Cry Wolf Part 19

They were alone, and that was how it was meant to be.

The deep physical arousal and feeling of utter commitment that she had experienced earlier, on their escape from the threatening horde of Gallas, still lingered still filled her body and her conscious mind with an ethereal glow.

She ate a little of the grilled meat, hardly tasting it, not looking at the man beside her, but staring dreamily at the brilliant diamond-white sparkle of the stars above the dark peaks, yet fully and electrically aware of him of the nearness of him, so close that although they were still not touching she could feel the warmth emanating from his body upon her arm like the caress of a desert wind.

She could almost feel his eyes as he watched her quietly. His gaze was so compelling that at last she could no longer pretend not to be aware of it, and she turned her head and met his eyes steadily.

The ruddy glow of the coals enhanced the clean regular lanes of his face, and gilded the red gold of his hair. In that moment, she believed he was the most beautiful human being she had ever seen and it required an effort to tear her eyes away from him.

As she stood up and walked away she felt her heart hammering within her chest, like a wild -animal trying to escape its cage, and she heard the roar of blood in her own ears.

The interior of her tent was lit softly by the firelight through the canvas, and she did not light the lamp, but undressed slowly in the semi-darkness and dropped her clothing carelessly across the folding chair beside the entrance. Then she lay down upon the narrow cot, and the woollen blanket was rough against the naked skin of her b.u.t.tocks and back. Each breath was an effort now, and she lay rigidly with her hands clenched at her sides almost afraid, almost exultant, her head propped on the single pillow and staring down at her body, aware of it as never before. Watching, with a sense of wonder, how each breath changed the shape of her heavily rounded b.r.e.a.s.t.s and how the nipples firmed slowly and thrust out, darkening perceptibly until they were so tight and hard that they pained her exquisitely.

She heard the crunch of his footsteps approach the tent, and her breathing jammed, and she thought with a small shock that she might suffocate and die. Then the flap of the tent swung open, and he stooped through and stood tall, letting the flap fall closed behind him.

Instinctively she covered herself, one arm folding across her chest and the other hand spreading protective fingers over the mound of fine fluff at the base of her belly.

He stood silently, outlined against the fire glow on the canvas, and she began to breathe again, quick and shallow.

It seemed that he stood there for ever, silent and watchful, and she felt the skin of her arms and thighs p.r.i.c.kle with goose-flesh at the slow steady scrutiny. Then he unb.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt and let it slide to the earth. The fire glow flickered on his finely muscled arms, they rippled with a red gold sheen, like wet marble, as he moved.

He came at last to her bed and stood over her, and she wondered that the body of a man could be so slim and supple, with such lovely line and balance then she remembered how she had once stood before the statue of Michelangelo's David with just the same depth of awe.

She lifted the hands that covered her own body, reached up like a supplicant, and drew him down upon herself.

She woke once during the night, and the fire had died away outside the tent, but a bright white moon had sailed up over the mountains and it glowed now with a silvery light through the canvas above them, striking down directly upon them.

The strange white light divested Gareth's sleeping face of all colour. It was pale now, like that of a statue or of a corpse and Vicky experienced a sudden revulsion of feeling. There was a small dull weight at the back of her mind. When she examined it closely, she found that it was guilt and she experienced a mild anger at a society that had burdened her with that guilt. That she could not enjoy a man, that her body could not be used as nature had intended without this backlash of emotion.

She raised herself on one elbow, careful not to disturb the man beside her, and she studied his face pondering this new sense of guilt, and exploring her feelings for him.

Slowly she realized that the two were bound inextricably together.

There was no real depth to her feelings for Gareth Swales, she had been carried along on a treacherous tide of fatigue and reaction from fear and horror. The guilt she had experienced was a consequence of this lack of substance, and she felt suddenly confused and sad.

She lay back beside the long fine length of his body, but now she had moved slightly, so that they no longer touched.

She knew that after love, all animals are sad, but she thought that there was more to her feelings than that.

Suddenly, without really knowing why, she thought of Jake Barton and the depth and cold of her sadness deepened. It was long before she slept again, but then she slept late and the morning sunlight was striking through the canvas and outside there was the sound of engines and many voices.

She sat up hurriedly, still half asleep, clutching the rough blanket to her breast, confused and owl-eyed, to discover that she was alone upon the cot and all that remained of the night was the indentation and warmth of Gareth's body upon the blanket beside her, and the swollen aching feeling deep within her where he had been.

Then Vicky threw on her clothes hurriedly and, still tying her hair, went out into the sunlight, she was just in time to witness the arrival of a sorry procession.

