“Yes, everything,” murmured the Grafina.
They studied the location thoughtfully. No surprise was possible. Any enemies who dared to cross the boundary that nature rendered propitious to traps and ambushes would fall to the fire of the two infallible carbines. Karel, moreover, was not a bad shot, and out of six bullets, at 100 meters, would only miss with two or three. The Amdavas were reliable; two of those who possessed rifles could use them with some skill; all of them handled their bows marvelously—and, knowing that the enemy was throwing poisoned assegais, they had poisoned their arrows.
“Yes,” said the planter, “at this point of the river-bank we can easily keep 200 men at bay. Further on, surprise attacks will become possible, and in hand-to-hand fighting, our enemies would have the advantage over our slender auxiliaries. Their strength far surpasses that of other men.”
“Not yours!” retorted the Grafina. “And Monsieur de Rouveyres has faced up to them with his fists. It’s not just a matter of strength. With their krises, my men have no fear of adversaries far more vigorous than themselves.”
“The Amdavas are also very redoubtable with their own weapons,” Karel added, “and they use their shields with extraordinary skill.”
“All right!” said Dirk. “Although the Carabao-Men’s big clubs seem to me to be more redoubtable in a mêlée than krises. In any case, while we’re on enemy ground, where the Carabao-Men know how to render themselves as invisible as they are on the shores of this river, our company isn’t worth 200 men any longer.”
“No,” the Grafina agreed. “It’s not even worth 100…if we’re advancing into covered land. But let’s see!” Addressing herself to Frédéric, she continued: “You’ve traveled the country as far as their villages. Is all the ground covered with plants high enough or thick enough for men to hide themselves therein completely?”
“On much of the ground the vegetation is low. I also think that if we can reach the largest of the marshes, navigation might be possible there.”
“On the marsh we’d be continuously in sight,” said Louise, “and disembarkation would become very difficult—but we’ll see. Do you think that by making detours we could move forward without risk of falling into an ambush, until we’re within two or three miles of their lair?”
“I think so…in fact, I’d swear to it, if we can clear a few strips of territory here and there.”
Dirk and the Grafina looked at one another. “We have to risk it!” said the giant. “On the way back, though, the ground will be prepared for ambushes.”
“Who knows? Our scouts, with Rak to lead them, almost all the Amdavas and you know how to avoid traps.”
“Yes,” said Dirk, gravely. “Then again, we need to have confidence in the Invisible!”
Frédéric contemplated these humans, ready to give their lives for an unknown woman who had come from the other side of the world, with admiration. “My God!” he murmured, turning his head toward Louise’s beautiful face, on which the coppery firelight was dancing. “Your devotion and your heroism surpass anything I would have dared to imagine.”
“Guests are sacrosanct,” she replied.
And when she had translated the young man’s words, the giant said: “The men of my race would rather die than abandon those whose protection they have assumed.”
XII. Toward the Men of the Marsh
With the benefit of detours, the expedition was able to cross half a dozen miles without hindrance. Two or three times, curtains of vegetation would have been able to hide a watchful enemy, but the curtains proved less profound than one might have thought; neither the scouts nor the dogs signaled any suspicious presence.
“I suspect,” the planter said, “that they’re retreating deliberately, in order to draw us to where we don’t want to go.”
“They’re surrounding us,” said Louise.
Neither of them was mistaken. The Carabao-Men had surrounded the travelers at a considerable distance and, knowing how many they were, were counting on exterminating them in the vicinity of their habitat, with the aid of the entire tribe.
The weather was dreary, the sky leaden, with thick dull clouds that harmonized with the stagnant waters, the granite ground and the marsh plants. Water oozing out of the soil often formed pools in which mud-loving creatures were swarming: corpulent reptiles and soft, fetid larval monsters.
In making their detours, they encountered the hard soil of the earliest ages, as hard as cast iron but nevertheless eroded by wind and water, and by stubborn lichens, indefatigable corrosive forces that created fecund soil by devouring the rock.
