Blue Horizon c-3

by Wilbur Smith

  However, half-way through the afternoon they scored their first direct hit. One of their twenty-pound iron balls struck the extreme left-hand gun full on the muzzle. The bronze rang like a church bell, and even that weight of metal was hurled backwards off its carriage, crushing the gun-crew behind it to mincemeat. The barrel stuck straight up in the

  air. On the city walls the gunners cheered themselves hoarse, and redoubled their efforts. But by dusk they had not achieved another hit, and the breaches in the walls gaped wide.

  As soon as the moon set, bin-Shibam and Mansur led a sortie into the enemy lines. They took twenty men each and crept up on the battery emplacement. Even though the Turks were expecting the raid, Mansur's party had almost reached the wall of the emplacement before they were spotted and one of the sentries fired his musket. The ball hummed past Mansur's head and he shouted at his men, "Follow me!"

  As he scrambled in through the embrasure, jumped up on the barrel of the gun and ran along the top of it, he stabbed at the throat of the man who had fired the shot at him. He dropped the musket he was trying to reload and grabbed the naked blade with both hands. When Mansur pulled it back the steel ran through the man's fingers, severing flesh and tendons to the bone. Mansur jumped over his twitching body and down among the Turkish gunners, who were dulled with sleep, and struggling out of their blankets. He killed another, and wounded a third before they ran howling with terror into the night. His men followed him in to join the attack. While they were busy, Mansur plunged the point of one of the iron spikes he carried in his pouch into the touch hole of the gun, and another of his men drove it home with a dozen lusty blows of the hammer.

  Then they ran down the connecting trench to the adjoining emplacement. Here the gunners were fully awake, waiting to meet them with pikes and battleaxes. Within seconds they were a shouting, struggling mass, and Mansur knew they would never be able to reach the second gun. More of the enemy were rushing up the communication trench from the rear to repel them.

  "Back!" Mansur yelled, and they clambered over the front wall, just as Istaph and the other grooms rode up with horses. They galloped back through the city gates with bin-Shibam coming in close behind them.

  There they found they had lost five men killed and another dozen wounded. In the dawn light they saw that the Turks had stripped the corpses of the missing men and displayed them on the front wall of the emplacement. Between them, Mansur and bin-Shibam had managed to spike only two of the guns, and the remaining eight opened fire again. Within hours the stone balls had ripped away all the repairs that had been thrown up during the night. In the middle of the afternoon a single lucky shot brought twenty feet of wall tumbling down in a heap r masonry and rubble. Surveying the damage from the top of the minaret, Dorian estimated, "Another week at the latest, and Zayn will be ready to launch his attack."

  That night two hundred of the Awamir and the Dahm saddled their horses and rode out of the city. The next day, as was customary, the muezzin gave his wailing call to the faithful from the minaret of the main mosque in the city. Both sides responded: the big guns stopped firing, the Turks took off their round helmets and knelt among the palm groves, while on the parapets the defenders did the same. Before he joined in the worship, Dorian smiled ironically at the notion that both sides prayed to the same God for the victory.

  This time there was a new development to the ritual. After the prayers Zayn's heralds rode around the perimeter of the walls shouting a warning to the defenders on the parapets: "Hear the words of the true Caliph. "Those of you who wish to leave this doomed city may do so without let. I grant you pardon for their treachery. You may take with you your horse and your weapons and return to your tents and your wives. Any man who brings me the head of the incestuous usurper al Salil, I will reward with a lakh of gold rupees."

  The defenders jeered at them. However, that night another thousand warriors rode out through the gates. Before they went, two of the lesser sheikhs came to take their leave of Dorian. "We are not traitors or cowards," they told him, 'but this is not a fight for a man. Out in the desert we will ride with you unto death. We love you as we loved your father, but we will not die here like caged dogs."

  "Go with my blessing," Dorian told them, 'and may you always find favour in the sight of God. Know you that I will come to you again."

  "We shall wait for you, al-Salil."

  The next day, at the time of prayers when the guns fell silent the heralds circled the walls again.

  "The true Caliph Zayn al-Din has declared a sack of the city. Any man or woman who is found within the walls when the Caliph enters will be put to death by torture."

  This time only a few voices jeered back. That night almost half of the remaining defenders left. The Turks lined the road as they passed and made no effort to prevent them.

  You are distracted, my darling." Caroline Courtney watched her daughter's face quizzically. "What is it that troubles you so?" Apart from a vague greeting, Verity had not spoken to her mother since she had come up on the deck of the Arcturus from her father's great cabin. The meeting with the Caliph's military commander, Kadem ibn Abubaker, had lasted most of the morning. Now Verity stood at the ship's side and watched the fast felucca conveying the general back to the shore. She had translated Abubaker's report to her father, and relayed to him the Caliph's orders to tighten the blockade of the bay to prevent any enemy ships escaping when at last the city was captured from the usurper.

