Wilbur Smith - C11 Blue Horizon

by C11 Blue Horizon(Lit)

  "Son of the great whore!" Koots laughed with triumph. "The bay has gone lame. No wonder he had to slow down." Even in this poor light it was plain to see that the gelding was favouring his off fore. He must have picked up a sharp stone or a thorn in the frog, and he was making heavy weather of it. Koots raced down upon them, and the fugitive swivelled round. Koots saw that he was a hawk-faced Arab, with a curling bush of beard. He took one quick look at Koots, then flogged the gelding into a laboured gallop.

  Koots was close enough to risk a pistol shot and try to end it swiftly. He threw up his weapon and fired for the centre of the Arab's broad back. It must have been close for the Arab ducked and shouted, "Swords, infidel! Man to man!"

  As an ensign Koots had spent years with the VOC army in the Orient. His Arabic was fluent and colloquial. Those are sweet words!" he shouted back. "Stand and let me thrust them down your throat."

  Within two hundred yards the gelding was pulled up. The Arab

  slipped off his back, and turned to face Koots, flourishing the naval cutlass in his right hand. Koots realized he had no firearm: if he had carried a musket when he entered the camp, he had lost it somewhere along the way. He was dismounted, and had only the cutlass and, of course, a dagger. An Arab always had a dagger. Koots had a great advantage, and no quixotic notions ever entered his calculations. He would exploit it to the full. He charged straight down on the Arab, leaning out to sabre him from horseback.

  The Arab was quicker than he anticipated. As soon as he read Koots's intention, he feinted away from the charge and then, at the last moment, darted back under his sword arm, brushing down the flank of the running mare with the grace of a toreador leaning inside the horns of the charging bull. At the same time he reached up, grabbed a handful of the skirt of Koots's leather coat and threw all his weight on it. It was so sudden and unexpected that Koots was taken by surprise. He was leaning far out from his mount's bare back, without stirrups or reins to steady himself, and he was hauled bodily off the mare.

  But Koots was a fighting man too, and, like a cat, he landed on his feet with his grip on the hilt of his sabre. The Arab went for the forehand cut to the head again. Then immediately he reversed and cut low for the Achilles tendon. Koots met the first stroke, deflecting it with a twist of the wrist, but the second was so fast that he had to jump over the swing of the cutlass. He was in balance when he landed and thrust straight at the Arab's dark glittering eyes. The Arab rolled his head and let the stroke fly over his shoulder, but so close that it razored a tuft of his beard from below his ear. They sprang apart and circled each other. Neither was even breathing hard: two warriors in peak condition.

  "What is your name, son of the false prophet?" Koots asked easily. "I like to know who I am killing."

  "My name is Kadem ibn Abubaker al-Juri, infidel," he said softly, but his eyes glittered at the insult. "And, apart from Eater-of-Dung, what do men call you?"

  "I am Captain Herminius Koots of the army of the VOC."

  "Ah!" said Kadem. "Your fame goes ahead of you. You are married to the pretty little whore named Nella who has been fucked by every man who ever visited Good Hope. Even I had a few guilders' worth of her behind the hedge of the Company gardens when I was in the colony only a short while ago. I commend you. She knows her trade and enjoys her work."

  The insult was so barbed and unexpected that Koots gaped at him the Arab even knew her name. His sword arm faltered with the shock. On the instant Kadem was at him again, and he had to scramble

  backwards to avoid the attack. They circled and came together, and this time Koots managed a touch high on his left shoulder. But it barely scratched the skin and no more than a few scarlet drops showed through the thin soiled cotton sleeve of Kadem's robe.

  They essayed a dozen more passes without a hit, and then Kadem scored, slicing open Koots's hip, but only skin deep. The blood made it look worse than it was. Nevertheless Koots gave ground for the first time, and his sword arm ached. He regretted that wasted pistol shot. Kadem was smiling, a thin reptilian curl of the lips, and suddenly, as Koots had expected, a thin curved dagger appeared in his left hand.