Toward midday, they came up against a thick barrier of vegetation and marsh. The place through which Frédéric and Corisande had passed with the caravan was so propitious for ambushes that they had to avoid it. Taking a slanting course, they reached a chain of rocks.
In a black region in which basalts were dominant they formed truncated pyramids, often strangely regular prisms or towers; one might have imagined them to be the work of savage architects, even more elementary than those who had built the megalithic monuments. Full of corridors, they permitted passage everywhere, but were manifestly suitable for a stubborn defense.
The scouts, the Grafina and the de Ridders searched for the best passage, but all the corridors included turnings that might hide enemies completely.
“If they want to engage us in battle in there, they can!” muttered Dirk, examining a labyrinth with broad passes.
Louise de Gavres, who had gone on ahead with Rak and the dog Vos, came back to join the colossus at that moment.
“The most favorable passage is through there,” she affirmed, pointing to an enormous rock, which loomed over the other rocks as a cathedral looms over a group of houses.
“Let’s go see,” Dirk replied.
The base of the giant rock, which was quite straight, formed the western wall of a broad corridor bordered on the other side by irregular masses. The corridor only deviated after 100 meters, forming a very obtuse angle.
“It’s necessary to go that far in order to see whether there’s a practicable exit,” Louise said.
“Rak can go there with Vos,” said the scout. “If the Carabao-Men show themselves, Rak will be able to escape them.”
“If they’re here, it’s hardly probable that there are many of them,” the Grafina replied. “They must be looking out for us everywhere, as far as the marsh, and thus must be widely scattered.”
“Regt!” said Dirk. “It would, indeed, require an extraordinary freak of chance for them to be concentrated around here. Let’s act rapidly. I propose that Rak and Vos go on ahead and that several of our men follow them. Initially, we’ll spread out—as if we were continuing to search for a way through—and then we’ll reassemble a dozen men unexpectedly.”
There was nothing to do but agree.
“The men must be ready to reassemble as soon as the signal is given.”
Karel was charged with transmitting the orders. A dozen servants and Amdavas rapidly joined the Grafina, Dirk and Rak; the last-named went into the corridor first, with the dog Vos, and advanced silently, but at speed.
It was not long before the dog showed signs of anxiety. Half way to the bend, Rak slowed down, then began creeping. He disappeared.
Louise and Dirk de Ridder advanced, ready to fire. The Amdavas held their assegais in their hands. There was a whistle, and a brief bark from the dog, and Rak reappeared, running. A club appeared at the corner, but the hand holding it could not be seen. Two or three assegais whistled through the air.
Rak continued to beat his retreat. A fist holding an axe became visible through a gap. As agreed, the Grafina fired first. The axe fell; the wounded hand withdrew, while a long groan echoed from the basaltic walls.
Rak arrived at the gallop. “There are only four or five,” he said. “The corridor broadens out and opens on to the plain.”
“Will we have to force a way through?” the planter asked Louise.
“I
believe we can, especially behind the Amdavas’ shields.”
“Then let’s not delay.”
Dirk gave a light whistle, to which Karel, who was standing at the corridor entrance, immediately responded. “In five minutes, the greater number of our men will follow.”
The Amdavas, the Grafina’s servants and Dirk started running as the signal was given. The five minutes had not yet elapsed when everyone was ready for the attack.
“Whenever you wish, Jufvrouw!” said the giant.
She nodded her head. Dirk whistled again, while Karel arrived with the remaining Amdavas. The men of the forest, understanding what was expected of them, disposed their shields in order to form a kind of overlapping wall, broadly reminiscent of the Roman testudo, and got under way.
When they arrived at the bend, a few assegais flew—and then the Carabao-Men, small in number and disconcerted by the marching wall, beat a retreat.
As Rak had said, the corridor broadened out considerably; they could see a leprous plain, dotted with pools, planted with low grass, a few clumps of trees, and giant reeds growing on the edges of the pools.
