The Quest

by Wilbur Smith

  ‘Fast as a whirlwind.’ Taita smiled. ‘That shall be its name.’ Wind smoke watched her newborn’s struggles with interest. At last the membrane tore and the colt, for a colt he was, heaved himself upright and stood swaying drunkenly. He was breathing deeply from his efforts, his silvery flanks heaving.

  ‘Good!’ Taita said softly. ‘Good brave boy.’ Windsmoke gave her foal a hearty maternal lick of welcome that almost knocked him down again.

  He staggered but recovered his balance. Then she started the process in earnest: with long firm strokes of her tongue, she scrubbed off the amniotic fluid. Then she moved to place her swollen udder within easy reach. Already the milk was dripping from her waxed teats. The colt sniffed at them, then latched on to one like a limpet. He gave furious suck, and Taita stole away. His presence was no longer needed or desirable.

  At daybreak the troopers came to admire mother and baby. Horsemen all, they knew better than to crowd them. At a discreet distance they pointed out to each other the new foal’s shapely head and long back.

  ‘Good deep chest,’ said Shabako. ‘He will be a stayer. He will run all day.’

  ‘Front legs not splayed or pigeon-toed. He will be fast,’ said Hilto.

  ‘Hindquarters finely balanced, neither sickle-hocked nor hip-shot. Yes, fast as the wind,’ said Tonka.

  ‘What will you call him, Magus?’ Meren asked.

  ‘Whirlwind.’

  ‘Yes,’ they agreed at once. ‘A good name for him.’

  Within ten days Whirlwind was frolicking around his dam, butting her udder fiercely when she did not let down her milk fast enough for his appetite.

  ‘Greedy little fellow,’ Taita observed. ‘Already he is strong enough to follow when we go on.’

  Meren waited another few days for the rise of the full moon before he took once more to the south road. As Taita rode down the column Meren saw him looking at the water-pots and lime bags strapped to the back of each pack mule. Hurriedly he explained, ‘I am certain we will have no further need of them, but…’

  He groped for an explanation.

  Taita supplied it. ‘They are too valuable to discard. We can sell them in Qebui.’

  ‘Exactly what I had in mind.’ Meren looked relieved. ‘Not for an instant did I doubt the efficacy of your magic. I am sure that from now on we will find only good water ahead.’

  So it proved. The next pool they came to was green and filled with huge catfish that had long barbels round their mouths. The shrinking pools had concentrated them in dense shoals so they were readily speared.

  Their flesh was bright orange and rich with fat. They made delicious eating. Among the men Taita’s reputation was now carved in marble and embossed in pure gold. The four captains and their troopers were ready to follow him to the ends of the earth, which was exactly what Pharaoh had ordered them to do.

  Fodder for the horses was always in short supply, but Taita had passed that way before and hunted in the surrounding country. He led them on detours from the river to hidden valleys in which grew stands of a low, leathery desert shrub that seemed dead and desiccated, but buried beneath each plant an enormous tuber was filled with water and nutrients.

  They were the staple diet of the oryx herds in hard times - they pawed them up with their hoofs. The troopers chopped them into chunks. At first the horses refused to touch them, but hunger soon overcame their reluctance. The men cached the water-pots and lime bags and replaced them with tubers.

  They sustained the pace of the march over the ensuing months, but the weaker horses started to falter. When they broke down, the troopers dispatched them with a sword blow between the ears that went deep into the skull. They left their bones to bleach in the sun. In all twenty two died before they faced the final obstacle: the Shabluka gorge, a narrow cutting through which the Nile forced its way.

  Above the gorge the Nile, in spate, was almost a mile wide. However, through the gorge it was compressed to a hundred yards from one steep rocky bank to the other. When they camped below it they saw running water for the first time since they had left Karnak. A thin stream emerged through the rocky chute and spilled into the pool below. However, it had not run more than a mile before it was sucked into the sands and vanished below them.

  They ascended the Shabluka Ridge up a wild-goat track along the lip of the gorge. From the summit they looked southwards across the plains to a distant line of low blue hills. ‘The Kerreri hills,’ said Taita. ‘They stand guard over the two Niles. Qebui is only some fifty leagues ahead.’

  The course of the river was marked by groves of palm trees along each bank, and they followed the western bank towards the hills. The river flowed stronger as they drew nearer to Qebui and their spirits rose. They covered the last leg of the journey in a single day and at last stood at the confluence of the Nile.

  Qebui was the outpost at the furthest limit of the Egyptian domain.

  The small fort housed the governor of the nome and a detachment of border guards. The town spread out along the southern bank. It was a trading post, but even at this distance they could see that many buildings were run-down and abandoned. All trade with Mother Egypt in the north had been strangled by the failure of the Nile. Few were prepared to take a caravan along the perilous road that Taita, Meren and their men had negotiated.

  ‘This flow of water comes down from the highlands of Ethiopia.’ Taita pointed to the wide, eastern river course. The water was running and they could see shadoof wheels turning along the far bank as they lifted the water into the irrigation channels. Wide fields of green dhurra surrounded the town.

