The Quest - Smith Wilbur (читаем книги онлайн бесплатно TXT) 📗
The ground under the papyrus was mostly wet, sometimes merely damp but often the water covered the horses' fetlocks. Nevertheless the little colt, Whirlwind, was well able to keep up with his dam. Pools were hidden in the reeds: some of these were small but others were extensive lagoons. The Shilluk, even though they were unable to see over the reeds, unerringly steered around or between them. The column was never forced to turn back to find an alternative route. When it was time to make camp each evening Nakonto was able to lead them to openings in the papyrus where the ground was dry. They built their cooking fires from bundles of dried stalks, and were careful not to allow the flames to escape into the standing reeds. The horses and mules wandered through the stagnant pools to eat the grasses and plants that grew in them.
Each evening Nakonto took his spear, waded out into one of the pools and stood poised like a hunting heron. When one of the big catfish swam close enough he would skewer it cleanly and lift it struggling, tail whipping, out of the water. In the meantime Nontu plaited a loose basket of reeds and placed it over his head, his eyes visible through the gaps in the weave. Then he left the bank and submerged his entire body until only his head, disguised by the reed basket, showed above the
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surface. He moved with infinite patience and caution to a flock of wild duck. When he was within range he reached out beneath the surface, grabbed a bird's legs and plucked it under. It did not have a chance to squawk before he had wrung its neck. In this way he could take five or six birds from a flock before the others became suspicious and took off with loud honks and clattering wings. Most evenings the company dined on fresh fish and roasted wild duck.
Stinging insects plagued men and animals. As soon as the sun set they rose in buzzing clouds from the surface of the pools, and the troopers huddled miserably in the smoke of the campfires to avoid their onslaught.
In the morning their faces were swollen and spotted with bites.
They had been travelling for twelve days before the first man showed symptoms of swamp-sickness. Soon, one after another, his comrades succumbed to it. They suffered from blinding headaches and uncontrollable shivering, even in the humid heat, and their skin was hot to the touch. But Meren would not break the march to let them recover. Each morning the stronger troopers helped the invalids to mount, then rode alongside them to hold them in their saddles. At night many babbled deliriously. In the morning dead bodies lay round the fires. On the twentieth day Captain Tonka died. They scraped a shallow grave for him in the mud, and rode on.
Some of those struck down threw off the disease, although their faces were left yellowed and they were weak and exhausted. A few, including Taita and Meren, were unaffected by the sickness.
Meren urged the fever-racked men on: 'The sooner we escape from these terrible swamps and their poisonous mists, the sooner you will recover your health.' Then he confided to Taita, 'I worry ceaselessly that should we lose the Shilluk to the swamp-sickness or they desert us, we will be helpless. We will never escape from this dreary wilderness and shall all perish here.'
'These swamps are their home. They are shielded from the diseases that abound here,' Taita assured him. 'They will stay with us to the end.'
As they travelled on southwards, vast new expanses of papyrus opened before them, then closed behind them. They seemed trapped like insects in honey, never able to break free despite their violent struggles. The papyrus imprisoned them, ingested them and suffocated them. Its bland monotony wearied and dulled their minds. Then, on the thirty-sixth day of the march, there appeared at the limit of their forward vision a cluster of dark dots.
'Are those trees?' Taita called to the Shilluk. Nakonto sprang on to
Nontu's shoulders and stood to his full height, balancing easily. It was a position he often adopted when he needed to see over the reeds. ¦ 'Nay, ancient one,' he replied. 'Those are huts of the Luo.' i 'Who are the Luo?'
'They are hardly men. They are animals who live in these swamps, eating fish, snakes and crocodiles. They build their hovels on poles, such as those you see. They plaster their bodies with mud, ash and other filth to keep off the insects. They are savage and wild. We kill them when we find them for they steal our cattle. They drive the beasts they have stolen from us into this fastness of theirs and eat them. They are not true men but hyenas and jackals.' He spat in contempt.
Taita knew that the Shilluk were nomadic herders. They had a deep love for their cattle, and would never kill them. Instead they carefully punctured a vein in a beast's throat, caught the blood that flowed in a calabash, and when they had sufficient they sealed the tiny wound with a handful of clay. They mixed it with cow's milk and drank it. 'That is why we are so tall and strong, such mighty warriors. That is why the swamp-sickness never affects us,' the Shilluk would explain.
They reached the Luo encampment to find that the huts sitting high on their stilts were deserted. However, there were signs of recent occupation. Some of the fish heads and scales beside the rack on which they smoked their catch were quite fresh, and had not yet been eaten by fresh-water crabs or the buzzards that perched on the roofs, and live coals still glowed in the fluffy white ash of the fires. The area beyond the encampment that the Luo had used as a latrine was littered with fresh excrement. Nakonto stood by it. 'They were here this very morning.
They are still close by. Probably they are watching us from the reeds.'
They left the village and rode on for another seemingly interminable distance. Late in the afternoon Nakonto led them to an opening that was slightly higher than the surrounding mudbanks, a dry island in the wastes. They tethered the horses to wooden pegs driven into the earth, and fed them crushed dhurra meal in leather nosebags. Meanwhile Taita tended the sick troopers, and the men prepared their dinner. Soon after nightfall they were asleep around the fires. Only the sentries remained awake.
The fires had long burned out, and the troopers were deep in slumber when suddenly they were shocked awake. Pandemonium swept through the camp. There were shouts and screams, the thunder of galloping hoofs, and splashing from the pools around the island. Taita sprang up from his mat and ran to Windsmoke. She was rearing and plunging,
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trying to pull the peg that held her out of the ground, as most of the other horses had. Taita grabbed her halter rope and held her down. With relief he saw that the foal, shivering with terror, was still at her side.
Strange dark shapes flitted around them, prancing, screaming and ululating shrilly, poking at the horses with spears, goading them to break away. The frenzied animals plunged and fought their ropes. One of the figures charged at Taita and thrust at him with his spear. Taita knocked it aside with his staff and drove the point into his assailant's throat. The man dropped and lay still.
Meren and his captains rallied their troops and rushed in with bared swords. They managed to cut down a few attackers before the others vanished into the night.
'Follow them! Don't let them get away with the horses!' Meren bellowed.
'Do not let your men go after them in the dark,' Nakonto called urgently to Taita. 'The Luo are treacherous. They will lead them into the pools and ambush them. We must wait for the light of day before we follow.'
Taita hurried to restrain Meren, who accepted the warning reluctantly for his fighting blood was up. He called his men back.
They assessed their losses. All four sentries' throats had been cut, and another legionary had received a spear wound in the thigh. Three Luo had been killed, and another was badly wounded. He lay groaning in his blood and the vile matter that dribbled from the stab wound through his guts.
