The Quest

by Wilbur Smith

  ‘What does she say?’ Taita asked.

  ‘She says that the woman lies. She has done none of those things. She does not know how to make witchcraft. She loved the woman who was her mother, and she did not kill her.’ The old woman replied to this with equal venom, and then the two were screeching at each other.

  For a while Taita listened to them with mild amusement, then told Nakonto, ‘Take the woman back to the village. She is no match for the child.’

  Nakonto laughed. ‘You have found a lion cub as your new pet, old one. We will all learn to fear her.’

  As soon as they were gone Fenn quietened.

  ‘Come,’ Taita invited her. She recognized his meaning, if not the word, and stood up at once. As he walked away she ran after him and took his hand again. The gesture was so unaffected that Taita was deeply moved. She began to chatter naturally, so he answered her although he did not understand a word she said. He went to his saddle-bag and found the leather roll of his surgical instruments. He paused only to speak to Meren: ‘Send Nontu back to fetch the rest of the men and horses out of the swamps and bring them here. Keep Nakonto with us for he is our eyes and our tongue.’

  Then, with Fenn still in tow, he went down to the edge of the swamp and found a clear opening among the reeds. He waded out knee deep, then sat down in the lukewarm water. Fenn watched him from the bank with interest. When he splashed handfuls of water over his head she burst out laughing for the first time.

  ‘Come,’ he called, and she jumped into the pool without hesitation.

  He sat her between his knees with her back to him and poured water over her head. The mask of filth began to dissolve and run down her neck and over her shoulders. Gradually patches of pale skin started to show through, speckled with louse bites. When he tried to wash the filth out of her hair, the congealed gum defied his best efforts to dislodge it.

  Fenn wriggled and protested as he pulled at her scalp. ‘Very well. We will deal with that later.’ He stood her up and began to scrub her with handfuls of sand from the bottom of the pool. She giggled when he tickled her ribs, and tried half-heartedly to escape, but she was still giggling when he pulled her back. She was enjoying his attention. When at last he had cleaned away the superficial layers of dirt he fetched a bronze razor from the surgical roll and started on her scalp. With the utmost care he began to scrape away the matted hair.

  She bore it stoically, even when the razor nicked her and drew blood.

  He had to keep stropping the edge for her matted hair blunted it after only a few strokes. It fell away in clumps, and gradually he exposed her pale scalp. When at last he had finished he laid aside the razor and studied her. ‘What big ears you have!’ he exclaimed. Her bald head seemed too large for the thin neck it was balanced upon. In contrast her eyes were even bigger, and her ears stuck out at each side of her head like those of a baby elephant. ‘Looked at from every angle and in any light, and giving you the benefit in any area of doubt, you are still an ugly little thing.’ She recognized the affection in his tone and smiled at him trustingly with the blackened teeth. He felt tears sting his eyelids, and wondered at himself. ‘When did you last find a tear to shed, you old fool?’ He turned away from her and reached for the flask that contained his special salve, a blend of oils and herbs, his sovereign cure for all minor cuts, bruises, sores and other ailments. He massaged it into her scalp and she leant her head against him, closing her eyes like a kitten being petted. He kept talking to her softly, and every now and then she opened her eyes, looked up at his face, then closed them again. When he had finished they climbed out of the pool, and sat together. While the sun and the hot breeze dried their bodies, Taita selected a pair of bronze forceps and went over every inch of her. The herbal salve had killed most of the lice and other vermin, but he found many still stuck to her skin. He plucked them off her, and crushed the life out of them. To Fenn’s delight, they made a satisfying pop as they exploded in a spot of blood. When he had removed the last one, she took the forceps from him, and set about the insects that had changed their abode from her to him. Her eye was sharper and her fingers were more nimble than his as she ruffled through his silver beard and inspected his armpits for signs of life. Then she searched lower down. She was a savage and showed no inhibition as she ran light fingers over the silver scar at the base of his belly where he had been castrated. Taita had always tried to conceal this mark of shame from other eyes, except those of Lostris when she was alive. Now she was alive again and he felt no embarrassment. Yet although her actions were innocent and natural, he removed her hand.