  She sighed and turned to her mother. "The siege is entering its final stages, Mother," she answered dutifully. The two had never been close. Caroline was a nervous, hysterical woman. She was dominated by her husband and had little time or energy remaining for her role as mother. Like a child, she seemed unable to concentrate on a single matter for any extended period, and her mind flitted from one subject to the next like a butterfly in a spring garden.

  "I will be so relieved when this awful business is over and your father has dealt properly with this al-Salil rascal. Then we can have done with the whole dreadful business and go back home." For Caroline, home was the consulate in Delhi. Behind the stone walls, in the manicured gardens and cool courtyards with bubbling fountains, she was safe and shielded from the cruel, alien world of the Orient. She scratched at her throat, and moaned softly. There was a scarlet rash on the white skin. The humid tropical airs and confinement in the hot little cabin had aggravated her prickly heat again.

  "Shall I help you with some of the cooling lotion?" Verity asked. She wondered how her mother could so easily make her feel guilty. She went to where Caroline lay on the wide hammock that Captain Cornish had had rigged for her in a corner of the quarter-deck. A canvas sunscreen shaded her, but allowed the cooling airs of the trade wind to flow over her plump, moist body.

  Verity knelt beside her and dabbed the white liquid on to the inflamed and itching rash. Caroline waved a hand languidly. Her diamond rings were deeply embedded in pasty white skin. The slim brown Indian maid in her beautiful silk said knelt on the opposite side t the hammock from Verity and offered her a dish of sweetmeats. Caroline picked out a pink cube of Turkish Delight. When the maid

  began to rise to her feet Caroline stopped her with a peremptory snap of her fingers and selected two more of the flower-flavoured jellies and popped them into her mouth. She chewed with unbridled pleasure, and the fine white icing sugar dusted her lips.

  "What do you suppose will happen to al-Salil and his son Mansur if they are captured by Kadem ibn Abubaker?" Verity asked mildly.

  "I have no doubt that it will be something utterly detestable," Caroline said, without interest. "The Caliph does beastly things to his enemies, trampling by elephants, shooting from cannon." She shuddered and reached for the glass of honey sherbet that the maid offered her. "I really do not want to discuss it." She sipped, and brightened. "If this business is over by the end of the month, then we might be back in Delhi for your birthday. I am planning a ball for you. Every eligible bachelor in the Company will attend. It
is high time we found a husband for you, my dear. By the time I was your age, I had been married four years and had two children."

  Suddenly Verity was angry with this vapid, famous woman as she had never been before. She had always treated her mother with weary deference, making allowance for her gluttony and other weaknesses. Not until her meeting with Mansur had she understood the depths of her mother's subservience to her father, the guilt that had placed her in his power. But now she was outraged by her smug, mindless complacency. Her anger boiled over before she could check it.

  "Yes, Mother," she said bitterly. "And the first of those two children was Tom Courtney's bastard." No sooner were the words past her lips than she wished them back.

  Caroline stared at her with huge, swimming eyes. "Oh, you wicked, wicked child! You have never loved me!" she whimpered and a mixture of sherbet and half-chewed Turkish Delight dribbled down the front of her lace blouse.

  All Verity's sense of deference vanished. "You do remember Tom Courtney, Mother?" Verity asked. "And what tricks the two of you played while you were on passage to India in Grandfather's ship the Seraph?"

  "You never-Who told you? What have you heard? It isn't true!" Caroline blubbered hysterically.

  "What about Dorian Courtney? Do you remember how you and my father left him to rot in slavery when he was a child? How you and Father lied to Uncle Tom? How you told him that Dorian had died or the fever? You told me the same lie. You even showed me the grave on Lamu island where you said he was buried."

  "Stop this!" Caroline clapped her hands over her ears. "I will not listen to such filth."

  "Tis filth, is it, Mother?" Verity asked coldly. Then who do you think is this al-Salil, whom you wish trampled by elephants or shot from a cannon? Do you not know that he is Dorian Courtney?"

  Caroline stared at her, her face white as buttermilk, the inflamed rash more evident in contrast. "Lies!" she whispered. "All terrible wicked lies."

  "And, Mother, al'Salil's son is my cousin, Mansur Courtney. You want a husband for me? Look no further. If ever Mansur does me the honour of asking me to marry him, I shall not hesitate. I shall fly to his side."

  Caroline let out a strangled shriek, and fell out of the hammock on to the deck. The maid and two of the ship's officers ran forward to help her to her feet. As soon as she was up, she struggled out of their grip, the fat quivering beneath her lace and pearl-studded dress, and heaved herself to the companionway that led down to the great cabin.

  Sir Guy heard her shrieks of anguish and rushed out of the doorway in his shirtsleeves. He seized his wife's arm and drew her into the cabin.