  ‘I expect to find good supplies of grain here to fatten the horses.’

  Meren smiled with pleasure.

  ‘Yes,’ Taita agreed. ‘We shall have to rest now until they are fully recovered.’ He patted Windsmoke’s neck. She was sadly out of condition: her ribs were showing and her coat was dull. Even though Taita had shared his ration of dhurra with her, feeding her foal and the rigours of the journey had taken their toll on her.

  Taita turned his attention to the eastern fork of the river. ‘That is the way Queen Lostris led the exodus,’ he said. ‘We sailed the galleys as far as the mouth of another steep gorge which they could not surmount, anchored them there and went on with chariots and wagons. In the mountains the queen and I chose the site of Pharaoh Mamose’s tomb. I designed it and concealed it most cunningly. I have no doubt it has never been discovered and desecrated. Nor will it be.’ For a short while he reflected on his achievement with satisfaction, then went on, ‘The Ethiopians have fine horses, but they are warriors and fiercely defend their mountain fastnesses. They have driven back two of our armies sent to subdue them and bring them into the empire. I fear that there will never be a third attempt.’ He turned and pointed directly down the southern branch of the river. It was wider than the eastern fork, but it was dry, not even a trickle moving in its bed. ‘That is the direction we must follow. After a few short leagues the river enters the swamp that has already swallowed two armies without trace. However, if we are fortunate we will find it much reduced. Perhaps we might find an easier way through it than the others did. With judicious use of the royal Hawk Seal we will be able to procure from the governor native guides to lead us. Come, let us cross to Qebui.’

  The governor had been stranded at this outpost for the seven years of the drought. His name was Nara, and he was bent and yellowed after constant attacks of swamp-fever, but his garrison was in much better case. They were well fed with dhurra, and their horses were fat. Once Meren had shown him the royal seal and informed him of Taita’s identity, Nara’s hospitality was unbounded. He ushered Taita and Meren to the guesthouse in the fort and placed the best rooms at their disposal.

  He sent slaves to attend them and his own cooks to prepare their meals, then threw open his armoury for them to re-equip their men.

  ‘Choose the horses you need from the remount depot. Tell my quartermaster how much dhurra and hay you require. There is no
need to stint. We are well provisioned.’

  When Meren inspected the men in their new quarters he found them well content. ‘The rations are excellent. There are not many women in the town but those few are friendly. The horses and mules are filling their bellies with dhurra and green grass. No one has any complaint,’

  Hilto reported.

  After his long exile Governor Nara was eager for news of the civilized world, and hungry for the company of sophisticated men. In particular Taita’s learned dissertations fascinated him. Most evenings he invited him and Meren to dine with him. When Taita revealed to him their intention to ride south through the swamps, Nara looked grave.

  ‘Nobody returns from the lands beyond the swamps. I believe implicitly that they lead to the end of the earth and those who go there are swept over the edge into the abyss.’ Then, hastily, he adopted a more optimistic tone: these men bore the royal Hawk Seal and he should encourage them in their duty. ‘Of course, there is no reason why you should not be the first to reach the end of the earth and return safely. Your men are tough and you have the magus with you.’ He bowed to Taita. ‘What more can I do to assist you? You know you have only to ask.’

  ‘Do you have native scouts to guide us?’ Taita asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Nara assured him. ‘I have men who come from somewhere out there.’

  ‘Do you know what tribe they belong to?’

  ‘No, but they are tall, very black and tattooed with strange designs.’

  ‘Then they are probably Shilluk,’ Taita said, pleased. ‘During the exodus General Lord Tanus recruited several regiments of the Shilluk. They are intelligent men and readily instructed. Although they are of cheerful disposition, they are fearsome fighters.’

  ‘That would describe them well enough,’ Governor Nara agreed.

  ‘Whatever their tribe, they seem to know the country well. The two men I have in mind have worked with the army for some years, and have learnt a little of the Egyptian language. I will send them to you in the morning.’

  In the dawn when Taita and Meren left their quarters they found two Nubians squatting against the wall of the courtyard. When they rose to their feet they towered even over Meren. Their lean frames were sheathed in flat, hard muscle, decorated with intricate patterns of ritual scarring, and their skin shone with oil or fat. They wore short skirts of animal skin, and carried long spears with barbed heads carved from bone.

  ‘I see you. Men!’ Taita greeted them in Shilluk. Men was a term of approbation, used only between warriors, and their handsome Nilotic faces lit with delight.

  ‘I see you, ancient and wise one,’ the taller man replied. Those also were terms of reverence and respect. Taita’s silver beard had made a deep impression on them. ‘But how is it that you speak our tongue so well?’

  ‘Have you heard of Lion Liver?’ Taita asked. The Shilluk considered the liver to be the seat of a man’s courage.