  Then Kadem came on again, very fast, leading with his right foot, his blade turning into a darting sunbeam, and Koots went back before it. His heel caught on a patch of thorns and he nearly fell, but recovered with a sideways twist that jarred his spine. Kadem broke off again and circled out left. He had read Koots accurately. Left was his weak side. Kadem was not to know that, years ago, during the fighting before Jaffna, he had taken a ball through that knee. It was aching now and he was panting for breath. Kadem came on again, steely and relentless.

  By now Koots was flailing his blade a little, not thrusting straight and hard. His breath whistled in his own ears. He knew that it would not be much longer. The sweat burned his eyes, and Kadem's face blurred.

  Then, abruptly, Kadem pulled back and lowered his cutlass. He was staring over Koots's shoulder. It might have been a ruse, and Koots refused to respond. He watched the dagger in Kadem's left hand, trying to steady and compose himself for the next pass.

  Then he heard the sound of hoofs behind him. He turned slowly, and there were Oudeman and Richter mounted and fully armed, Xhia leading them. Kadem let both the dagger and the cutlass drop from his hand, but still he stood with his chin lifted and his shoulders squared.

  "Shall I kill the swine-pig, Captain?" Oudeman asked, as he rode up. His carbine was resting across the saddle in front of him. Koots almost gave the order. He was shaken and angry. He knew how close he had come, and Kadem had called Nella a whore. It was the truth, but death to any man who uttered it in Koots's hearing. Then he checked himself. I he man had spoken of Good Hope. There was something to learn from that, and later Koots would kill him with his own hands. That would give him more pleasure than letting Oudeman do it for him.

  i want to hear more from him. Tie him behind your horse."

  It was almost two leagues back to camp. They bound Kadem's wrists ogether and tied the other end of the rope to the snap-ring on the wing f Oudeman's saddle. He dragged Kadem at a trot. When he fell

  '-'udeman jerked him to his feet again, but each time Kadem lost a piece

  of skin from where his elbows or his knees struck the hard ground. He was coated with a paste of dust, sweat and blood when Oudeman dragged him into the camp.

  Koots swung down from the back of the grey mare, and went to inspect the other three Arab prisoners that Oudeman had captured.

  "Names?" he demanded of the two who seemed uninjured.

  "Rashood, effendi."

  "Habban, effendi." They touched their foreheads and breasts in respect and submission. He went to the third prisoner, who was wounded. He lay groaning, curled like a foetus in the womb.

  "Name?" Koots said, and kicked him in the belly. The wounded man groaned louder, and fresh blood trickled from between his fingers where he was clutching his stomach. Koots glanced at Oudeman.

  "Stupid Goffel," Oudeman explained. "He was carried away with excitement. Forgot your orders and shot him. It's in the belly. He won't live until tomorrow."

  "So! Better this than one of the horses," Koots said, and drew the pistol from the holster on his sword belt. He cocked it and held the muzzle to the back of the wounded man's head. At the shot the prisoner stiffened, his eyes rolled back in their sockets. His legs kicked spasmodically, then lay still.

  "Waste of good powder," said Oudeman. "Should have let me use the knife."

  "I haven't had my breakfast yet, and you know how squeamish I can be." Koots smiled at his own sense of humour and returned the smoking pistol to its holster. He waved his hand towards the other prisoners, "Give them each ten with the sjambok across the soles of both feet to put them in a friendlier mood, and as soon as I have finished my breakfast I will speak to them again."

  Koots ate a bowl of stew made from the shanks of the hartebeest, and watched Oudeman and Richter lay on the sjambok to the bare feet of the Arab captives.

