Men of Men - Smith Wilbur - Страница 69

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"Oh God, Zouga. I know. I hated it too. I have lived with it so long, but he promised me that this would be the last time."

"Go on," Zouga commanded.

"But he didn't have two thousand, Zouga. We are almost broke, a few pounds is all that we have left."

This time Zouga could not contain himself and he broke in.

"The letter of credit, half a million pounds "Forged," she said quietly.

"Go on."

"He didn't have the money to pay for the diamonds and I knew what he was going to do. I tried to stop him, I swear it to you."

"I believe you."

"He arranged to meet this man tonight, at a place out on the Cape road."

"Do you know the man's name?"

"I'm not sure. I think so." She passed her hand over her eyes. "He is a coloured man, a Griqua, Henry, no, Hendrick Somebody "Hendrick Naaiman?"

right! Naaiman, that's it."

"He's an I.D.B. trap."

"Police?"

"Yes, police."

"Oh sweet God, it's even worse than I thought."

"What happened?" Zouga insisted.

"Mungo made me wait for him at the crossroads and he went to the rendezvous alone. He said he needed to protect himself, he took his pistol. He went on my horse, on Shooting Star, and then I heard the gunfire."

She took another gulp of the coffee and coughed at the burn of it.

"He came back. He had been shot, and so had Shooting Star. They couldn't go any further, neither of them. They were both hard hit, Zouga. I hid them near the road and I came to you."

Zouga's voice was harsh. "Did Mungo kill him?"

"I don't know, Zouga. Mungo says the other man fired first and he only tried to protect himself."

"Mungo tried to hold him up and take the diamonds, without paying for them," Zouga guessed. "But Naaiman is a dangerous man."

"There were four empty cartridges in Mungo's pistol, but I don't know what happened to the policeman. I only know that Mungo escaped, but he is hurt very badly."

"Now keep quiet and rest for a while." He stood up and paced up and down the kitchen, his bare feet making no sound, his hands clasped at the small of the back.

Louise Sint John watched him anxiously, almost fearfully, until he stopped abruptly and turned to her.

"We both know what I should do. Your husband is I.D.B. he is a thief and by now he is probably a murderer."

"He is also your friend," she said simply. "And he is very badly wounded."

He resumed his pacing but now he was muttering to himself, troubled and scowling, and Louise twisted her fingers in her lap.

"Very well," he said at last. "I'll help you to get him away."

"Oh, Major Ballantyne, Zouga He silenced her with a frown. "Don't waste time talking. We'll need bandages, laudanum, food, "He was ticking off a list on his fingers. "You can't go like that.

They'll be watching for a woman. Jordan's cast-off clothes will fit you well enough, breeches, cap and coat, " Zouga walked at the flank of the mule, and the gravel cart was loaded with bales of thatching grass.

Louise lay silently in the hollow between two bales, with another ready to pull over herself if the cart was stopped.

The iron-shod wheels crunched in the sand, but the night dew had damped down the dust. The lantern on the tailboard of the cart swung and jiggled to the motion.

They had just passed the last house on the Cape road, and were drawing level with the cemetery when there was the dust-muffled beat of hooves from behind them and Louise only just had time to drop down and cover herself before a small group of riders swept out of the darkness and overtook them.

As they galloped through the arc of lantern light, Zouga saw they were all armed. He stooped and lowered his chin into the collar of his greatcoat and the woollen cap was pulled low over his eyes. One of the riders pulled up his horse and shouted to Zouga.

"Hey, you! Have you seen anybody on this road tonight?"

"Niemand me! Nobody!" Zouga answered in the taal, and the sound of the guttural dialect reassured the man.

He wheeled his horse and galloped on after his companions.

When the sound of hooves had died away Zouga spoke quietly.

"That means that Naaiman got away to spread the word. Unless he dies of his wounds later, it's not murder."

"Please God," Louise whispered.

"It also means that you cannot try to get out on either the Cape road or the road to the Transvaal. They will be watched."

"Which way can we go?"

if I were you I would take the track north, it goes to Kuruman. There is a mission station there, it's run by my grandfather. His name is Doctor Moffat. He will give you shelter, and Mungo will need a doctor. Then when Mungo is strong enough, you can try to reach German or Portuguese territory and get out through Mideritz Bay or Lourenqo Marques."

Neither of them spoke for a long time as Zouga trudged on beside the mule, and Louise crawled out to sit on the bench of the cart, it was she who broke the silence.

"I am so tired of running. We seem to have run out of lands, America, Canada, Australia, we cannot go back to any of them."

"You could go home to France," Zouga said, "to your sons."

Louise's head jerked up. "Why do you say that?"

"When Mungo and I first met he told me about you, his wife, that you were of a noble French family. He told me that you and he had three sons."

Louise's chin sank onto her chest and Jordan's cloth cap covered her eyes.

"I have no sons," she said. "But oh how I pray that one day I may have. I belong to a noble family, Yes, but not French. My grandmother was the daughter of Hawk Flies Lightly, the Blackfoot War Chief."

"I don't understand, Mungo told me "He told you about the woman who is his wife, Madame Solange de Montijo Sint John., Louise was silent again, and Zouga had to ask: "She is dead?"

"Their marriage was unhappy. No, she is not dead. She returned with their three sons to France at the beginning of the Civil War. He has not seen her since."

"Then she and Mungo are," Zouga hesitated over the unsavoury word, "divorced?"

"She is a Catholic," Louise replied simply; and it was fully five minutes before either of them spoke again.

"Yes," Louise said. "What you are thinking is correct.

Mungo and I are not married; we could not be."

"It's not my business," Zouga murmured, and yet what she had said did not shock him. He felt instead a strange lightness of spirit, a kind of glowing joy.

"It's a relief to speak completely honestly," she explained. "After all the lies. Somehow it had to be you, Zouga. I could never have admitted all this to anybody else."

"Do you love him?" Zouga's voice was rough-edged, brusque.

"Once I loved him completely, without restraint, wildly, madly."

"And now?"

"I do not know, there have been so many lies, so much shame, so much to hide."

"Why do you stay with him, Louise?"

"Because now he needs me."

I understand that." His voice was gentler. He did understand, he truly did. "Duty is a harsh and unforgiving master. And yet you have a duty to yourself also."

The mules plodded on in the darkness, and the swinging lantern did not light the face of the woman on the bench, but once she sighed, and it was a sound to twist Zouga's heart.

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