The Lion Rock

by Sally Wenteorth

  Poking his head back into the room, Marcus saw her still standing there and said with mock severity, 'Fifteen minutes!'

  Cordelia suddenly came to life. Laughing happily, she covered the typewriter and ran to change into a pale blue sundress that matched her eyes and a pair of wedge-heeled, comfortable sandals. Grabbing up her bag and the other things she heeded for the day, she ran out to the front of the house, a faint flush on her cheeks and all the excitement she felt showing in her eyes.

  Marcus looked up from stowing a hamper in the boot of the car, an arrested expression on his face. 'You look like a child who's been promised a treat.'

  Cordelia smiled at him fully for the first time in three days. 'I feel like one,' she told him happily. 'Where are we going?'

  'Get in and I'll show you on the map.'

  He had a big map of the island and as he sat next to her he handed it to her and helped her to spread it out on her lap. Leaning across, he pointed out the route he intended to take. 'You covered most of the road when you went with Daya, but today we're turning off to Sigiriya— here.' He pointed with a long finger. 'There's plenty of time, we don't have to rush, so if you see anywhere on the way that you want to stop and look at, just give a yell.'

  'Yes, all right.' Her eyes weren't on the map but on his profile, following the hard outline of his face, her nostrils full of his freshly applied aftershave. It had a musky tang to it that made her want to get closer.

  The day was hot and sunny and, as usual, the roads were full of people, but Marcus took his time and didn't drive on his brakes as Daya did, so that she didn't have to keep grabbing at the dashboard to steady herself. They stopped at a level-crossing to wait for the train to go by and where there was a big open market full of people, most of the sellers with their wares carried in on their backs and displayed in baskets or spread out on the ground on pieces of sacking. There were spiky pineapples and the rich purple sheen of mangosteens and the brilliant scarlet of chilli peppers that had been dried in the sun. But above everything was the noise of the people as they haggled loudly over their purchases, carrying umbrellas to guard them from the sun and the occasional monsoon shower. The train came along, old and dirty and packed with people, and the gates swung open. For a while the road ran alongside the single railway track, which was almost as busy as the road, with the people walking along it using it as a short cut to the next village, and with much less chance of being knocked down and killed, Cordelia guessed wryly as she watched them.

  They stopped for her to take photos of an ornate painted Hindu temple covered with carvings of figures that each seemed to have an unbelievable number of arms and heads, and again at a batik factory where they were shown the waxing and dyeing processes and where Cordelia tried on and bought several dresses that had the most beautiful designs and were incredibly cheap. She had thought that Marcus might get impatient with her for spending so long in the batik shop, but he wasn't in the least; he even picked out a couple of dresses for her to try on which he said he thought would suit her. Needless to say, she bought them both.

  Back in the car, Marcus drove northwards again, through an open plain with occasional villages scattered alongside the main road, with beyond them a few cultivated fields before the scrublike-looking trees that Marcus told her was the start of what the Sri Lankans called the jungle area, although it was so very open and sparse that Cordelia would never have described it as that herself. Every now and again there were huge outcrops of rock sticking up out of the plain like giant-size versions of the anthills that she saw at the sides of the road. Pointing ahead, Marcus said, 'See that huge circular rock with the flat top up ahead? That's Sigiriya where we're heading. They call it the Lion Rock.'

  The rock was massive, more like a small mountain; it rose red-gold from its surrounding belt of trees to stand sentinel against the blue of the cloudless sky. When they neared it they had to stop and buy tickets before they could go any farther, but Marcus refused the services of a guide and drove on to park the car under the shade of some trees.

  'I thought we might have a stroll round the ruins of the summer palace first, then have lunch and a rest before we attempt the climb up the rock. Okay by you?'

  'Mm, fine.' Cordelia followed him out of the car, perfectly happy to go anywhere he cared to suggest. They wandered slowly round the ruins under the hot sun, Marcus pointing out where the different parts of the palace had stood. The day was very still and sultry and the only other people exploring the ruins were a long way off, near the foot of the Lion Rock. Cordelia had a feeling of timelessness, when she stood still and half closed her eyes she could almost see the ancient people who had inhabited these vast ruins.