&n
bsp; "Hard men." Koots gave grudging approval when the only sound they made was a small grunt to the fall of each stroke. He knew what agony they were enduring. Koots wiped out the bowl with a finger and sucked it as he went back to squat in front of Kadem. Despite his torn and dusty robe, the cuts and abrasions that covered his limbs, Kadem was so obviously the leader that Koots wasted no time on the others. He glanced up at Oudeman and indicated Rashood and Habban. "Take these pig-swine away."

  Oudeman knew that he wanted them out of earshot while he

  Questioned Kadem so that they would not hear his replies. Later he would question them separately and compare their responses. Koots waited until the Hottentot troopers had dragged them, limping on their swollen feet, to a tree and tied them to its trunk. Then he turned back to Kadem. "So you visited the Cape of Good Hope, Beloved of Allah?"

  Kadem stared back at him with fanatical, glittering eyes in his dusty face. However, the mention of the place stirred something in Oudeman's sluggish mind. He fetched one of the muskets they had captured from the Arabs and handed it to his captain. Koots's first glance at the weapon was perfunctory.

  "The butt-stock." Oudeman directed his attention. "See the emblem in the wood?"

  Koots's eyes narrowed and his lips formed a thin, hard line as he traced the design that had been burned into the wood with a branding iron. It depicted a cannon, a long-barrelled nine-pounder on a two wheeled carriage, and in the ribbon below it the initials CBTC.

  "Good, so!" Koots looked up and stared at Kadem. "You are one of Tom and Dorian Courtney's men."

  Koots saw something flare in the depths of those dark eyes, but it was so swiftly hidden again that he could not be certain of it, but the emotion the names had engendered was passionate. It might have been loyalty, dedication or something different. Koots sat and stared at him. "You know my wife," Koots reminded him, 'and I might have to castrate you for the way you spoke of her. But do you know the Courtney brothers, Tom and Dorian? If you do, it might just save your balls."

  Kadem stared back at him, and Koots spoke to Oudeman: "Sergeant, lift his skirts that we can judge how big is the knife we must use for the job."

  Oudeman grinned and knelt beside Kadem, but before he could touch him Kadem spoke.

  "I know Dorian Courtney, but his Arabic name is al-Salil."

  The Red-headed One," Koots agreed. "Yes, I have heard him called that. What of his brother, Tom? The one whom men also call Klebe, the hawk."

  "I know them both," Kadem affirmed.

  "You are their hireling, their creature, their lackey, their lickspittle?" Koots chose his words with care to provoke him.

  I am their implacable enemy." Kadem rushed into the trap, his pride bristling. "If Allah is kind, then one day I will be their executioner."

  He said it with such fierce sincerity that Koots believed him. He said nothing, for often silence is the best form of interrogation.

  Kadem was by now so agitated that he burst out: "I am the bearer of the sacred fat was entrusted to me by my master the ruler of Oman, Caliph Zayn al-Din ibn al-Malik."

  "Why would such a noble and mighty monarch entrust such a mission to a miserable slice of rancid pork fat such as you?" Koots gave a mocking laugh. Although Oudeman had not understood a word of the Arabic exchanges he laughed like an echo.

  "I am a prince of the royal blood," Kadem avowed angrily. "My father was the Caliph's brother. I am his nephew. The Caliph trusts me because I command his legions and I have proven myself to him a hundred times over in war and in peace."

  "Yet you have failed to accomplish this sacred fat wa of yours," Koots taunted him. "Your enemies still flourish, and you are in rags, tied to a tree and covered with filth. Is that the Omani ideal of a mighty warrior?"

  "I have slain the incestuous sister of the Caliph, which was part of the task I was given, and I have stabbed al-Salil so deeply and grievously that he might still perish of the wound. If he does not, I will not rest until my duty is accomplished."

  "All this is the raving of a madman." Koots smirked at him. "If you are driven by this sacred duty, why do I find you wandering like a beggar in the wilderness, dressed in filthy rags, carrying a musket with al-Salil's emblem branded on it, trying to steal a horse on which to escape?"