In the lead was Jake's car, Priscilla the Pig. No longer glossy white and blazoned with the insignia of the International Red Cross, it was painted instead a sandy tan colour with patches of darker camouflage in an earthy brown to break up the outline of the big angular hull and turret.

The thick barrel of -a Vickers machine gun protruded belligerently from the mounting.

Above the turret fluttered the tri coloured green, yellow and red pennant of Ethiopia and below that the dark blue field and golden lion of the Ras's household standard and everything was covered with a thick coating of fine red dust.

Close behind the Pig, and attached to her by a stout towline, came Tenastelin - Gregorius's car similarly daubed with dull camouflage paint and flying the standards of Ethiopia and Ras, and with her gun ports filled with lethal hardware. However, despite the warlike trappings, the machine had an air of dejection as it was dragged ign.o.bly into the camp and from its rear end came a frightful grinding clatter that brought Gareth Swales hurrying half-dressed from his tent, with an angry question to shout as Jake's head appeared in the driver's hatch.

"What the h.e.l.l happened?" and Jake's face was red and scowling with outrage.

"That old,--and at a loss for a suitable expletive, he indicated with a jerk of his thumb the Ras, who sat proudly in the turret of the crippled car, showing no remorse whatsoever, but beaming fondly and toothlessly on Gareth.

"Not content with firing off a thousand rounds of Vickers ammunition, he kicked Gregorius out of the driver's seat and gave us a demonstration that would have looked good at Indianapolis!"

"Oh my G.o.d!" groaned Gareth.

"How do you do?" shouted the Ras cheerfully, . acknowledging the applause.

"Why didn't you stop him? "demanded Gareth.

"Stop him! Jesus, have you ever tried to stop a charging rhinoceros! I chased him halfway to the coast before I caught him-"

"What's the damage?"

"He's stripped the gearbox, and burned out the clutch he may have thrown a con rod but I haven't gotten up enough courage to look yet." Jake climbed wearily from the driver's hatch, raising his dust goggles. Red dust had sifted into the thick mop of his curls and clung in the stubble of his beard, and the protected skin around his eyes was pale and naked-looking, giving him an innocent wide-eyed expression. He began beating the dust out of his trousers and s.h.i.+rt, still berating the happily grinning Ras.

"The old b.a.s.t.a.r.d is as happy as a pig in a mud wallow.

Look at his face. Reconnaissance in force! It was more like a b.l.o.o.d.y circus." At that moment, Jake noticed Vicky for the first time, and the scowl disappeared miraculously, to be replaced by an expression of such transparent delight that she felt her guilt return swiftly and deeply, so that it gave her a cold sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Vicky!" Jake called. "G.o.d, I was worried about you!" Vicky was able to purge a little of the feeling of guilt by busying herself at the cooking fire, in a fine show of domesticity, and she served the men with griddle cakes and grilled steaks. the last of the potatoes they had brought with them and a pan full of the pigeon-sized eggs laid by the scrawny native fowls. The camp table was set out under the acacias, in the dappled early-morning sunlight, and as Vicky worked at the fire, Jake reported the results of the reconnaissance.

" once the Ras had tired of firing the Vickers, shooting up every tree and rock we pa.s.sed, and we were just about out of ammunition, we were able to circle out northwards, keeping the speed down to avoid dust, and we found a good piece of ground from which to observe the road from Ma.s.sawa to the Wells. There was a bit of traffic, transports mostly with motorized escort, but we couldn't stay too long as the Ras, G.o.d bless his friendly little soul, wanted to continue his target practice on them. We had a job stopping him. So I pulled back and we came in towards the Wells from the west again. "Jake paused to sip at the mug of coffee, and Gareth turned to Vicky as she squatted, rosy-faced, over the cooking fire. my dear?" he said. It was "How's breakfast coming along, not the words nor the endearment, but rather the proprietorial tone, that made Jake glance sharply at Vicky. The tone Gareth had used was that which a man uses to his own woman. For a second, Vicky held Jake's glance, and then she turned busily back to her cooking, and Jake dropped his eyes thoughtfully at the steaming mug in his hands.

"How close did you get?" Gareth asked easily. He had noticed the silent exchange between Vicky and Jake and he was relaxed and contented, lolling back in the camp chair and rolling a cheroot between his fingers.

"I left the cars in the broken ground, and went in on foot.

Didn't want to take the Ras too close. I was able to watch the Eyetie position for a couple of hours. They have dug in well, and I saw gun positions with a good field of fire placed along the ridge.