  'What are you thinking?' Marcus's soft question brought her out of her reverie.

  'Oh, nothing really.'

  'Nothing?' His eyebrows lifted in disbelief.

  'Well,' she gave a half embarrassed laugh, 'only that if you closed your eyes you could imagine what it must have been like—the people who lived here then, the way it must have been.'

  She expected him to laugh at her, or worse, see that sardonically mocking look in his face, but to her surprise he nodded and said quickly, 'That's right, there's an aura about the place. You can see the king sitting in his throne room, his warriors about him and dozens of the most beautiful women dancing for him and attending to his needs.'

  Cordelia smiled. 'I hadn't imagined the bit about the beautiful women.'

  Marcus laughed and slipped a casual arm round her waist. 'But at least you have an imagination. The last people I brought here just said, 'Oh, yes" politely to everything I pointed and couldn't wait to get to the nearest hotel with a bar.'

  'Who was that?' Cordelia asked, warm from his praise and his touch.

  'Oh, just some people who came over for a short visit from England.' He paused and looked away from her, was silent for a few minutes, then said almost to himself, 'I suppose that's really all they are—-just a lot of old stones. Unless you have the imagination to clothe them in history.' He turned to Cordelia and let his eyes run over her tall, youthfully slim figure. 'As you have,' he said softly.

  Cordelia gazed at him, sensing that there was something deeper behind his words, waiting, longing for him to go on, to confide in her, but then his eyebrows flickered at the imperative honking of a tourist coach on the nearby road and the moment was lost. He grinned at her and caught hold of her hand. 'But I bet right now you'd much rather have a glass of chilled white wine.'

  ‘Did you say chilled? Just lead me to it!' Cordelia agreed fervently, and let him run her along to the car, protesting laughingly, 'You didn't mean it, did you? You haven't really got cold wine?'

  But he had. He opened up the .picnic, hamper and revealed two bottles of wine in a special container to keep them cool.

  'You,' Cordelia informed him in awestruck tones, 'are definitely the man I would most like to be marooned on a desert island with. You get my vote every time!' He passed her a glass and she drank it slowly, savouring every drop, letting it linger in her dry throat and passing her tongue over her lips. 'Oh, that was good,' she sighed reverently. "The best drink I've ever tasted. Nectar!'

  'The drink of the gods.' He took the empty glass from her and said softly, 'Your lips are wet with wine. They make me want to taste them.'

  'D-do they?' Cordelia breathed, her heart standing still.

  'Yes.' And he bent forward and put his mouth on hers, softly, gently, letting his lips explore its full softness, then he drew back and looked down into her rapt face. Slowly Cordelia Opened her eyes; only their mouths had touched and yet she felt as if he had touched and explored her whole body, every nerve end was on fire and her heart now was racing crazily. Marcus refilled her glass and gave it to her, then filled his own and raised it. 'To all the ancient pagan gods,' he toasted, his eyes smiling lazily into hers.

  'Especially to Bacchus,' Cordelia added, trying to keep her tone as light as his.

  'Most definitely,' Marcus agreed with a
grin, 'Now what have they given us to eat?'

  So they sat in the shade of the trees in that ancient place and ate and drank, taking their time, talking and laughing often. Somehow Cordelia found herself telling him all about her life in Sri Lanka, and then back in England alone with her mother and aunt, not realising that she was betraying a great deal more to him than just her words conveyed. Then she asked him about himself, but he again evaded the question. 'Maybe one day I'll write my autobiography and you'll be able to read it all,' he told her, lying back in the grass, his head pillowed on his arms.

  'Afraid I'll reveal all the sordid details of your life to the gutter press, huh?' Cordelia teased him. She stretched out alongside him, lying on her stomach, her head propped up on her elbows. His lips curled into that slightly crooked grin. 'Watch it, woman, or I'll put you in my Autobiography!'

  'Really?' Cordelia was intrigued. 'What would you say?'