  ‘Hau! Haul’ They were astonished. It was the name that their tribe had given Lord Tanus when they served under him. ‘Our grandfather spoke of Lion Liver, for we are cousins. He fought for that man in the cold mountains of the east. He told us that Lion Liver was the father of all warriors.’

  ‘Lion Liver was my brother and my friend,’ Taita told them.

  ‘Then you are truly old, older even than our grandfather.’ They were even more impressed.

  ‘Come, let us sit in the shade and converse.’ Taita led them to the enormous fig tree in the centre of the courtyard.; They squatted in the council circle, facing each other, arid Taita questioned them closely. The elder cousin was their spokesman. His name was Nakonto, the Shilluk word for the short stabbing spear. ‘For in battle I have slain many.’ He was not boasting, but stating a fact.

  ‘My cousin is Nontu for he is short.’

  ‘All things are relative.’ Taita smiled to himself: Nontu stood a full head taller than Meren.

  ‘Where do you come from, Nakonto?’

  ‘From beyond the swamps.’ He indicated the south with his chin.

  ‘Then you know the southern lands well?’

  ‘They are our home.’ For a moment he seemed wistful and nostalgic.

  ‘Will you lead me to your home?’

  ‘I dream every night of standing by the graves of my father and grandfather,’ Nakonto said softly.

  ‘Their spirits are calling you,’ said Taita.

  ‘You understand, old one.’ Nakonto looked at him with deepening respect. ‘When you leave Qebui, Nontu and I will go with you to show you the way.’

  Two more full moons had shone down upon the pools of the Nile before the horses and their riders were fit to travel. On the night before their departure Taita dreamed of fishes in vast shoals, of every colour, shape and size.

  You will find me hiding among the other fishes. Fenn’s sweet, childish voice echoed through the dream. I will be waiting for you.

  He woke in the dawn with feelings of happiness and soaring expectations.

  When they called on him to take their leave, Governor Nara told Taita, ‘I am sad to see you go, Magus. Your company has done much to lighten the monotony of my duties here at Qebui. I hope it is not long before I have the pleasure of welcoming you back. I have a parting gift for you that I think you will find most useful.’

  He took Taita’s arm and led him out into the bright sunlight of the courtyard. There he presented him with five pack mules. Each carried two heavy sacks filled with glass beads. ‘These baubles are much sought after by the primitive tribes of the interior. The men will sell their favourite wives for a handful.’ He smiled. ‘Although I cannot think of any reason why you would want to waste good beads on such unappealing goods as those women.’

  When the column rode out from Qebui, the two Shilluk loped ahead, easily matching their speed to that of the trotting horses. They were tireless, keeping up the same pace for hour after hour. During the first two nights the men rode over wide scorched plains on the east bank of the wide dry riverbed. In the early morning of the third day when the column halted to make camp, Meren stood in his stirrups and gazed ahead. In the slanting sunlight he made out a low green wall that stretched unbroken across their horizon.

  When Taita called Nakonto, he came to stand beside Windsmoke’s head.

  ‘What you see, old one, are the first papyrus beds.’

  ‘They are green,’ Taita said.

  ‘The swamps of the Great Sud never dry. The pools are too deep and screened from the sun by the reeds.’

  ‘Will they block our way?’

  Nakonto shrugged. ‘We will reach the reed banks after one more night’s march. Then we shall see if the waters have shrunk enough to let the horses pass, or if we must make a wide circle out towards the eastern hills.’ He shook his head. ‘That will make the way to the south much longer.’

  As Nakonto had predicted, they reached the papyrus the next night.

  From the reed beds the men cut bundles of dried stalks and built low thatched shelters to protect themselves from the sun. Nakonto and Nontu vanished into the papyrus, and were gone for the next two days.

  ‘Will we see them again,’ Meren fretted, ‘or have they run off to their village, like the wild animals they are?’

  ‘They will return,’ Taita assured him. “I know these people well. They are loyal and trustworthy.’

  In the middle of the second night Taita was roused by the challenge of the sentries, and heard Nakonto reply from the papyrus stands. Then the two Shilluk materialized out of the darkness into which they had blended so perfectly.

  ‘The way through the swamps is open,’ Nakonto reported.

  In the dawn the two guides led them into the papyrus. From there onwards it was no longer possible for even Nakonto to find the way in darkness, so they were forced to travel by day. The swamps were an alien, forbidding world. Even from horseback they could not see over the tops of the fluffy seedheads of the papyrus. They had to stand in the stirrups to view the undulating green ocean that str
etched away before them to the infinite horizon. Over it hovered flocks of water-fowl, and the air was filled with the sound of their wings and their plaintive calls. Occasionally large beasts crashed away unseen, rippling the tops of the reeds. They could not guess at their species. The Shilluk glanced at the tracks they left in the mud, and Taita translated their descriptions. ‘That was a herd of buffalo, great black wild cattle,’ or ‘That was a water goat. A strange brown creature with spiral horns that lives in the water. It has long hoofs to help it swim like a water rat.’

  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 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.