They are in a h.e.l.l of a defensive position and it would be crazy to attack them there. We will have to wait for them to come to us." Vicky brought the food to them, and as she leaned across Gareth he touched her bare upper arm in a casual caress.

She drew back quickly and went to fetch the pan of eggs.

Jake had noticed the gesture, yet his voice was even and unruffled as he went on, "I wanted to circle out and to figure the chances of attacking their positions from the rear, but that was when the old Ras got bored and gave us a demonstration of h.e.l.l-driving. My G.o.d, I'm hungry." Jake filled his mouth with food, and then asked in a m.u.f.fled voice, "How did you get on, Gary?"

"There is good defensive ground in the gorge. I have the construction gangs digging positions in the slopes. We should be able to give a good account, if the Eyeties try to force their way through."

"Well, we have got scouts watching them.

Gregorius picked a hundred of his best men for the job. We will know as soon as they begin to move from the Wells, but I would like to know how much time we have before they move.

Every day will give us more time to prepare, to decide on our tactics, and train the Harari teach them how to fight with modern weapons.-" Vicky came back to the camp table and sat down.

"You haven't got time," she said. "No time at all."

"What does that mean? "Jake looked up.

"The Italians crossed the Mareb yesterday at noon. They crossed in force, and they have begun bombing the towns and the roads. It's war now. It's begun." Jake whistled softly.

"Hey ho! Here we go!" he said, and then turned to Gareth. "You'd best be the one who tells the Ras. You are the only one who can control him."

"I'm touched by your faith," murmured Gareth mildly.

"I have a pretty good idea what the Ras's reaction will be.

He'll want to rush straight out there and start throwing punches.

He's likely to get his whole tribe wiped out. You've got to calm him down."

"How do you suggest I do that? give him a shot of morphine or hit him over the head?"

"Get him into a gin-rummy game," suggested Jake maliciously. He scooped the last of the egg into his mouth and stood up from the table still chewing. "Good chow, Vicky but I reckon I'd better have a look at the damage the Ras did to Tenastelin. See if we can get her running again for the Eyeties to shoot at." For two hours, Jake worked alone on Tenastelin, rigging the block and tackle from one of the main branches of the big acacia tree and loosening the bolts to lift out the entire gearbox. Twenty yards away, Vicky sat at the table in front of her tent, and hammered out her next despatch on the little portable typewriter. Both of them were very much aware of each other as they worked, but their behaviour was elaborately unconcerned and they each made a show of concentrating all their attention on their separate tasks.

At last, Jake strained on the tackle and the dismembered gearbox lifted jerkily off its seating and swayed, dripping grease from the acacia branch. Jake stood back and wiped his hands on a lump of cotton waste soaked in gasoline.

"Coffee break," he said, and went to the fire. He poured two mugs full of black coffee and took them to where Vicky sat.

"How are you doing?" he asked, glancing at the page in her typewriter. "Pulitzer stuff, is it?" Vicky laughed, as she accepted the mug of coffee. "Prizes never go to the best man."

"Or to those who really want them," agreed Jake, sitting down opposite her, and she felt a flare of annoyance that he had turned the conversation so neatly.

"d.a.m.n you, Jake Barton. I don't have to answer to you or to anybody," she said softly.

"Right," he said. "Quite right. You're a big girl now but just remember that you're playing with the big boys. And some of them play very rough."

"Is there any charge, counsellor?" She looked up at him defiantly, and then she saw the look in his eyes and the anger shrivelled within her.

"I don't want to fight with you, Vicky," he said softly.

"That's the last thing in the world I want to do." He swallowed the last of his coffee. "Well," he said, "back to work.

"You give up easily, don't you?" Vicky didn't realize she had spoken until the words were out, and then she wanted them back but Jake c.o.c.ked an eye, at her, and he grinned that big boyish grin of his.

"Giving up?" Now he laughed aloud. "Oh, lady! If you believe that then you do me wrong, - a grave injustice." And he moved slowly towards where she sat and stood over her.

The laughter faded from his voice and from his eyes as he spoke in a new husky tone.

"You really are very lovely."

"Jake." She held his eyes. "I wish I could explain but I just don't understand myself" He touched her cheek and stooped down to her. "No, Jake, please don't-" she said and made no effort to avoid his lips, but before they touched hers, there was the -urgent sound of galloping hooves, coming up through the forest.

The two of them drew slowly apart, still watching each other's eyes and Gregorius Maryarn rode into the camp on a s.h.a.ggy little mountain pony.

"Jake," he called, sliding down off the saddle. "It's war! It's begun! The Italians have crossed the Mareb. Gareth has just told my grandfather."