  Skilfully Koots milked the information out of his captive. Kadem boasted of how he had inveigled himself on board the Gift of Allah. How he had waited his opportunity, and how he had struck. He described his assassination of the Princess Yasmini, and how he had come so close to killing al-Salil also. Then he described how, with the help of his three followers, he had escaped from the Courtney ship while it lay in the lagoon, how they had avoided the pursuit and at last had stumbled on Koots's troop.

  There was much in this account that was entirely new to Koots, especially the flight of the Courtneys from the colony of Good Hope. This must have taken place long after he had left in pursuit of Jim Courtney. However, all of it was logical and he could detect no weak spots in the story, nor any attempt to deceive him in Kadem's rendition of it. Everything seemed to fit neatly into what he knew of Keyser and his intentions. It was also the kind of resourceful enterprise that Tom and Dorian Courtney between them might devise.

  He believed it, with reservations. There were always reservations. Yes! he gloated inwardly, without letting it show in his expression. This is an extraordinary stroke of fortune, he thought. I have been sent an

  ally I can bind to me by chains of steel, a religious fat wa and a burning hatred beside which even my own determination pales.

  Koots stared hard at Kadem while he made his decision. He had lived among the Mussulmen, fought for and against them long enough to understand the teachings of Islam and the immutable codes of honour that bound them.

  "I also am the sworn enemy of the Courtneys," he said at last. He saw the naked passion in Kadem's eyes veiled immediately.

  Have I made a fatal mistake? he wondered. Have I rushed too swiftly to my purpose, and startled my quarry? He watched Kadem's suspicion growing stronger. However, I have taken the plunge now, and I cannot go back. Koots turned to Oudeman. "Loosen his bonds," he ordered, 'and bring water for him to wash and drink. Give him food to eat and let him pray. But watch him carefully. I don't think he will try to escape, but do not give him the chance."

  Oudeman looked mystified by these orders. "What about his men?" he asked uncertainly.

  "Keep them tied up and under close guard," Koots told him. "Don't let Kadem speak to them. Don't let him go near them."

  Koots waited until after Kadem had bathed, eaten and carried out the solemn ritual of the midday prayers. Only then did he send for him to continue their conversation.

  Koots observed the polite form of greeting and, in so doing, changed Kadem's status from that of captive to guest, with all the responsibilities that that relationship placed on both of them. Then he went on. "The reason why you find me here, in the wilderness so far from the civilized abodes of men, is that I am following the same quest as you. Behold these wagon tracks." He pointed them out, and Kadem glanced at them. Of course he had noticed them while he had stalked the horses and closed in on the camp.

  "Do you see them?" Koots insisted.

  Kadem's face set in a stony expression. He was already regretting his previous indiscretions. He should never have let his emotions run away with his tongue and revealed so much to the infidel. By now he had recognized that Koots was a clever, dangerous man.

  These tracks were made by four wagons that are being driven by the only son of Tom Courtney, whom you know as Klebe." Kadem blinked but showed no other expression. Koots let him think about that for a while. Then he explained why Jim Courtney had been forced to leave the colony.

  Although Kadem listened in silence and his eyes showed no more

  emotion than those of a cobra, he was thinking furiously. While he had been masquerading as a lowly seaman aboard the Gift of Allah he had heard all this discussed by his companions. He knew about Jim Courtney's fl
ight from Good Hope.

  "If we follow these wagon tracks, we can be certain that they will lead us to the place somewhere on the coast where father and son have agreed to meet," Koots finished, and again they were silent.

  Kadem thought about what Koots had told him. He turned it over and back and forth in his mind, the way a jeweller examines a precious stone for impurities. He could detect no false notes in Koots's version of events. "What do you want of me?" he asked, at last.

  "We share the same purpose," Koots answered. "I propose a pact, an alliance. Let us take the oath together in the sight of God and his Prophet. Let us dedicate ourselves to the total destruction of our mutual enemies."