  He had closed his eyes, but now he opened them a little and looked at her lazily. 'Well, that would depend.'

  'On what?'

  'On whether or not you're going to kiss me, of course.'

  Cordelia had been toying idly with the gold necklace she wore, but now her fingers grew still as she stared down at him, not sure whether he was teasing or serious. But he merely gave a small grin and closed his eyes again, which was no help at all. She looked down at his face for several minutes, noticing how the lock of dark hair that had fallen forward on his forehead softened the hardness of his features. And there was a small cleft in his chin which made her want to run her finger along it. Slowly she edged a little nearer. His breathing was quite regular and she thought he had fallen asleep, so she was quite safe. Even in repose there was a harsh look to his mouth and she saw now that they were lines of bitterness that had given it that slightly sardonic curve. Cordelia found that she very much wanted to kiss those lines away, to make them disappear for ever. She leaned over him, confident that he was asleep, her eyes studying his face. Slowly she lowered her head and just touched his lips with her own, the pressure no greater than the flutter of a butterfly's wing. But even so, Marcus had felt it, and when she went to lift her head away he put a hand behind her neck so that she couldn't move. His eyes opened and looked into hers. 'You can do better than that,' he told her softly.

  'Yes.' The word was no more than a sigh.

  'Then show me.'

  She lowered her head again, her hair falling forward and forming a golden curtain around their heads. Her lips found his and touched them gently in small kisses, each of which was a caress, demanding nothing but giving freely of their warmth and softness. He lay there, letting her take his mouth, but when Cordelia parted his lips with her tongue she felt a quiver run through him, his hand tightened on her neck and he began to kiss her passionately in return. Pulled off balance, she fell against him and immediately Marcus's arm went round her, holding her close, half lying on top of him. Cordelia's arms went round his neck as she responded, overwhelmed by his sudden passion, lost to everything around her. But then Marsus abruptly pushed her away and sat up and she became aware of voices nearby. A party of Sri Lankan pilgrims headed by two Buddhist monks in their saffron robes were walking through the ruins towards them. Cordelia gave them one glance, then turned back to stare at Marcus, her hair dishevelled, chest heaving, her eyes still bemused with passion.

  Marcus's eyes settled on her face for a long moment, then he quickly got to his feet and pulled her up beside him. 'Let's go up to the fortress. It should be a little cooler now.'

  Cordelia put up a hand to push the hair away from her face, a hand that wasn't quite steady. 'Yes. All right.' She helped him to pack up the picnic things and stow them in the car, acting mechanically, her mind still lost in the clouds.

  Marcus drove to the car park at the foot of the Lion Rock and they walked up the path between the little souvenir stalls selling ebony Buddhas, brightly-coloured balsa-wood masks and beaten brassware. They paused near a huge overhanging rock while Marcus told her how the Buddhists had taken over the place after the king who built the fortress had been defeated in battle. But she wasn't really listening; she was aware only of sensations: of the sun hot on her back, the murmur of his voice, of a lizard that crouched on a stone, watching her, most of all of Marcus's closeness, his shoulder almost touching hers; she only had to move a few inches and she would be able to lean against him, feel the length of his body against her own. She quivered, the desire so great that it became physical. Marcus's voice trailed off, Cordelia turned her head to look at him and their eyes met and held. She couldn't read his face, but hers must have been plain enough, because he smiled a little, then lifted a finger and lightly touched her lips. 'Later,' he murmured.

  They moved on Up through the trees and began to climb up the steps, Marcus acting as guide. Then the way became steep and narrow, with only a handrail between the path and a sheer drop down the side of the rock. And to reach the cave paintings they had to go up a spiral metal staircase attached to the bare rock face. The frescoes were rather disappointing, just a few paintings Were left where once there had been hundreds. They were all of native girls, painted from the waist up in gentle orange, pink and green colours. They were adorned with jewelled headdresses, necklaces and countless bracelets, and they all had beautifully rounded, and quite bare, breasts.

  'They call them the Cloud Maidens,' Marcus told her. 'Because we're so high up, I suppose.'