  Verity waited alone by the ship's rail for the retribution that she knew must surely follow. She stared beyond the rest of the blockading fleet of war dhows, into the entrance of Muscat bay to the distant spires and minarets of the city.

  In her mind she went over once again the dreadful news that Kadem ibn Abubaker had brought to her father, and which she had translated to him. Muscat would be in the hands of Zayn al-Din before the month was out. Mansur was in the most dire danger, and there was nothing she could do to help him. Her dread and frustration had led her to the gross indiscretion with her mother she had just perpetrated. "Please, God!" she whispered. "Do not let anything befall Mansur."

  Within the hour her father's steward came to summon her.

  In the cabin her mother sat in the seat below the stern window. She held a moist, crumpled handkerchief, wiped her eyes and blew her nose loudly.

  Her father stood in the centre of the cabin. He was still in his shirtsleeves. His expression was severe and hard. "What poisonous lies have you been telling your mother?" he demanded.

  "No lies, Father," she answered him defiantly. She knew what the consequences of provoking him must be, but she felt a reckless abandon.

  Repeat them to me," Sir Guy ordered. In quiet, measured tones she described to him all that Mansur had told her. At the end he was silent. He went to the stern window and stared out at the low swells of the azure sea. He did not look at his wife. The silence drew out. Verity knew that this silence was one of his ploys to intimidate her and force her to lower her defences and her resistance to him.

  "You kept this from me," he said at last. "Why did you not tell me at once what you had learned? That was the duty you owe to me, child." "You do not deny any of it, Father?" she asked.

  "I do not have to deny or affirm anything to you. I am not on trial. You are."

  Silence fell again. It was hot and airless in the cabin, and the ship rolled sickeningly on the slow, greasy undulations of the current. She felt breathless and nauseated, but was determined not to show it.

  Sir Guy spoke again: "You have given your mother a severe shock with these wild stories." Caroline sobbed dramatically and blew her nose again. "A fast packet boat arrived from Bombay this morning. I am sending her back to the consulate."

  "I will not go with her," Verity said evenly.

  "No," Sir Guy agreed. "I will keep you here. It might be a summary example for you to witness the execution of the rebels in whom you have expressed such an unhealthy interest." He was silent again for a while as he considered how much Verity knew of his affairs. Her knowledge was so extensive that it might prove lethal if she chose to use it against him. He dared not let her escape his immediate control.

  "Father, these rebels are your own brother," Verity broke the silence, 'and his son."

  Sir Guy showed no reaction. Instead he went on quietly, "It seems, from what your mother tells me, you have been playing the harlot with the younger Arab. Have you forgotten that you are an Englishwoman?"

  "You demean yourself by making that accusation."

  "You demean me and your family by your unconscionable behaviour. For that alone you must be punished."

  He went to his desk and picked up the whalebone riding crop that lay upon it. He turned back to her. "Disrobe!" he ordered. She stood motionless, her face expressionless.

  "Do as your father orders," said Caroline, 'you blatant hussy." She had stopped weeping and her tone was vindictive and gloating.

  "Disrobe at once," Guy said again, 'or I shall summon two of the seamen to do it for you."

  Verity lifted her hands to her throat and untied the ribbon that held her blouse closed. When at last she stood naked before them she raised her chin defiantly, shook out her hair and let it hang forward over her shoulders to screen her proud young breasts, and cover her pudenda.

  "Lie face down over the day bed her father ordered.

  She went to it with a firm tread. She stretched out on the buttoned green leather. The lines of her body were sweet and smooth as those of ;1 a Michelangelo marble. I will not cry out, she told herself, but her |

  muscles convulsed instinctively as the whip hissed and clapped across her buttocks. I will not grant him that pleasure, she promised herself, and closed her eyes as the next stroke fell across the back of her thighs. It stung like the bite of a scorpion. She bit her lip until blood seeped salty and metallic into her mouth.

  At last Sir Guy stood back, his breath fast and ragged with the effort. "You may dress yourself, you shameless harlot," he gasped.

  She sat up slowly, and tried to ignore the fire that raged down her back and her legs. The front of her father's breeches was on a level with her eyes and she smiled with cold contempt as she noticed the tumescent evidence of his arousal.

  He turned away hurriedly and threw the whip on to the desk top. "You have been deceitful and disloyal to me. I can no longer trust you. I shall keep you confined to your cabin until such time as I have decided what additional punishment is appropriate," he warned her.

  Dorian and Mansur stood with the sheikhs on the balcony of the minaret, and watched the plumes and tops of the bronze soup bowl helmets of the Turkish assault troops showing above the parapets as they moved up the approach trenches. As they massed below the walls Zayn al-Din's heavy batteries redoubled their rate of fire. They had changed their ammunition. Instead of stone ba
lls, they swept the parapets and breaches with cartloads of fist-sized pebbles and cast-iron pot legs The guns fell silent and the Turkish trumpeters sounded the charge; the drums pounded out an urgent beat.