  ‘I think we can say that, once again, we know each other well.’ Taita gave his considered opinion when she had picked him clean.

  ‘Taita!’ He touched his chest. She stared at him solemnly. ‘Taita.’ He repeated the gesture.

  She had understood. ‘Taita!’ She prodded his chest with a finger, then bubbled with laughter. ‘Taita!’

  ‘Fenn!’ He touched the tip of her nose. ‘Fenn!’

  She thought that an even better joke. She shook her head vigorously, and slapped her own skinny chest. ‘Khona Manzi!’ she said.

  ‘No!’ Taita argued. ‘Fenn!’

  ‘Fenn?’ she repeated uncertainly. ‘Fenn?’ Her accent was perfect, as though she had been born to speak the Egyptian language. She thought about it for a moment, then smiled and agreed, ‘Fenn!’

  ‘Bak-her! Clever girl, Fenn!’

  ‘Bak-her,’ she repeated faithfully, and slapped her chest again. ‘Clever girl, Fenn.’ Her precocity amazed and delighted him anew.

  When they returned to the camp Meren and all the men stared at Fenn in wonder, although they had been warned not to do so.

  ‘Sweet Isis, she is one of us,’ Meren cried. ‘She is not a savage at all, though she behaves like one. She is an Egyptian.’ He hurried to search his saddle-bags and found a spare tunic, which he brought to Taita.

  ‘It is almost clean,’ he explained, ‘and it will serve to cover her decently.’

  Fenn regarded the garment as though it were a venomous serpent.

  She was accustomed to nakedness and tried to escape as Taita lifted it over her head. It took perseverance but at last he dressed her. The tunic was far too large, and the hem hung almost to her ankles, but the men gathered round her and loudly expressed their admiration and approval.

  She perked up a little.

  ‘Woman to the core.’ Taita smiled.

  ‘Woman indeed,’ Meren agreed, and went back to his saddle-bag. He found a pretty coloured ribbon and brought it to her. Meren, the lover of women, always carried a few such trifles. They facilitated his transient friendships with members of the opposite sex whom he encountered on their travels. He tied the ribbon in a bow round her waist to prevent the hem of the tunic dragging in the dirt. Fenn craned her neck to study the effect.

  ‘Look at her preen.’ They smiled. ‘ ‘Tis a great pity she is so ugly.’

  ‘That will change,’ Taita promised, and thought of how beautiful she had been in the other life.

  By the middle of the next morning the bodies of the dead Luo had rotted and bloated. Even at a distance the stench was so overpowering that they were forced to shift their own encampment.

  Before they broke camp Taita sent Nontu back into the papyrus to bring out the men and horses they had left there. Then he and Meren went to inspect the Luo women they had captured. They were still under guard at the centre of the village, roped in strings, huddled together naked and abject.

  ‘We cannot take them with us,’ Meren pointed out. ‘They can be of no further use. They are such animals that they will not even serve to pleasure the men. We shall have to get rid of them. Shall I fetch some of the men to help me? It will not take long.’ He loosened his sword in its scabbard.

  ‘Let them go,’ Taita ordered.

  Meren looked shocked. ‘That is not wise, Magus. We cannot be sure that they will not call more of their brethren out of the swamps to steal our horses and anno
y us further.’

  ‘Let them go,’ Taita repeated.

  When the bonds were cut from their wrists and ankles, the women did not attempt to escape. Nakonto had to make a ferocious speech, filled with dire threats, then rush at them shaking his spear and yelling war-cries before they snatched up their infants and fled wailing into the forest.

  They loaded the horses and moved two leagues further along the edge of the swamp, then camped again in a grove of shady trees. The insects that rose as soon as darkness fell tormented them mercilessly.

  A day later Nontu led the remaining horses and the survivors out of the swamps. Shabako, who was in charge, came to report to Taita and Meren. His news was not good: five more troopers had died since they had parted company, and all the others, including Shabako, were so sick and weak that they could hardly mount their horses unaided. The animals were hardly in better condition. The swamp grass and water plants provided little nourishment, and some had picked up stomach parasites from the stagnant pools. They were passing balls of writhing white worms and botfly larvae.