"The timely messenger," murmured Vicky, but her voice was a little shaky, and her smile lopsided.

"I've come to help you fix my car, Jake. We must be ready to fight," called Gregorius, and tossed his reins to the servant who followed him. "Let's get to work. There is little time my grandfather has called all his commanders to a war council at noon. He wants you there." Gregorius turned away and hurried to the gutted hulk of Tenastelin. For a moment longer Jake stood over Vicky, and then he shrugged with resignation.

Just remember," he threatened her mildly, "I don't give up, and he followed Gregorius.

An hour later they had stripped the gearbox and spread its component parts on a sheet of clean canvas. Jake rocked back on his heels.

"Well, grand pappy has cooked his goose," he said, and Gregorius apologized solemnly.

"He is a very impetuous gentleman, my grandfather."

"It's getting on towards noon." Jake stood up. "Let's go down and hear what next he has in store for us, that impetuous gentleman." The Ras's encampment was set a little apart from the main body of his army, and housed only his personal entourage. There were at least two acres of hastily erected tukuLs, made of sapling frames covered with a range of material from thatch to flattened paraffin cans. Through this encampment wandered the naked snotty-nosed children and the Ras's mult.i.tudinous female retainers, together with goats, mangy dogs, donkeys, and camels.

The Ras's tent was set up in the centre of this community. It was a large marquee, patched so often that little of the original canvas was visible. His bodyguard was grouped protectively at the entrance.

Beyond the Ras's tent was a large area of open sandy ground, almost completely covered by rank upon rank of patiently squatting warriors.

"My G.o.d," exclaimed Jake. "Everyone gets to the war council."

"It's the custom," explained Gregorius. "All may attend, but only the commanders may speak." To one side, separated from the Harari troops by a small s.p.a.ce of beaten earth and centuries of rankling hostility, were the Galla contingent, and Vicky pointed them out to Jake.

"Pretty bunch," he murmured. "With allies like that, who needs enemies?" Gregorius led them directly to the Ras's tent, and the guards stood aside for them to enter. The interior was dark and hot, redolent with the smell of the rank native tobacco and spiced food. At the far end of the tent, a knot of silent men squatted in a tense circle about two figures the Ras, swathed in dark woollen robes, and Gareth Swales in a light silk s.h.i.+rt and white flannels.

For a moment Jake thought that the two central figures were deeply immersed in planning the strategy and defence of the Sardi Gorge then he saw the neat piles of paste, board spread out on the golden Afghanistan rug between them.

"My G.o.d," said Jake. "He took me at my word." Gareth looked up from the fan of cards he held in his right hand.

"Thank G.o.d." His face showed obvious relief. "I only wish it had been an hour earlier."

"What's the trouble."

"This old b.a.s.t.a.r.d is cheating," said Gareth, with barely suppressed outrage quivering in his voice. "He has caught me for almost two hundred quid this morning.

I'm utterly appalled, I must say. They obviously have no scruples, these people-" and here Gareth glanced at Gregorius, no offence meant, of course. But I must admit I am staggered." And the Ras nodded and grinned happily, his eyes sparkling with triumph, as he waved Jake and Vicky to a seat on a pile of cus.h.i.+ons beside him.

"If he's cheating don't play with him," suggested Vicky, and Gareth looked pained.

"You don't understand, old girl. I haven't been able to figure how he's doing it. He's invented a method new to science and the gambling halls of the world. He might be an absolutely unscrupulous old rogue, but he must be some sort of genius as well. I've just got to keep on playing with him until I work out his system." Gareth's doleful expression became radiant. "My G.o.d, when I do Monte Carlo here I came!" He discarded a six of spades. The Ras leapt upon it with a cackle of triumph and began laying out his hand.

"Oh my G.o.d," groaned Gareth. "He's done it again." The tense group of counsellors and elders around the game exploded in a delighted burst of cheers and felicitations, and the Ras acknowledged their congratulations like a victorious prizefighter. Grinning and snuffling he leaned across the rug and with a loud cry of "How do you do!" he punched Gareth's arm playfully, and Gareth winced and ma.s.saged the limb tenderly.

"He does that every time he wins. He's got a touch like a demented blacksmith I'm black and blue."

"How do you do!" cried the Ras again, louder than before, and he shaped up to punch once more, but Gareth hastily produced his purse, and the Ras relaxed.

"He keeps punching until I pay." Gareth counted out the coins, while the Ras and his followers watched in heavy-breathing concentration, which only broke into smiles and laughter again when the pile of coins in front of Gareth reached the stipulated amount. "No credit in this game," Gareth explained, as he shoved the money across.