“Forward!” commanded the Grafina. “The quicker we go, the better.”
“Forward!” Karel repeated, in the forest-dwellers’ language.
The Amdavas had not waited for the order. They were excited. Their bellicose instincts were urging them to battle; they were almost unaware of any fear of death, not thinking about it.
They arrived at the exit from the corridors without any interruption. The Carabao-Men had become invisible. To make sure that they had not remained in the vicinity, several Amdavas, protected by shields, inspected the rocky walls. As three or four of them were searching a fissure, a Carabao-Man abruptly sprang out. With a blow from his axe he split the skull of an Amdava; with a thrust of his formidable shoulders he knocked down three others; one might have thought him a bull charging goats—and he had raised his axe to strike at those who were running when a formidable hand seized his wrist. Dirk had come to the rescue.
Taken by surprise, the Son of the Marshes dropped his weapon. He turned toward the colossus in order to knock him down. Although the primitive’s head did not reach the planter’s shoulder, his chest was so profound and his arms so muscular that he must have had the strength of six Sumatrans or three or four Dutchmen. He tried to free his wrist, but the hand that held it would have resisted the pull of a tiger—so he thrust his granite head at the giant’s breast.
His shoulder hardly having been touched, Dirk seized the man’s other wrist and threw him to the ground with a double twist. For a moment, the Carabao-Man fought back, with extreme violence, but then, recognizing the sovereign strength of his adversary, he became motionless.
Amdavas, Sumatrans and whites watched this scene as the keen-eyed Achaeans and the horse-taming Trojans had watched heroic duels.
“It might be useful to keep him,” said Dirk, with one foot on the breast of the defeated man. “He’ll need to be tied up.”
On a command from Karel, three Amdavas bound the prisoner’s body with a kind of slender liana, resistant and elastic. Rak thought it advisable to secure the wrists with jute cord.
“What use will he be to us?” said Karel. “We’ll have to carry him. He’ll reveal our presence everywhere.”
“We can’t march in a troop without being seen,” the planter replied, “and as we’re advancing slowly, by necessity, carrying him won’t inconvenience us much. I confess, son, that I’m not sure what use he’ll be to us…but I’ve recognized the usefulness of hostages more than once in my life.” The colossus paused, then continued: “Anyway, it has never seemed appropriate to me to kill a man who has ceased to defend himself. I hope to die without having done that—and you wouldn’t have done it either!”
“No,” said Karel. “I wouldn’t have done it.”
“Thou shalt not kill, says the Book. I’ve only killed when it was necessary to save the lives of others, or my own. I also regret having been obliged to come into the Carabao-Men’s territory as an enemy. They gave me no choice! A man is a slave to his destiny.”
The Amdavas had picked up their wounded warrior. The axe had made a large dent in his skull, without penetrating as far as the brain. Dirk examined the wound. “He might recover!” he said.
“He will recover,” said one of the Amdavas, dressing the wound with herbs gathered from among the rocks. Antisepsis has been practiced by many savages for thousands of years. The plants selected by the forest-dwellers were aromatic; the wound was washed in their juice, as carefully as by a conscientious nurse. In addition, the man chanted magical formulas, punctuated by gestures, which were also an aspect of ancestral therapeutics, designed to enhance the morale of invalids.
Frédéric watched the primitive medical procedure with amazement, thinking that the wounded men collected on the battlefield were hardly any better cared-for, and perhaps no more intelligently, than the forest-dwellers.
Further away, Dirk attended to the Carabao-Man, who, while fighting frenziedly, had sustained a wound on the nape of his neck that was bleeding copiously. The Son of the Marshes had thought, at first, that the giant wanted to kill him or subject him to torture. When he understood that his wound was being dressed, a strange stupor rounded his wild eyes; he watched his conqueror, sometimes with hatred, sometimes with a despairing resignation, in which the primal worship of Strength was mingled.
“It’s dangerous not to kill him,” said Rak.