  ‘I fear we will lose many more men and horses if we stay in this pestilential place,’ Taita worried. ‘The grazing is sour and rank and the horses will not recover their condition on it. Our store of dhurra is almost exhausted, hardly enough for the men, let alone the beasts! We must find more salubrious surroundings in which to recuperate.’ He called Nakonto to him, and asked, ‘Is there higher ground near here?’ I Nakonto consulted his cousin before he replied. ‘There is a range of hills many days’ travel to the east. There, the grass is sweet, and in the evenings cool winds come down from the mountains. We were wont to graze our cattle there in the hot season,’ he said.

  ‘Show us the way,’ Taita said.

  They left early the next morning. When Taita was mounted on Windsmoke, he reached down, took Fenn’s arm and swung her up behind him. From her expression he could tell that the experience had terrified her, but she wrapped both arms round his waist, pressed her face to his back and clung to him like a tick. Taita talked soothingly to her and before they had ridden a league she had begun to relax her death-grip and, from her elevated position, to look at her surroundings. Another league and she was chirruping with pleasure and interest. If he did not respond at once she drummed her little fist on his back and cried his name, ‘Taita! Taita,’ then pointed out whatever had caught her attention.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tree,’ he replied, or ‘Horses,’ or ‘Bird. Big bird.’

  ‘Big bird,’ she repeated. She was quick, and her ear was true. It needed only one or two repetitions for her to reproduce the sound and inflection perfectly, and once she had it she did not lose it. By the third day she was stringing words into simple sentences, ‘Big bird fly. Big bird fly fast.’

  ‘Yes, yes. You’re so clever, Fenn,’ he told her. ‘It’s almost as if you are starting to remember something you once knew well but had forgotten. Now it’s fast coming back to you, isn’t it?’

  She listened attentively, then picked out the words she had already learnt, and repeated them with a flourish: ‘Yes, yes. Clever Fenn. Fast, coming fast.’ Then she looked back at the foal, Whirlwind, who followed the mare: ‘Little horse coming fast!’

  The foal fascinated her. She found the name ‘Whirlwind’ difficult, so she called him Little Horse. As soon as they dismounted to make camp, she shouted, ‘Come, Little Horse.’ The foal seemed to enjoy her company as much as she did his. He came to her and allowed her to drape an arm round his neck and attach herself to him as though they were twins joined in the womb. She saw the men feeding dhurra to the other horses, so she stole some, tried to feed it to him and was angry when he refused.

  ‘Bad horse,’ she scolded. ‘Bad Little Horse.’

  She had soon learnt the names of all the men, beginning with Meren who had given her the ribbon and stood high in her favour. The others competed for her attention. They saved her tidbits from their frugal rations and taught her the words of their marching songs. Taita put a stop to this when she repeated some of the more salacious choruses. They found small gifts for her, bright feathers, porcupine quills and pretty stones they picked out of the sands of the dry riverbeds they crossed.

  But the progress of the column was slow. Neither the men nor the horses could make a full day’s march. They began late and halted early, with frequent stops. Another three troopers died of the swamp-sickness, and the others had hardly the strength to dig their graves. Among the horses Windsmoke and her foal fared best. The spear wound in the mare’s hindquarters had healed cleanly and, despite the rigours of the march, she had kept her milk and was still able to feed Whirlwind.

  They camped one afternoon when the horizon was turbid with dust and heat haze, but in the dawn the cool of the night had cleared the air and they could make out in the distance ahead a low blue line of hills. As they rode towards them the hills grew taller and the details more inviting. On the eighth day after they had left the swamps, they reached the foothills of a great massif. The slopes were lightly forested and scored with ravines down which tumbled streams and bounding waterfalls. Following a stream, they climbed laboriously upwards and came out at last on to a vast plateau.

  There, the air was fresher and cooler. They filled their lungs with relief and pleasure, and looked about them. They saw groves of fine trees standing on grass savannahs. Herds of antelope and striped wild ponies grazed in multitudes upon the pastures. There was no sign of human presence. It was an enchanted and inviting wilderness.