  'I don't see any paintings of men,' Cordelia noted drily.

  'Of course not. These ancient kings knew how to get their priorities right.'

  'You mean they date from the Early Chauvinist Age?'

  Marcus's laugh echoed round the shallow cave in which they stood. Putting a hand on her arm, he said, 'You know, you make me realise what I've been missing while I've been here.'

  Cordelia didn't ask him to explain. To see him smile, to feel his hand on her arm, was enough. She felt as high as the Cloud Maidens, her heart soaring dizzily. They went back down the spiral stairs and Marcus helped her because she wasn't that good on heights. She was terribly aware of him, every time he touched her, even of his closeness; it was as if there was some sort of electric current running between them that set off sparks every time they touched.

  Walking round to the other side of the rock they came to a, place where once the massive head of a lion crouching on its paws had stood guard over the entrance to the upper fortress on top of the rock. Now only the paws remained on either side some steps that had once gone through the archway of the lion's mouth. Above the steps there was an iron ladder with a handrail attached to the rock face.

  'Do you want to try it?' Marcus asked her. Cordelia hesitated as she looked up the sheer climb. 'Have you ever been up there?' she asked doubtfully.

  'Yes. But don't try it if you'd rather not.'

  She gulped. 'I'll try.'

  Going up the first part wasn't too bad, but then there was a tricky place which was just narrow, worn footsteps in the granite with only a low handrail to hold on to, but Marcus put a firm hand on her arm and she was up before she knew it. On the very top of the rock there were more ruins, and they wandered round for an hour or so, exploring. Then they had to get down. Cordelia found this a hundred times worse because you could see the drop below, and there was one really nasty moment when some people coming up wanted to pass. Almost she panicked, but Marcus put his arm round, her, talking to her matter-of-factly, and somehow the other people were past and they were safely down to the lion's paws again.

  Marcus sat her down and went over to a drinks stall under a tree which described itself as a 'Cool Spot' and brought her back a Coke. 'Here. 'Fraid it's not very cold, though.'

  'Oh, thanks! Cordelia drank thirstily and put up a hand to wipe the perspiration from her brow.

  'You were scared stiff during that climb, weren't you?' Marcus observed accusingly. And when she nodded, he went on, 'So why did you do it?'

  She shrugged. 'Because I wanted to get to the top. I did
n't want to be beaten.'

  He looked amused. 'And do you always go after what you want so determinedly? Even though you're afraid?'

  Cordelia set down the empty bottle of Coke and said lightly, 'I suppose that depend^ on how badly I want something. Aren't you willing to take a risk if you want something badly enough?'

  His eyes rested on her face, flushed from the climb, and he nodded. 'Yes. And I always get what I want.'

  'Always?'

  'Yes. Always,' he answered firmly.

  'How spoilt you must be, then,' Cordelia observed, wrinkling her nose at him..

  He laughed, 'Hopelessly!' and reached out to take her hand and lead her back down the hill.

  They didn't hurry on the drive back to the bungalow. Nor did they hurry over dinner afterwards, but both of them were aware of the physical tension and of the word 'later' that lay between them. They chatted easily over the meal, like people who had known each other a long time. Cordelia had pushed Sugin's shadow far into the background; she hadn't seen the other girl for three days and she certainly wasn't going to ask where she was. Occasionally, accidentally—or almost accidentally—their hands would touch, and Cordelia would almost gasp aloud. She had never fore known such desire, such intense physical need.

  When they had finished, Marcus stood up. Let's go for a stroll round the garden, shall we?' He took her hand and together they walked across the verandah and down into the warm scented garden.

  They walked on until they had outdistanced the light thrown by the lamps in the house and there was only the moonlight to guide them. Marcus paused near the frangipani tree, its white flowers luminous in the soft rays of the moonlight. Leaning against the trunk of the tree, he pulled her gently towards him. 'Cordelia,' he breathed, his arms going round her, 'how lovely you look! So fair, so very fair.' He kissed her gently at first, then lifted his head to watch the moonlight play on the golden silk of her hair as he let it run through his fingers.