm around my shoulder and led me back to face our retinue of retainers who were looking discomforted and uneasy.
‘You are—’ Louren told them, still laughing, ‘—a bunch of frail old women and giggling virgins. Translate that for them, Joseph.’
I noticed that Joseph gave them a correct rendition of this pleasantry.
‘And as for you, Joseph, you are a fool.’ Louren stepped away from me towards Joseph, one quick dancing step, and hit him with an open hand across the side of the head. The sound of it was shockingly loud, and the force of it spun Joseph fully around in a tight circle before throwing him to the ground. He sat up groggily, with a thin trickle of blood running out of the corner of his mouth where teeth had cut into the thick under lip.
‘You see that I am still laughing,’ Louren pointed out to his startled audience. ‘I am not even angry yet. Think a while on what may happen to anyone who makes me really angry.’
The truck was reloaded with alacrity and we went on.
‘Well,’ said Sally, ‘we can be sure of full cooperation for the rest of this trip. Why didn’t the big white bwana use a sjambok, rather than soiling his hands?’
‘Tell her, Ben.’ Louren did not look around at either of us, while I told Sally quickly about the campaign of deliberate obstruction that we had run into.
‘I’m sure Louren didn’t enjoy hitting the man. Sal. But he ditched the truck deliberately. We’ve got three and a half days left to get to these Hills of Blood, and we can’t afford any more tricks.’
Sally immediately forgot her concern for Joseph. ‘Hills of Blood,’ she gloated. ‘My God, it conjures up visions of human sacrifice and—’
‘More likely it’s merely the red colour of the cliffs,’ I suggested.
‘And this taboo thing.’ She ignored me. ‘It must be because of the ruins! Oh God, I can feel it in my blood - temples stuffed with treasures, relics and written records of a whole civilization, tombs, weapons—’
‘You will notice my assistant’s unbiased, unromantic and thoroughly scientific approach,’ I pointed out to Louren, and he grinned.
‘It irks me like hell, but for once I feel the way she does,’ Louren admitted.
‘For once that makes you smart, dearie,’ Sally told him tartly.
It was two in the afternoon before we reached the point on the eastern extremity of the pan where we were to cut off on compass for the hills, and almost immediately it became apparent that we would not reach them that day. The going was heavy, sand-veld clutched at the wheels of the vehicles and reduced our rate of progress to a low-gear slog. Half a dozen times the trucks bogged in the thick sand, and had to be dragged out by the four-wheel transmission of the Land-Rover. Each time this happened there was a profuse offering of apologies from the driver and crew concerned.
The sand had absorbed all traces of the recent rains, but they showed in the new growth of green that decked the thorn and acacia trees - and more dramatically in the display of wild flowers that were spread everywhere in carpets and thick banks.
Their seeds and bulbs had lain dormant for three long years of drought, waiting for this time of plenty - and now the bright crimson of King Chaka’s fire burned brilliantly among the fields of Namaqua daisies. Star lilies, Ericas, golden Gazanias and twenty other varieties made a royal show, and helped to lessen the frustrations of our snail’s progress.
At every enforced halt, I left the cursing and hustling to Louren, and wandered away from the vehicles with my camera.
Sunset found us still fifteen miles from the hills, and when I climbed into the top branches of the flat-topped acacia under which we camped, I could see their low outlines on the eastern horizon. The cliffs caught the last slanted rays of the sun, and glowed orange-red. I sat in the fork of the main trunk and watched them until the sun was gone and the hills melted into the dark sky.
A strange mood gripped me as I watched the far hills. A mystic sense of pre-destiny filled me with a languid melancholy - a sense of unease and disquiet.
When I climbed down into the camp, Louren sat alone by the fire, staring into the flames and drinking whisky.
‘Where’s Sally?’ I asked.
‘Gone to bed. In a sulk. We got into a discussion about blood sports and beating up blacks.’ Louren glanced at her tent which glowed with internal lantern light. There was no singing from the servants’ fire as Louren and I ate grilled gemsbok liver and bacon, washed down with warm red Cape wine. We sat in silence for a while after we had eaten, and finished the wine.
‘I’m bushed,’ Louren said at last, and stood up. ‘I’ll just call Larkin. I promised to check in every second night. See you in the morning, Ben.’
I watched him cross to the Land-Rover and switch on the two-way radio set. I heard Larkin’s boozy voice through the buzz and crackle of static. I listened for a few minutes, while Louren made his report. Then I stood up also and moved away from the camp-fire.
Restless, and still under the spell of my mood of disquiet, I wandered into the dark again. The gemsbok carcasses had attracted a pack of hyena to the camp, and they giggled and screeched out among the thorn trees. So I kept close to camp, passing Sally’s tent and pausing for a while to draw comfort from her nearness, then walked on towards the servants’ fire. My feet made no sound in the soft sand, and one of the old gunbearers was speaking as I approached. He had the attention of all the others who squatted in a circle about the low fire. His words came to me clearly, and stirred my memory. I felt the tingle of them run along my spine, and the ghost fingers stroked my arms and neck bringing the hair erect.