  Taita selected a campsite with meticulous consideration of every aspect; prevailing winds and the direction of the sun, the proximity of running water and pasture for the horses. They cut poles and thatching grass, then built comfortable living huts. They erected a zareeba, a stockade of stout poles with sharpened points, around the settlement, and divided off one end into a separate pen for the horses and mules.

  Each evening they brought them in from the pasture and confined them for the night, to keep them safe from marauding lions and savage humans.

  On the bank of the stream, where the earth was rich and fertile, they cleared land and turned the earth. They built another sturdy fence of thornbushes and poles to keep out the grazing animals. Grain by grain, Taita sifted through the bags of dhurra seeds, picking out by their aura those that were healthy and discarding any that were diseased or damaged.

  They planted them in the prepared earth, and Taita built a shadoof to lift the water from the river to irrigate the seed beds. Within days, the first green shoots had unfurled from the soil and in a few months the grain would ripen. Meren placed a perpetual guard over the fields, troopers armed with drums to drive off the horses and any wild apes. They built guard fires around the zareeba and kept them burning night and day.

  Each morning the horses and mules were hobbled and turned loose upon the rich grazing. They gorged on it and swiftly regained condition.

  Game was plentiful upon the plateau. Every few days Meren rode out with a party of his hunters and returned with a large bag of antelope and wild fowl. They wove fish traps from reeds, and placed them at the head of the river pools. The catch was abundant, and the men feasted each night on venison and fresh catfish. Fenn astonished them all with her appetite for meat.

  Taita was familiar with most of the trees, shrubs and plants that grew on the plateau. He had encountered them during his years in the highlands of Ethiopia. He pointed out to the foraging parties those that were nutritious, and under his guidance they collected wild spinach along the banks of the river. They also dug up the roots of a euphorbiaceous plant that grew in profusion, and boiled them into a rich porridge that replaced dhurra as their staple.

  In the cool, sweet airs of early morning, Taita and Fenn went into the forest to gather baskets of leaves and berries, roots and slabs of fresh wet bark that had medicinal properties. When the heat became unpleasant they returned to the camp, and boiled some of their harvest, or dried it in the sun, and pounded other items into
paste or powder. With the potions they produced Taita treated the ailments of men and horses.

  In particular, there was the boiled extract of the bark of a thorny shrub that was so bitter and astringent on the tongue it made the eyes smart and took the breath away. Taita administered copious draughts to those who were still suffering the symptoms of swamp-sickness. Fenn stood by and encouraged them when they gagged and gasped. ‘Good Shabako. Clever Shabako.’ None could resist her blandishments. They swallowed the bitter draught and kept it down. The cure was quick and complete.

  From powdered bark and the seeds of a small nondescript shrub Taita compounded a laxative of such extraordinary power that Nakonto, who seemed to have rock-hard bowels, was delighted with the results. He came daily to Taita to demand his dose, and in the end Taita limited him to one every third day.

  Despite her appetite Fenn remained skinny and her stomach was tight and distended. Taita prepared another potion of boiled roots, with which she assisted him. When he invited her to drink it she took a single sip, then took to her heels. She was quick, but he was ready for her. The ensuing battle of wills lasted almost two days. The men laid wagers on the outcome. In the end Taita won the day, and she drank a full dose without him having to resort to psychic persuasion, to which he was reluctant to subject her. Her sulks continued until the following day when, to her astonishment, she passed a ball of writhing white intestinal worms almost the size of her head. She was immensely proud of this achievement and took first Taita, then everybody else to admire it. They were all suitably impressed and everyone agreed loudly that Fenn was, indeed, a clever, brave girl. Within days her stomach took on more pleasing contours and her limbs filled out. Her physical development was startling: in months she had made progress that would have taken normal girls years to accomplish. To Taita, it seemed that she was growing and blossoming before his eyes, ‘She is not a normal child,’ he explained to himself. ‘She is the reincarnation of a queen and a goddess.’ If he ever felt the slightest twinge of doubt about it, he had only to open the Inner Eye and gaze upon her aura. Its splendour was divine.