Dirk paid no heed. Before that fantastic human being, who revealed a race of an extreme vigor, he experienced the sentiment that he experienced in confrontation with large wild animals—especially tigers, for which he had an extreme admiration. To tell the truth, he killed them whenever he encountered them, out of a sense of duty, but with a confused reluctance. That sentiment was no stranger to Louise de Gavres, who was also seduced by dominant animals, even those as hideous as rhinoceroses or crocodiles.
“Why do these brutes feel the need to attack other men?” Dirk complained. “Are they not safe in their own lands? For a long time, the whites, the Malays and the Amdavas have not dreamed of disputing with them.”
“Men have always fought men,” Louise replied. “They’re obeying the same instinct, albeit more obscure, that summoned our ancestors here—and our ancestors were ferocious, as you know very well, old friend!” She turned her beautiful face and dark starry eyes to Frédéric. “You know that too, Monsieur de Rouveyres, you whose ancestors killed mine like dogs, or condemned them to infamous tortures…”
“Alas, yes—you have made me see that. My ancestors behaved cruelly toward yours—but you, you have twice risked your life for Corisande’s and mine. Oh, men are not simple creatures, since they can also be as heroically generous as you and your admirable friends. Will you permit me, Mademoiselle, to have as much affection for you as if we were members of the same family?”
Hendrik translated these words in due course, and the giant, affected by them, cried: “We would curse ourselves like the mire of these marshes if we did not defend our guests.”
He held out his colossal hand, into which the Frenchman’s hand disappeared completely. Louise had lowered her head. Her face was inscrutable. In a low voice, she said: “We accept your friendship, Frédéric de Rouveyres.” Her profound and soft voice set all the young man’s nerves tingling.
“Now,” Dirk declared, after examining the location, “I think we can advance for several more miles. Our trackers and dogs can’t be taken by surprise. There are two or three places, at the most, suitable for an ambush, but with too few men to attack us. I’m almost certain that the Carabao-Men won’t attack us until they feel that they’re the stronger. They’ve found that their jet weapons are powerless at distances that our rifles can cover without difficulty, and even at a distance at which our Amdavas archers can reach them without them being able to respond.”
“Furthermore,” added Louise, who had just examined the surrounding area with a li
ttle telescope, “the rocks and thickets where they might try to hide are easily avoidable; they’ll have to choose between retreat and encirclement.”
“Regt!” said the planter. “But the time’s approaching, Jufvrouw, when we’ll need to make a plan—which we’ll rectify, naturally, according to circumstances. First of all, we can’t think of penetrating their ant-hill en masse.”
“Their termitary, rather,” Karel remarked.
“Even if we took possession of it,” said the Grafina, “there are numerous caverns there, as Monsieur de Rouveyres has told us. How could we storm them, if they’re defended? And won’t they communicate with avenues of retreat, which these savages will have attained long before we can find them? A small number of our people will have to recover Mademoiselle de Rouveyres, while the remainder distract the attention of our enemies.”
“But how?” said Hendrik.
“Impossible to be more precise as yet. That will only be possible when we’re within sight of their rocks. Let’s continue our advance.”
The expedition marched on, after a brief meal. For several hours all obstacles and all the places where ambushes might be set were surrounded by the agile Amdavas and then passed by.
The presence of Carabao-Men was obvious to the scouts and signaled by the dogs, but the enemy remained completely invisible. Their tactics were invariable; they included a continuous retreat. Evidently, they had taken account of the futility of a battle in which the feeble range of their jet weapons put them in a position of inferiority of which they were now convinced. The infallible marksmanship of the planter and the Grafina had made a powerful impression on them; they believed in the presence of other marksmen just as redoubtable. From a distance, a few of them had seen Dirk flooring his antagonist without apparent effort. They were not afraid. Fear was almost unknown to them. Their warriors did not recoil before mortal peril when it was necessary to fight—except that the supernatural struck terror into them, and they did not know whether some superhuman power might be aiding the white colossus and the woman with the eyes of black fire.
The Givreuse Enigma Page 25
